"Quite right, Cameron. There's nothing at all to worry about. We've thought of everything, planned for every eventuality. Nothing can go wrong."
"Don't take me for a fool, sorcerer. Something can always go wrong. Adamant's no fool, either; he wouldn't still be investing so much time and money in his campaign if he didn't think he had a bloody good chance of beating me. He knows something, Wulf. Something we don't. I can feel it in my bones."
"Whatever you say, Cameron. I'll make further enquiries. In the meantime, I have someone waiting to meet you."
"I hadn't forgotten," said Hardcastle. "Your chief of mercenaries. The one you've been so mysterious about. Very well; who is it?"
Wulf braced himself. "Roxanne."
Hardcastle sat up straight in his chair. "Roxanne? You brought that woman into my house? Get her out of here now!"
"It's perfectly all right, Cameron," said Wulf quickly. "I brought two of my best men to keep an eye on her. I think you'll find her reputation is a little exaggerated. She's the best sword-for-hire I've ever come across. Unbeatable with a blade in her hand, and a master strategist. She works well on her own, or in charge of troops. She's done an excellent job for us so far, with remarkably few fatalities. She's a genuine phenomenon."
"She's also crazy!"
"There is that, yes. But it doesn't get in the way of her work."
Hardcastle slowly settled back into his chair, but his scowl remained. "All right, I'll see her. Where is she?"
"In the library."
Hardcastle sniffed. "At least there's not much there she can damage. Jillian, go and get her."
His wife nodded silently, got to her feet and left the study, being careful to ease the door shut behind her so that it wouldn't slam.
Hardcastle turned away from the bow window, and stared at the portrait of his father, hanging on the wall opposite. A dark and gloomy picture of a dark and gloomy man. Gideon Hardcastle hadn't been much of a father, and Cameron had shed no tears at his funeral, but he had been a Councilor in Haven for thirty-four years. Cameron Hardcastle was determined to do better. Being a Councilor was just the beginning. He had plans. He was going to make the name Hardcastle respected and feared throughout the Low Kingdoms.
Whatever it took.
Roxanne prowled restlessly back and forth in Hardcastle's library, her boots, sinking soundlessly into the thick pile carpet. The two mercenaries set to guard her watched nervously from the other side of the room. Roxanne smiled at them now and again, just to keep them on their toes. She was tall, six foot three even without her boots, with a lithe, muscular body. She wore a shirt and trousers of bright lime-yellow, topped with a battered leather jacket. She looked like a vicious canary. She wore a long sword on her left hip, in a well-worn scabbard.
At first sight she was not unattractive. She was young, in her early twenties, with a sharp-boned face, blazing dark eyes, and a mass of curly black hair held in place with a leather headband. But there was something about Roxanne, something in her unwavering gaze and disturbing smile that made even the most experienced mercenary uneasy. Besides, everyone knew her reputation.
Roxanne first made a name for herself when she was fifteen, fighting as a sword-for-hire in the Silk Trail vendettas. The rest of her company were wiped out in an ambush, and she had to fight her way back alone through the enemy lines. She killed seventeen men and women that night, and had the ears to prove it. The people who saw her stride back into camp that night, laughing and singing, covered in other people's blood and wearing a necklace of human ears, swore they'd never seen anything more frightening in their lives.
She went through a dozen mercenary companies in less than three years, and despite her swordsmanship they were always glad to see her go. She was brave and loyal, as long as she was paid regularly, and always the first to lead an attack, but there was no getting away from the fact that Roxanne was stark staring crazy. When there wasn't an enemy to fight she'd pick quarrels among her own people, just to get a little action. She was even worse when she got drunk. People who knew her learned to recognize the signs early, and head for the nearest exit. Roxanne had a nasty temper and a somewhat strange sense of humor. Her idea of a good night out tended to involve knife fights, terrorizing the locals, and burning down inns that expected her to pay her bar bills.
Not that she limited her arson to inns. Quite often she'd set fire to a tent or two in her own camp, for reasons that made sense only to her. Roxanne liked a good fire. She also liked betting everything she had on one roll of the dice, and then refusing to pay up if she lost. She worshipped a god no one had ever heard of, had an entirely unhealthy regard for the truth, and picked fights with nuns. She said they offended her sense of the rightness of things. If Roxanne had a sense of rightness of things, it was news to everyone who'd ever met her.
Everyone agreed that Roxanne would go far, and the sooner the better.
She ended up in Haven after a disagreement with a Captain of the Guard over the prices in a Jaspertown company store. When someone explained to her that she'd just killed the local Mayor's son, she decided it might be time to start looking for new employment. So she threw the Captain's head through the Mayor's front window, set fire to a post office as a distraction, and headed for Haven as fast as her stolen horse could carry her.
Roxanne roamed about Hardcastle's library, picking things up and putting them down again. She'd never seen so many resolutely ugly pieces of ornamental china in her life. And there wasn't a damn thing worth stealing. She broke a few ornaments on general principles, and because they made such a pleasant sound as they smashed against the wall. The two mercenaries stirred uneasily, but said nothing. Ostensibly they were there to keep her out of trouble and make sure she didn't set fire to anything, but Roxanne knew they wouldn't do anything unless they absolutely had to. They were scared of her. Most people were, particularly when she smiled. Roxanne smiled widely at the two mercenaries. They both paled visibly, and she turned away, satisfied. She started to pace up and down again, tapping her fingertips on her sword belt. She never could stay still for long. She had too much energy in her.
She looked round quickly as the library door swung open, and then took her hand away from her sword as a pale, colorless woman came in. At first Roxanne thought she must be a servant, but a quick glance at the quality of her clothes suggested she had to be very upper-class, even if she didn't act like it. She ignored the two mercenaries and addressed herself to Roxanne, without raising her eyes from the floor.
"My husband will see you now," she said quietly, her voice entirely free of inflection. "Please follow me and I'll take you to him."
The two mercenaries looked at each other, and one of them cleared his throat diffidently. "Pardon me, ma'am, but we're supposed to stay with her."
Jillian Hardcastle glanced at him briefly, and then looked back at the floor. "My husband wants to see Roxanne. He didn't mention you."
The mercenary frowned uncertainly. "I don't really think we should;"
"You stay put," said Roxanne flatly. "Don't touch the booze and don't break anything. Got it?"
"Got it," said the mercenary. "We'll stay right here." The other mercenary nodded quickly.
Roxanne followed Jillian Hardcastle out of the library and into the hall. It was a large hall, wide and echoing, and Roxanne did her best to look unimpressed. She quickly realized she needn't bother, as Jillian kept her gaze firmly on the ground at all times. Roxanne stared at her thoughtfully. This beaten-down little mouse was Hardcastle's wife? Perhaps the rumors about him were true after all.