Magician's End

  Hal was silent for a moment, then said, ‘You said that might happen.’

  ‘And so it has,’ answered Jim.

  ‘Do we know who wants me dead?’

  Jim smiled. ‘A lot of people want you dead, Hal, we just don’t know who is paying for it.’ He sighed. ‘I got word early this morning off a ship from Roldem, sent by a good friend.’ Hal knew he meant the Lady Franciezka Sorboz, a woman with much the same position in Roldem as Jim Dasher held in the Isles. ‘We’d a report from the Conclave a while back that the Nighthawks had come to terms with them, basically safe passage in exchange for … getting out of the assassination trade, more or less. At least they were no longer lending support to the demon-worshippers who had been plaguing us for a very long time. As a result, those seeking a blade for hire or a poisoner have had fewer recourses; in short, it’s a seller’s market.

  ‘That being the case, both my friend in Roldem and I have had certain people watched, those able to broker less reputable contracts and arrangements, some who are not adverse to setting up such deals then selling information about those deals to a third party.’

  ‘You,’ said Ty.

  ‘Or … your friend in Roldem,’ added Hal.

  Jim nodded.

  Hal asked, ‘What do I do?’

  Jim sat back. ‘For the moment, nothing. I’ve some good men out looking for a pair of fellows who’ve sailed up from Kesh to Roldem, then on to Rillanon. Given the recent unpleasantness between Kesh and the Kingdom, anyone coming straight from there to here would be examined carefully by several hundred soldiers surrounding the docks.’

  ‘A pair of sailors off a ship …?’ Jim shrugged.

  ‘Do you have a description?’ asked Tal, reaching over and taking a ladle of water from a bucket and pouring it over his head.

  ‘I doubt they look the same any more,’ said Jim. ‘I’ve got on a ship looking like a nobleman, and got off it looking like something that crawled out of the bilge. For a target in the palace,’ he pointed at Hal, ‘even if he is only a distant royal, that means a great deal of gold and only the best would accept the contract.’ Jim took the ladle from Tal, refilled it from the nearby bucket, and poured it over his own head. ‘I’ve never been one for this dry heat.’

  Tal smiled. ‘My people in the mountains had sweat lodges when I was a boy. You get used to it. After a fashion, you even enjoy it.’

  ‘What I’ll enjoy is getting out of it,’ said Jim Dasher, rising. To Hal he said, ‘Pack a bag and leave it in your rooms, by the doors that so my servants can find it quickly. Be ready to leave the moment I give word. Until then, stay in the palace.’

  Tal looked at his son and said, ‘Pack as well. You’re going with him.’ Then he rose and departed.

  Ty looked at Hal and said, ‘I guess I’m going with you.’

  ‘Apparently.’

  Rising, Hal said, ‘Let’s go gather our things.’

  ‘And then we wait,’ finished Ty.

  ‘Boredom beckons,’ said Hal.

  Ty laughed. ‘In a palace full of serving women who would love to make close acquaintance with a duke?’

  Hal sighed and said nothing.

  As they walked to the dressing room where fresh clothing awaited them, Ty said, ‘Stephané.’

  Hal again said nothing.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ty.

  ‘It’s … something I need to get used to.’

  This time, Ty said nothing. He understood what a beauty Stephané was, and how resilient she had proven herself when Hal and he had helped her escape Roldem. But Tyrone Hawkins had never found a woman to hold his attention longer than a few weeks, perhaps a month at most. His childhood had been less than instructive about how women and men should be together, he thought occasionally. He knew the facts of his childhood, that his father was some unknown Olaskan soldier, though Talwin Hawkins treated him as his own, and he loved him as his father, but there was a sadness about his mother, one that never seemed to completely pass. He knew she loved her husband, but there was something missing. Ironically, he felt closer to his adopted father than his natural mother, though she loved him dearly.

  He pushed aside thoughts that led to doubt and concern, and turned his mind to something much more enjoyable: that pretty blonde wench in the kitchen who had smiled at him as he had passed through. As they reached the changing room, he decided the first thing he’d do was to find out her name.

  A knock at the door awoke Hal. It was still dark. After the many cautions he’d received from Jim Dasher, he had his sword in hand when he opened the door. Opening it slightly, he saw a page waiting. ‘Lord James asks you to attend him, my lord.’

  Hal nodded and said, ‘Wait here.’

  It took him only a few minutes to dress and, again he heard the echoing cautions in his head, he wore sturdy clothing suitable for travel rather than court finery. He followed the page and was surprised that even in the pre-dawn darkness, the palace at Rillanon was busy.

  They reached Duke James’s quarters and found Jim Dasher, Ty, and a court chirurgeon attending the duke. Hal hurried to the old duke’s bedside. ‘Are you ill, my lord?’

  Waving away the hovering chirurgeon, Duke James coughed and said, ‘Just a bit of an ague. It’ll pass.’

  Hal glanced at Jim, who shook his head slightly.

  Feeling alarm rising, Hal asked, ‘How may I serve, my lord?’

  Old Duke James said, ‘That reprobate grandson of mine says someone’s come to kill you. He’s inclined to let you sit here as bait and capture the murderous dogs who are sniffing around. I, on the other hand, think it best to get you somewhere else. They can’t kill you if they don’t know where you are. So, get going and stay alive.’

  Hal was caught between concern and amusement, but managed to keep a serious expression as he said, ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Jim nodded toward the bed. ‘My grandfather is holding this kingdom together with strength of will. There are nobles who’ve stood silently, not allying with Montgomery or Chadwick, or are thinking of throwing their weight behind Oliver.’ Jim closed his eyes as if suffering a headache, then said, ‘We take these trials as they come. Now I need to get you two off this island,’ he said to Hal and Ty. ‘Then I must have a very important talk with Montgomery.’

  Hal and Ty listened, and said nothing.

  ‘If in a few days you hear my grandfather is no longer among the living and that Montgomery is now Duke of Rillanon, assume I’m dead.’

  Hal’s face showed alarm. He glanced at the old duke, who nodded.

  ‘Your very distant cousin’s claim to the throne benefits him if he’s Duke of Rillanon, the man in theory I would be paying fealty to, and who would be in a far better position to allocate favours before a vote in the Congress.’

  ‘And have control over your agents,’ added Ty with a tone of concern that surprised Hal.

  Jim nodded. ‘So I must have a chat with dear old Monty and insist he let me assume the office of duke so I can maintain the balance between all the raving lunatics around us who think being king is a wonderful idea!’ His voice rose at the last, his anger starting to manifest itself.

  ‘Can you convince him?’ asked Hal.

  Jim said, ‘A combination of promises and threats … perhaps. Our Montgomery is a man of low tastes at times and has made some ill-advised choices. His wife is a simple woman, but her father is the Duke of Bas-Tyra, who would not be pleased to know that his son-in-law is unfaithful on a regular basis, preferring the company of young girls – very young girls – to his wife.’

  Hal said nothing, but his face bore an expression of distaste.

  ‘Without Bas-Tyra, Montgomery’s claim will fall short. Bas-Tyra influences the votes of every noble from here to the Eastern Kingdoms. A great deal of the plotting and dealing around his claim presumes that he has his father-in-law’s backing.’

  It was Ty who said, ‘Still, rumours against the possibility of his daughter being Queen of the Isles?’

  It was the
old duke who said, ‘Bas-Tyra is a cautious man, but not without ambition. Not for himself, but as young Ty observes, perhaps for his daughter. Bas-Tyra has not openly supported anyone, but in the end he’ll do the right thing for the Crown. Now, Montgomery,’ he added, looking less than happy, ‘he’s another thing. Not a driven man, like some, but one capable of being led.’ To Jim he said, ‘When it comes to claiming the Crown, you must convince him not to stand before the Priest of Ishap.’

  ‘I’ll convince him, or kill him,’ said Jim.

  Hal was speechless.

  ‘Go on, now,’ said Duke James from his bed. ‘Leave an old man to his rest and go cause some havoc for our enemies.’

  Jim walked out of the old man’s room with Ty and Hal. Once outside, Hal asked, ‘How is he, really?’

  ‘Not good,’ said Jim, his tone matter-of-fact, but behind it lingered a hint of sadness. ‘I’ve sent for a healing priest from the Temple of Sung, but there are only so many times you can fend off death. My grandfather is approaching ninety, though he looks a man twenty years younger when he’s in his armour bellowing at the palace guard.’ He glanced back towards the door of the duke’s private chambers.

  ‘Now,’ said Jim. ‘I’ve had your travel bags collected from your rooms, Hal. From here you’re to go straight to the stables where two horses are waiting. They are sturdy, but unremarkable, as is the tack. In short, once you’re out of the gate, you’re swords-for-hire, or young adventurers, or whatever brand of feckless gadabouts you care to be.

  ‘Half the ships in the Sea of Kingdoms are arrayed to the west of us, a blockade no captain could run. Every ship in and out is being boarded and inspected by someone, either captains loyal to the Crown, Montgomery’s faction, or Chadwick’s. But if you ride north for a few days, on the west coast you’ll find a fishing village called Kempton. Ask in the tavern for a man named Moss. He’ll show you to a boat you two can certainly handle. It’ll look shoddy, but in fact it’s in excellent condition, and with some luck you can hug the coast travelling north-east, and when you see any break, you can make a run for Bas-Tyra. Once there, find the Inn of the Black Ram, ask for Anton, and he’ll set you on your way to Edward.’ He looked from face to face. ‘Any questions?’

  When there weren’t, he said, ‘Go now, and may the gods watch over you.’ Jim walked away.

  ‘And your grandfather,’ said Hal after him.

  Hal turned and left, Ty a half-step behind. As they moved toward the stables, Ty said, ‘I do not envy that man.’

  ‘I never have,’ said Hal, as they turned a corner. ‘I admire him, for he has thankless and bloody work to do, but I would never wish his burdens on anyone.’

  They hurried down a flight of stairs that led to a door opening on the old marshalling yard, and across it lay the royal stables. They were halfway across the dark yard when Hal realized there were no lanterns lit in the stable. Then he heard a nervous nicker from a horse inside.

  His sword was out of its scabbard as he heard the faint click. He leaped to the right and slammed into Ty, knocking him over, and came up as a second crossbow bolt sped through the space just occupied by the young noble from Olasko.

  Ty was a step behind Hal as they charged through the large open door into the royal stable. Without a word, both men dived headfirst, striking the ground in a tuck, and rolling to their feet, swords at the ready. The sound of crossbows being fired over their heads demonstrated the wisdom of their choice, and a horse cried out in pain and started kicking out at its stall as an errant bolt struck it.

  Hal turned to his left and Ty to his right, protecting one another’s backs. They paused only for a moment before moving towards opposite ends of the large stable.

  Hal saw a dark shape moving in a crouch while all around horses neighed and whinnied in panic. Hal knew that he had seconds before the assassin reloaded his crossbow or fled into the night. He charged.

  The man rose up holding a small, one-handed bow which fired a dart rather than a bolt. Hal slashed with his sword, knocking the weapon aside, and punched the assassin hard in the face with his left hand. The man staggered back and Hal lunged, nicking him in the left side. Suddenly the man had two dirks out, and executed a fast feint followed by a slash towards Hal’s throat. Hal barely fell back enough to avoid losing the fight there and then.

  He ducked and a dirk cut through air where he had been standing a moment before. Then he jabbed with his sword and felt the tip strike the man’s already injured side. The assassin gasped in pain and both men were suddenly enmeshed in a deadly duel.

  Hal stepped back, his sword’s point aimed at his opponent, who crouched and took his measure. It was clear that the assassin had expected Hal to be dead and himself to be safely away by now. Hal realized he had two opportunities to emerge victorious: either kill the assassin and hope Ty did the same with his opponent, or keep him occupied until relief arrived. It was the middle of the night, but someone from the nearby servants’ quarters would surely hear the struggle, or notice the absence of the certainly now-dead lackeys who had failed to return from readying the horses for him and Ty.

  The assassin also realized that and knew his only hope of survival was to finish this quickly. He suddenly threw one of his dirks.

  Hal managed to beat the blade aside and stumbled backwards, trying to get his blade around from his blocking move to a position at which he could employ the point.

  The assassin didn’t give him the chance, but lowered his shoulder and charged. Hal brought his sword-hand back hard, striking the rushing thug on the side of the head with his pommel. That staggered him and Hal felt an off-target blow slide across his side, as the dirk missed his torso. He slammed the man over the head again, gripped the back of his shirt with his left hand and fell onto the extended right arm. The sound of bone cracking accompanied by a gasp of pain was heard as he struck the ground, his full weight on the assassin’s arm. Hal drew back his sword hilt and slammed the man on the head for a third time, rendering him senseless.

  Hal rolled up onto his feet, his sword pointed at the now-motionless assassin, as shouts of enquiry came from the servants’ quarters.

  Hal glanced into the gloom of the stable in time to see Ty approaching with his sword at the ready. ‘Yours?’ he asked.

  ‘Dead,’ said Ty. ‘This one?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Servants with lanterns arrived, followed moments later by palace guards. Hal looked at his attacker in the lantern light. He was an unremarkable man, slight of build and wearing simple garb, a city man who would easily blend into a crowd.

  ‘He doesn’t look like an assassin,’ said Hal.

  ‘Neither did mine,’ said Ty. ‘But they almost did the job.’ He quickly knelt and opened the man’s mouth, motioning for a torch to be brought close to his face. ‘No false teeth,’ he said. ‘Not fanatics like the Nighthawks, then.’ He sheathed his sword as he stood, and motioned for the guards to pick up the unconscious killer.

  Hal said, ‘Take him to a cell and notify Jim Dasher.’

  The guards lifted him up. A servant cried suddenly, ‘Oh, dear! Poor Lonny and Mark are dead!’

  ‘See to them,’ said Hal to another pair of guards.

  ‘How did you know?’ asked Ty.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘They were there. To knock me down?’

  ‘I heard a click when he set the trigger on his crossbow.’

  Ty was silent for a moment, then laughed. ‘So, for want of some lubricant, we’re alive.’

  Hal chuckled. ‘I almost got myself killed forgetting we’re not duelling.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Ty. ‘It can be a bad habit, trying to fence while your opponent is brawling. Swords have edges, too.’

  Patting his sword, Hal said, ‘And pommels. They make a fair bludgeon.’

  ‘What now?’

  Looking around at the building crowd, Hal said, ‘As much as I would like to tarry and find out exactly who is trying to kill me, I think it best if we follow or
ders. We ride.’

  ‘Wise choice. If Jim finds out who is behind this, he’ll send word. And if another attempt is made, it’s best for you to be somewhere else.’

  They quickly finished the saddling done by the two dead lackeys and within ten minutes were riding out the postern gate of the palace, vanishing into the night.

  Three days later they reached the village of Kempton and found the promised boat. They waited until the evening tide, then slipped out after dark, sailing along the coast on a north-easterly tack.

  The third morning after heading up the coast, Ty scrambled up the mast and shouted, ‘Nothing in sight!’

  Within moments, sails were raised and Hal pulled them around to catch a favourable wind blowing north. By rough reckoning, they should hit the southern shore of the Kingdom mainland close to Bas-Tyra. With luck, when they caught sight of land, they’d be pointed right at that harbour.

  Twice they caught sight of sails and turned and ran, and for two days there was no sign of pursuit. During the war they had run afoul of Ceresian pirates, acting as privateers but in fact raiding the coast. But this trip passed uneventfully.

  Three days after leaving the coast they saw a brown smudge on the northern horizon that promised land. Two hours later, the coast was clearly outlined against the sky. By midday they could make out features and judge roughly where they were. Hall pulled the tiller over and corrected his course, and soon coastal details could clearly be seen.

  Three distant white spots indicated sails, but Hal made straight for them, because he knew exactly where they were. An hour before sundown, they could see a huge city, one to rival Rillanon and Roldem in size if not in majesty. The harbour mouth was flanked by two massive towers, but beyond that dozens of ships could be seen sailing among many more at anchor.

  Hal looked at Ty and smiled. ‘Bas-Tyra.’

  The Black Ram was like many other taverns in the cities along the coasts of the Sea of Kingdoms: crowded, dangerous, noisy and packed. It was filled with sailors avoiding duty aboard ships stuck in harbour, with mercenaries looking for employment either as auxiliaries to the city’s garrison or as guards for merchants, with prostitutes, gamblers, and the assorted riff-raff attracted to an approaching war. Two young men pushed their way through the press of bodies over the occasional objections of people who disliked being jostled, though once they saw two young men with serious expressions and fine swords on their hips, they soon gave way.