Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3) Read online

  The three crouching crossbowmen were hurriedly attempting to reload. The captain and two additional swordsmen stood behind the crossbowmen with weapons drawn. Their swords were short and designed for jabbing, and thus effective for indoor combat.

  Before the crossbowmen could release their bolts, he said, “I had no intention of killing any of you, but if you continue to shoot at me, I will. Consider that your only warning.”

  The crossbowmen paused and glanced back at their captain. The man scowled and pointed his sword at Rezkin. “You are an intruder on these premises, in the councilor’s estate. You are not entitled to honor.”

  Rezkin grinned so that they could hear it in his voice. “I did not claim to have any, but it is not my honor in question. The only reason I am even speaking to you is because it is more convenient for you to bring the councilor to me.”

  “You do not make demands, intruder. You will surrender or die,” said the captain.

  Rezkin tilted his head. “No.”

  The captain blinked. “What? You can’t just say no. Surrender now.”

  “A less skilled opponent might be intimidated into accepting your offer, but it does not accurately represent the options available to me given the circumstances. I am confident in my ability to prevail. There are only six of you after all.”

  “What is going on here?” a man hollered as he came around the corner at the end of the hallway.

  Rezkin could now see that the building was arranged so that a corridor circled the level with the rooms arranged extending from its outer perimeter. A sturdy wooden stairwell occupied the center.

  “Ah, I see the councilor has graciously agreed to meet with me,” Rezkin said.

  He was a bit surprised to see what followed in the councilor’s wake, though. Cats. Many, many cats. Perhaps twenty of them.

  “Who are you and why have you broken into my home in the middle of the night?” the councilor shouted from behind the wall of guards.

  “Greetings, Councilor. I bring information on behalf of the Fishers.”

  “The Fishers have grown bold, breaking into the estate of a councilor.” The man snatched the cap from his head, gripping it tightly as he pointed at Rezkin. “You are not welcome here, Fisher. If you have evidence of a crime, you may bring it before the magistrate, and he will determine if it is worthy of the council’s attention.” He tugged at his bedclothes and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Your breaking in is not only a crime in itself, it is highly disrespectful.” He continued muttering beneath his breath as he surveyed the feline hoard. “Breaking into a man’s home in the middle of the night … disturbing his rest … dragging him from his bed.”

  Rezkin surreptitiously palmed two throwing daggers as he interrupted the man’s rambling. “Councilor, you may either dismiss your guards and speak to me privately, or I will dispatch them for you.”

  “By the Hells I will! Guards, capture this man. Kill him if you must!”

  Rezkin immediately fell backward to the ground, just in time to avoid three crossbow bolts that became lodged in the wall behind where he had been standing. As he rolled to his feet, he launched the daggers at two of the men, striking and disabling one of the crossbows and sinking a blade in the other man’s hand. From his sleeve, he slipped one of the throwing stars he had confiscated from the Adana’Ro and hurled it at the third crossbowman. Before any had time to react, Rezkin was upon them. He ducked under the captain’s thrust aimed at his chest and smashed the man in the side of his knee. The man crumpled with a shout, but swung his sword mightily at Rezkin’s head. He dodged and punched the captain in the temple, spinning him around and leaving him dazed. Rezkin kicked him in the back sending him spilling into the other guards.

  It was to his advantage that there were so many guards in the cramped hall. As he was positioned, only perhaps two could reach him at a time, and the others were making it difficult for them to maneuver effectively. While it was apparent that they had a fair amount of indoor combat training, their methods were better suited for either a larger invading force or apprehension of a lesser-experienced, singular opponent.

  Rezkin had just elbowed one of the guards in the throat when his feet suddenly became tangled and a screeching yowl resounded through the corridor. He managed to recover just in time to dodge a sword thrust that deflected off his chest plate scoring the leather. He dodged a swing at his head and smashed another man in the face with his elbow just before his foot came down with a crunch on a squirming rope. His leg gained an extra ten pounds when the cat latched onto his boot. It was absurd. The cats were actually running into the fray and attacking him. He was forced to shift awkwardly to avoid stepping on a black-and-white shorthair, and a yellow tabby was suddenly flying at his face as it leaped off a guard’s back. Rezkin ducked and turned, leaving his side exposed just long enough for one of the guards to tackle him.

  The two struck the ground, and Rezkin immediately wrapped his legs around the man’s middle. He grabbed the guard by the collar, lifted his own hips and twisted his body, wresting control as he gained the upper position. With a powerful fist to the jaw, the man was rendered unconscious, but Rezkin got no reprieve as tiny claws sunk into his neck. He reached over his shoulder, snatched the calico from his back, and tossed it down the corridor. It slid across the floor bowling into the feline ranks.

  Never had Rezkin thought he would endure such an attack. In his experience, cats tended to run away from such chaos. It was then he realized the truth that had been eluding him since the onset of the battle. The tingle of mage power was effusive but definitely present. The councilor was keeping his distance, but the intensity of his gaze was telling.

  As the final guard fell, and Rezkin blocked attacks by three more cats, he said, “Councilor Rebek, thus far I have avoided killing any of your guards or cats, but if you do not cease this assault, I will be forced to change my methods. You do not wish to lose all of your precious cats, do you?”

  The councilor did not let up, though. Rezkin did not care for the idea of killing the cats. They were animals, beasts without contempt. The masters had not included much in his training regarding the killing of animals except for the purpose of acquiring food or rendering them disabled or dead in battle. That usually applied to horses or other beasts of burden, though. He had never been attacked by a larger predatory species such as lions or wolves, but personal defense would also be an acceptable cause. These were not lions. They were common house cats, and he was not in danger of being killed, though mutilation was a possibility. Still, he did not feel right about killing the little creatures. These were under the control of a man, and Rezkin would much prefer to contend with the source.

  He seized a long-haired, cream-colored fur ball that tried to scale his leg and tossed it at the mage. The councilor cringed and covered his face as the cat plummeted into him, clawing at his scalp for purchase and then leaping away. The buzz of mage power ceased, and the cats scattered, disappearing through doorways and around corners in a matter of seconds.

  “You lost your focus, Councilor. You should practice more, or perhaps you are not strong enough,” Rezkin observed.

  The older man jumped when he realized that Rezkin had closed the distance between them. Rebek wiped at the trickle of blood running down his forehead and shot Rezkin an angry glare. The man looked as if he would bolt, but Rezkin shook his head slightly and tapped the dagger at his waist.

  “What do you want?” Rebek asked.

  “We will discuss that in private,” Rezkin answered with a tilt of his head toward the guards. “Lead the way, Councilor.”

  Rebek’s study was functional and without embellishment. The papers on the desk were neatly stacked in a short, wooden box, next to which sat the inkwell, pen, wax, and seal, all in perfect alignment. The room would have lacked any character whatsoever if not for the cushions and pillows that occupied nearly ever flat surface besides the desk. Several of them were currently occupied by the furry fiends. They blinked and stare
d at Rezkin with intelligent eyes.

  “Now what is this about?” Rebek asked as he rounded his desk. He did not sit, so Rezkin wondered if the man had only moved there because he felt more comfortable with the furniture between them.

  Rezkin drew the folded papers from the pouch at his belt and placed them on the desk. The councilor snatched them up with a huff and surveyed their contents.

  “What is this? I see nothing of interest.”

  “The invoice for importation of the ale and the receipt for payment for the goods by the military to agricultural affairs were both dated prior to the letter from the count. The delivery of said goods to the military storehouses was dated after the count’s letter. By regulation, import taxes were paid upon acquisition of the goods, which in this case was paid by agricultural affairs upon delivery to the military storehouses. Therefore, the military paid significantly more for the goods than agricultural affairs.”

  The councilor tugged at his nightclothes and sat with a huff. “This is nothing—nothing worth this trouble, anyway.”

  Rezkin would have agreed if that had been his only purpose in coming. It was the best he had to work with on such short notice, though. He did not really believe the incidents were related, and truly it was a stretch. Most likely, the circumstantial disparity would be resolved between the parties without incident. It was not difficult to plant ideas of conspiracies in already suspicious minds, though. An investigator might be inclined to believe the excess payment had gone into the count’s purse. At the very least, it appeared to be a legitimate reason for the Fishers to be involved. Even if the investigators did not believe the conspiracy, they would accept that the Fishers did.

  “Make of it what you will. That is what you will give to the investigators and is the official reason for this visit. It is not, however, my true purpose in coming here tonight.”

  Rebek wiped a hand down his fatigued face and frowned when it came away bloody. He drew a kerchief from one of the desk drawers and blotted his forehead. “More of this fisher business?” he asked with disdain.

  “No,” Rezkin answered. “I never said I was a fisher. I am here for an altogether different reason. I require a vote.”

  “A vote? You mean a council vote?” He chuckled with derision. “No one makes demands of the council except the king.”

  “Exactly,” Rezkin said. “In a few days, a ship will arrive at port carrying refugees. A man will petition the king for asylum.”

  “Never,” Rebek said. “King Ionius will never accept Ashaiian deplorables.”

  “They are hardly deplorables,” Rezkin replied. “Many of them are nobles of influential houses.”

  “Were nobles. Now they are nothing. Spies, mostly likely, and fugitives. We would be better off sending them back and claiming the reward!”

  It was Rezkin’s turn to laugh, and he did—for effect. He actually found nothing humorous about the situation. “You truly believe Caydean would part with even an ounce of copper or that he would give it to Channería? The only payment you would receive would be a dagger through your back.”

  Rebek grunted but did not disagree.

  Rezkin’s voice hardened again. “The king will make a proposal to the council, and you will vote in favor.”

  “How do you know what the king will do?” Rebek asked.

  “That is not your concern,” Rezkin answered.

  “What will be the proposal?”

  “To give the petitioner Cael.”

  The councilor laughed again. “Of course, if the king were to allow refugees to live anywhere, it would be there. It is useless, a virtually barren rock.”

  “You misunderstand. He will not allow them to live there. He is going to give it to them. He will recognize it as its own kingdom independent of Channería.”

  “That is absurd. It requires a two-thirds majority vote of the council for the king to concede land.”

  Rezkin nodded. “Which is my purpose for being here.”

  “Why would they even want it? The island is uninhabitable, and it may not even be ours to give. I am sure you know that Gendishen lays claim to all of the Yeltin Isles. It is my opinion that Channería has maintained its own claim to the northernmost island only out of spite.”

  “Then you will feel no loss in releasing that claim,” Rezkin said.

  “I did not say that,” Rebek snapped. “A kingdom’s success is measured by its growth. We do not give away land, even contested, useless land. What is this man going to offer in compensation?”

  “Nothing,” Rezkin answered.

  Rebek scoffed. “Who is this man to whom the king wishes to give land?”

  “I am sure you have heard of the warrior known as Dark Tidings?”

  “The tournament champion? Of course I have heard. Everyone has heard. We have also heard that he lays claim to the Ashaiian throne.”

  Rezkin nodded. “He does.”

  Rebek’s face turned dark, and a fresh trickle of blood spilled down his forehead. “Then we are to give land to Ashai? To a kingdom that has declared war?”

  “No. You will recognize the independent Kingdom of Cael.”

  “Ha! He cannot have one kingdom, so he will make another. The tiniest kingdom in the world,” he muttered.

  “It requires only a seed. As you said—growth.”

  “Do you work for the king then or this Dark Tidings?” Rebek asked with suspicion.

  “Neither. I am … say … an independent. I am merely assisting in securing an outcome of mutual interest.”

  Rebek pondered the assertion and then said, “You assert that the king will make the offer. Does that mean this Dark Tidings does not know of your involvement?”

  Rezkin shrugged but did not answer.

  “What is my incentive to do as you ask?”

  “Besides the king’s appreciation of your support? The simple assurance that I will involve myself in your affairs no further. I can make your life very difficult.”

  Rebek’s face flushed again as he gripped his kerchief so tightly that tiny droplets of blood dripped from his hand onto his desk. “Who are you to make such threats?”

  Rezkin lifted his chin and said, “I am someone else of whom you may have heard tell. They call me the Raven.”

  The councilor’s eyes widened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Impossible. Every day we receive reports from the mage relay of the Raven’s activities in Ashai.”

  “Is that so? Where in Ashai?” Rezkin asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Well, almost everywhere.”

  Rezkin laughed. “I cannot possibly be everywhere at once—or can I?”

  The councilor’s face was now pale as he leaned back in his chair.

  “I am here now,” Rezkin said. “Perhaps I will stay awhile. At least as long as it takes to get what I want.” He leaned forward and held the councilor’s gaze. “Longer even, if I find projects of particular interest.”

  Rebek inhaled sharply through his nose and said, “You cannot go around making demands and getting what you want. You must be stopped.”

  Rezkin leaned back casually and said, “You may be right, but that does not have to be your fight. You give your king what he wants, and I go on my way. Leave it to someone more qualified to fight me. We both know you are a weak mage, and I doubt you have any martial skill. Do not make things harder on yourself than they need to be.”

  The man anxiously drummed his fingers on the desk, most likely pondering the alternative. With a heavy breath he said, “The king wants this?”

  Rezkin grinned. “Of course he does. As I said, it will be his proposal.”

  Chapter 4

  Rezkin was glad to be away from the house of cats. His first undertaking was to clean the wounds on his neck and administer an antiseptic. Due to the breadth of his training, he had thought he could anticipate nearly any threat. He was now reminded of something Jaiardun was fond of saying, particularly when Rezkin was injured. Experience is the greatest teacher. He woul
d not underestimate the presence of small, seemingly innocuous creatures ever again.

  His visit with the second councilor went more smoothly since he was now familiar with the layout of the interior of the councilors’ estates, for they were all the same. That and the fact that Councilor Harid did not keep any pets. Rezkin had successfully avoided the notice of the guards, so he did not require an excuse for the councilor to give to investigators. With any luck, no one but the councilor would know he had been there. Harid had been more than happy to garner the Raven’s favor. Rezkin had but to imply he might be indebted to the man to gain his agreement. The fire in the councilor’s eyes had been almost fanatical, and Rezkin wondered just how many people the man intended him to murder. For his part, Rezkin had no intention of giving Councilor Harid anything, though Harid had given him one particularly useful bit of information regarding another councilor.

  Councilor Onelle was a self-proclaimed altruist. She had been appointed to the position only upon the death of her predecessor a few weeks past, and she was leading an initiative to reform the deplorables of the kingdom. In her mind, the best way to do that was with a tough stance against illegal and immoral activities, strong penalties, and harsh punishment. Harid’s observation had been meant as a warning against attempting to coerce her.

  Less than two hours remained before dawn by the time Rezkin reached Onelle’s estate. For her sake, he had made a few modifications to his appearance. With a flesh-toned putty that he made from ingredients procured from an apothecary’s shop, he extended his nose and added a hook. He also blackened a few of his teeth, created a convincing scar along his cheek, and powdered his lips to make them appear dry and cracked. His loose hair hung from beneath his hood and was streaked with oil and dirt. If Onelle was to meet the Raven, he would be exactly the kind of man she expected.

  Councilor Onelle’s estate appeared to be in a state of transition. Some of the rooms were dark and minimalistic, while others were brightened with colorful paintings and tapestries. One entire sitting room was filled with packing crates, and objects yet without homes cluttered the floor and surfaces. The wards on the property were stronger than those at Rebek’s, but they felt impersonal, and he figured that Onelle had not yet gotten around to creating her own, if she was capable.