Shastro had called men and given quiet orders. Six assassins bowed and left to deal with the man their lord had come to distrust and hate. They died as they attacked. It drained almost half of their target’s recently stolen power, but he had a little left and in the corner his fool sat dreaming and smiling. The sorcerer cursed. Trust Shastro to pick the wrong time. But then Shastro probably considered the time right, before the family he’d promised could be brought. Kirion prepared the word that, when said, would dispel Varnar’s illusion, releasing all the man’s emotion in a great wave of pain and grief. Then he waited for his duke.
Shastro came quietly, and, unknown to any but those who followed, behind him came one under a geas and those who aided her. Wrapped in her mists Aisling laid the unseen over them: over herself and Wind Dancer, who padded at her heels, over her brother, and Hadrann, her love. It was time to cast the dice, letting all ride upon the outcome. Life, death, and love. She walked to a destiny not knowing what it would be, only that what she did was necessary for the sake of her beloved land. That they all knew. If they died, then they’d accept death to buy Karsten life.
In front of them Shastro reached the door to his sorcerer’s tower. The guards stepped back. Their master had forbidden entry to any, but it would take far more reckless men than they to deny their duke passage. Shastro wasn’t known for a placid acceptance of insolence. He swept by, one hand rising unconsciously to clutch at the shape of a small knife within his tunic. He entered the large room, his gaze flicking quickly from side to side.
Kirion eyed him with amusement. The fool really thought he had power here. Kirion would show him power. It would be the last thing this creature he’d raised to rank would ever see. He leaned forward in his chair and drawled a greeting. Shastro turned.
“What have you seen from your scrying, sorcerer. What plans has Franzo?”
Kirion smiled. “Plans that change, my Lord Duke. Once he demanded the lives of two men. Now it seems he would settle for one.” He was referring to the letter he’d seen, which had offered only Kirion. But the duke had seen a different missive. His face reddened. This man, this thing who dared to taunt him, was bold enough to refer to his own treachery against his ruler. His voice developed an edge.
“Yes, indeed. Franzo would accept one instead of two. So I also heard.” He took a pace forward. “An interesting thought, but perhaps not so welcome for the one being sold.”
Kirion nodded. In a room off this, lay six assassins, bodies cooling. He hadn’t found the idea of being sold to Franzo welcome, no. And this duke he’d raised from the low quarter to rule, dared to taunt him with it. At least Kirion had drawn off some of their power as they died, enough to replace a little of what he’d used to stop them. In his corner Varnar dreamed, oblivious to the sound of voices. Kirion glanced at him. Not yet. Not quite yet.
“My dear Shastro, why not sit and drink a little wine with me. You are weary.”
His dear Shastro straightened. “I drink no wine with you, sorcerer. There are too many things in your cup.” His voice dropped to a tone half regret, half memory. “And I have drunk too often of the cup you have offered.” His eyes fixed on Kirion’s face as his voice became accusatory. “What cup did you offer Sharna and Paran, sorcerer? No, do not lie to me. I have proof. It was your men who killed them and not bandits as you said. What have you to say to that now?” Kirion shrugged as Shastro raged on.
“My cousins, my friends. You murdered them and for what? So yours would be the only voice I heard. Well, I have stopped listening.” His face hardened. “As you will stop speaking. I’m done with you.”
His hand dipped to draw the grace knife even as Kirion rose. Shastro flung himself forward. Kirion lifted a hand, and the duke halted, unable to move. Kirion concentrated. Fire came to his fingers and he flung it in an arching spear of white flame. Shastro cried out as the shaft of fire sliced through him. He dropped, writhing, and lay, his fingers clutching the knife hilt. Kirion walked over to look down at the man he had raised to a throne.
“You were quite right about that, my Lord Duke. You are indeed done with listening, but not because you wished that. It is I who am tired of talking to you.” He laughed scornfully. “What, did you think to best me. I made you. If I had those pitiful idiots you called cousins murdered, it was my right. You’ve had years of luxury, any lover you desired. Power, rank, wealth—all have been poured into your lap, by me’t”
His voice came as a hiss. “And you’d have betrayed me to Franzo. Sold me to him with your lies. I did as you demanded, my Lord Duke.” The sarcasm in the last words slashed out. “You demanded the Coast Clan be punished for its refusal to bow to you. I merely obeyed your command.” Kirion was coldly angry. He’d done only what had been asked of him, and see how he was repaid? Nor had the last fiasco been his fault.
“You demanded those who wished nothing of you turn to you with desire instead. I saw to it. You commanded I spell that brainless woman with her young idiot of a husband. I spoke and she was besotted with you, allowing you any liberty, even before the whole court. Then your own gatekeepers were bribed to allow them to go free. And once again it was I who had to seek out the guilty one for you. Wasting my power on minor needs over and over. So very well you ran the city I gave into your hands. But you weren’t mentioning any of this to Franzo. Oh, no. It was all my doing.”
He kicked the duke viciously. “Listen when I speak, my Lord Duke. Yes, I had your stupid cousins ambushed. You must have suspected all these years, but you took what I offered anyway.” His tone mocked savagely. “What does that make you, my Lord Duke?”
Shastro felt only the fire. It was consuming him. But underneath it he heard the words. If he’d had the strength, he’d have denied that change. He’d never known, never even suspected. He’d have taken nothing at Kirion’s hands, not even his life, if he’d had any idea. A single tear of blood gathered in the corner of one eye.
Paran, his friend, the brother of his heart, and Sharna, whom he’d loved as he’d loved nothing else since she had gone. He’d looked for her in all his light loves and found nothing but brief pleasure and a momentary distraction.
In the flames he saw Sharna. She was smiling, holding out her hands. Paran stood at her shoulder, love and welcome clear to read in his face. They did not condemn him. Kirion kicked again but his victim made no sound, did not move. It was unsatisfying. The sorcerer muttered another word, and the white fire drew back a fraction.
In the passage outside the corner tower Aisling had halted. She touched her pendant and drew power. The witch jewel gleamed openly on her breast, but the pendant lay hidden still as her teacher had warned. She touched the jewel, keying it with the word of command. She could feel the power rise in it; the trap was set.
Her hands lifted, wove slowly, and a glittering web of light sprang from them. She cast it forward. It settled over the guards, and they stiffened into immobility. Unaware of the intruders, they would see and hear nothing. She walked past them to open the door. The others followed. Aisling spoke under her breath and the guards returned to duty unknowing.
The four who had entered slid quietly behind the drapes that cloaked the entrance. They’d arrived just after Shastro was struck down, in time to hear Kirion’s ranting. Now Aisling drifted past the drapes sparing a glance for Shastro. He would not survive. The fire her brother had called was eating him alive. Her eyes as they met his showed pity. His lips curved into a tiny rueful grin of acceptance and regret. In his eyes was a faint hint of surprise at seeing “Murna” here. Aisling moved on and appeared, undiscovered, to one side of her angry brother. She said his name in soft command.