Hero in the Shadows (7 page)

“Why did you ask if I’d slept with the Gray Man?”

“The Gentleman!” corrected Norda.

“Yes, the Gentleman.”

“There is great harmony here between the servant girls. The Gentleman does not play favorites, and neither does Omri. Had the Gentleman bedded you, it would have caused discord. Many of the young women would like to … enchant him.”

“He is a strikingly attractive man, but he is very old,” said Keeva.

Norda laughed again. “Age has little to do with it,” she said. “He is handsome, strong—and immensely rich. The woman who captures his heart would never want for anything—even if she had ten lives to live.”

“From what you say, it is surprising he has taken no wife,” observed Keeva.

“Oh, he has taken many.” Norda leaned in close, dropping her voice. “Gold wives.”

“He
pays
for his pleasures?” asked Keeva, astonished.

“Always. Isn’t that weird? Most of the girls here would rush to his rooms at the merest gesture from him. Yet he sends his carriage to bring whores from the town. Oh, fancily dressed and bedecked with jewels, but whores nonetheless. For the last year his favorite has been Lalitia, a redheaded strumpet from the capital.” Norda’s face reddened, and Keeva saw her pale blue eyes grow cold.

“You obviously don’t like her.”

“Nobody
likes
Lalitia. She rides around in a gilded carriage with liveried servants, whom she treats abominably. In her house she has been known to thrash the maids when the mood takes her. She is a vile creature.”

“What does he see in her?” asked Keeva.

Norda laughed aloud. “Oh, you’ll recognize it when you lay eyes on her. Loathe her as I do, even I have to admit she is astonishingly beautiful.”

“I would have thought him a better judge of people,” offered Keeva.

“You don’t know much about men, do you?” Norda said with a quick smile. “When Lalitia passes by, you can hear the sounds of jaws striking the ground. Strong men, bright men, scholarly men—even priestly men—all fall under the spell of her beauty. They see what they want to see. Women, on the other hand, see her for what she is: a whore. And not as young as she pretends. I’d say she was closer to forty than the twenty-five she claims.”

Other servants had begun to arrive, gathering their food and finding places to sit and eat. A young man in a gray mail shirt approached them. Removing his helm, he smiled at Norda. “Good morning,” he said. “Will you introduce me to the newcomer?”

Norda smiled. “Keeva, this is Emrin, the guard sergeant. He thinks he’s more handsome than he is and will do everything in his power to lure you to his bed. It is, sadly, his nature. Do not judge him too harshly.” Keeva glanced up at the man. He had a round, good-looking face and blue eyes. His hair was light blond, short, and tightly curled. Emrin extended his hand, and Keeva shook it.

“Do not believe everything Norda says about me,” he told her. “I am really a sweet, gentle soul seeking the perfect partner for my heart.”

“Surely you found him the first time you looked in a mirror,” Keeva said with a sweet smile.

“Sadly, that is true,” Emrin said with disarming honesty. Taking her hand, he kissed it, then turned his attention to Norda. “Be sure to tell your new friend what a great lover I am,” he said.

“I will,” said Norda. She glanced at Keeva. “The best ten heartbeats I’ve ever experienced.” Both women laughed.

Emrin shook his head. “I think I should leave,” he said, “while I have a modicum of dignity left.”

“Too late,” said Keeva. The man grinned and moved away.

“Neatly done,” said Norda. “He will pursue you with even greater vigor.”

“Not something I desire,” Keeva told her.

“Oh, don’t rule him out,” said Norda. “As he says, he really is quite good in bed. Not the best I have known but more than adequate.” Keeva burst into laughter, and Norda joined in.

“So who was the best?”

Keeva knew it was the wrong question as soon as she spoke. The good humor faded from Norda’s face. “I am sorry,” Keeva said swiftly.

“Don’t be,” Norda told her, laying her hand over Keeva’s. “Now we’d better finish breakfast, for there is much to do. There are several more guests due to arrive today, and one of them is a Chiatze. Believe me, there is no race so fussy.”

3

U
SING LONG, LAZY
strokes, Waylander swam through the cold water. He could feel the warmth of the sun on the skin of his back, and he dived deep, through shoals of silver-backed fish, which scattered before him. Rolling and twisting, he felt a surge of joy. Here there was silence and—almost—contentment. Relaxing, he let his body float upward toward the sun. Breaking clear of the surface, he drew in a deep breath, tossed back his head to clear the hair from his eyes, and trod water while he gazed around the bay.

At the harbor opposite were a dozen ships unloading their cargoes, while anchored farther out on the bay were twenty more waiting for the signal to dock. Twenty-eight of the ships flew under the flag of the tree. His ships.

It seemed incredible to Waylander that a man like himself, without a great understanding of the subtleties of commerce, should have become so ridiculously wealthy. No matter how much he spent now, or indeed gave away, more gold flowed in. Matze Chai and other merchants had invested Waylander’s money well. But even his own ventures had paid off handsomely. It is all a grand nonsense, he thought, as he floated in the water. He had lost track of the number of ships he owned. Somewhere above three hundred. Then there were the mines—emerald, diamond, ruby, gold, and silver—scattered from the hinterlands of Ventria to the eastern Vagrian mountains.

He swung in the water and gazed up at the white marble
palace. He had commissioned it six years earlier after an idle conversation with a young architect who had talked passionately about the overwhelming and delightful problems of construction and of his dream to create a marvel. “Why should we always seek out flat ground?” asked the young man. “Where is the wonder in that? Great buildings should make an observer gasp.”

Three years in construction, the White Palace was indeed a wonder, though the young architect had not lived to see it finished. A nobleman from House Kilraith, he had been stabbed to death one night by assassins from a rival house. Such was life among the nobles of Kydor.

Waylander swam for the beach and emerged onto the white sand. His steward, Omri, left his seat beneath the olive tree and walked out to meet him, a long linen towel folded over his arm. “Was the swim beneficial, sir?” he asked, extending the towel and draping it over Waylander’s shoulders.

“It was refreshing,” said Waylander. “And now I am ready for the pressing matters of the day.”

“The lady requests an audience with you, sir,” said Omri, “when you have the time.”

Waylander looked at the older man closely. “Is something bothering you, Omri?”

“Were you aware she is a mystic?”

“No, but it is not surprising. I have known many priests with talent.”

“I find it unsettling,” admitted Omri. “I rather feel she can read my thoughts.”

“Are your thoughts so terrible?” Waylander asked with a smile.

“Occasionally, sir,” Omri admitted, straight-faced. “But that is not the point. They are
my
thoughts.”

“Indeed so. What else requires my attention?”

“We have received a message from Lord Aric saying he will visit in ten days on his way to the Winter Palace.”

“He needs more money,” said Waylander.

“I fear so, sir.”

Dry now, Waylander moved into the shade of the olive tree and pulled on a black silk shirt and a pair of soft leather leggings. Tugging on his boots, he sat back and gazed once more over the bay. “Did the lady say why she wished to see me?”

“No, sir. But she did tell me of your fight with the raiders.”

Waylander caught the note of criticism in the old man’s voice. “It is too fine a day to be chided, Omri,” he said.

“You take great risks, sir. Largely unnecessary risks. We have thirty guards here and a dozen tough foresters. They could have been sent after the robbers.”

“Very true. But I was close by.”

“And you were bored,” said the old man. “You always ride off into the wilderness when you are bored. I have come to the conclusion that you do not enjoy being rich. It is, I must say, hard to understand.”

“It is a terrible thing, boredom,” said Waylander. “It has come to me over the years that wealth and tedium are great bedfellows. When one is rich, there is nothing to strive for. Every pleasure I desire is available to me.”

“Obviously not every one, sir. Otherwise you would not be bored.”

Waylander laughed. “That is true. Now enough of this soul-searching, my friend. What other news is there?”

“Two retainers from House Bakard were murdered in Carlis two days ago, supposedly by men hired by House Kilraith. There is great tension in the town. The merchant Vanis has requested an increase to his loan. He claims to have lost two ships in a storm and is unable to meet his debt payments. Also …” Omri pulled a slip of parchment from the pocket of his gray robe and perused it. “… the surgeon Mendyr Syn has asked if you would be prepared to hire three extra students at a cost of six silvers a month to assist him. There are now no spare beds in the infirmary, and Mendyr has been working fifteen hours a day
trying to aid the sick.” Omri folded the parchment, returning it to his pocket. “Oh yes, and the … er … Lady Lalitia has invited you to attend a celebration of her birthday in three days.”

Waylander sat in the shade, staring out at the fishermen casting their nets in the bay. “Call in the loan on Vanis,” he said. “This is the third time in a year he has furnished an excuse for nonpayment. His debts have not prevented him from buying three racing stallions and extending his eastern estate. Increase the funds to Mendyr Syn and tell him he should have requested help much earlier. And send a message to Lady Lalitia that I will be delighted to attend her celebration. Purchase a diamond pendant from Calicar and have it delivered to her on the day.”

“Yes, sir. Might I point out two things? Point one: Vanis has many friends in House Kilraith. Foreclosing his debt will bankrupt him and be seen as a slight upon the house.”

“If he has that many friends,” said Waylander, “let them pay his debts. Now, what was the second point?”

“If memory serves me correctly, is this not the third birthday that Lady Lalitia has had in the past fifteen months?”

Waylander laughed. “Yes, it is. Make it a
small
diamond pendant.”

“Yes, sir. By the way, the young woman you brought in has been put to work with Norda’s team. Do you wish for any special treatment toward her?”

“Give her a little leeway for a while, for she has suffered much. She is a strong girl, but even so she has witnessed the murders of her family, been treated cruelly, and been threatened with death. It would be remarkable were she to suffer no aftereffects. Watch her closely and give her a little support. If she does not prove to be a good worker, dismiss her.”

“Very well, sir. And what message shall I send the Chiatze lady?”

“No message, Omri. I will go and see her presently.”

“Yes, sir. Would it be considered a discourtesy to ask her how long she and her retainers plan to stay?”

“I am more interested to know why they came here and how,” said Waylander.

“
How
, sir?”

“A priestess in robes of embroidered silk with three retainers appears at our gates. Where was the carriage? Where were the horses? From where did they come? They did not stay in Carlis.”

“Obviously, they walked from elsewhere,” said Omri.

“And yet attracted little dust to their clothing and showed no sign of weariness.”

Omri made the sign of the protective horn. “Regardless of the discourtesy, sir, I would gratefully appreciate knowledge of their departure date.”

“I do not believe there is any need to fear them, Omri. I sense no evil in her.”

“That is good to hear, sir. But some of us have little choice concerning what we fear. I have always been a frightened man. I don’t know why.”