And then, though she didn't particularly seem to require his aid, the fellow who was clearly far more than Salia's driver stood between them. Before Jassion had finished staggering, as his legs quivered through the process of deciding whether they were willing to hold him, the other man raised a hand and pushed at the air, as though dismissing some unfunny jest.
Jassion hurtled upward, his feet leaving the carpet, to slam into the wall beside the bust adorning the fireplace. And there he hung, held aloft by unseen magics. His jaw-which must already have ached abominably-fell slack. He shook his head as though to clear it, succeeding only in dislodging bits of dust and mortar that had sifted like dandruff into his hair.
Hand still held aloft, the driver aimed an incredulous gaze at his employer. "Are we sure this is the man we want? I've known mad dogs with more sense."
"Salia," Jassion croaked from on high, hands and feet thrashing.
"Starving mad dogs," the apparent sorcerer clarified.
"Salia…"
"Starving mad dogs in heat."
"Enough," the priestess informed him. She turned a pleasant smile upon the floating baron. "Yes, m'lord Jassion?"
The baron took a deep, calming breath. "I'm all right. I'm calm. Kindly ask your-friend-to put me down."
"You heard my lord," she said sweetly.
The sorcerer shrugged and dropped his arm to his side. Then, staring down at the moaning form that now lay sprawled on the carpet, "Oh. You probably meant lower him slowly, didn't you?"
Salia Mavere forced the amused smile to remain plastered across her face, even as her stomach roiled. In a way, she was almost grateful for the baron's outburst, for it provided distraction from her own traitorous emotions.
She didn't fear much, the mistress of the Blacksmiths' Guild. But she knew terror every time she thought of that black-armored bastard-not for what she knew he'd done, but for what he might have done.
And she feared, too, what might happen if the other Guildmasters ever came to share her suspicions. They could take away everything I've worked for…
Jassion rose shakily to his feet, brushing dust from his chest-and, not incidentally, drawing his guest's attention back to what was, rather than what might be. Then, each word strained through clenched teeth, "My sincerest apologies, Salia. That was inexcusable of me. I fear that you've touched on a rather sensitive topic."
You've no idea. Still, she could only raise an eyebrow at that, impressed at Jassion's apparent penchant for understatement. She knew, as did anyone in power in Imphallion, that a young Jassion had been present at the Denathere massacre, when Corvis Rebaine, called the Terror of the East, had ended his campaign in a basement full of corpses. The young baron had watched the warlord disappear with Jassion's older sister, Tyannon, and survived only by lying hidden amid the tangled bodies.
She knew, too, that when Rebaine had resurfaced during the Serpent's War, Jassion had been present at his interrogation. And she knew, though only a few others did, that Rebaine had claimed that not only had he not slain his hostage, he had eventually married her. At her instigation. According to the guards who were present, it had not been a revelation Jassion took particularly well.
So when she said, "I understand," she meant it. "I'll forgive the outburst, Baron Jassion. This time."
He nodded curtly. "But I did tell you!" he erupted, only barely holding himself in check. "From the day the Serpent died, I warned you that allowing Rebaine to depart in peace was a mistake! We should have hunted him down and killed him when we had the chance!"
"It was a mistake," Salia agreed softly. "One I would very much like you to help us rectify." She couldn't help but smile at the stunned disbelief that fell like a veil over his face. "Would you like to reconsider working with us? Or shall I fetch you your hot poker and call for a horse?"
"You want me to hunt Corvis Rebaine for you?" He seemed to be having real trouble grasping it.
"I do. The Guilds do."
"Why?"
She leaned forward. "Because he couldn't have resurfaced at a more inopportune time. I don't need to tell you that the Houses and the Guilds are barely speaking to one another, let alone cooperating. Cephira's invaded our borders. We cannot afford an internal war on top of all this, Jassion. Our attentions must remain focused on Cephira, and on trying to keep the government running.
"We cannot spare any of our own military forces to pursue Rebaine, not if we wish to check this invasion. In fact, we'll be taking most of your soldiers with us when we return to Mecepheum, to join with the massed armies of the other Houses. And I think I'll neither surprise nor offend you when I say that the other Guildmasters aren't willing to put you in the field. You frighten them, for some reason."
"Imagine that," he muttered. Then, "So I'm to hunt down Corvis Rebaine on my own? No men at all?"
"Those few soldiers we aren't holding in reserve to deal with Cephira will be needed elsewhere. There's no way we can keep the rumors of Rebaine's return from spreading; might as well try to cage the wind. We'll need troops to keep the peace.
"Besides, any large force accompanying you would be impossible to keep secret, and I doubt a tiny handful of soldiers would be of much use against your quarry."
Jassion couldn't help but smile, then flinched at the pain in his bruised face. "I'm flattered you think so highly of my abilities, Salia, but-"
"I said you'd be without soldiers, Jassion, not without help." She reached down, lifted the box she'd brought with her. Only an observer far closer than the baron would have noted how her flesh shrank from the touch of the wood. Drawing a key from within her belt, she popped open the lid so Jassion might see. IT WAS A DRAMATIC GESTURE for something so unimpressive. "A dagger?" Jassion scoffed, his disdain rising like bile in the back of his throat. "I'll need a bit more than… than…" And then he heard it. His voice failed him as he shuddered at the whispers in the back of his mind.
"It was recovered," Mavere told him, her own voice soft, "near where Audriss the Serpent fell. It's been handled only with tools since then, never by hand. Take it."
The Baron of Braetlyn feared little in this world, but his soul shrieked a warning, pleading with his reaching fingers not to close about that simple, innocuous hilt.
Jassion didn't listen. And even as he lifted the weapon, felt it shift and twist and grow within his grasp, the whispers coalesced in the tiny corner of his mind where nightmares dwelt, where a young boy still felt the clammy touch of dead arms and legs pressing against him from all sides. And they spoke to him a name.
Talon.
He blinked, and that eternal instant was over. Jassion held in his fists not a dagger but a great two-handed flamberge, its scalloped blade nearly five feet in length. For Talon was one of the Kholben Shiar, the demon-forged blades who read any wielder and assumed a form best suited to his heart and soul.
"This should even the odds a bit," he said with a smirk.
"You'll also," Mavere said, "be taking him."
Jassion frowned as the other fellow once more offered a cheery wave. "Hello again."
"Salia, I do not-"
"Have any choice in the matter," she interrupted. "Look, my lord, you've already seen some of the magics he has at his disposal. Well, they're now at yours. Unless you think you can find and fight someone like Corvis Rebaine without such powers."
His scowl deepened further, but he nodded. Though it actually, physically pained him, he extended a hand to the young sorcerer. "I'm sure you'll bring something useful to the journey."
The other looked at the hand, made no move to take it. "One of us has to," he said with a faint sneer.