“What is it?” the boy blurted, eyes round.
Sanouk pointed toward the shadows back the way they had come. “Do you see him?”
The boy searched the empty darkness. “I see nothing. Who is it?”
“The assassin,” Sanouk whispered harshly. “You cannot see him, for he is a specter conjured by the witch-queen, sent out to murder all who stand opposed to her rule.”
The boy glanced doubtfully at Sanouk. “But you see him?”
“Of course. I am blessed by the gods to know all who seek to harm me,” Sanouk said, earning an open-mouthed appraisal from the youth. “I’d hoped my joining the celebration would confuse the killer. It seems I was wrong. You are not safe. Go, there, into that alley beside the tannery. I will follow.”
He shoved the boy to get him moving, then waited a slow hundred count, letting the boy’s imagination run rampant. Keeping up the game, he scurried across the path, cowering as if sought, and joined the boy. The alley stank of rancid tallow and the scrapings of hides, but it was dark and sheltered, hidden from all eyes.
“Is the assassin coming?” the boy asked, hiding behind a stack of hides that had not yet made it to the tannery.
Sanouk could not stifle a laugh. “There is no assassin, only you and I.”
Confusion pinched the boy’s brow. “But….”
“I thought to have a little sport with you.”
“You tried to trick me!” the boy said.
“I would say I succeeded rather than tried,” Sanouk answered blandly. “By your stench, I’d also say you that shat your breeches. A pity. You will never make much of a man.”
Tears shone in the boy’s eyes. “Leave me alone. Go away!”
“You are naught but a scared child,” Sanouk said, herding the boy to the back of the alley. “And hardly worth my effort, yet I have a need of you and your miserable life.”
The boy backed away, eyes bulging. “I am sorry, milord. Please, let me go.”
Sanouk moved closer, forcing the boy to a wall. Leaning in one corner stood another barrel. “Please,” the boy whimpered, then tried to dart past. Sanouk slashed the edge of his fist against the boy’s throat. Gagging, the boy retreated, brandishing his knife.
Sanouk advanced.
“I am a w-w-wolf,” the boy sobbed, bumping against the barrel. Water sloshed over the rim, and Sanouk decided at that moment what manner of death he would avoid with the boy’s sacrifice.
Sanouk halted, just out of reach of the boy’s slashing blade. He doubted the witless child would attempt to-
The boy hurled the knife. Sanouk stumbled backward with a startled curse, clutching his neck. There was no wound, no wetness of blood, for Undai’s sacrifice protected him from steel. Had that not been so, the knife would have gravely wounded him … or worse. The ingrate tried to murder me!
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sanouk growled, and struck the boy.
Screaming like a thing possessed, the boy flew at him, and Sanouk drove the tip of his boot into the boy’s groin. He went down in a writhing heap. Catching him by the hair, Sanouk jerked his head up. “I do hope you like water, boy,” he said, and began laughing.
Chapter 20
“Are you thinking what I am?” Loro muttered, eyeing the ten-foot palisade surrounding Valdar. Four weathered wooden towers rose at the corners of the pathetic wall, stark against the clear morning sky, each with a pair of archers standing watch.
“Yes,” Rathe answered, “if you are thinking that a mining village nestled within the wilds of the Gyntors, with the constant threat of marauding brigands, hunting Shadenmok, and gods alone know what other creatures lurking about in the forest, should have heavier fortifications.”
“This would barely hold off a pack of starving urchins. A modest siege engine would bring the wall down in a quarter turn of the glass.”
“You are right,” Aeden said, riding up next to them.
“So what keeps dangers at bay?” Rathe asked, genuinely curious.
Aeden pointed to the winged Reaver banner at the head of the column. The same banners hung from the watchtowers. “Once, that banner meant nothing. Then Lord Sanouk came to Hilan.”
“Why should a fallen prince matter to bandits, let alone a hunting Shadenmok?”
At the mention of that hellish creature, Aeden paled. “Shadenmok attack those who are alone or are in small groups, but never a village … at least, not usually. As for bandits, Lord Sanouk did not come to Hilan a broken outcast, like the rest of us. He came with fire and authority. He came to rule as would a king of a troubled realm.”
“Not much of a kingdom,” Loro snorted. Aeden continued as if he had not spoken.
“After arriving, Lord Sanouk led a company of Hilan men on the hunt for lawbreakers and the like. In less than a fortnight, he had captured three dozen of the most notorious brigands and smugglers, and ordered them impaled outside the gates of Hilan, Valdar, Noerith to the west, and more along the Shadow Road to the south. On the pole below each man, he wrote a warning in blood that the same would happen to all who flouted his laws.”
“Still,” Loro said, “brigands are not known for heeding threats or laws-that’s what makes them brigands.”
Aeden shrugged. “There’s only one obligation any lord of Hilan must do to avoid the king’s ire-help fill the king’s coffers. None have done a finer job of it than Lord Sanouk.” Despite his words, there was no note of praise in Aeden’s voice.
“That answers nothing,” Rathe said.
Aeden cast his gaze left and right, then lowered his voice to a hush barely heard over the horses’ hooves and the wagons’ rattles. “He allows bandits to raid a select few caravans passing through his holdings. Should that same band make the mistake of touching any shipments of ore bound for Cerrikoth they, and anyone they are suspected of associating with, are hunted down and taught that having a spike thrust up through your bowels is an easy death. In the end, Sanouk gets what he wants, as do the rogues.”
Loro shook his head. “Sounds like the bandits are getting shorted.”
“Mayhap they are,” Aeden allowed, “but they keep their lives and gain rewards, all without fear of Lord Sanouk’s wrath.”
“I wonder,” Rathe said, “does Sanouk receive a share from those raided caravans?”
Aeden shrugged. “I would expect so.”
Rathe was of the mind that Sanouk was more calculating than he had imagined. Making such a pact with brigands allowed Lord Sanouk to gain a favorable reputation both in the north and in the king’s court. All the while his brother, the foppish King Nabar, was seen as a weak and ineffectual leader unworthy to sit his father’s throne. One way or another, Rathe considered, Lord Sanouk might yet win his crown. The question was, did he have such aspirations? While he had been cast out from Onareth for plotting to seize reign from his brother, it had never been proven.
As the last riders of the company rode into the broad, frosted clearing surrounding Valdar, a single blast of a ram’s horn alerted the village to the newcomers.
“I suppose I should do my duty,” Rathe said, and kicked his mount into a canter to the head of the company. Aeden joined him, but Loro stayed behind.
Captain Treon eyed Rathe when he came abreast. “You will keep your mouth shut, lieutenant. I will deal with Mitros.”
“Of course,” Rathe answered. The command suited him, for it made observation all the easier. As before, it struck him odd that a cohort of traitors might reside in Valdar. To what purpose would civilized men have in treating with plainsmen?
Before they reached the gates, Mitros, the village reeve, strode out through a postern gate, braced by two men-at-arms wearing grimy tabards embroidered with the image of the Reaver upon their chests. As the voice of Lord Sanouk’s authority in the village, Mitros wore his badge of station as poorly as his men. Grubby furs and dark leathers covered his corpulence from throat to toe.