Irons in the Fire (58 page)

"Well?" Litasse demanded. "I don't appreciate being summoned like some maidservant." Uncurled, her hair was drawn back with a single ribbon and she wore a green gown whose moment of fashion had passed several years past. Ink stained the lace at her right wrist. "I have no end of nonsense to deal with if we're to accommodate Their Graces of Draximal and Parnilesse in the luxury they expect."

"Iruvain's not going to spend the festival playing peacemaker," Hamare assured her. "Not when he hears what I have learned. Where is he?"

"Hunting," Litasse said acidly. "What else would he be doing on a dry sunny day at this season?"

"Do you know when he'll be back?" Hamare rifled through the papers on his table.

"When it's too dark to see a deer's rump, as any one of the stable lads could tell you." Litasse turned to go. It was already halfway through the afternoon and she hadn't achieved half the things she'd hoped to have done by noon.

"No, wait." Now triumph was overtaking relief in Hamare's tone. "I have news from Sharlac."

"From my father?" Litasse turned back, her face eager.

"No, forgive me." Hamare halted in his search among the letters, penitent. "But it concerns him. There's been rumour that he's planning a new campaign against Carluse."

"To make Duke Garnot pay for my brother's murder? Why haven't you told me?" Why hadn't her father told her? Litasse hid a pang of betrayal. Because this was Sharlac's business and she was only concerned with Triolle affairs now. "Where will he strike first?"

"Nowhere." Hamare set the paper down. "It's only rumour. Nothing more. That why I've said nothing to you. Pelletria has just confirmed my suspicions."

"You've called me here to tell me nothing's going on?" Litasse set her hands on her hips, exasperated.

"There is plenty going on in Sharlac," Hamare assured her. "There's an army gathering in the hills between the headwaters of the Palat and the Rel."

"Garnot of Carluse," hissed Litasse. "I said he couldn't be trusted."

Hamare shook his head. "He has nothing to do with this. This army is as much a threat to him as to Sharlac."

Litasse knew what had obsessed Hamare all summer. "Is it those mercenary bands that you couldn't account for?"

"Them, a quantity of Mountain Men and Dalasorians, and a goodly number of exiles coming from Vanam and other towns in Ensaimin." He looked down at a map. "It all goes back to Vanam, just as I suspected. By the end of festival, I should know who's behind it."

"We must warn my father, and Iruvain will want to warn Duke Garnot of Carluse," Litasse realised with scant enthusiasm.

Hamare nodded. "If half what I suspect is true, Sharlac and Carluse will need to stand shoulder to shoulder to stop this army."

"So Iruvain must play peacemaker after all, just between different foes?" Litasse sat down, her pretty face thoughtful. "So I'm to turn away Their Graces of Draximal and Parnilesse in favour of inviting Carluse and Sharlac instead?"

"Their Graces of Carluse and Sharlac had far better stay where they are and make ready to repel these invaders," Hamare said firmly, "while Duke Secaris and Duke Orlin must come here to hear certain proof that neither was behind the assault on the bridge at Emirle." Rueful, he ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "Iruvain was right to insist I ferret out the truth behind that. It was all a feint by another band of mercenaries."

"To keep everyone distracted while this army was gathering in the hills?" Litasse didn't imagine Iruvain would acknowledge that Hamare had been at least partly right.

Hamare nodded. "I was right to suspect that rabble-rouser Reniack. I've traced his links to these plotters in Vanam and he's behind a blizzard of pamphlets sweeping right across Lescar now. He's spreading even-handed malice against all the dukes to entertain the commonalty and making more measured arguments for those who fancy themselves Rational thinkers. One of your noble father's vassals is involved, Lord Rousharn. Or at least his lady is, Derenna--she has been travelling among the manors of Sharlac spreading discreet disaffection. While those priests and guildmasters who've been undermining Carluse are now bold enough to say openly that Duke Garnot doesn't show sufficient care for their concerns to warrant their fealty."

Litasse was still thinking about Draximal and Parnilesse. "So those tales of wizardry burning the bridge at Emirle were all lies?"

"I can't find any trace of a mage being involved." Hamare opened a box and began sorting out the fine silver lockets that fastened to courier birds' leg rings. "Believe me, I know every wizard Caladhria's barons have tried to suborn. Now, you must write to your father a message he cannot ignore, in your own hand."

"So we need not fear wizardry attacking Sharlac?" That was scant relief. Litasse looked at Hamare, bemused. "So who's behind this? Duke Ferdain of Marlier?"

"No." Hamare sighed. "He's turned his back on Lescari rivalries completely, intent on profiting from trade with Relshaz."

"You'll be hard pressed to convince Iruvain of Duke Ferdain's innocence," Litasse warned, "if you cannot show him the true culprits."

"At your service, my lady," an amused voice said.

"We can't take all the credit," a second unseen speaker amended.

The air by the fireplace shimmered iridescent blue and in the blink of an eye, two Mountain Men stood there, one perfectly calm, the other grinning cheerfully.

"You've nearly put all the pieces together." The calm one made an infinitesimal bow to Hamare, though his eyes never left the spymaster's face.

"How did you get in here?" Litasse gaped. "How long have you been there?"

"Wizards." Hamare picked up his cane and moved to stand between her and these intruders.

"Lady Alaric would send you her compliments on unravelling our plots." The calm one drew a sword. "But she's sent us to kill you instead."

"With her apologies," the cheerful one added sincerely.

As he spoke, the key turned with a soft metallic scrape to lock the door.

The cheerful one beamed with pride. "A friend just taught him how to do that."

Litasse screamed as loudly as she could. "Murderers!"

The calm one winced. "You don't imagine we'd be doing this if anyone could hear us?"

"I believe I owe you an apology." Hamare drew the sword concealed inside his cane. "I take it you were at Emirle Bridge?"

"We managed that nicely, didn't we?" The calm one smiled mockingly.

"You overreached yourselves." Hamare shook his head, his eyes staying fixed on his opponent. "Every hand will be raised against you once word spreads that you've brought magic into Lescari affairs."

"Who's going to spread the word once you're dead and there's no proof?" The Mountain Man gestured and every piece of paper on Hamare's table flashed into scarlet flame. In the next breath, only drifts of black ash lay on the scorched wood.

The Mountain Man attacked as Hamare recoiled from the fire. The spymaster was too quick for him, smashing aside his broader blade with his thin sword. Using the cane scabbard in his other hand, he swept up ash from the table to blind his attacker.

Litasse saw her chance and dashed for the door. Magic or not, the key was still in the lock.

The cheerful Mountain Man was there, blocking her way. She raised her hands, fingers crooked to claw at his face. He laughed and tripped her with a sweep of his boot.

With a yelp of surprise, she stumbled. He caught her, pinning her arms to her sides in a loathsome embrace. She winced and twisted her face away, struggling in vain to free herself. No taller than she was, he was simply too strong.

"Quick as you like, brother," he said conversationally.

Litasse opened her eyes to see the calm one and Hamare exchanging a flurry of sword-strokes. Sunlight flashing from their blades crackled with azure brilliance. What vile wizardry was at work?

A scream rose in her throat. No, she couldn't risk distracting Hamare. Nearly choking, she stifled it.

How could he win? No speck of ash sullied the calm Mountain Man. Instead, Hamare was wiping sootiness off his face with the back of one hand. They circled in front of the fireplace, each man looking for an opening.

"Wizardry and perfidy." Litasse spat her contempt in her captor's face.

"Behave," he reproved, wiping the spittle from his cheek onto the shoulder of her gown.

Litasse stiffened as Hamare kicked a chair at his enemy. As the Mountain Man stepped aside, Hamare swept his narrow sword around to slash at him. The Mountain Man ducked and in a move Litasse could not have imagined, he brought his own sword up and across over his head to meet Hamare's blade. As he did, he stepped forward. Hamare's blade slid harmlessly away behind him. The two of them were standing close as lovers. The Mountain Man wrapped his free hand around Hamare's arm, trapping the spymaster's sword hand against his body.

He still had his own sword free. Unable to retreat, Hamare only had the cane in his other hand to fend off the stroke. It survived the first blow, splintering and falling away under the second. The third time, the Mountain Man's blade bit deep into Hamare's forearm, a spray of blood staining them both.

Hamare's cry of pain mingled with Litasse's scream. She struggled furiously to no avail.

The Mountain swordsman still had Hamare's sword-arm trapped. He clenched his empty fist and punched upwards against the back of the spymaster's elbow. There was a nauseating crackle of cartilage as the joint tore. Hamare's sword fell from his hand with a clatter.

The Mountain Man's blade hit the boards at the same time. His knees bent and he sank towards the floor, still entangled with Hamare.

Relief left Litasse momentarily breathless. She redoubled her efforts to break free even though she couldn't see what Hamare had done.

Then she realised her mistake. The Mountain swordsman, still calm, was lowering Hamare's limp body to the floorboards. As he stood up, he withdrew a bloody dagger embedded between the spymaster's neck and shoulder. Blood spurted briefly as Hamare's head lolled. He looked past Litasse as all life in his eyes faded away.

Litasse was too shocked even to cry out. The Mountain Man holding her relaxed his embrace, catching hold of her wrists instead. She barely noticed.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace." The man who'd killed Hamare sounded genuinely regretful. "We had hoped to catch him alone."

"Then we'd have killed him, set fire to the room and been on our way with no one the wiser," the one holding her explained.

His grip tightened as she tensed. "Just kill me quickly without dishonouring me," she said tightly.

"Of course." The man holding her sounded offended.

"We're only being paid to kill Hamare," the other one observed thoughtfully.

The one holding her frowned. "To kill Hamare and leave everyone here chasing their tails trying to find out who did it. She can just say it was us."

"Do you think anyone will believe her?" Hamare's killer cocked his blond head. "Don't you think it'll cause just as much confusion if everyone thinks it's her?" He smiled with chilling satisfaction.

"If that's what you think best." The one holding her shrugged. "But I just heard the gates," he warned, "and horses."

Litasse couldn't hear anything but the pounding of her own heart.

"That'll be your husband hurrying home." The one holding her was clearly pleased. "I said the news would reach him today, didn't I?"

"You win your wager. Congratulations." The killer looked contemplatively at Litasse. "Which hand do you suppose she leads with?"

"The one with the ink-stained lace," the one holding her said confidently.

Now Litasse could hear shouting voices down in the courtyard and the crunch of hooves on the gravel.

"I think you're right." The killer brushed the bloody dagger blade across her skirt and reached for her hand. Between his strong grip and the strength of the man holding her, she was helpless. As the killer wrapped her fingers around the hilt, the warm stickiness made her palm crawl.

"There should be more blood on her," the man holding her complained.

"It'll suffice." The killer's gaze met Litasse's. "I am sorry, my lady, that you had to be caught up in this."

How could he offer her so earnest an apology with Hamare lying dead at their feet? Litasse's first instinct was to spit in his eye but her mouth was as dry as funeral ashes.

"I'll tell everyone." Her voice was as hollow as the threat.

"That unknown assassins arrived by means of wizardry and killed Triolle's spymaster?" The killer shook his head regretfully. "When everyone can see he tried to force himself upon you and you had to fight to defend your virtue?"

He gestured towards the table. A branch of candles waiting for the evening burst into flame and toppled forward. The ashes of the already consumed papers began burning afresh. Fiery tendrils spread and spilled to the floor, turning from the unnatural red of wizardry into ordinary flames. The carpet began to smoulder.

"Till I get a chance to make amends, Your Grace."

Halfway through his elegant bow, the killer vanished in a flash of azure lighting. They were both gone. Seized with revulsion, Litasse hurled the bloody dagger away. It hit the wall and rebounded to thud onto the floorboards beside Hamare's lifeless body. The acrid stink of burning wool caught in her throat.