No Quarter (9 page)

"Her Grace is going to put this place in a song."

"I saw Jelena when I went through town."

Nastka's grin softened and her dark eyes shone. "She's grown into a beautiful woman, hasn't she?"

"She has." Jazep reached out and gripped the guard's shoulder. "Just like her mother."

A few moments later, he frowned down at the rough sheet of paper and shook his head. "Two wagons and a single traveler. Not exactly a busy day. Do any of them stand out?"

"Well, the old man…" Mila began, then lapsed into an embarrassed silence when both Jazep and Nastka turned to look at her.

"Go on," Jazep urged, using just enough charm to put the girl at ease.

"It's just he was so old. I couldn't believe he was able to walk at all, let alone cross the mountains from the Empire into Somes. He said he was looking for his family."

"Is that all?" It was difficult to imagine how one old man could so upset the kigh.

"No." Mila shook her head, frowning as she remembered. "As he walked away, he said, 'Come, Kait.' But he was all alone."

Chapter Four

"His Imperial Majesty desires your presence in his private audience chamber."

On his way out of the palace to an assignation with a very obliging young wine merchant, Bannon stared in disbelief at the guard blocking his path. "The Emperor wants to see
me
? Why?"

"I did not presume to inquire." She managed to sound simultaneously sanctimonious and disapproving.

"But I bet you know." the ex-assassin grinned, his tone evoking the shared camaraderie of uniform.

For a moment, he thought she was going to tell him, then, after a barely perceivable shake of her head, she snapped, "I know only that His Imperial Majesty desires your presence in his private audience chamber."

It's trouble and she's keeping her distance
. Imperial assassins were trained to recognize danger in all its unexpected forms and, while his mind raced, trying to work out what he'd done to merit the personal attention of the Emperor, Bannon fought to calm the pounding of his heart. Whatever the danger, he wasn't going to get out of it on the edge of a blade. He needed information. "Have I time to change into a clean tunic?"

"No." Her eyes remained focused on the wall just behind his left shoulder.

"Prince Otavas is with the Empress; I should let him know where I am in case he sends for me." Considering he was the prince's personal bodyguard, it was a reasonable request.

"If His Majesty decides His Highness should know your location, His Majesty will have His Highness informed."

Big trouble
. She turned, beckoned with her pike, and Bannon fell into step beside her, still with no idea of what he'd done. His unease grew as they walked through a palace complex crawling with courtiers and servants and the less easily defined classes between and passed no one he knew. By the time they reached the narrow flight of stairs leading up to the section of the palace reserved exclusively for the Emperor, sweat stained his tunic. Not even the tight muscles of the guard's butt moving under her uniform kilt as she led the way up the stairs distracted him for more than a moment or two and, as he climbed, he became increasingly conscious of the empty space at his back.
Vree, where are you when I need you
!

The half-dozen soldiers of the First Army waiting in the antechamber ignored him until he reached the small, iron-bound door. Then the corporal stepped forward and demanded his weapons. Bannon had been at the palace long enough to know that no one approached the Emperor armed but something in the corporal's tone lifted the hair on the back of his neck.

Slowly and deliberately, he drew the long dagger off his belt, unbuckled the two wrist sheaths, slid the extra throwing dagger out of the sheath strapped to his left shoulder, and removed the slender blades from the ornate leather tongues of his high sandals. Under other circumstances, he would've found the corporal's expression hilarious as he reached under his kilt and drew the three throwing stars out of their strap on the front of his sling. As it was, he merely added them to the pile and waited for the door to be opened.

When it closed behind him, habit scanned the room for avenues of escape—

there were none. Marshal Usef, commander of the First Army, stood rigid behind the throne, his face below his crested helm twisted with rage, both hands crushing his heavy belt as though that grip alone kept his hands from Bannon's throat.

Seated on the throne, his calm a stark and frightening contrast to the marshal's agitation, the Emperor lifted a hand and beckoned him forward, rings flashing in the lamplight.

With his mind shrieking, "Danger!" loud enough to drown out the pounding of his heart, Bannon dropped to one knee at the edge of the dais, needing Vree beside him so badly he almost saw her there.

"Is the tale you told my son the truth?" the Emperor asked. In spite of the gentle tone, each word emerged as a separate and distinct threat.

Startled, Bannon looked up. What could he have told the prince that would…?

Then, all at once, he understood. Part of the story had slipped out when Otavas asked him why he was so angry with his sister and, once started, the rest just seemed to follow.

Silk whispered against silk as His Imperial Majesty leaned forward. "There are no secrets from me in this Empire," he said. "Did your sister save the spirit of the man who led a rebellion against me? A man who intended to take the life of an Imperial Prince? And did you lie to me about it, telling me that this man was dead?

"

His mouth gone too dry for speech, the stink of his own fear in his nose, Bannon nodded.

"Treason," Usef hissed, and his hand moved from his belt to close around the jeweled hilt of his sword.

Even weaponless, Bannon knew he could defeat the marshal. But then what?

His mind raced. There were guards outside the small door to the antechamber and undoubtedly guards outside the larger door leading to a less private audience hall.

One word from the Emperor and a good part of the first army would be in the room. He couldn't fight them all. Not alone. But if he silenced the Emperor? A fist closed around his throat, and he couldn't breathe. Lay hands on the Emperor? He didn't think he could. He didn't want to die. "Majesty, I…"

"You lied to protect your sister," the Emperor cut him off. "I understand that."

Bannon's eyes widened as he suddenly realized that the treason Usef referred to was not the treason he'd committed in presenting Prince Otavas' body for Gyhard's use—a direct breaking of his vow to protect the Imperial Family. The Emperor only knew that Gyhard was alive, and he understood about the lesser treason of the lie.

Bannon's relief was so great, he had to fight to keep himself from trembling and at that moment he'd have walked through fire had the Emperor commanded.

"Why the bards lied, I do not yet understand." For a moment, the Imperial voice evoked shadowed rooms and heated iron. "But I will. Unfortunately, as they are both away from the Capital training our native-born bards, answers will have to wait." Bannon found himself caught in a dark gaze that seemed to strip away skin and muscle and bones and stare straight into his heart. "For now, we will have no further lies between us." the Emperor leaned back. "Marshal, relax. This young man is not a danger to me. He wants to help. Don't you?"

"Yes, Majesty." His voice sounded hoarse, barely under his command. "Yes, Majesty," he repeated; clearer, firmer. "I want to help."

"Good." Imperial approval touched him like a benediction, filled for a moment the empty space where Vree had been, then disappeared. "I want this Gyhard back in the Empire. I want him to pay for his crimes. I want you to go to Shkoder and bring him back to me because, after the great wrong he did you, I believe
you
have the right to bring him to justice."

Bannon ground his teeth at the thought of Gyhard paying for what he'd done, paying for every instant he'd spent usurping Bannon's body. And then, through the hate, he remembered. "But, Majesty, my sister…"

"The sister he took from you? The sister he controls?"

"Controls?"

The Emperor spread his hands. "How else would you explain her denying her training? Her denying everything she lived for? Her denying you?"

How else?

Back at last in his own body, Bannon felt Gyhard turn his head to stare at
Vree, felt the surge of the other man's emotion, and heard his voice say, "I love
you."

Then he pushed, viciously throwing the intruder from his body, and was alone.

"NO!" Vree's denial held as much pain as rage.

Because he'd shared her mind for so long, he knew what she was going to do
and why and he was powerless to stop her.

How else could he explain her choosing Gyhard over him? Bannon's hands opened and closed as though they held the other man's life and slowly crushed it.

"I give you your sister's life. I want only the one who was Aralt."

Not as much as Bannon did. "But, Majesty, the bards said they couldn't remove Gyhard without hurting Vree." It was, he told himself, the only reason he'd supported the lie. He even half believed it.

"If you return your sister to the Empire, I will see to it that the bards will be able to do exactly as I command them. We are no longer dependent on
Shkoden
bards."

It might work. Vree would hesitate, unable to raise her blade against him. He would capture her, blindfold her, and contain Gyhard until they returned to the Empire. Rubbing his palms together, Bannon frowned. "Majesty, if the bards are protecting him, I won't be able to get close to Vree. The moment those kigh things tell them I'm coming, they'll hide her."

"Which is why I am sending the Prince Otavas to Shkoder to visit his uncle, the king." The Emperor's voice softened as he spoke of his son. "The boy has had a distressing experience and needs his mind turned to other things. As Otavas'

personal bodyguard, you will go to Shkoder with my son's household. The palace is very close to the hall of the bards. It will be natural for you to seek out and spend time with your sister. I will speak with Otavas tonight and you will leave as soon as possible." He pointed at the assassin kneeling before him, and Bannon could feel the weight of his commission. "I am loosing you at a target. A target only the very best could hope to strike. Bring me justice for the Empire; justice for yourself."

"I will not fail you, Majesty."

"I know that you won't."

Recognizing a dismissal, Bannon stood, bowed, and backed to the door. Soon, the empty space in his life would be filled. Soon, the person responsible for emptying it would pay.

As the door to the antechamber closed, the Emperor nearly smiled. "He never looked; did you notice, Usef? He backed straight to the door, absolutely positive he knew where it was. Can you imagine having that certain a sense of place?"

"He is dangerous, Majesty." Stepping forward into the Emperor's line of sight, Usef was nearly purple under the force of his emotion. "The blades of Jür should not exist outside the sheath of the army."

"But you forget. Neither he nor his sister are assassins any longer."

The marshal bit back a reply that would have stretched Imperial indulgence. His Majesty himself had said training did not permit an ex-assassin, but if His Majesty wished to be facetious, there was nothing he could do about it.

"It seems, Usef, that you were right; it was a mistake to send the woman to Shkoder. But it seems also that I was right; we have found a use for her brother."

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon, but why manipulate this, this fool into bringing her back? They are both guilty of treason, Majesty. Treason! They lied to
you
. You should have them killed!" Then he realized what he'd said. "Not
should
, Majesty, I would never so presume. It is merely my belief that they should not be permitted to live."

The Emperor lifted a forgiving hand. "Perhaps they won't be, but first I desire to speak with this Gyhard and I need Bannon to bring him to me. He's the only person in the Empire with the slightest chance of actually capturing the body Gyhard wears."

"But you can't trust Bannon, Majesty. He's proved that."

"Did you know that I've never lost a hawk, Marshal? Every single hawk I have ever flown has come back to me." He studied the scars on his left wrist, the marks of talons made in spite of gloves and padding. "That's something very few can say.

Young Bannon has proved only that he's unwilling to see his sister hurt.
I'm
willing to allow him to believe in her safety in exchange."

"In exchange for what, Majesty?"

"Think about it, Marshal. What does this Gyhard have that any sane person would desire?"

Usef frowned as he attempted to follow his Emperor's line of thought. "Control of an Imperial assassin?"

"Immortality, Marshal. Immortality."

*… first time was an accident. When the brigand speared me, I only knew that I didn't want to die. When oblivion began to close around me, I fought it—fought my way through it and out the other side. The next thing I knew, I was in the brigand's body and he was in mine. When I tried to go home, they only saw the body I wore.*

Perched on the edge of the bench, forcing herself to remain still, Vree repeated Gyhard's story. Not until she finished, did she turn and look at Magda.

The apprentice healer sat, bare feet up beside her, legs tucked into the circle of her arms, chin resting on her knees. Her dark eyes were locked on Vree's face.

"What about the second time?" she said softly.

*The second time?* Vree felt Gyhard move restlessly within the limits he'd set on himself. The second time,* he repeated, *was no accident…*

He'd been Hinrich for seven years and that was seven years too long. In the beginning, hunted away from his home because of the body he wore, he'd thrown himself into his new identity. If his own family would treat him as a brigand, than a brigand he would be. He suspected that he hadn't been entirely sane those first few years although as he could remember every excess, every disgusting or violent act, insanity didn't seem like much of a defense.