Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Four

Even after walked Diani back to her own chamber, urging her to sleep and silently hoping that a night’s rest would clear her mind, so that she might recognize the danger of what she had done, Sertio did not return to his bed. There would be no sleeping this night, certainly not until he had received word from the soldiers searching Curlinte Moor.

First Cyro, then Dalvia. And today someone-the Brugaosans, or the Qirsi, or some enemy they didn’t know-had tried to take Diani from him as well. He should have been enraged, but all he felt was afraid. Losing his son had scored his heart. Losing his wife had left him empty and joyless. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever find a way to laugh again. But losing Diani. . He shook his head as if to rid himself of the very notion. Losing his daughter would kill him.

His was an odd position, one few dukes in the other realms of the Forelands would have understood. As husband to the duchess in a matriarchal duchy, he had no claim to the Curlinte seat. He was master of arms because Dalvia had chosen him to take that post and Diani had asked him to continue to serve after his wife’s death. But he had no real power. Had Cyro still been alive, he, as the son of the late duchess, would have been next in line after Diani to lead the house. As matters stood now, were something to happen to Diani, Dalvia’s younger sister, the marchioness of Invelsa, would take her place. Once Diani married and had children, they would take their place in the line of succession ahead of the marchioness, who, though well-intentioned, possessed neither the wisdom nor the strength of will to govern one of Sanbira’s leading houses. Until then, however, Curlinte’s stability and continued influence with the royal house depended entirely upon Diani’s survival. Not that he needed more incentive to keep her alive.

He had sent nearly two hundred men into the countryside to search for the assassins, double what he had told Diani. She wouldn’t have approved, despite her fears. She would say that sending so many after only two men made them appear weak. Her mother had been the same way, and so Sertio would tell Diani the same thing he had told Dalvia. There was no sense in having a powerful army if you didn’t use it. Perhaps one hundred men would have been sufficient to find the archers, but two hundred would be more likely to succeed and would probably do so sooner. And they still had more than a thousand men remaining to guard the city and castle in the unlikely event of an attack.

He left his chamber and descended the nearest of the towers to the upper ward. Panya, the white moon, hung low, a narrow crescent in the eastern sky. Red Ilias had yet to rise. It would soon be Pitch Night, and then the new turn would begin. To the north, the beginning of Elhir’s waning meant only more snows, but in the southern realms, particularly along the eastern shores, Elhir’s turn usually brought storms and fierce winds. If someone wished to start a war with House Curlinte, this was a strange time to do it.

The click of a boot on stone echoed through the ward. Turning toward the sound, Sertio saw one of his captains approaching.

“What news?” the duke asked as the man halted before him.

“We’ve found nothing yet, my lord.”

“Nothing at all?”

“We found blood where the duchess was wounded, and crushed grass near some of the stones where the assassins must have hidden. But they left no trail to or from that spot.”

“Any sign of horses?”

“None, my lord.”

“Well, they didn’t fly to the moor. They must have left some other sign that they were there.”

The man stared at his shoes. “Perhaps they had a boat, my lord.”

He’d thought of that. The climb from the sea up to the moor and then back down again would have been difficult, but not impossible. If they had a boat, they were gone by now. Sertio and his men would never find them.

“Yes, that’s possible. Have some of the men search the shoreline when morning breaks. And I want the moor searched again as well, just in case they missed something.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You have someone looking in the villages and inns?”

The soldier nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Widen your search southward to the north boundary of Kretsaal barony and tell all you meet that there’s a bounty on these men. Five hundred qinde, guaranteed by the duchess herself.”

The soldier’s eyes widened. “That’s certain to help, my lord.”

“I hope so.”

A lone cloud, thin and grey, drifted in front of Panya, darkening the castle for a moment.

“That’s all, Captain,” Sertio said. “Keep me apprised.”

“I will, my lord.”

The man spun away, and hurried back toward the west gate.

There was a part of Sertio that wanted to believe that the archers had come and gone by boat. He would gladly have traded their freedom for the knowledge that they were far from Curlinte and no longer posed any threat to Diani. But he knew better. Whoever hired them wanted her dead, and these men had seen her ride away from the headlands, very much alive.

On the thought, Sertio started across the ward toward the prison tower. It was quite late, and even confined to one of the small, sparse chambers, Kreazur was probably asleep. Still, the man would speak with him. What choice did he have?

Climbing the winding stairs, he saw that nearly all the tower chambers were occupied by ministers and healers, white-hairs all. Some slept. Others stared out of their chambers through the narrow barred windows in the steel doors, their yellow eyes luminous in the torch fire.

Kreazur was on the top floor, in a chamber by himself. A guard in the corridor stood as Sertio emerged from the stairway, but the Qirsi’s cell remained silent.

“I believe he’s sleeping, my lord.”

Now that he was in the tower, faced with the prospect of waking the minister from a sound sleep, Sertio found his resolve wavering. He couldn’t even say what he had come to ask the man, much less why his questions couldn’t wait for morning.

“Perhaps I’ll return with the morning bells,” he said quietly, turning to leave.

Before he reached the stairs, however, he heard the rustling of blankets and the scrape of a boot on the stone floor.

“My lord?” the minister said, his pale features appearing at the small window. His hair looked wild in the fire glow and his cheeks and eyes were swollen with sleep. “Has something happened?”

“No, nothing. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, First Minister. I’ll speak with you during the day.”

“It makes no difference, my lord. I have nothing to do come morning, unless you’re here to release me. I can sleep anytime.”

Sertio nodded, feeling awkward and still not knowing why he had wanted to speak with the man.

“I take it the duchess is resting?” the Qirsi asked.

“Yes. The herbmaster gave her a tonic of comfrey and common wort to aid healing and ease her pain. I expect she’ll sleep through much of the morning.”

“Good.”

They stood for several moments, saying nothing.

“You have more questions for me, my lord?”

Sertio glanced at the guard. “Open the door. I wish to speak with the minister in his chamber”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, crossing to the door and fitting a large iron key in the lock.

“You can go,” the duke said, stepping past the man and pulling the door closed behind him. “I’ll call for you when I’m done.”

The guard eyed the minister, looking uneasy. “Yes, my lord.”

The cell was dark, save for the dim light of the torches seeping through the grate of the door. Sertio wished he’d remembered to take a torch from the wall outside the chamber, but he saw no sense in calling the guard back just for that.

Kreazur sat on the floor opposite his small bed, his back against the stone wall. With an open hand he indicated the bed, inviting the duke to sit. Sertio shook his head, and began instead to pace about the room.

The minister watched him briefly, then cleared his throat. “The guards tell me that the duchess has imprisoned all the Qirsi in Castle Curlinte.”

“Yes. She decided to do that soon after she had you taken from my chamber. She wasn’t certain enough of your guilt to let the others remain free.”

The man gave a wan smile. “I suppose I should be pleased.”

“We both know better, Minister.”

The smile fled from the Qirsi’s lips. “I’m glad to hear you say so, my lord. There are great perils in what the duchess has done, not only for my people but also for herself, for you, for every court in the Forelands.”

“I know.”

“Have you told her as much?”

Sertio faltered briefly.

“I see,” the minister said quietly.

“My daughter is a proud, difficult woman, First Minister. Being so new to the throne, she isn’t likely to accept counsel that runs counter to her own ideas.”

“That doesn’t speak well of her as a ruler, my lord.”

“It says only that she’s young, First Minister,” the duke said, an edge to his voice. “Her mother was much the same way when she first claimed the duchy as her own, and I think you’ll agree that she turned out to be a fine leader.”

Kreazur looked away. “Of course, my lord.”

“I do intend to speak with her,” Sertio went on, his voice softening once more. “I see the dangers as well. I find myself convinced of your innocence in this matter, Kreazur. I’d be far less concerned for Diani’s safety knowing that you were at her side. And like you, I have no desire to see Qirsi imprisoned and persecuted here, or anywhere in the Forelands.”

“With all respect, my lord, I’m not certain that you do see the danger. This is about far more than your daughter’s safety or the mistreatment of my people.”

Sertio felt his stomach tightening. “You think this could lead to a civil war? A conflict between the races?”

The Qirsi let out a high, harsh laugh. “My lord, we’re on our way to such a war already! Don’t you understand? That’s what the leaders of the conspiracy want. They believe my people can prevail in such a war, perhaps not yet, but someday, sooner rather than later.”

“You know this?”

“Not from any reliable source, but the other ministers and I have spoken of the conspiracy, wondering where these killings and machinations may be leading. On the one hand it seems quite clear: the leaders of the conspiracy wish to divide the seven realms, both against one another and against themselves. But more than that, I believe they wish to destroy the trust between Eandi nobles and their ministers, indeed, between all Eandi and all Qirsi. By imprisoning us, by indicating so clearly that she distrusts us, and, in turn, by nurturing our resentment against the arbitrary exercise of her power, the duchess is doing more to help the conspiracy’s leaders than any Qirsi traitor in the seven realms.”

Sertio had halted in front of the minister and was staring down at him as if he had never seen the man before. The duke should have thought of all this long ago. For that matter, Diani should have as well. But clearly neither of them had. By considering it for them, Kreazur was merely doing his job, proving himself to be a loyal servant of House Curlinte and an enemy of the renegade Qirsi. Yet, the mere fact that he could think in such a way, that he could anticipate the desires of the conspiracy with such chilling certitude, made him more suspect in Sertio’s eyes, not less. Did all the white-hairs think this way? Were they born with a propensity toward treachery, or was it a product of their service in the Eandi courts?

“You disagree with me,” the minister said, misreading his expression.

“Not at all. It just never occurred to me to think. . in such terms.”

The man actually smiled, shaking his head. He was heavier than most Qirsi, with a fuller face, and in the dim light, looking both hurt and amused, he resembled an overindulged child. “So now you think me a traitor, just as your daughter does.”

Sertio resumed his pacing. “Not at all.”

“Please don’t dissemble with me, my lord. It does both of us a disservice.”

“I don’t think you’ve betrayed us, Kreazur. If you had, you wouldn’t have been so honest a moment ago in your assessment of the danger facing the courts.” He faltered briefly. “I merely find myself thinking that the Eandi mind and the Qirsi mind work differently. No Eandi could have devised such an ingenious plot.”

“I think you give your people too little credit, my lord,” the minister said, his voice thick with irony.

They both fell silent once more, Sertio wishing he hadn’t come at all. He feared for his daughter more now than when he had come, and though convinced of Kreazur’s innocence, he doubted that he could ever rely on the minister’s counsel again. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if the Qirsi and his fellow ministers left House Curlinte permanently upon winning their freedom from the prison tower. If Kreazur had accurately gauged the intent of the conspiracy’s leaders, the duke and his daughter had been all too quick to further their plans.

“I take it you haven’t found the assassins yet,” Kreazur said at last.

“No. I have men searching the countryside, but I fear they may have come to Curlinte by sea. They may be impossible to find.”

“Perhaps not impossible. More difficult certainly. But our house has good relations with most of the merchant captains between here and the Crown, even those sailing under the Wethy flag. They may be able to help us.”

“Yes, that’s a good thought. I’ll send messages to the ports later today, provided there’s no word from the moor. Thank you, First Minister.” It was sound advice. Perhaps Kreazur could still serve House Curlinte after all.

“Of course, my lord.”

They slipped into another uncomfortable silence, until Sertio finally decided that he had best leave. He stepped to the door and called for the guard.

“I’ll leave you to sleep, First Minister. Please forgive the disturbance.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord. Were I in my chambers neither of us would think twice about such an interruption. Despite this unpleasantness I still serve you and your house.”

Sertio nodded as the soldier appeared in the corridor and unlocked the steel door.

“I will speak with the duchess about gaining your release. You have my word.”

“I’d be most grateful, my lord.”

Sertio nodded and walked out of the chamber as soon as the soldier pulled open the door. He was eager to leave the prison tower and the company of this man. No doubt Kreazur had been wronged, by Diani as well as by the duke himself. But though he would keep his word and attempt to prevail upon his daughter to free Kreazur and his fellow ministers, he had no desire to prolong their conversation.

It was still dark when he stepped into the ward once more and began to make his way back to his chamber. Dawn couldn’t have been far off, but the stars still shone brilliantly against the black sky, even in the east. Panya glowed directly overhead and red Ilias hung just above the eastern wall of the castle like some curved, bloodied blade.

“My lord!”

He turned at the sound of the voice and saw two soldiers approaching from the lower ward.

“You’ve found something?”

“Possibly, my lord,” answered the older of the two men. “An innkeeper to the south remembers seeing two men with shaved heads and bows just before dusk. They were on foot and claimed to have been hunting. They inquired about staying at his inn, but didn’t like his price and so continued south.”

“Where?” the duke asked eagerly, striding to the stable. “Show me. I’ll ride with you.”

“It’s almost all the way to Kretsaal barony, my lord. It’s an hour’s ride from the castle, at least.”

“I don’t care. If they were heading south and looking for a place to stay, they probably chose Kretsaal. If we ride now, we may find them before they leave whatever inn they settled on for the night.”

The soldier and his companion exchanged a look and the second man shrugged.

“If you insist, my lord,” the first man said. “But we can just as easily bring them to you.”

Riding to Kretsaal himself made little sense. They couldn’t even be certain that these were the same men, though Sertio had little doubt that they were-no one hunted the moors this time of year. But after sitting by helplessly while Dalvia died, and watching in idle frustration as Diani struggled to learn the rudiments of leadership, Sertio needed to do something. Anything. The ride would do him good, and he wanted to interrogate these men himself, before Diani had a chance to vent her rage at them through torture or summary execution.

The stableboy saddled his mount quickly and within moments the duke was leading the two soldiers through the west gate and onto Curlinte Moor. They road south toward Kretsaal by the dim glow of the moons, drumming past the jumbled boulders and the still, tall grasses of the headlands and then past small farmhouses that already smelled of cooking fires lit in the cold hours before first light.

Before they were halfway to the barony, the sky over the Sea of Stars began to brighten, silver at first, then blending to soft shades of rose and purple, and finally, as they came within sight of the walls of Kretsaal, to pale gold.

They reached the village gate just as the sun emerged from the shining waters and began its long, slow climb from sea to sky. One of Sertio’s soldiers and several of Kretsaal’s guards met them inside the walls. Sertio’s man looked weary but pleased.

“Good morrow, my lord.”

Sertio swung himself off his mount, tossing the reins to one of the baroness’s men. “Have you found them?”

“We believe so, my lord. The two men we’ve been following took a room at an inn on the south edge of the village. We’ve men posted in front of the house and behind it. We were waiting for word from Curlinte before taking them. We had no idea that you’d be coming yourself.”

They hurried through the village, Sertio laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. Already there were men and women in the narrow, muddy lanes, leading small herds of goats to the gate or casting a critical eye at the wares of one of the few peddlers in the small marketplace. All of them stopped to stare at Sertio, looking wary, even frightened. House Curlinte ruled its lesser courts with a gentle hand, but the appearance of the duke or duchess in the barony usually meant trouble of some sort.

Upon reaching the southern end of the village, Sertio found several of his men standing a short distance from the inn, speaking to a grayhaired woman with clear brown eyes and a toothless grin.

“This is the innkeeper, my lord,” the guard said, as he and the duke stepped into the circle.

“The men are still in their room?” Sertio asked her.

“Must be. Haven’t seen them since they paid me. They didn’t even come down for their supper, though they paid for it.” She grinned again, but when Sertio remained grave, her smile faded.

“What did they look like?”

“Like I told these others, they was bald, both of them fairly tall. They wore riding cloaks and carried bows. They said they’d been hunting.”

“They paid you in silver or gold?”

“Gold, my lord.”

“Did you see anyone with them? A white-hair perhaps?”

“No one, my lord. And it was a slow night. Just the one other fellow who took a room was all. And he ate his supper like a gentleman and went upstairs.”

“Where is he now?”

“He left before dawn. I didn’t even see him go. That’s why I have them pay when they get here. If I didn’t, I’d be chasing all over the realm trying to collect.”

Sertio looked toward the inn, feeling vaguely uneasy. Whether they intended to flee or make another attempt on Diani’s life, they should have been up and moving by now. “Which room?”

“Last one on the left.”

He was walking before she finished, several of his men falling in step around him.

“Get them!” he called to the captain standing by the entrance to the inn. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said. He shouted a command to the men standing with him and immediately they filed into the inn.

Sertio drew his sword, but he remained in the lane, awaiting word from the men inside. For several moments there was silence. Then the captain appeared in the doorway once more, a sour expression on his face. Even before he spoke, Sertio felt certain that the assassins had managed somehow to escape.

“What is it?” he demanded, ice in his voice.

“You’d better come look, my lord.”

The duke eyed him a moment before following him into the house. Inside, the inn smelled of roasting meat and stale wine. The captain and Sertio climbed the steps swiftly, taking them two at a time. A knot of soldiers stood in the upstairs corridor just outside the last room, but they parted to let Sertio pass, most of them lowering their gazes.

The two men lay in the center of the room, their throats slit, dark blood pooling around their heads.

“Demons and fire,” the duke muttered.

He squatted beside them to take a closer look, noting that the blood on their necks was already dry. They’d been dead for some time.

“I guess they got what was coming to them,” the captain said. “Question is, from who?” He glanced at Sertio. “I suppose the duchess will want to know. Shall I-?”

Instantly Sertio was up and striding to the door, his heart battering his breastbone like a siege engine. The duchess. “Bring your men, Captain! We have to get back to the castle!”

He ran down the corridor and nearly fell rushing down the stairs. Bursting through the door, he crossed to the innkeeper and gripped her arm.

“The other man who stayed the night! What did he look like?”

She blinked, looking confused.

“Quickly, woman!” he said, shaking her.

“Tall, like the others. Yellow hair, pleasant face.”

“What else? A mustache? A beard?”

“No.” She shook her head, as if groping for an image of the man. “He had a small scar by the side of his mouth, like from a fight.”

“Good.” He released her and started running toward the village gate, heedless of the stares that followed him. “See to it that she’s paid for her trouble,” he called over his shoulder to the captain, who had emerged from the inn. “Leave a few men to clean up the mess and bring the rest with me!”

He was too old for this. He should never have left his mount with the baroness’s men.

He heard footsteps, and looking back once more, saw the captain just behind him. “Where are we going, my lord?”

“Back to the castle, you fool! The man who killed those archers will be after the duchess next!”

Diani awoke to the sound of knocking at her door. She felt lightheaded and confused for several moments until she moved, wincing at the pain in her shoulder and leg. Of course. The herbmaster’s tonic. Damn his potions.

The knock came again.

She rose carefully from her bed and crossed on unsteady legs to where her robe hung. She shivered slightly as she shrugged it onto her shoulders. There was warm water in her basin and a bright fire in her hearth. It seemed she had slept through a good deal.

Whoever had come rapped on her door a third time.

“Yes, enter!” she called, belatedly passing a hand through her tangled hair.

The door swung open revealing a guard, who looked uncertain and just a bit frightened. He glanced first at her bed before seeing her at the wardrobe.

“What is it? Why do you disturb me?”

“Forgive me, my lady. But a soldier has come from Kretsaal bearing news from the barony. He says it pertains to the attempt on your life.”

“Have him speak with my father. The duke is looking into this matter.”

“The duke rode southward during the night, my lady. He received word that the men had been seen near the barony.”

Diani frowned and shook her head, still trying to clear her mind. “Father rode to the barony?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And yet this man comes from Kretsaal?”

“He does, my lady. He bears the barony’s colors. He and your father must have passed each other in the darkness without either of them knowing it.”

She nodded, though she found all of it rather puzzling. Why would her father leave, without telling her, particularly with assassins abroad? And what news could a man of Kretsaal have that her own soldiers did not?

“Tell this soldier that I’ll speak with him shortly. I want my breakfast served first, in here. And I want the herbmaster told that I’m awake.”

“Of course, my lady,” the man said, bowing and withdrawing from the chamber.

Diani splashed some water on her face and then sat at her writing table, staring at the fire. The next thing she knew, yet another knock had pulled her from her dazed musings.

“Come.” She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders.

The herbmaster entered the chamber, bearing a tray that held a full breakfast and a pot of some steaming broth.

“I didn’t know you were working in the kitchens now, herbmaster. It seems a waste of your talents.”

He smiled. “Some would say it’s the best use of them anyone’s found yet.”

“None who had tasted your brews.”

He placed the tray on her table and regarded her closely, his brow creased. “You don’t look well.”

“It’s your bloody tonic. It’s left my mind fogged.”

“Don’t blame the tonic. You were supposed to rest. Had you slept as late as I wanted, your mind would be clear. How are your wounds?”

“They hurt still.” She allowed him to examine her shoulder and then her leg.

“I expected that,” he said absently, looking closely at her injuries. They were still discolored, though less so than they had been the night before. After some time he straightened and nodded. “They appear to be healing nicely.”

“Good.”

“But you still need rest. I don’t want you doing anything today beyond sleeping, eating, and drinking more of my brew.”

“You should have told my father that. He’s ridden south, and there’s a soldier come from Kretsaal with news of the assassins. I have no choice but to speak with him.”

The herbmaster twisted his mouth sourly. “Fine, then. Nothing more after you’ve seen him.”

“Yes, herbmaster. Thank you.”

He sketched a quick bow and left her. Diani glanced at her breakfast. Bread and butter, smoked meat, stewed sour fruit from Macharzo, and, of course, the herbmaster’s sweet-smelling brew. Her head had started to clear, but her appetite had not yet returned and she decided to speak with the baroness’s man before eating.

“Guard!” she called.

One of her men opened the door.

“Have the soldier from Kretsaal brought to me at once.”

He had made his way out of the village as soon as the inn grew quiet, leaving by way of the gate nearest the tavern shortly before the ringing of the midnight bells and the closing of the village gates. He circled quickly to the north gate and waited within sight of it, just off the road, until the bells tolled. He stayed low in the grasses, so as not to be seen in the dim moonlight. If Kretsaal barony was like nearly every other court in the Forelands, the guards would change at midnight.

It was, and they did. No sooner had the last echo of the bells died away than the replacements appeared in the lane that led from the modest castle to the gate.

Immediately, before the replacements could get too close, he stood, calling out, “Hold the gate!” and then, “My wares are a bit heavy. Can one of you help me with these sacks? It’ll get me into the city faster.”

Two of the guards had already begun to close the gate and now they stopped, peering out into the darkness. He heard one spit a curse and the other begin to laugh. This second man turned and started walking toward the center of the village, but the first man stepped beyond the walls, still trying to spot him. He noticed that the guard unsheathed his sword.

“Where are you?” the guard called, walking slowly along the worn lane that led into the city.

“Over here.” He made his voice sound strained, as if he were struggling with heavy satchels. He had chosen a place near a cluster of stones, and he bent over them now, as if they were his sacks.

“Don’t you have a horse and cart?” The soldier had adjusted his approach at the sound of his voice and was coming directly toward him.

“The cart threw a wheel back on the moor. Snapped the rim. I left the horse and most of my wares there, but needed to bring some with me. I’ll have to sell most of this tomorrow to be able to pay a wheelwright to come with me and fix it.”

He could hear the soldier’s footsteps in the soft grasses now, and he drew the garrote from within his cloak, pulling the wire taut and wrapping it twice around each fist. He remained bent over the stones until the soldier reached him.

“What do you want me?. .” The guard trailed off, taking a step back. “Where are your satchels?”

The one satchel he did have-the one he always carried-was already in his hand and he straightened now, in the same motion swinging it at the soldier with all his strength and hitting the man full in the temple. The soldier fell to the ground, but managed somehow to keep hold of his sword. Not that it mattered. He was on the guard instantly, wrapping the garrote around his throat and pulling it taut. The soldier struggled, but to no avail. He’d used this same garrote against men far larger and stronger than this one.

Sitting back on his haunches and taking a long breath, he looked toward the gate. It still stood ajar, but none of the men was looking out at the moor. The guard’s friend was nowhere to be seen, and the men who had replaced them probably didn’t even know enough to be looking for him.

As if to prove his point, two of the new guards pulled the gate shut. The man wouldn’t be missed until morning.

He stripped the guard’s uniform from the limp body and began to put it on himself. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do. He put his clothes on the soldier, thus perhaps delaying for a bit longer the discovery of just what he had done. Then he started westward, away from the castle and the sea, to the place where his horse was tethered.

He rode swiftly, hoping to reach Curlinte well before sunrise. At one point he heard riders in the distance approaching from the ducal city. Reining his mount to a halt, he made the beast lie down on the grasses, ducked down himself, and peered over the horse’s flanks, watching the riders. They didn’t slow, nor did they give any indication that they had seen him. He waited until he could no longer hear them and they were but dim, distant figures in the moonlight. Then he coaxed his mount back onto its feet and rode on. Even with the delay, he thought that he could reach the walls of Curlinte before daybreak. He might even have time to rest before seeking an audience with the duchess.

Diani didn’t have to wait long before her guards returned with the soldier from Kretsaal. Straightening in her chair, she beckoned the men into her chamber.

The duchess noticed his hair first. It was yellow and fine, more like that of a man from northern Aneira or even Eibithar than that of a Sanbiri. His eyes, too, seemed wrong. They were pale blue, almost grey, not at all as they should have been. He wore the grey and red of Kretsaal, but the uniform fit him poorly. Sanla, the baroness, never would have allowed such a thing.

Could he be an assassin?

The thought never would have occurred to her before the attack at the headlands the day before, and Diani wondered if she were allowing her lingering fears to cloud her judgment. The guard had a kindly face, hardly that of a killer. Though he did bear a small scar near the corner of his mouth.

“You bring tidings for me?” she asked. But even as she spoke, she rose from the chair and returned to her writing table, as if she might draw comfort from having something substantial between herself and the soldier.

“I do, my lady.” No accent, at least none that Diani could discern. He glanced at the two soldiers behind him before facing her again. “I was told by my baroness to speak only with you.”

Strange, and presumptuous. If he turned out to be just a soldier, she would have to speak of this with Sanla.

“The soldiers who serve me know that I expect not only their loyalty but also their discretion. They’ll remain here.”

“But, my lady, I have my instructions.”

Strange indeed. She allowed her eyes to wander to her table, searching for something to use as a weapon. Her dagger and sword were near the wardrobe, too far if he struck at her quickly.

“And now you have different instructions from your duchess. Do you really believe the baroness would have you argue the point?”

He stared at her, not appearing cowed as he should have, but rather seeming to search her face for some sign that she was growing suspicious.

“Your tidings?” she prompted again.

“Of course, my lady.” Something in the voice, the icy intensity that suddenly appeared in those pale eyes.

Diani took a step back, expecting an attack, but the man surprised her. Seizing the pot of hot brew from her tray, he whirled on the two guards, throwing the pot at one and pulling his sword free to run the other through.

The two guards were caught completely unaware. The pot hit one of them in the chest, splattering hot liquid on his face and staggering him. By the time the other man had his sword free, the killer had already driven the point of his sword into his chest. The guard could only drop his weapon to the floor, blood staining the front of his uniform as he fell to his knees and then toppled over. The first man had recovered enough to draw his blade, but the assassin was on him too quickly. The soldier parried one blow and then another, but even with the skills he had learned from Diani’s father, he was no match for the yellow-haired man.

For a moment, Diani couldn’t move. She had seen dead men before-soldiers killed in the hills by brigands and carried by their comrades back to the castle-but that was a far cry from actually watching a man die.

As the assassin drove the second soldier back toward the far corner of the chamber, she forced herself into motion. The pot of hot tonic, the one possible weapon she had spotted on her writing table, was gone. She thought about trying to make it to the corridor to call for help, but the two men were closer to the door than she. Instead she sprinted to where her own blade hung and pulled it free. As an afterthought, she grabbed her dagger as well. By the time she turned around, the second of her guards was dead as well, his head nearly severed from his body. The assassin, only slightly out of breath, a faint sheen of sweat on his face, was advancing on her.

“You truly think to succeed where your soldiers have failed?” he asked, grinning. This time the accent was unmistakable. Wethyrn, though she doubted he was here on behalf of the archduke. Assassins, it seemed, came from all realms of the Forelands.

He was bigger than she, stronger as well. And she had seen that he moved quickly for his size. Still, at almost any other time, speed would have been her one advantage. But she was conscious of the throbbing in her leg and shoulder, and she knew that she could not fight as she might have usually.

He closed the distance between them swiftly, trapping her near her wardrobe and leveling a powerful blow at her head. Rather than trying to parry it and being knocked off balance, she dropped into a crouch allowing the man’s blade to whistle harmlessly over her head. Anticipating her counter he swept his blade downward, to block her own sword. But Diani struck with the dagger instead, slashing him across the side of his knee. She gasped at the pain in her shoulder, but seeing blood soak into his trouser leg, allowed herself a small smile. Perhaps he wouldn’t be quite so quick now.

The assassin offered no response at all, but launched himself at her again, chopping downward at her so that she couldn’t avoid the attack by ducking. She raised her sword and was nearly hammered to the floor by the force of his blow. Her arm felt numb and as he raised his blade to strike once more she wondered if she could absorb another assault.

She stepped back and cried out for help, but she knew it would do her no good. There were always two men positioned just outside her chambers, but those two men lay dead on the floor, and with her guest wearing the colors of loyal Kretsaal, the captain of the guard would never have thought to send more men.

The assassin merely grinned and hacked at her again and then a third time. She blocked his sword with her own each time, but she fell to her knees after the third attack and had to drop her dagger in order to hold her blade with both hands.

He backed off for just an instant, lowered his hands and brought back his sword to deliver what would be the killing stroke. Desperate, she did the only thing she could. With all the strength in her frame, she swung both arms around, throwing her sword at the man. It hit him in the chest, hilt first, and clattered to the floor. But it stopped him for just an instant, long enough for Diani to retrieve her dagger and dive past him into the middle of the chamber. He came after her, lunging for her once with his sword and missing, then closing the distance between himself and the door so that she couldn’t escape.

She started toward the window, thinking to open the shutters and call for help, but he advanced on her, and she didn’t dare turn her back on him. Then she thought to reclaim her sword, but he cut her off from that as well.

In the end she could only back away from him, trying to keep her writing table between them. She started to cry for help, but was cut off when he leaped at her again, his blade just barely missing her breast.

“You must stop doing that, my lady,” he said, throwing the table aside as he spoke.

He had her trapped again, in the back corner of her room. She held her dagger before her, but she knew it would not be enough to stop him.

“Diani?” Her father’s voice, from out in the corridor.

“Father!” she yelled.

The door burst open revealing the duke and several of his men, all with swords drawn.

The assassin froze, looking frightened for the first time since entering Diani’s chamber. His pale eyes flicked about the room, as if searching for some path to freedom. He still held his sword before him and as his gaze fell upon the duchess he appeared to consider killing her, even though it would have meant his death.

Sertio seemed to see this as well, for he quickly placed himself between Diani and the killer. His soldiers followed him into the chamber, surrounding the yellow-haired man.

“I don’t want him killed!” Diani said, her voice unsteady as she lowered her dagger. Her pulse raced and her hands were shaking so violently she could barely maintain her grip on the hilt of her blade.

“Drop your weapon,” Sertio said, his dark eyes never leaving the man’s face.

The assassin did nothing, but he continued to glance around the chamber, perhaps trying to decide who among his captors would be easiest to kill.

“Drop your sword and you won’t be hurt,” the duke said again, his voice harder this time.

Still the man did not move, though a slight smile touched his lips. “You’re lying,” he said softly. “You’ll torture me until I tell you whose gold paid for my blade.”

Her father opened his mouth, perhaps to deny it, though everyone in the chamber knew it to be the truth. He never got the chance. The assassin raised his sword as to cleave the duke in two, roaring like a cornered beast.

Sertio, stepped to the side to avoid the strike, aiming a thrust of his own at the man’s shoulder, to spare his life, but disarm him. Had it been just the two of them fighting it might have worked. But the other men, seeing their duke threatened, closed on the assassin as well, pounding at him with their blades. In a matter of seconds the man lay on the floor of Diani’s chamber, blood flowing from several deep wounds.

Diani took a step forward. “Call for a healer! I want him alive!”

“The Qirsi who healed you would never get here in time,” her father said, staring down at the man, his voice low.

“One of the castle’s healers, then!”

Sertio glanced at her, his face as grim as it had been the day her mother finally died. “They’re all in the prison tower.”

She swallowed. “We could free one of them, just for this.”

But a guard who had bent to feel the man’s pulse shook his head. “He dies as we speak, my lady. The tower is too far.”

Diani dropped to her knees beside the man. “Who paid you? Was it the Qirsi? The Brugaosans? Who?”

But he merely lay there, the same inscrutable smile on his lips, his eyes open but utterly lifeless.