“I’m not sure...”
Endarim cut him off. “Before you go any further, let me say that the pay for such work is excellent. You would rate as a captain to start and go up from there. You would have no other duties; when not working, your time would be your own.”
“It’s not that,” Valder said. “I’m just not sure that I could do the job. I don’t know how to find these men you want me to kill, for example, and I really don’t like the idea of killing...”
“Of course you don’t like the idea of killing,” Endarim interrupted him. “But this is war, soldier. The more damage we do to the northerners, by whatever method, the less they’ll be able to do to us. If you can kill one enemy sorcerer, you might be saving the lives of a dozen or more of your own comrades in arms! As for the technical problems, our wizards will help you with those. We have used assassins before. Finding targets and delivering our men to the right area has never been very difficult. The problem has always been getting through the personal defenses and getting our man out alive — and your sword should make that part much easier.”
“I...”
“Listen, Valder, we prefer to have volunteers for this sort of work, but you’re a special case. I can order you to take on assassination duty if I have to, because you are, without a doubt, one of the most promising candidates we’ve ever had, thanks to that sword, and we need a good assassin right now. We would prefer that you go willingly, because that would greatly improve your chances of survival, but we don’t insist on it. If you refuse an order, we may even resort to a geas.”
“Are you ordering me, then, sir?”
“No, I’m not — not yet, Listen, try it once and see what you think. If it’s that much worse than regular combat for you, maybe we can put you somewhere else — but that magic sword you’ve stumbled onto doesn’t entitle you to any more pampering than any other man in the Ethsharitic army, soldier, and, one way or another, you’re going to fight and you’re going to kill.”
“Yes, sir.” Valder was not happy, but he saw that his only options were obedience or desertion — and he was not a deserter. He knew, firsthand, that the northerners were ruthless and were out to destroy Ethshar. He loved his homeland and its people, even if he had never actually seen very much of either. All he knew was the army, since that was all he had seen since turning sixteen, and a healthy young man wasn’t welcome anywhere else. He had no choice. He liked to believe that there was always a way out of everything, but he could not see one here.
“Good,” the captain said. “Very good. I’ll have your formal orders drawn up tomorrow, and you’ll start drawing pay at your new rank.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Valder — I wouldn’t tell anyone what you’re doing. It wouldn’t do any good for everyone to know we use assassins, and I’m sure it wouldn’t do you, personally, any good. It may seem dashing and romantic at first, but assassins are never really popular. They make people nervous.”
“Yes, sir.” Valder had wondered vaguely why he had been brought here in the middle of the night and now guessed that it was to maintain the secrecy of the assassination project.
“If anyone asks, you’re a wizard’s assistant now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You’ll start immediately. Kelder, here, will tell you what to do.” The captain waved at the civilian. Valder looked at him, openly curious now.
“Come on,” the man called Kelder said, speaking for the first time. He had a high, thin voice.
Valder looked him over. He was short, of medium build, with an unusually scraggly beard and mustache. His skin was unhealthily pale, his hair a nondescript brown and thinning. His clothes were of undistinguished cut and material, though better than peasants wore. The sword on his belt was standard military issue, very like Wirikidor in appearance.
After this brief appraisal, Valder glanced back at the captain, who was already turning his attention elsewhere, looking at a stack of papers on his cot. With a mental shrug, Valder turned and followed the civilian out of the tent.
They headed directly toward the back of the camp, past the dragon pens and the last few rows of tents and into camptown, where the vintners and whores, undaunted by the late hour, still plied their trades. The main camp was mostly dark, but here about half the tents were still brightly lighted, often with multicolored lanterns. Valder heard singing somewhere and nearly tripped over two soldiers lying semiconscious in the dirt, obviously very drunk.
Kelder led the way past the rowdiest area, past the bright lanterns and thinly clad women, almost to the edge of the circle of wives’ tents that served as a market. He ducked suddenly into a small tent, the abrupt change in course catching Valder by surprise. He started, then followed.
Once settled on the dirt floor of the little tent — there was no furniture nor room for any; a quilted mat served as a bed — Valder demanded, “Who in Hell are you, anyway?”
“I’m called Kelder,” the other replied. “No parentage, no birthplace, no eponym — just Kelder. I’m a spy.” He smiled, as if he had just made a joke. Valder stared at him uncertainly, not sure whether he was joking or not.
“Seriously,” the little man went on, “I’m a spy. In fact, I’m in charge of espionage for this entire front, which, unfortunately, doesn’t mean much, because we haven’t got any espionage to speak of here. General Gor sent me to fix that, and I happened to arrive in time to hear about you and your sword. You may be interested to know that we have seven wizards and two witches searching for your mysterious hermit with all the magic at their disposal, and a relay of theurgists praying for information about him. We take this very seriously. A scouting party will be sent up the coast to look for him, as well. So far we haven’t found anything, but a wizard who can casually throw around eighth-order spells is worth a little effort. We don’t have very many of them. Whether we find him or not, though, we have you and Wirikidor.”
Valder could think of nothing to say; he stared at the man in the dimness; the only light was what seeped through the tent’s canvas.
“I suppose you’re feeling overwhelmed by all this. You’ve gone from being an ordinary scout to an unimportant bit of coastline to being involved in all sorts of strange things, tangled up with wizards and spies and assassins. Life can be like that. I’d like to give you time to sort it all out, but I’m afraid we can’t spare any. I’m to train you, and then you’ll start work. Ten days from now, with any luck, you’ll kill the Northern Empire’s chief sorcerer on the western front.”
Valder started to protest.
“Let me rephrase that,” Kelder said. “Within the next ten days you’ll give Wirikidor the opportunity to kill the enemy’s chief sorcerer on the western front.” He smiled. “You’re going to be very useful, Valder.”
Valder was not at all sure of that, but he did not argue.
If assassination proved unbearable, he could botch it, and they would reassign him. He found it impossible to believe that he was going to kill any sorcerers, Nine nights later, as he stood over the body of a dead sorcerer, he still found it hard to believe.
CHAPTER 15
His first five assassinations were made in fairly quick succession, at two- or three-day intervals; each time Kelder told him how to find and identify his target, each time a wizard or two got him into the general area, and each time he managed to get in and out without serious injury. Two of the five were sorcerers; he was never told just who the other three were.
Wirikidor disposed of all of them in short order, in addition to dealing with assorted guards and other interference. Valder had been pleasantly surprised to discover that sorcerers died as easily as anybody else, once the blade reached them; he had expected them to be at least as bad as the shatra had been, reaching for the sword or doing other eerie, discomforting things after they should have been dead. His fears proved unfounded; sorcerers folded up and died just like anybody else when their throats were cut.