Stormrider (22 page)

“As far as is necessary, my lord.”

“Would you kill?”

“I would obey the orders of my lord, whatever they were,” he answered smoothly.

“I think you would. Find a replacement for yourself here. Train him for a month, then join me at Baracum.”

Marl had expected his first mission for Lord Winterbourne to be tough, but the nature of it caused his first serious doubts. Winter Kay had a mistress who had given birth to a son. She wanted him to marry her and threatened to take the matter of her son’s birthright to the royal court. Marl’s orders were simple: Kill the woman and the brat and dispose of the bodies. Marl had stood outside the woman’s home in the midnight darkness, thinking back to his youth and his father’s teachings. Killing old Welham had been a spontaneous act. This was calculated murder. In the end Marl reasoned that if he did not do it, someone else would. And that someone else would reap the rewards. Therefore, if the woman was effectively dead anyway, why should he not benefit from it? He strangled her and the child and dragged the bodies down into the front room, which he doused in lantern oil.

He could still see the flames as he topped the farthest rise.

Now, as he rode with his two retainers into the grounds of the Moidart’s winter manor, he was what he had always desired to be: a man of power and influence. Winter Kay ruled the Redeemers and virtually the land. The king was a straw in the wind, nothing more than a human banner to be waved when necessary.

One day, perhaps soon, Marl would find a way to supplant even the dread Lord Winterbourne. But first there was the problem of the Moidart.

Few among the ruling classes had not heard of the Earl of the North. He had survived numerous assassination attempts during his thirty-year reign. He had been shot, stabbed, and almost burned to death when the old manor house had been set ablaze. Marl drew rein on his horse and looked beyond the imposing manor to the blackened timbers and collapsed stones of the old house some distance away within the trees. No attempt seemed to have been made to remove the ruins.

A middle-aged officer with a heavy jaw and tired eyes stepped from the manor house and strode down to meet the riders. He exchanged a few words with the two sentries who had accompanied the Redeemers from the gates, then turned toward Marl.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Captain Galliott, and I welcome you to the winter manor. I shall show you to your rooms, but first, as is the custom in the north, would you please hand over your weapons to the guards. No knives, swords, or pistols are allowed in the lord’s presence.”

“By heaven, sir,” said Marl, who had been forewarned of this rule, “we are Redeemers and knights of the Sacrifice. It would be unseemly to surrender our weapons.”

“Indeed it would, sir,” Galliott said smoothly, “but do not consider it a surrender. You are merely offering a mark of respect to the Moidart. The weapons will be well looked after and offered to you upon your departure.”

“Very well,” said Marl with a sidelong glance at the slender figure of Kurol Ryder. He carried two knives within his riding boots, long, sharp disemboweling blades. They would suffice.

The three Redeemers dismounted, removed their sword and knife belts, and left their pistols in the scabbards on the pommels of their saddles.

Galliott led them up the steps to the main doors and then onto the first-floor gallery. There each of the men was assigned a room. Marl’s was the largest. It was comfortably furnished with a fine bed fashioned from pine with an ornate headboard. There was a writing desk set by the window, and in the hearth a fire was glowing.

“I shall have a servant bring you some refreshments, Sir Marl,” said Galliott.

“Just a little water, Captain. I need to pray and continue my fast until this evening.”

“Of course, sir. The Moidart is busy at present, but I will send a servant when he is free.”

“Most kind, Captain.”

As Galliott withdrew, Marl removed his black riding cloak and draped it over a chair. Then he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Despite the training Winter Kay had offered him and the added energy supplied by the orb, Marl had never found it easy to break free of the confines of his body. It was always an effort involving intense concentration and not a little discomfort. Searing head pain always followed. However, he managed it, and his spirit floated above the bed. For a moment he gazed down on his form, then slowly drifted through the door and out onto the gallery. Galliott was standing at the bottom of the stairs talking to a soldier. Marl floated closer.

“They give me the creeps, Captain, and I don’t mind admitting it,” said the man. “All dressed in black and pretending to be holy. I’ve heard stories about them bastards. Freeze your blood, it would.”

“You shouldn’t listen to stories, Packard. They are knights of the Sacrifice, and they are fighting a war on behalf of the king. More than that, though, they are guests of the Moidart and will be treated with the utmost respect.”

“I’ll do that right enough, Captain. But the sooner they’re gone, the better.”

Marl floated down the long corridor and through the empty dining hall. He heard voices and entered a room containing two men. One was sitting at a desk; the other was standing before him. The conversation was of little note, something to do with tax revenues and the shortfalls caused by the severity of the winter and the death of more livestock than expected. Marl took the opportunity to study the Moidart. The man was slim, the skin of his face drawn tight over high cheekbones. He had long hair drawn tightly over his skull and tied in a ponytail. His clothes were well cut, a jacket of black satin over a white shirt with lace cuffs. He wore no jewelry. Marl moved closer, staring at the man’s face. It was cruel and haughty. Here was a man very much like Winter Kay, a natural ruler who expected instant obedience. Marl could see arrogance in him and a steely determination. Not a man to flatter unnecessarily. He would read it instantly and feel contempt for the flatterer.

Marl moved on, finally reaching the room of the Moidart. It was less well furnished than the guest room he occupied. As he floated there, he felt another presence. His spirit spun.

The spirit of Kurol Ryder hung suspended in the air, scanning the room. In the flesh Kurol Ryder was a good-looking man, but Marl had never quite adjusted to the spirit features: the pale, sickly scaled faces and the bloody eyes. Happily, spirits caused no reflection in mirrors and Marl had never had to see himself in such a light.

“No problem here,” said Kurol Ryder. “The lock is old and will be easily picked. If I suffocate him, it might look as if he died in his sleep.”

“No,” said Marl. “Cut his throat as he sleeps. Less possibility of anything going wrong.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Marl could feel the pull of his body. Unlike the other Redeemers, he could not hold this ethereal form for long. Dizziness touched him, and he returned to his body with a start. His head was pounding painfully, and he took a pinch of willow powder from his pouch, placing it on his tongue. He felt a little sick and rose from the bed. From the window he could look out over the mountains to the north, towering peaks crowned with snow. Marl closed his eyes and breathed deeply, waiting for the nausea to pass.

He heard a light knock at his door. After a moment it opened, and the powerfully built Kannit Persan stepped inside. For a big man he moved gracefully, always in balance. Kannit spent an inordinate amount of time honing his body. Whenever time allowed, he would be found running through the hills or heaving weights. He maintained that had he not been from a noble family, he would have become a circle fighter like the great Chain Shada. Marl was not so sure. Kannit Persan, a handsome man with fine aquiline features, had a habit of pausing by mirrors and enjoying his reflection. The thought of a broken and twisted nose or scarred brows would be anathema to him.

“It is a fine house,” said Kannit. “A shame we will not be staying long. The grounds are extensive, and there is a track leading up into the hills. One of the servants told me it extends over four miles through some beautiful country. I’d like the opportunity to run it.”

“Another time,” promised Marl. “Kurol is prepared. Are you?”

“Of course. It will be simpler without the Harvester.”

“I would be happier had we seen his body,” said Marl.

“One shot in the center of his back, one in his chest. Even if he survived, he’s not going to be in any condition to save his master,” pointed out Kannit.

“What do you make of Galliott?”

Kannit shrugged his massive shoulders. “An ordinary soldier, no more, no less. I could take him in a heartbeat. There’s an interesting painting in the gallery,” he said. “A beautiful woman with one green eye and one gold. Just like Macon. Must be something that runs in the family.”

“The Moidart’s grandmother, I understand,” said Marl. “She was a real beauty in her day.”

A servant arrived, bowed, and asked them to join the Moidart in the dining hall.

Marl and Kannit strolled down the stairs. Kurol Ryder was waiting for them in the company of the officer Galliott.

The Redeemers followed Galliott to the doorway of a long room, where a fire was blazing in a deep hearth. There Galliott left them, drawing shut the door behind him.

“Welcome, my friends,” said the Moidart. “Please be seated.” He glanced at Marl. “You I know, young man. Be so kind as to introduce your friends.”

Marl did so. Both of the Redeemers rose and bowed as he named them. “Kurol Ryder,” said the Moidart. “Are your family from the Deppersom manor?”

“Yes, lord.”

“I knew your father many years ago. He served at Eldacre back during the first clan rising. A fine soldier. Utterly ruthless and totally dedicated. Such men are rare. Is he well?”

“He died, lord, five years ago.”

“But you follow the family tradition of service to your lord. Commendable. It is what raises the Varlish above lesser races.” He swung to Kannit. “You, sir, I do not know, but you have the look of the Varlish about you. Cold eyes. Most becoming.”

The Moidart seated himself opposite the three Redeemers, who were sitting side by side and facing the window. Servants brought food: a pie of good steak and braised kidney, some freshly baked bread, and three flagons of strong ale. Marl noted that the Moidart did not partake of the ale, and so he, too, refused, requesting water. The meal was finished in near silence. Once the servants had cleared the dishes, the Moidart leaned back.

“I do miss the life at court,” he said, “the intrigues and the politicking, It makes one feel alive. Enemies who become friends, friends who become enemies, each person desperately trying to read the runes and see where the ebb and flow of power will take him. I understand you are particularly adept at such games, Master Coper. I congratulate you. Not an easy life.”

“I am just a simple man, my lord,” said Marl, “serving my lord as best I can.”

“And how is Lord Winterbourne?” asked the Moidart. “I hear he has been having problems of late.”

“Problems, my lord?” queried Marl.

“A troublesome general who just does not seem to want to die. Is that not so?” The smallest of smiles touched the Moidart’s lips, but his eyes remained emotionless. The room suddenly seemed very still.

“You have the advantage of me, sir. Of whom are you speaking?”

“Why, my son, sir. Gaise Macon. Is that not why you are here?” The question was asked innocently, and Marl thought fast.

“I think someone must have overstated the situation to you, sir. The quarrel was never between Lord Winterbourne and Gaise. Lord Ferson challenged your son. Lord Winterbourne was merely acting as his second. The matter is now resolved. There is certainly no ill feeling between the two men. Lord Winterbourne speaks highly of General Gaise, who is a masterful fighter and a fine cavalry commander. He is a credit to you, sir.”

“We come from a family of fighters, Master Coper,” the Moidart said smoothly. “More than that, we are intriguers. I have forgotten more about treachery and malice than you have ever learned. So let me tell you how I see the situation. Were I Lord Winterbourne and I desired the death of Gaise Macon, I would—as he did—try to arrange it in a way that could not be laid at my door. I would do this because I would be concerned about the Moidart. I would think, What do I know about this man? The answer is simple. The Moidart is a killer. He has no sense of remorse, is not held back by principles of honor or chivalry. If I kill his son, he will find a way to kill me. Are you following me so far?”

“I hear what you are saying, my lord, but it has no meaning for me.”

The Moidart gave a small smile. It did not reach his eyes. “Bear with me, then, young Coper. Think of it as a political lesson. A duel is arranged. This is an excellent plan. If Macon dies, all is well. If he lives? Well, other plans can be hatched. The idea of pistols is a pleasing one. So much can go wrong—and pass undetected. A misfire, perhaps. Or . . . who knows? A badly loaded weapon? Yes, I think this is the route I would have followed.” The Moidart filled a goblet with water and sipped it, his pale eyes watching the three men intently. “Yet it failed. Plans do, you know. The best of them. Rogue elements appear. They cannot be planned for. Are you a student of history, young Coper?”

“I am, sir.”

“Then you will recall the legendary Battle of Vorin Field. The Keltoi battle king, Bane, had been betrayed, and his forces had been led into a trap. Yet he won. History tells us it was because of his bravery and his heroic leadership. This is only partly true. It was won because an officer leading a cavalry troop got lost. The man had been sent with six hundred riders to intercept a supply caravan. In the maze of canyons and valleys he took a wrong turn. This brought him and his troops out behind the Stone army. Bane was hard-pressed, but when the officer led his men to attack the enemy rear, the battle was turned. Rogue elements, you see. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the killing of the troublesome Gaise. The duel failed to achieve its purpose. Now comes the first error. Killers are sent. One of them is a noted swordsman, the other a backstabber. Surely no rogue elements can spoil this plan.” The Moidart shook his head and laughed. “Who could have foreseen the arrival of an ugly dog? Hmmm. Most amusing. Added to this, Gaise Macon is also a fine swordsman. I take the credit here, for long ago I hired Mulgrave to teach him. However, that is by the by. For now the snake is out of the basket. The killers were Redeemers. Only one man could send Redeemers. Now his problem has truly doubled. Once the Moidart discovers the plan, he will become an enemy far more deadly than the naive young general. Therefore, speaking still as Winter Kay, before I can take my vengeance on the son, I must see the father slain. How does that sound to you, Marl Coper?”