Allegiance, page 25
part #3 of River of Souls Series
She wrote a brief note, couched in vague terms, about Baron Mann’s interest in acquiring books from the empire period, especially those concerning the poet Tanja Duhr. The baron would like to view Haas’s merchandise, and could Haas arrange an appointment to discuss the matter without interruption. She used the code phrases to indicate news of political importance, the necessity for speed and secrecy, and a request for a private meeting.
Ilse pressed a blotting paper over the ink. Her hands were steady, but her pulse was beating far too rapidly for comfort. Soon, soon, soon. For so long she had contained all her emotions, driven by the necessities of the moment. Now that she was on the verge of being reunited with Raul, she could hardly bear it. Oh, there was much more to be done, but once she and Raul were together, everything else seemed effortless.
She folded the sheet in thirds and sealed it with wax alone.
“No magic?” Mann asked.
“Why do you believe I know magic?”
His smile was wistful, almost. “Why would I believe anything impossible for you?”
She shook her head. She wanted no compliments, not from this man. She wanted Raul. To speak with him of matters political and mundane, to sit in silence when silence gave them comfort, to feel that sense of completion in his company.
Mann observed her, still with that same pensive air. “My apologies,” he said softly. “I spoke without thought.”
“So you did.”
He laughed, albeit painfully. “The kitten bites. I see the shadow of a lioness beyond. My apologies again, Mistress Ilse.” He touched a hand to his forehead, thence to his breast. “I serve you with heart and spirit, with the last breath of this life, and the first of my next.”
Ilse had no answer for such extravagance, especially when she sensed the extravagance served to disguise his own greater emotions. She handed him the letter, and gave him instructions on where and how to have it delivered.
Mann departed to summon a runner. When he returned, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head.
“Then you must be tired. Not even that? A lesser man might believe you disliked his company, or preferred another’s to his own, but as you know, I am both arrogant and self-centered. And so I conclude you must be weary of life itself. Therefore, we shall play cards.”
She stifled a laugh at his nonsense, but her laughter verged on tears. Mann had the grace to ignore her distress. He produced a deck of cards from within one sleeve and laid them out in a complicated pattern.
“Do you know the game of Victory?” he asked.
She did not.
He explained the rules of play, and a few key points of strategy. It was a game with complicated rules, played with a specially painted set of cards, but one that absorbed her attention more than she thought possible. They played until midnight. Ilse won a dozen hands. Mann won several others, and the rest were draws.
“You are gifted with strategy,” he observed as he shuffled the cards for another round.
She shook her head. “Hardly. If anything, I have had good tutors.”
“A good tutor can only supply the finish to what already exists. One more hand, then we are done for the night.”
Ilse won that round, and this time, she was certain she had done it herself.
“Until tomorrow,” Mann said. He bowed and kissed her fingertips.
Ilse permitted the gallantry, amused at last by his foolery, which she finally understood masked an entirely different kind of man. “You should court my friend Klara,” she said.
He smiled. “Perhaps I shall.”
* * *
SHE WOKE AT dawn when Agneth Friesz, the senior guard, came to rouse Ilse and the other guard for early-morning watch. Ilse rose and dressed in her new uniform, but she suspected that Mann, playing the role of an indolent noble, would not make his appearance for several hours. A short word with Friesz confirmed there was a courtyard, next to the stables, where she might drill in private.
Four walls marked off a bare dirt yard. A lamp flickered over one doorway, and smoke rose from a chimney on the opposite side—the kitchen workers baking bread for the new day. Ilse took up the first stance, gathered her concentration, and struck into the shadows.
Over and over went the drill, until her arms ached, and her clothes were soaked in sweat. Mann came upon her an hour after sunrise. He had to repeat himself a second time before she realized it. Then, she leaned down, one hand pressed against her thigh, her sword held loosely to one side.
“Any word?” she said.
He shook his head. “Not yet. Shall we ride through the city, you and I?”
“As you wish, my lord baron.”
He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Yes, I do wish. We shall have breakfast and go.”
It was midmorning before they departed, Mann, Ilse, and the younger guard. Still no word had arrived from Raul. The bookseller would first have to arrange another delivery to the pleasure house, which might require at least another day. Reluctantly she submitted to a tour of Tiralien, starting at the docks, going past Lord Vieth’s palace, and through a pleasant avenue lined by shops. Once she had starved here. Once she had almost died. She tried not to think of those early, desperate days.
She succeeded, letting Mann choose their route, until they turned into the neighborhood where Raul’s pleasure house lay.
“My lord…”
“Softly now,” Mann murmured. “We shall ride past only.”
Ilse nodded, but her hands were trembling as they approached.
The pleasure house was just as she remembered—a square of golden brick, rising four stories, and surrounded by narrow lanes from its neighbors. This early in the morning, she expected no activity, but it was impossible to miss the emptiness she saw. No guards at the gates or patrolling the lanes. No candles in any windows. No servants passing in and out on their errands. It was as though the house had died, and taken all its inhabitants with it.
“My lady?” This was Mann.
“You forget yourself,” she murmured.
“Never. However, if you prefer, I shall call you guardswoman. So, I see what bothers you, guardswoman. A house left empty, or nearly so. I thought I saw a face in one window…”
“Whatever you saw, we should not stay here,” Ilse said.
“Agreed. Let us continue our tour of the district. We can return to the inn for our midday meal. Undoubtedly a message will await us.”
They proceeded to the next square where Mann purchased more wine, to be delivered to his ship. Ilse pretended to converse with the other guard but with only partial success. The man did not know what to make of her, she realized. She might be the baron’s secret lover. She might be a connection from his court days. Better that, she thought, than what she was. If Khandarr questioned them, they could only answer with what they knew.
On their return, a servant brought Mann a letter.
“A timely response from our bookseller,” he observed, reading through it. “Such diligence heartens me.” To the servant, he said, “Send word back that I will visit him after I dine. I cannot bargain with an empty stomach.” He gave the innkeeper orders to feed his fainting guards, and to have fresh mounts ready for their excursion.
Two hours later, Ilse and Mann arrived at Maester Haas’s antiquarian shop. The bookseller waited for them, a parcel at his side. “You will find other goods in the back rooms,” he said. “Do you wish to examine them yourself, my lord baron?”
“No. My guard shall do so. She is a competent woman and knows my requirements. Let us, you and I, discuss these other rare and lovely objects over a glass of wine.”
Ilse barely paid attention to his last words. Her pulse was thrumming as she passed through the indicated door, to the back room where Raul waited. Ten months, three weeks, five days, since she left Tiralien. Five months since Hallau Island. She had kept an unacknowledged ledger of their time apart, as if she could present such debts to the gods.
A shaded lamp stood on a high shelf, casting light and shadows over the small room, which was piled high with wooden crates. Several of the crates were open, their contents unpacked and stacked upon a broad table next to a journal book, where someone, Maester Haas or a clerk, recorded the inventory. The air smelled of paper dust, ink, and old leather. There was no sign of Raul himself.
Ilse paused. Her hand slid to her sword hilt, her thoughts fell inward to the balance required for magic, the same balance that swordplay demanded. It could be Raul was delayed, she told herself. It could be that he, too, suspected treachery and waited until he recognized his visitor.
Then a voice behind her spoke.
“You expected Lord Kosenmark.”
Ilse spun around, the sword drawn, then checked herself with a smothered cry.
Kathe Raendl came forward into the light. She was dressed in a dark blue skirt and smock. Her hair was swept back into a thick braid, wound around her head. She looked just as Ilse remembered, when they had last walked together to the market.
It took her several moments before she could speak.
“I did expect Raul. What is wrong?”
“Everything,” Kathe said in a low voice. “Lord Kosenmark left us, left Tiralien the month before last. Word came back four weeks ago the king arrested him.”
Arrested. Ilse closed her eyes. She barely managed to slide her sword into its sheath without dropping it. Gone to Duenne to confront the king. About what? Oh, yes. Surely he had heard from his remaining agents about Dzavek’s death.
I was too slow. I ought to have dared Anderswar a second time, back in Taboresk.
She heard Kathe circle around her in slow deliberate steps. Ilse opened her eyes and regarded her old friend. Kathe stared back. Her gaze was cold and unforgiving. Her voice, when she spoke, was laced with bitterness.
“You lied to me,” she said. “You and Lord Kosenmark both.”
“We did. We had good reason—”
“You lied. And your beloved abandoned us with little more than a warning, and that came almost too late. Gerek…” Kathe pressed her hand to her throat. “Do you know,” she said, her voice edging higher. “Do you know how Markus Khandarr beat my husband? Tortured him? All because he believed your Lord Kosenmark a traitor and wanted Gerek to betray the man. Even after he returned, Gerek did not dare to go beyond the grounds because he knew Lord Khandarr’s agents watched the house. When the rider came with news the king had arrested Lord Kosenmark, I had to bury my husband in a barrel of garbage so he could escape the house and return to his family. So he could pretend he never met such a man as Lord Kosenmark. I wish—”
She broke off and pressed both hands over her eyes.
Ilse could not speak for a moment. “Kathe, I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” Kathe gave a smothered laugh. “Oh, yes. You are sorry. But would you do the same again?”
No more secrets, Ilse thought. Only the truth, no matter how painful.
“I would,” she said. “I would have a choice, but I would choose the same again.”
Kathe uncovered her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “For an honor higher than the king’s,” she said softly. “For Veraene. Yes, I understand. I should. I lived in Duenne’s Court and Lord Kosenmark’s house.”
There was a strange finality to her words.
Ilse had to make one last effort. “Are you safe?”
Kathe’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Are you safe?” Ilse repeated. “You and your mother, Mistress Denk, Nadine and Josef, and everyone else. Are you safe?”
Kathe hesitated a long moment, as though she had not expected such a question. “We are,” she said at last. “Gerek is with his family. I had word he arrived safely, though I cannot tell what might happen if Lord Khandarr decides to investigate. Lord and Lady Iani have vanished. I do not know where. Many of the guards went to Valentain. The rest of us took refuge with Lord Vieth. Except for Nadine. She left the same day and did not tell anyone.”
Ilse nodded slowly. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me the truth.”
She turned back toward the bookseller’s front room, but paused at the light tread of footsteps hurrying after her. A hand brushed against hers—a gentle gesture, its eloquence unspoken.
* * *
MANN CONCLUDED NEGOTIATIONS and a purchase from the bookseller. As he and Ilse mounted their horses, he asked, “What is wrong? You do not have the air of someone reunited with their beloved.”
“He is gone,” she said softly. “He went to Duenne.”
Mann said nothing for several moments. “He encountered difficulties, then.”
She nodded. No need to mention the king or Markus Khandarr.
“What comes next?” her companion asked.
“I don’t know. All his friends have … disappeared.”
Mann blinked. “Disappeared? Or merely inaccessible?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is a different matter. Then, if I might suggest, let us return to the inn, where we can plan your next venture.”
They took an easy pace through Tiralien’s main avenues, which were crowded with carts and carriages this afternoon. Mann suggested a detour into the Little University, including a visit to the house where Tanja Duhr’s most famous archivist once lived. He was attempting to divert her, and to provide a distraction for anyone who might be observing the baron’s activities in Tiralien, so she did not protest.
As they came into the narrow street where Asa Dilawer had lived while he organized and annotated the first and most complete collection of Tanja Duhr’s poetry, Ilse felt a hand skim her leg. She glanced down to see a nondescript man of uncertain years hurry past. There was nothing about him to attract attention …
She rode on a few moments, then casually leaned down to adjust her stirrup. Just as she suspected, there was a note tucked into her boot. She slid that into her palm, and from there into her sleeve, before she straightened up.
“A problem?” Mann asked.
“An answer,” she replied. “Or so I hope.”
At the next fountain, Mann called for a halt while they watered their horses. Ilse unfolded the scrap of paper into her palm and read the few short lines the message contained. Go back to Little University to Aldemar Square. Third passage south to old stables. I have news of Raul.
She crumpled the paper into her fist. An obvious ploy, except no one knew of her presence here, except Mann, his servants, and Kathe.
“You don’t like the answer,” Mann observed.
“I’m not certain. I might need to ride alone. Can I trust you to return to the inn?”
“No,” he said cheerfully. “I would rather come with you. And do not think to use your sword against me, oh guardian of my heart. Someone would surely notice.”
“In my next life, I shall hunt you down and make you miserable,” she growled.
“That is my hope.”
In the end, she allowed him to accompany her as they rode a great circle round to reenter the Little University, then into the third passage south from Aldemar Square. Their destination proved to be an abandoned stable, built from stone. Once it might have belonged to a thriving merchant. Now it was an empty dusty shell.
Just as Ilse was wondering what came next, a lean man dressed in a stained brown shirt and trousers emerged from the stables. “This way.” He took hold of her horse’s bridle. Mann dismounted and followed, gazing around him as they proceeded through a long corridor lined with empty stalls, then into a larger hall that echoed with the trill and coo of doves. The man gathered the reins of Mann’s horse and nodded toward a ladder. “Go there. Your friends are waiting. Don’t worry about the horses. I’ll see to them.”
Ilse climbed up first, a knife in one hand. She passed one darkened floor, then came to a second lit with shaded lamps leading off to one side. This one, yes. She waited for Mann, and they proceeded down the trail of lamplight, until they came to a small bare room illuminated with more lamps, where Benno Iani waited.
As she approached, Benno stared. “You live,” he said in a wondering tone. “I was afraid—”
“My own story doesn’t matter,” Ilse said. “Tell me what happened with Raul. Quickly, please.”
Her voice broke on the last word. Benno held out a hand and guided her inside to a bench where Emma Iani sat.
It was Emma who gave her the essential information.
“He rode to Duenne with Ault and eight guards. That was almost two months ago. Lord Khandarr arrested him the moment he entered Duenne. According to our last report, the king has agreed to a trial.”
“What else?”
They took turns in delivering the news.
How Khandarr had infiltrated Raul’s network in Tiralien. How Khandarr believed that Lord Kosenmark intended to sail to Károví to betray his own kingdom. Raul’s absence seemed to confirm the rumors, until he reappeared two months later. His stay was brief, however. Less than a month after his return, he signed over all his possessions in Tiralien to Kathe Raendl and Dedrick’s cousin, Lord Gerek Haszler.
Their last report, delivered by a friend from another friend, said Duke Kosenmark insisted on a public trial for his son. The king had agreed, but the process had stalled in bickering between political factions.
“Who are his allies in Duenne?” Ilse asked after she digested this news.
Benno hesitated. “From what I know, he has a few. Many others agree with him, but none wish to oppose the king or Markus Khandarr. However, the duke has influence. It is because of him that his son lives.”
Ilse studied her hands, the fingers interlocked. “Then I must go to the duke.” She glanced up to Baron Mann. “Would your purse extend to a fast horse and the means for fresh mounts between here and Duenne? It’s a risk. It’s all a risk. But if I ride tomorrow, I could reach the city within the week.”
“That will be too late,” Benno Iani said. “Lord Khandarr—”
“I have no choice, Benno.” Her voice caught, and she had to swallow hard before she could continue. “I cannot transport myself with magic. I tried once. I nearly lost myself between worlds. But I cannot give up now. I have a message to deliver to Armand of Angersee, concerning Raul but much more besides. Too many people have died so I might deliver it.”
