King of Foxes (2 page)

KING OF FOXES

7

“Did you see that?” asked a porter nearby. “Never seen a bird do that.”

Tal said, “Just a hawk.”

“Never seen a hawk that color, leastways not around here,” answered the porter, who took one look at where the bird had hovered, then returned to lugging his bundle. Tal nodded and moved back into the throng. The silver hawk was native to his homeland far to the north, across the vast Sea of Kingdoms, and as far as he knew, none inhabited the island kingdom of Roldem. He felt troubled, and now by more than the presence of the man who had followed him from Salador. He had been sub-sumed so long in the role of Tal Hawkins that he had forgotten his true identity. Perhaps the bird had been a warning.

With a mental shrug he considered that the bird’s appearance might have been nothing more than a coincidence. While still an Orosini at heart, in all ways he had been forced to abandon the practices and beliefs of his people. He still owned a core being—Talon of the Silver Hawk—a boy forged in the crucible of a nation’s history and culture; but he had been shaped and alloyed by fate and the teachings of outlanders so that at times the Orosini boy was no more than a distant memory.

He wended his way through the press of the city.

Shops displayed colorful fashions as he entered a more prosperous part of the city. He lived at just the right level to convince everyone he was a noble of modest means. He was charming enough and successful enough as Champion of the Masters’ Court to warrant invitations to the very best Roldemish society had to offer, but had yet to host his own gala.

Reaching the door to the moneylender’s home, he reflected wryly that he might crowd half a dozen close _______________

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friends into his modest apartment, but he could hardly entertain those to whom he owed a social debt. He knocked lightly upon the door, then entered.

The office of Kostas Zenvanose consisted of little more than a tiny counter, and there was barely enough room to stand before it. A clever hinge allowed the counter to be raised at night and put out of the way.

Three feet behind the counter a curtain divided the room.

Tal knew that behind the curtain lay the Zenvanose family living room. Beyond that lay the kitchen, bedrooms, and exit to the back courtyard.

A pretty girl appeared, and her face brightened with a smile. “Squire! It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Sveta Zenvanose had been a charming girl of seventeen when Tal had last seen her. The passing two years had done nothing but turn a pretty lass into a burgeoning beauty. She had lily-white skin with a hint of rose on her high cheekbones and eyes the color of cornflowers, all topped off with hair so black it shone with blue-and-violet highlights when the struck by the sun. Her previously slender figure had also ripened, Tal noted as he quickly returned her smile.

“My lady,” he said with a slight bow. She began to flush, as she always had when confronted by the notorious Tal Hawkins. Tal kept the flirtation to a minimum, just enough to amuse the girl, but not enough to pose any serious issues between him and the girl’s father. While the father posed no threat to him directly, he had money, and money could buy a lot of threats. The father appeared a moment later, and as always Tal wondered how he could have sired girl as pretty as Sveta. Kostas was gaunt to the point of looking unhealthy, which Tal knew was misleading, for he was lively and moved quickly. He also had a keen eye and a canny knack for business.

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He moved swiftly between his daughter and his tenant, and smiled. “Greetings, Squire. Your rooms have been readied, as you requested, and I believe everything is in order.”

“Thank you.” Tal smiled. “Has my man put in an appearance?”

“I believe he has; otherwise, you have an intruder above who has been banging around all day yesterday and this morning. I assume it’s Pasko moving the furniture to dust and clean, and not a thief.”

Tal nodded. “Am I current with our accounts?”

As if by magic, the moneylender produced an account ledger and consulted it, with one bony finger running down the page. With a nod and an “ah” he said, “You are most certainly current. Your rent is paid for another three months.”

Tal had left the island nation almost two years previously, and had deposited a sum of gold with the moneylender to keep the apartment against his return. He had judged that if he didn’t return within two years, he’d be dead, and Kostas would be free to rent out the rooms to someone else.

“Good,” said Tal. “Then I will leave you to your business and retire. I expect to be here for a while, so at the end of the three months, remind me, and I’ll advance more funds against the rents.”

“Very well, Squire.”

Sveta batted her lashes. “Good to see you home, Squire.”

Tal returned the obvious flirtation with a slight bow and smile, and fought down a sudden urge to laugh. The rooms above were no more his home than was the palace of the King. He had no home, at least he hadn’t since the Duke of Olasko had sent mercenaries to destroy the land _______________

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of the Orosini. As far as Tal could judge, he was the sole surviving member of his people.

Tal left the office. One quick glance around the street told him that the man who had followed him from the ship was out of sight, so he mounted the stairs next to the door, climbing quickly to the entrance to his rooms. He tested the door and found it unlocked. Stepping in, he was confronted by a dour-looking man with a droopy mustache and large brown eyes.

“Master! There you are!” Pasko said. “Weren’t you in on the morning tide?”

“Indeed,” replied Tal, handing his jacket and travel bag to his manservant. “But as such things are wont to be, the order of landing was dictated by factors of which I am ignorant.”

“In other words, the ship’s owner didn’t bribe the har-bormaster enough to get you in early.”

“Most likely.” Tal sat down on a divan. “So expect the luggage to arrive later today.”

Pasko nodded. “The rooms are safe, master.” Even in private, Pasko observed the formalities of their relationship: he the servant, Tal the master, despite the fact that he had been one of Tal’s instructors over the years.

“Good.” Tal knew that meant Pasko had employed various wards against scrying magic, just he would have inspected the premises against more mundane observation. The chances of their enemies knowing that Tal was an agent of the Conclave of Shadows were small, but not out of the question. And they had sufficient resources to match the Conclave in dealing with opponents.

Since his victory over Raven and his mercenaries, avenging his own people’s slaughter, Tal had lived on Sorcerer’s Isle, recovering from wounds—both mental and physical—learning more of the politics of the Eastern _______________

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Kingdoms, and simply resting. His teaching had continued in various areas, for Pug and his wife, Miranda, had occasionally instructed him in areas of magic that might concern him. Nakor the Isalani, the self-proclaimed gambler who was far more than that, instructed him in what could only be termed “dodgy business,” how to cheat at cards and spot others cheating, how to pick locks and pockets, as well as other nefarious skills. With his old friend Caleb he would go hunting. It had been the best time he had known since the destruction of his people.

During that period he had been allowed to glimpse some of the dealings of the Conclave on a level far above his station; and had thus gained the sense that the Conclave had agents numbering in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, or at least had links to thousands of well-positioned individuals. He knew the organization’s influence reached down into the heart of the Empire of Great Kesh, and across the sea to the lands of Novindus, as well as through the rift to the Tsurani homeworld, Kelewan.

He could tell that enormous wealth was at their disposal, for whatever they needed always appeared somehow. The false patent of nobility that Tal carried in his personal portfolio had cost a small fortune, he was sure, for there were “originals” in the Royal Archives on Rillanon. Even his “distant cousin” Lord Seljan Hawkins had been delighted to discover a long-lost relative who had been victorious in the Masters’ Court, according to Nakor. Tal didn’t feel emboldened enough ever to visit the capital of the Kingdom of the Isles, because while the elderly Baron might believe that some distant cousin had fathered a lad who had some versatility with the sword, the possibility of Tal failing to be convincing when it came to small talk about this or that family member made such a visit too risky to contemplate.

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Still, it was reassuring to know that these resources lay at his disposal should he need them. For he was ready to embark upon the most difficult and dangerous portion of his personal mission to avenge his people: he had to find a way to destroy Duke Kaspar of Olasko, the man ultimately responsible for the obliteration of the Orosini nation. And Duke Kaspar happened to be the most dangerous man in the world, according to many sources.

“What news?” asked Pasko.

“Nothing new, really. Reports from the north say that Olasko is again causing trouble in the Borderlands, and once more may be seeking to isolate the Orodon. They still send patrols through my former homeland to dis-courage anyone who might think to claim Orosini lands.”

Then he asked, “What is the news in Roldem?”

“The usual court intrigues, master, and quite a few rumors of this lady and that lord and their dalliances. In short, with little of note to comment upon, the nobles, gentry, and wealthy commoners turn their attention to gossip.”

“Let’s confine ourselves to matters of importance. Any sign of Olasko’s agents here in Roldem?”

“Always. But nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing we can see that’s out of the ordinary. He builds alliances, seeks to do favors in exchange for social debts, loans gold, and insinuates himself in the good graces of others.”

Tal was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, “To what ends?”

“Pardon?”

Tal leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees. “He’s the most powerful man in the Eastern Kingdom. He has blood ties to the throne of Roldem—he’s, what? Seventh in line of succession?”

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“Eighth,” replied Pasko.

“So why does he need to curry favor with Roldemish nobility?”

“Indeed.”

“He doesn’t need to,” said Tal, “which means he wants to. But why?”

“Lord Olasko is a man with many irons in the fire, master. Perhaps he has interests here in Roldem that might require a vote of the House of Lords?”

“Perhaps. They ratify treaties enacted by the Crown, and verify succession. What else do they do?”

“Not much else, save argue over taxes and land.”

Pasko nodded. “Given that Roldem is an island, master, land is of great importance.” He grinned. “Until someone discovers how to build dirt.”

Tal grinned back. “I’m sure we know a few magicians who could increase the size of the island if they felt the need.”

Pasko said, “So, what are we doing back in Roldem, master?”

Tal sat back and sighed. “Playing the role of a bored noble looking to find a better station in life. In short, I must convince Kaspar of Olasko I’m ready to take service with him by creating a muddle here that only he can get me out of.”

“Such as?”

“Picking a fight with a royal seems a good choice.”

“What? You’re going to smack Prince Constantine and provoke a duel? The boy’s only fifteen years of age!”

“I was thinking of his cousin, Prince Matthew.”

Pasko nodded. Matthew was the King’s cousin, son of his elder sister. He was considered the “difficult” member of the royal family; more arrogant, demanding and con-descending than any other member of the King’s family, _______________

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he was also a womanizer and a drunk, and he cheated at gambling. Rumor had it that the King had bailed him out of very difficult straits on a number of occasions. “Good choice. Kill him, and the King will privately thank you . . .

while his executioner is lopping off your head.”

“I wasn’t thinking of killing him, just . . . creating enough of a fuss that the King would be unhappy with me remaining in his country.”

“You’d have to kill him,” said Pasko dryly. “As Champion of the Masters’ Court you could probably sleep with the Queen, and the King would pass it off as a boyish prank. Why do you need all this bother? Olasko offered you a position when you won the tourney.”

“Because I wish to appear the reluctant petitioner. I would have undergone close scrutiny had I accepted his offer immediately after the tourney two years ago. If I were to appear suddenly requesting that position today, I would undergo an even closer examination. But if I’m merely forced by circumstances to seek out his patronage, then my motives are obvious—at least I hope they are.

“While at Sorcerer’s Isle, I was . . . prepared, to withstand a great deal of examination.”

Pasko nodded. He understood what was being said.

Tal had been conditioned by Pug and the other magicians to deal with any magic that might uncover his true allegiance.

“But the circumstances of my seeking service with Kaspar must also be credible. Being in his debt for my life seems an obvious motive.”

“Assuming he can keep you off the headsman’s block.”

Pasko rubbed his throat. “I’ve always thought beheading a barbaric choice. Now the Kingdom hangs their felons.

A short drop”—he snapped his fingers—“and the neck is broken, and it’s over. No mess, no fuss, no bother.

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“In Great Kesh, I’ve been told, they have many different choices of execution, depending on the location and nature of the crime: decapitation, burning at the stake, being buried up to your neck next to an anthill, drowning, exposure, being pulled apart by camels, being buried alive, defenestration—”