undying legion 01 - unbound man (5 page)

BOOK: undying legion 01 - unbound man
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“Now, Eilwen,” Havilah said, folding his hands on the desk. “How are you enjoying your work?”

“What?” The word was out before she had a chance to think. “Sorry, I mean… my work? Fine, it’s fine. I’m just back from Spyridon. Two of the big ink-makers have taken new potash contracts, plus a few smaller manufacturers. We picked up some business from Three Rivers — apparently they had trouble meeting their delivery dates last month. Word is that some fool managed to knock over a lamp and burned down a warehouse.”
Gods, I’m babbling.
“Uh… was there anything specific you wanted to know?”

“Hum. No, I’ll wait for your report.” Havilah considered her, his expression amicable but intent. Deep creases framed his eyes and mouth, but there was no grey in his hair. Even so, she guessed him to be at least fifty, and probably closer to sixty.
Old enough to be my father. Gods, there’s an unpleasant thought.

She was suddenly aware that she was staring. Swallowing, she looked away, then down at her lap.

“You have a good eye for detail,” Havilah said. “Most of the others don’t report much beyond the numbers on their contracts, but you notice things.” He leaned forward. “Noticing things is very important to my department.”

Eilwen nodded, unsure what to say.

“Patterns of behaviour, for example,” Havilah said, and stopped.

Fear filled her, stronger than ever, surging through her until she thought it would overflow.
He does know. Gods…
It was all she could do to sit there and wait for him to continue.

“Yes, I’m aware of your little hobby,” Havilah said; but the words were gentle and there was no anger in his eyes. “It’s going to have to stop.”

“Uh, right.” Her voice was a croak. She coughed and tried again. “Right. Stop. I can do that.”

“Can you? It’s four years since we lost the
Orenda
—”

Eilwen flinched.
Here it comes.
Four years ago she had betrayed a ship and watched it drown. There had been nothing to point back to her, no hint that the attack was anything other than a chance raid by Pazian pirates. Yet somehow Havilah had discovered the truth: that she was a traitor to the Guild, responsible for the deaths of a dozen colleagues; a liar and a snake who deserved nothing but condemnation.

She raised her head and looked Havilah in the eye. Strangely, her fear was gone. Even shame seemed absent. All she could feel was relief.

“Four years, Eilwen,” Havilah said softly. “You’ve been sleepwalking ever since. Trying to salve your wounds with more blood. You need to accept what happened. A lot of people died. You didn’t. That’s how it goes.”

Eilwen stared, disbelieving.
You think this is guilt over surviving, nothing more.
A second realisation followed hard on the first.
So you don’t know why I kill who I kill. You must think I just select people out of the crowd, like a common murderer.
A mad urge seized her to protest; to explain that what she did was not murder, it was redress, it was
atonement.
That she had betrayed the
Orenda
but she would never, ever betray again, and that she was sorry, so very sorry. Tears pricked her eyes and she looked away, angrily blinking them back.

“There, now,” Havilah murmured. “That’s a start. That’s good.”

The kindness in the man’s face was almost enough to break her. She brushed her eyes with her sleeve, willing the tears away. The weight of her secret was crushing, suffocating, an anvil on her chest. It was too much to bear. She had to be rid of it, she needed to speak, but she couldn’t breathe.

“I, uh. Um. I… how did you find out?”

Havilah gave a slight smile. “That’s not important. What matters is that nobody else knows. And it can stay that way, so long as it never happens again.” He relaxed, leaning back in his chair. “Which brings me to the other reason I wanted to see you.”

And with that, the moment was past. She sensed that as far as Havilah was concerned, the matter was now closed. He wouldn’t mention it again, not if she stopped. And if she didn’t, well, the warning was clear enough.
That
conversation would not be just between the two of them.

The burden settled back down inside her, a part of her once more, filling every piece of her with its weight, like lead in her bones.

She pushed an expression of interest onto her face. “Other reason?”

“Call it an opportunity,” Havilah said. “As our trading interests grow, and as our competitors grow, so our need for information grows. I have nearly a dozen people now in Anstice alone, and more than three times as many in other places. I need someone to coordinate their efforts. Someone with an eye for the significant detail.” He folded his hands. “Someone like you, perhaps.”

“You want me to… be your adjunct?”

“Perhaps, in time. You can start with Anstice, and we’ll see how you do.”

The irony screamed. He trusted her! She put a hand to her head and tried to think. “Why me? Why not just promote one of your own people?”

“There, you see? An eye for the significant detail.” Havilah paused. “Unpleasantness aside, your recent activities provide one reason. You show a willingness to, shall we say, complete what you set out to do. Properly directed, that can be a tremendous asset.” He raised a hand, forestalling her interruption. “Don’t misunderstand me. I am not looking for an assassin. Nor is the Guild in the habit of solving its problems with a knife or a vial of poison. But I need someone who is prepared to be uncompromising in the Guild’s service.”

The words seemed to dance around some unspoken point. Eilwen looked away, unsure what to make of them, unsure what Havilah was expecting of her.
Not that it matters. Havilah wouldn’t make an offer like this unless he believed I would accept it.
If she declined, he might think to question his other assumptions about her, and that was too big a risk to countenance.

“I accept,” she said. “When do I start?”

Afterwards, as she left, Eilwen considered the reason Havilah had given her.
Am I uncompromising?
She didn’t think so. Pel would never describe her that way.
I negotiate and compromise every day. Compromise is a factor’s life.

No, her kills were a singular thing. It was not ruthlessness that drove her. It was justice.

Spymaster Havilah, you’ve misjudged me.

It was definitely time for a bath.

Chapter 2

Gods do not seek equals.
— Kassa of Menefir
Solitude

Rhothe’s Bar stood a dozen streets and half a world away from Arandras’s shop. It occupied the narrow middle ground of Spyridon, straddling the two halves of the city: far enough from the Library to entice students seeking temporary escape from the stuffiness of academic surroundings, yet also far enough from the low market to attract those whose means had diminished but whose tastes had failed to adapt. Its interior reflected its dual nature, with a typically rowdy taproom at the front, where young scholars could indulge themselves without fearing a master’s sudden intrusion, and a quieter area further back for those more interested in conversation than insobriety. Two upper levels held rooms that might equally be occupied by those climbing the social ladder or those on the way down.

The sky was darkening when Arandras arrived, his thoughts still preoccupied with the glimpsed letter. Bypassing the raucous taproom, he slipped through an unmarked door to the back room and its familiar scents of candle smoke, stewed meat, and dried apothecary’s rose. Three iron chandeliers hung from the recently whitewashed ceiling, each bristling with candles. Bar staff flitted between tables, serving meals and clearing away empty plates and mugs. A groan from the centre of the room drew Arandras’s attention: a party of three had one of the bar’s
dilarj
sets out, though from what Arandras could see of the board, the game had only a few turns left in it. Other games at various stages of completion dotted the room, but Mara was not present at any of them.

Maybe she’s not back yet.

But she was: there, in a booth by the far wall, her long black ponytail brushing her back as she glanced sideways at a second groan from the soon-to-be-defeated player, her cutlasses propped up on the seat beside her. Shaking her head, she turned back to her plate, mopping up the leftover sauce with a heel of flatbread. Arandras reached the table just as she put the last piece in her mouth, seating himself with a faint smile as she waved a greeting.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” he said as she chewed.

“For a hot meal? Gods, no.” Mara swallowed, only getting part of her mouthful down. “I got back barely an hour ago. I haven’t even been home.” She gulped down the rest and grinned, eyes dancing with excitement. “Wait until I tell you what happened.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, let’s see.” She raised a hand and began ticking items off on her fingers. “Ambush. Sorcery. Death. Several of the latter, I think, though I wasn’t exactly in a position to confirm either way. You might have warned me there were others on the trail besides us.”

Arandras had no idea what she was talking about. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, that’s hardly…” Mara trailed off, eyes narrowed. “Has something happened, or are you just in a bad mood?”

“What? I’m not in a bad mood.” His statement drew a cocked eyebrow, and he shrugged again. “It’s not important.”

“Crap.” Mara folded her arms. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I just… I had a visitor from the Library.”

“Oh,” she said, and he could hear the unspoken words in her tone.
That again.
“You know what you need to do, Arandras? Swallow your damn pride and pay the damn dues. It’s just money, and not even that much. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Of course it does.
He looked away. In any case, the morning’s visit from Onsoth had rendered the question moot. Yielding to coercion only ever invited more.
Give way, and I mark myself as susceptible to such tactics. I become known as one who will bend. Until, one day, I come home to find a note on the table and my wife gone…

“Forget it,” he said, forcing a smile. “What’s this about sorcery and death?”

Mara grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. Get yourself a plate and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Arandras snagged a passing barmaid, ordering a plate of stewed mutton and couscous for himself and ciders for them both. “All right,” he said, sitting back in the booth’s padded seat as the barmaid collected Mara’s empty plate. “Talk.”

“You were right about the temple,” she began. “Finding that hill in the middle of the forest was a bitch. There was practically nothing left of the place. I’d have gone right past it if someone else hadn’t been there already.”

“Ah, damn.”

“With someone else again looking on.”

“What?”

“That’s what I thought.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying the tale. “The first group were Quill. Your typical retrieval party, out of Anstice, I guess. They were just digging the thing out when I got there. I was going to leave them to it and head back when I saw someone else, perched up in a tree, watching them. He was good, too — still as a carving. Took me a while to be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light. Then I saw another one near the base of the tree, and a third further back.”

Arandras frowned. “Who were they?”

“I don’t know, but they got me wondering what they were up to. I figured I might have been seen too, so I started back the way I had come, hoping the Quill would stay put. Then I circled back, keeping my distance this time.

“They just stayed put that night. The next day the Quill moved off, and they followed. And I followed them. All day. Same thing the next day. I think the Quill guessed they were being followed and doubled back once or twice, making this other group backtrack.” Her smile faded somewhat. “Honestly, I was lucky they didn’t see me. It’s just as well Druce and Jensine weren’t there. They’d never have managed it.”

The food and drinks arrived. Mara took a long pull from her cider before continuing. “Anyway, on the third night they finally got tired of following. I was woken by a scream like you wouldn’t believe, and saw this orange light flare out just past a low rise, like someone had set a tree on fire. By the time I got there, two of the Quill were down, and the survivors of this other group were chasing after the last one. So none of them were there to see it. But I was.”

Arandras leaned closer, drawn in despite himself. “See what?”

“One of the Quill wasn’t quite dead,” Mara said. “He got himself up on his knees and threw something at me. Well, threw it away, really. He couldn’t have known I was there. But either way, it practically landed at my feet. Seems he didn’t want his killers getting their hands on what he’d dug up.”

“So… you’re telling me that you —”

“Grabbed it and got the hells out of there. And here I am. And here it is.”

She drew out a leather-wrapped object the size of an overlarge scent bottle, placing it on the table with a satisfied grin. Arandras picked it up. The bundle was light, surprisingly so; he shot a quizzical look at Mara, but she folded her arms and nodded at the wrappings. Frowning, he pushed them away and set the object on the table.

It was a small urn, not even a hand’s length in height, shaped like two thirds of an hourglass, with a wide bulge at the bottom, a narrow neck, and a slightly flared mouth. The surface was metal, untouched by tarnish or corrosion, some of it elaborately carved with images and script, other areas impossibly smooth. Its mouth was sealed with a cap, the piece set too deep to offer any real purchase. He tried an experimental twist, but it refused to budge.

“Can you read it?” Mara asked.

Arandras squinted at the writing. It looked like a form of Old Valdori, albeit an unusual one — he could guess at a few words, but that was all. “Not here. Perhaps with the help of some books.”

“What do you think it’s worth?”

“Hard to say.” The piece was obviously of Valdori make: nothing else looked that good after centuries in the ground. “It depends what’s inside.” He shook it gently, but there was no sound. “Could be empty. Do you know how it opens?”

BOOK: undying legion 01 - unbound man
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