Corvis couldn't remember the last time he'd been so weary, so weighted down and oppressed by his own body-although, he admitted with a rueful grin, that might just be due to failing memory. No physical exhaustion, this, easily solved by a day or two of relaxation, a few nights' rejuvenating slumber. Rather, he felt himself sinking, suffocating, in the mire of a mental and emotional fatigue so thick that it bordered on despair. Not since the darkest days of the Serpent's War had he so desperately wanted the world to just go away for a while, to cease its incessant demands. He dreaded the thought of returning to Mecepheum's morass of Guilds and Houses and politics and corruption, and in the deepest recesses of his soul, a voice-his own voice-beseeched him to give it all up. Forget the mystery, forget the conspiracy, forget Imphallion. It's not your responsibility; it never was. So what if someone has murdered in your name? It's a name that cannot possibly be hated any more than it is already. Why continue? Why not find a home somewhere, far from the Cephiran border, and make a life from what years remain?
He knew his answers, of course: His sense of the greater good, tarnished and frayed though it may have been, so rigid and uncompromising that it had allowed him to murder thousands that he might save millions. His loyalty to companions who had fought and bled at his side. His concern for a family he had lost yet still loved. And, he conceded, his own pride, a towering pillar of fire that refused to be doused.
But for a brief time that evening, had anyone asked Corvis Rebaine if those reasons were sufficient, if they made the struggle worth continuing, he could not truthfully have answered yes.
And it was there, at the nadir of his inner pit of exhaustion and desolation, that the gods elected, in their own peculiar way, to yank him out of it.
Corvis was standing up from his chair, mind and muscle groaning with the effort, before it occurred to him that the heavy knock reverberating through the door didn't sound like it came from Irrial's modest fist. He straightened, frowning thoughtfully at the door. No safety there. He hadn't thought to twist the lock as he'd staggered in-not that it really mattered, since both latch and door itself were flimsy enough for an angry rabbit to take down, given a sufficient running start. He thought about keeping silent, but that probably wouldn't put anyone off more than a few moments.
So he stepped, not to the door, but back to the window. You're being paranoid, Corvis. It's probably just the proprietor. Still, only once he'd hefted Sunder from where it leaned against the wall below the sill did he call out, inviting whoever it was to enter.
The door drifted open with a melodramatic creak, revealing a looming shape in the flickering lanternlight of the hall beyond. And Corvis, blood pounding in his ears, old agonies coursing through his limbs, could only think to say, "I'm rather stunned that you were able to keep calm enough to refrain from kicking the damn thing in."
"I figured there was no need to rush," said the Baron of Braetlyn. "I've been looking forward to this for such a very long time."
Chapter Nineteen
"Are you certain?"
The sorcerer's glare, despite the drooping and exhausted lids that muffled it, could well have flayed the hide from an elephant at fifty paces.
"It's a fair question," Jassion protested. "You've been running on the edge of collapse for days now. We can't afford a mistake at this point."
"Oh? Used up your budget for them, have you?"
"If you're just going to stand there being insulting…"
"Not at all, old boy. I can accomplish a great deal while being insulting." Then, with a tired sigh, Kaleb rose from where he'd knelt. "Yes, Jassion, I'm quite sure. I was sure yesterday. I was sure the day before that. I was sure the day before-well, I think even you can spot the pattern, yes?"
"Will you-?"
"Yes. It's not an easy spell to cast once, let alone on subsequent days like this. But yes, it was worth it, and yes, I'm sure he's quite nearby now-the spell tells me as much-and yes, I'll be ready. I recover quickly. Get out there and start asking around. Learn where he's staying, if anyone's with him. I'll be good as new by the time you get back."
"I still think-"
"Don't. You're not good at it. You will come back and get me, Jassion." It was clearly an argument they'd had a time or two before. "I don't care what sort of opportunity you think you have. I don't care if you find him unarmored, unconscious, and nailed to a stump, you will come get me before you try anything!"
"Fine."
"And don't sulk. It's unattractive."
It was the baron's turn to glare, but his features swiftly softened. "Mellorin?"
"She'll be fine. The spell's a greater strain on the focus than the caster, but she just needs a good long rest."
Jassion frowned. "She doesn't have time for a 'long' rest."
"Sure she does. In fact, I've already cast a second enchantment to ensure that she won't wake up for some time. Not until after we've done what we need to do."
"Oh?" Jassion's brow furrowed. "You think that's wise, Kaleb?"
"I thought you'd be happy keeping her out of harm's way."
"I am. I'm just surprised that you're willing to do it. And just how do you plan to explain to her, after she's come all this way and made it possible to find the bastard, that you decided she didn't need to be there for the end of it?"
"Tell me something, old boy: Do you really have any intention of trying to take Rebaine alive? Really?"
"Well…"
"Exactly. I'm pretty sure I can explain putting her to sleep a lot more readily than I could justify anything she'd see in the next few hours."
And I'll need her loyalty when all's said and done, he added silently.
"Good to know your relationship is based on honesty and trust," Jassion grumbled. But he made no further argument, saying instead, "I'm as ready as I'm going to be for this."
Kaleb nodded and spoke the eldritch syllables, reaching out to mold Jassion's face like so much clay, ensuring that the baron could wander the streets and ask his questions without being recognized should Rebaine spot him. It was a temporary transformation, but given the size of the obnoxious flyspeck of a village, it should more than suffice.
As soon as Jassion was gone, Kaleb began to pace, shedding all signs of fatigue like a sweaty tunic. His brow furrowed in contemplation, concentration, as he steeled himself, gathering magics that even Jassion had never seen, readying himself for a confrontation six hellish years in the making… THEY GLOWERED ACROSS THE ROOM, each at the other, two men bound by a chain of loathing that ran the breadth of Imphallion-and through the wounded heart of a woman whom each, so far as he was capable, had loved. From the open doorway and between the slats of the floorboards drifted the scents of roasting bird and beast, the dull susurrus of half-drunk laughter. Hardly appropriate heralds of the violence to come.
Corvis felt Sunder quiver in his grasp, like a charger straining at the reins, and only then did he truly register the massive sword upon which the man in the doorway so casually leaned. It had been a dagger when Corvis saw it last, but he knew it instantly for what it was. He could feel the bloodlust, smelted into the steel and only tentatively leashed, as clearly as he could sense the smoldering rage, repressed just as feebly, emanating from its wielder.
He wondered, briefly, how the baron had gotten hold of the vile weapon, but he'd not provide the satisfaction of asking.
It was Jassion, instead, who broke the brittle silence. "It was a pathetic attempt at misdirection, Rebaine," he said. "Did you really think that just entering town separately, or checking into different rooms, would be enough to keep us from spotting your accomplice?"