“I live in Palanthas.”
“He did not bring you himself? Why not?”
She shrugged, and for the first time there appeared a slight fissure in that self-confident facade. “I don’t know. He had important business in the city-he always has work that keeps him busy. That didn’t prevent me from doing some traveling. I had a good friend who lived in a manor on these plains. I would visit Dara Lorimar every summer.”
“You are more than a mere traveler, Lady,” Jaymes ventured. “You carry yourself like royalty. You are certainly brave-for all you know, I could be a robber, a common thief, or even worse.”
“There are some who say you are worse. Much worse,” she said dryly.
Jaymes shifted warily. Somehow she knew who he was, though how she had made that identification was beyond him.
“Oh, I recognized that dwarf,” she explained. “I saw him before, in the Gnome Ghetto of Caergoth. I was watching through a spyglass when the knights tried to capture you there. When Coryn the White whisked you away. When you killed that knight, cut off the hand of another one. They say it was you who killed Lord Lorimar and his daughter-my friend. Oh, I know exactly who you are or who you are supposed to be. You are the Assassin.”
“You know all that, and you’re not afraid?” Jaymes asked. “What makes you think I won’t kill you then?”
She stood blocking the door. Every muscle in the warrior’s body was twitching, urging him to make a dash, attack, hide, do something. Yet he stood there like a trapped deer, quivering, nostrils flaring. The woman before him was a slender reed, beautiful, truly, but obviously he could overcome her. Yet the warrior was unwilling to shove her aside and make his escape.
“Maybe you will kill me yet,” she said, her voice even, still unafraid. “Then we will surely know, won’t we? We’ll know that you’re a cold-blooded murderer who would shed the blood of a woman with no regret. Who will do whatever he needs to do to get what he wants. ‘This is the Assassin,’ they will all cry, and Captain Powell and his men will hunt you down and kill you.”
“That would be a little late for you, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “I say to myself, what if they are wrong? What if you are not the one who killed the lord and Dara?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Lady Coryn. I know her, and I saw her help you in Caergoth, help you escape the very knights who serve the nobility of Solamnia. For ten years she has been an ally of our noble houses, helping to make this land strong and righteous again. She has risked her life many times to drive the Dark Knights out of Palanthas, to banish the beasts of Khellendros from the northern coasts. I have wondered why she would help you.”
“Well, she was my lover, once,” he said harshly, more harshly than he intended. “She has a tender spot for me.”
“Oh.” Finally something seemed to take her by surprise. Those large eyes widened, then narrowed. Her voice, when next she spoke, was cold. “Except I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want,” he said. “I don’t care.”
He was eyeing the door, again considering the notion of pushing her out of the way and making a run for it, when loud male voices reached them. Many knights were approaching.
“Lady Selinda!”
“Your Highness?”
“Princess! Where are you?”
“What, you’re the daughter of Du Chagne?” he asked, astonished. “You are the Princess of Palanthas?”
She looked around in alarm then fastened her large eyes on the warrior. She was still remarkably unafraid. He stared back at her, waiting to see what this surprising creature was going to do next.
“Come here!” she said, pulling open the door and gesturing to him. “I know a place where you’ll be safe-trust me.”
Jaymes hesitated. Why should he trust her? The answer was obvious: With a single scream, she could bring doom down upon him.
“This way,” she said urgently. “Hurry!”
With those words to prod him, he followed her through the door. They emerged from the shed to see that none of the knights had reached the rear of the building yet. “This way!” she said, ducking her head and running. She moved with speed and grace in her leggings, and the warrior had to hurry to keep up with her.
Selinda led him along the back of the house, ignoring the shouts that grew more insistent-and nearer. They came upon a horizontal trapdoor, leading into a compartment underneath the rear of the house. There was a rusty iron bolt atop the door, which the young woman kicked open then reached down to pull up the hatch.
“This is a wine cellar,” the princess said. “There is a way out of here. You can escape through a tunnel, a long passage, that leads down to the bank of the stream. Hurry!”
He paused, his natural wariness balking at the sight of the shadowy flight of steps. “How do you know that?” he asked.
“I told you-I used to play here as a child. It was my favorite part of the whole estate. Now, go!”
Jaymes looked at her, frowning. After only a moment’s further hesitation he plunged into the dark space beneath the trapdoor, slipping down the steep wooden set of stairs and coming to rest on his rump on a dusty floor. The momentary flash of light around him vanished as she dropped the door of the hatch back into place.
He listened, expecting to hear the sound of approaching knights. Instead, he heard a metallic clunk and knew that the princess had fastened the outside lock on the door.
“Don’t be such an old maid,” Selinda said, shaking her head in the face of Captain Powell’s anger-anger, she knew very well, fueled by his genuine concern for her.
The knights had brought her hastily back to the camp, swords drawn, eyes wide as they explored the shadows to all sides. Despite her protests that she had not seen anything untoward, they acted as if they had snatched her from a menace in hot pursuit. They jostled her along so roughly that she arrived in the safety of the camp huffing for breath, her hair and garments in disarray.
Fortunately, in their eagerness to get her away from the ruins none of them had examined the rear of the house. She had been able to slip away from the trapdoor before she met her “rescuers,” so none of them spotted a hatch, its rusty iron bolt in place. The Assassin, as she had known he would, had refrained from making any noise that would have attracted their attention.
“This is the Sword of Lorimar!” the Captain of the Rose spluttered, gesturing to the tall blade that now lay on the table in his command tent. “That means that the Assassin is nearby somewhere! By Joli, if you had met him near that old ruin, you could have suffered the same fate as Lorimar’s daughter!”
“I appreciate your diligence, Captain. Your men made haste to find me and bring me to safety. Surely the crisis is past.”
“That is not the point-nor is the danger past,” fumed Powell. “From now on, you will stay safely behind in the camp where we can keep an eye on you. As to that wretched murderer, I can only suspect he’s miles away by now. A cur like that would certainly flee at the approach of a company of knights.”
“What about those you suspect of being his companions-the dwarf and gnomes? Surely he would not abandon them?”
The captain of knights shook his head. “That was my failing, Princess. When I found the sword, my thoughts were all of you and your immediate peril. I led the men to seek you and bring you back. I left only a skelton few on guard here. By the time we returned, those rascals had slipped away into the dusk. I can’t spare the men to chase after them in the dark, not when the real villain is out there somewhere.”
“He is the real villain, that warrior?” Selinda inquired. “Has the evidence been presented to a lord or a knightly council?”
“The evidence is plain, my lady!” Powell declared in exasperation, pointing to the sword. “That is the mark of Lorimar on the hilt. Giantsmiter is a unique weapon-the flaming blade of the gods, it has been called. When that fire is blazing, it can cut through stone, metal, anything. Witness how it felled the knights in Caergoth who went to arrest him!”