King of Foxes

‘Perhaps that new establishment, the Metropol. It’s considered the place to be seen, I have been told.’

‘It’s a private club, master.’

‘Then get me an invitation while I bathe, Pasko.’

With a wry expression, Pasko said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I must be seen in public so word will spread I’m back in the city, but I need to be alone tonight when I finish supper and return to these quarters.’

‘Why, master?’

‘So I can find out who’s been following me since I left Salador, and what’s on his mind.’

‘A spy?’

With a stretch and a yawn, Tal said, ‘Probably an assassin.’

Sighing, Pasko said, ‘So it begins.’

Nodding as he headed for the door, Tal said, ‘Yes. So it begins.’

Fog shrouded the city. Mist hung so thick it was impossible to see more than three feet ahead. The bright lamps at each corner of the merchants’ quarter were reduced to dim yellow spots in the distance, and even the occasional lantern beside a tavern door became just a faint pool of light across the street. There were places on long streets where no light was visible, and the senses were confounded, distances were meaningless and the entirety of the universe was murk.

Even sound was muted. The taverns he passed offered just a murmur of voices rather than the raucous cacophony normally heard. Footfalls were a soft grinding of heel on caked mud rather than a clatter of leather on stone.

Even so, Tal Hawkins knew he was being stalked. He had known that the instant he had departed Lady Gavorkin’s home. He had lingered over dinner at the Metropol – it had taken only minutes for Pasko to gain an invitation on behalf of the owner of the establishment for the Champion of the Masters’ Court to dine as his guest – and Tal had left with a free membership in the club. He had been impressed with the decor, the ambiance and the service. The food was only just acceptable, and he planned on having words with the chef, but he could see this club business might be a useful enterprise.

Roldem lived on commerce more than any nation in the east, and this new club was in a location where nobles and wealthy commoners could come together in casual surroundings to socialize in a fashion impossible to imagine anywhere else in the city. Tal suspected that over the coming years fortunes would be lost and titles gained, marriages arranged and alliances formed in the quiet interior of the Metropol. Even before he had finished dining, a note from Lady Gavorkin had been handed to him, and Tal judged it as likely he would encounter his stalker on his way to her townhouse as he would back to his own. He had not, however, been accosted by whoever followed, and had spent a pleasant two hours, first being scolded for his long absence, then being ardently forgiven by Lady Gavorkin.

The lady was recently widowed, her husband having perished in a raid against a nest of Ceresian pirates operating out of an isolated bay off Kesh. His service to the Roldemish Crown had garnered Lady Gavorkin a fair amount of sympathy, some guarantees of a modest pension in addition to her ample estates and holdings, and an appetite for a new husband as soon as the proper mourning period had been observed. She was childless, and her estates stood at risk if the Crown decided that another noble would better able manage them. Ideally, from the royal perspective it would be ideal that Lady Gavorkin, Countess of Dravinko, should marry some other noble who was favoured by the Crown, which would tie up two loose ends nicely.

Tal knew he would have to sever all contact with Lady Gavorkin soon because he would never withstand the close scrutiny reserved for those marrying into Roldemish nobility. A minor squire’s son from a town outside a distant Kingdom city who was socially acceptable as an escort for galas and festivals was one thing, but someone who wed the widow of a recently departed war hero was another matter entirely. Besides, being tied down to anyone, even someone as attractive as Lady Margaret Gavorkin, held limited appeal for Tal, her substantial wealth, holdings, and energetic lovemaking notwithstanding.

Tal listened as he walked and let his hunter’s instincts serve him well. He had learned years earlier that a city was nothing but a different kind of wilderness, and that the skills he had learned as a child in the mountains to the far north, across the sea, could keep him alive in any city. Each place had its own rhythm and pace, its own dynamic feeling, and once he was comfortable within that environment, threats and opportunities for a hunt would be recognized, just as they were in the wild.

Whoever followed him was desperately trying to keep a proper distance and would have gone unnoticed by anyone less keenly aware of his surroundings than Tal. Tal knew this area of the city as well as anyone born here, and he knew he would be able to lose his stalker at whim. But he was curious as to who was following him, and more to the point, why.

Tal paused for half a step, just enough of a break in the rhythm of his walking for his stalker to reveal his whereabouts, then continued. He turned right at the corner, and stepped inside a deep doorway, the entrance to a tailor shop he had frequented. Forgoing his sword, he deftly removed a dagger from his belt and waited. At the moment Tal expected, the man following him turned the corner and stepped in front of him.

Tal reached out and grabbed the man’s right shoulder, bearing down and twisting as he pulled. The man reacted, but Tal was quicker; the stalker did exactly as Tal anticipated, hesitating for an instant before reflexively pulling away. Tal yanked upward using the man’s own motion to spin him completely around. Suddenly the stalker found himself hard against the door with Tal’s dagger at his throat.

‘Why are you following me?’ Tal asked, his voice a hissed whisper lest he arouse those asleep upstairs above the shop.

The man was quick, for his hands were moving towards his own dagger before the last syllable was uttered. He was also no fool, for he recognized he was in a hopeless situation a scant moment before Talon would be forced to plunge the blade into his throat. He slowly raised his hands to show they were empty. In a whisper, he answered, ‘Magnificence! I mean you no harm! My sword and dagger are still at my belt!’ He spoke in the language of the Kingdom of the Isles.

‘Who are you?’

‘I am Petro Amafi.’

‘Amafi? That’s Quegan. But you speak the language of the Isles.’

‘I have resided in Salador many years now and, to tell the truth, my command of the Roldemish tongue is lacking, so I employ the King’s Tongue.’

‘Tell me, Amafi, why are you following me?’ Tal repeated.

‘I am an assassin by trade. I have been paid to kill you.’

Tal took a step back, leaving his blade against the man’s throat, but gaining a perspective on him.

Petro Amafi was a half-head shorter than Tal’s two inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His clothing marked him as a foreigner; he wore a curious long tunic, gathered at the waist by a black leather belt, and rather than the long wide-bottomed trousers affected by the style-conscious in Roldem this season, he wore leggings and a courtier’s slippers. He sported a moustache and goatee and upon his head he wore a felted wool beret with a clasp and feather on the left side. His face was narrow, with deep eyes that revealed his menace more than his vulpine appearance. ‘You mean me no harm, but you’re an assassin sent to kill me. Something of a contradiction, don’t you agree?’ observed Tal.

‘I gain nothing by hiding the truth, Magnificence. My life is preserved by your ignorance. Should you kill me this moment, you will wonder who hired me.’

Tal chuckled. ‘That is true. So, then, we are at an impasse, for should you tell me, then I must kill you. So it is to your benefit not to tell me. But as I cannot spend the rest of my life waiting for you to divulge who sent you, so I gain nothing by keeping you alive.’

‘Wait!’ said Amafi, holding out his hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I did not come to kill you. I was hired to do so, but I have been observing you since nearly a week before you departed Salador and I wish to bargain.’

‘For your life?’

‘More, Magnificence. Let me serve.’

‘You’d take service with me?’ said Tal in dubious tones.

‘Willingly, Your Magnificence. Any man of your skills would be a worthy master, for I have seen you duel in the Court of Blades in Salador, and I’ve watched from the corner as you play cards in the ale houses; you win just enough to raise no suspicions, yet you are a master cheat. You are welcome in the homes of the great and near-great. You are admired by men and desired by women. What’s more, no one has ever done what you just have, turned me from hunter to hunted. But most telling of all, you are Champion of the Masters’ Court, the greatest blade in the world, and a rumour circulates that you are secretly in the service of Duke Kaspar of Olasko, and one who serves such as Kaspar can only prosper greatly. I wish to prosper greatly with you.’

He gently moved the tip of Tal’s blade away from his throat with one finger, and Tal permitted it. ‘As you can see, Magnificence, I am getting on in years, nearly sixty of them. The assassin’s trade requires skills that are fading as I age. I must think of my latter days, and while I have kept some part of the fees paid me over the years, it is not enough. I have fallen on hard times.’

Tal laughed. ‘Bad investments?’

Amafi nodded. ‘A trading concern out of Salador, most recently. No, I wish to take my bloody skills and use them to a more permanent advantage. Were I your man, then I would rise with you. Do you see?’

Tal put away his dagger. ‘How can I trust you?’

‘I will swear an oath in whatever temple you require.’

Tal considered. Few men would willingly break oath, even if they weren’t as honour-bound as the Orosini. ‘Who told you I was in Kaspar’s service?’

‘A rumour here, there, nothing more. You were reported to have been seen in the region of Latagore where Duke Kaspar has interests, and it is well known he sought you out after you won the competition at the Masters’ Court two years ago. Duke Kaspar employs only the most gifted and ambitious young men, so it is assumed you are his.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ replied Tal, intentionally turning his back on Amafi. He knew he took a risk, for as much as the assassin claimed age was slowing him down, Tal judged him capable of a swift attack from behind if given the opportunity. The attack didn’t come.

Instead, Amafi fell into step beside Tal. ‘You wish to know who sent me?’

‘Yes,’ replied Tal.

‘Lord Piotre Miskovas, though I am not supposed to know this.’

‘He does hold a grudge,’ observed Tal. ‘I haven’t slept with his wife in more than two years.’

‘As I understand it, she became intoxicated at a gala given by Lady Amsha Detoris, and threw the facts of your … liaison into her husband’s face over supper some months after you last left the city. The couple are yet not reconciled and she abides in her suites here in the city, while he resides at their estates in the country. He blames you.’

‘He should look to his own philandering,’ remarked Tal, ‘for had he not been so quick to bed every pretty face he saw, his wife would not have been so eager to receive my attentions.’

‘Perhaps, Magnificence, but it takes a man of unusual character to openly confront his own shortcomings. It’s so much more convenient to blame others.

‘Upon hearing of your planned return, he sought out an assassin – far less discreetly than he should have – and I was hired to remove this –’ he pointed at Tal ‘– blot on his honour. He was at least intelligent enough to have used a … broker … in Salador, lest blame fall upon him here in Roldem. I have “failed”, so I am honour-bound to return his gold, and seek to turn this failure into a triumph. Employ me, Magnificence, and I will serve you. My oath upon it!’

Tal considered his next move. He had been back in Roldem for less than a day and needed reliable eyes and ears. ‘Until such time as you can successfully betray me without risk?’

Amafi grinned. ‘Possibly, my lord, for I have never been a man of constant heart. But oath-breaking does not come easily even to one such as me, and given your rare talents I suspect such a time would never exist, for it would require an opportunity to become even richer than I hope to become in your service.’

Tal laughed. Amafi had a refreshing candour that made Tal think he could trust the assassin – up to a point, anyway – and as long as he didn’t attempt to press him beyond that point, he should prove a reliable servant. ‘Very well, let us to the Temple of Lims-Kragma, where you will swear an oath.’

Amafi grimaced. ‘I was thinking perhaps Ruthia or Astalon,’ he said, naming the Goddess of Luck and the God of Justice.

‘I think wagering your chance at being reborn to a higher station a good hedge against betrayal,’ said Talon, putting away his weapon. ‘Come along. And, we must work on your Roldemish. We may be here a while.’

If Amafi thought even for an instant to draw his weapon and strike, he masked the impulse completely, quickly moving to fall into step beside his new master as they vanished into the fog shrouding the city.

The magician stood in the corner, his features veiled in shadow. Tal knew his face even if he couldn’t see it in the gloom. A single candle burned in the apartment, and that was on the table in the next room, casting a faint light through the open door.

‘Where’s your new man?’ he asked.

Tal said, ‘I sent him on an errand. What did you find out?’

Stepping out of the shadows, the magician revealed himself to be a tall man of lean features, a striking face with a long straight nose, dramatic cheekbones and startling blue eyes. His hair was so pale, it appeared almost white. He said, ‘Informants in Queg have vouched for Amafi. At least they have vouched for his reputation as an assassin.’

‘A reputable assassin,’ said Tal. ‘That’s a quaint notion.’

‘He’s considered something of an “honourable” man in the context of his trade,’ declared Magnus, son of Pug of Sorcerer’s Isle, and one of Tal’s many teachers over the years.

‘It’s beginning,’ said Tal. ‘Lady Gavorkin confirmed last night that Duke Kaspar is to arrive by week’s end and will be ensconced in the palace with his cousin the King. Pasko? How many invitations arrived today?’

‘Seventeen, master,’ he answered.

‘By month’s end, I imagine I will be in a position to make the re-acquaintance of the Duke at one gala or another.’

‘Your plan?’ asked Magnus.

‘I need to establish a link with Kaspar, then find a reason to call out Prince Matthew.’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Almost certainly,’ said Tal. ‘For while I’m vague on the details I think I have anticipated Duke Kaspar’s larger goals in his manoeuvrings over the last few years.’

‘This is something you didn’t mention before leaving the island,’ said Magnus.

Tal nodded. ‘Because I didn’t fully see the pattern until a few hours ago. And I may be wrong, but I believe all his actions in the north to be nothing more than a bloody, murderous ruse, and his anticipated invasion of the Kingdom through Farinda a feint.’

‘To what end?’

‘To keep the Kingdom busy up north while he works towards his true goal in the south.’

‘And that is…?’ asked Magnus impatiently.

‘I have no idea. But it could involve Roldem or Kesh, and keeping the Kingdom occupied along a long, empty border would work to Kaspar’s advantage.

‘I’m no military expert, but it seems to me if he sends a force into the Kingdom of the Isles, they will respond in strength. If Kaspar sends in small companies, each can occupy a much larger force if they scatter across the plains. From the foothills at the border to the Blackwood north of Dolth, you’ve got almost a thousand miles of grasslands. King Ryan of the Isles would be forced to tie up a huge number of men hunting down a relatively small army.

‘So, the question is, if Kaspar wants that army up in the grasslands, where does he plan on striking?’

Magnus said, ‘I will convey your theory to Father.’ He put a broad-brimmed felt hat on his head, and removed a device from within his dark grey robe, an orb that glowed with copper highlights in the candlelight. He depressed the surface with his thumb and suddenly he wasn’t there, the only sign of his departure being a small inrush of air.

Pasko said, ‘But why?’

‘Why?’ echoed Tal. ‘Why what?’

‘Why all the plotting? Kaspar is as powerful in his own way as the King of Roldem. He effectively rules Aranor; the Prince does his bidding. He either controls or intimidates every nation surrounding Olasko, and he has the King of Roldem’s ear. Why does he want this war with the Isles?’

Tal sat back. ‘I thought it obvious. By destabilizing the region, opportunity arises for Kaspar to gain what he wants most of all.’ Tal laced his fingers together and stared at the candle over balled fists. He tapped his chin lightly with his hands as he muttered, ‘Men of power seek only one thing: more power.’

• Chapter Two • Reception

TAL SMILED.

This was his first time in the palace since his victory in the Masters’ Court Tournament two years earlier. The King had sent an invitation for Talwin Hawkins to attend the welcoming gala to celebrate the arrival of the Duke of Olasko.

Tal had waited patiently in line for his turn to be presented, behind all the nobility of Roldem, most of those from other nations, and just ahead of the wealthiest commoners. A squire from the Kingdom of the Isles stood barely above a ribbonmaker with a great deal of gold in the eyes of the Roldemish court.

Even so, Tal stood resplendent in a pair of new wide-legged trousers – the current fashion – with his boots covered to the buckles, and a broad black leather belt, but he chose to wear a currently out-of-fashion tunic – a yellow doublet sewn with seed pearls. While other nobles were wearing the off-the-shoulder military singlet which was now all the rage, Talon had chosen to wear the jacket which had been given to him as a gift by the King two years ago.

When last he had met the King, Tal had been the centre of attention, the winner of the Tournament of Masters, the recipient of the golden sword, emblematic of his being the world’s greatest swordsman.

Now Kaspar of Olasko was the focus of the gala, and Tal but a minor participant. When he at last heard his name called, Tal moved forward briskly and approached the throne. He took in the tableau before him as he reached the point where he was expected to bow before the Crown. King Carol sat on his throne, his wife Queen Gertrude to his right. On his left hand sat Crown Prince Constantine, heir to the throne. Tal remembered the Prince as a quiet boy with curious eyes, one given to slight smiles as he listened closely to the banter of the adults around him. Tal suspected he was an intelligent child. The younger members of the royal family were absent, the other two Princes and the Princess no doubt being made ready for bed by their servants and nannies.

To Constantine’s left stood a man dressed in a burgundy-coloured tunic of velvet, fastened with loops and frogs made from diamonds. He wore black leggings rather than this season’s wide-bottomed trousers, and his feet were encased in polished, but serviceable boots. He wore the same black hat Tal had seen him wearing two years before, a large velvet thing which hung over his right ear almost to his shoulder, with a gold badge on the left.

It was the Duke of Olasko.

Kaspar of Olasko studied the young squire while still engaging the young prince in conversation, a skill which Tal observed, for while Prince Constantine was being kept occupied by his distant cousin, Olasko was assessing Tal closely. Tal considered it possible that Kaspar was one of those men who could focus on two things at the same time. Even among the magicians Tal knew, that was a rare gift.

Out of the corner of his eye, as he bowed before the King, Tal reacquainted himself with Kaspar. He was a burly man with a broad chest and powerful shoulders, and muscles revealed by the tight leggings suggested he might also be a man with some speed. He glanced at Tal in such a way that the younger man suspected the Duke recognized he was being appraised. His face was round, but his chin jutted a bit, robbing him of any comic cast to his features. He sported a thin-cut black beard, with his upper lip shaved, which gave his chin an even more aggressive appearance. His hair was still mostly black, though a sprinkling of grey hinted he was a man in his early forties. His eyes were those of a predator, black and searching. And his mouth was full, sensuous without being decadent, and set in a near-smirking smile Tal had seen several times before.

Tal straightened from his bow and the King said, ‘Squire Hawkins, it is good to have you in our court again.’

‘I am pleased as well to return to Roldem, Majesty.’

The Queen beamed as she said, ‘And I see you return to us in the garb we presented you upon your victory.’

Tal gave Gertrude his most endearing smile. ‘Majesty, I have worn this gift only once before, on the night of my triumph, and have vowed that it will never again be worn, save in the presence of your august selves.’

The King nodded in pleasure and said, ‘You are most considerate. Again, welcome.’

Tal knew he was now excused, so he moved over to the gathering on the left side of the King to watch those behind him being presented. He stole a couple of quick glances at Kaspar, but the Duke seemed focused on his quiet conversation with the Prince.

Eventually the last presentation was made and the Master of Ceremonies moved to stand before the throne. ‘With Your Majesty’s permission?’ he said bowing.

The King waved his hand and the Master of Ceremonies turned and declared, ‘My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, please retire to the banquet hall and await Their Majesties!’

Tal watched as the royal family departed, with the Duke of Olasko following close after. He knew they’d retire to a nearby apartment in the palace and wait until all the guests were seated before moving to the head table.

Tal waited patiently in line, but it moved quickly as more than two dozen pages and squires had been detailed to the Master of Ceremonies who consulted the master seating plan. Once instructions had been whispered into the page’s ear, a guest had only to pause for a moment before being escorted to their place in the hall.

Tal was pleasantly surprised to discover he was being seated at the King’s table. He quickly counted chairs and realized that there would be no more than two or three people between him and the Duke of Olasko. He suspected his position at the banquet was more a result of Kaspar wishing him to be near to hand than because of his prestige as reigning Champion of the Masters’ Court.

When the royal family arrived, everyone rose and bowed slightly, then remained standing until the King was seated and the Master of Ceremonies struck the floor with his iron-shod staff of office. At which point everyone sat and servants began pouring wine and providing food.

Tal found himself next to a local court baron and his wife, whom Kaspar engaged in conversation for a while. The Baron at last turned to Tal and introductions were exchanged. Then the Baron launched into an enthusiastic retelling of Tal’s victories as if Tal hadn’t been there. On Tal’s left sat a pretty woman of middle years and her husband, rich commoners who seemed content simply to be at the King’s table and who demonstrated no need to speak to anyone else. They lowered their heads slightly and spoke in whispers as they glanced around the room, apparently trying to espy people who might know them and be impressed by their place at the head table.

Throughout the dinner the Duke ignored Tal’s presence, save for one slight nod and smile as the first course was being served. During the course of the dinner, entertainers provided distraction in several locations around the great hall. Deft jugglers, acrobats, and sleight-of-hand magicians. A particularly gifted poet spun verse to order, flattering the ladies and gently mocking the men. His wit was dry and his rhyming clever. On the other side of the room a jongleur from Bas-Tyra sang love songs and ballads of heroic sacrifice. Tal could hear enough of his song to know he was excellent.