Fifth Quarter (22 page)

A senator. A member of the Emperor's council. Rumor suggested that the people of the Empire chose the senators they felt would best represent them, but Vree had never chosen one or known anyone who had so it was a rumor she discounted. The presence of the senator did, however, explain the presence of the captain; rank demanded rank.

"I am aware of your loyalty, citizen." A muscle jumped in the captain's jaw as she ushered the innkeeper out onto the terrace. "But I still must speak with those of your people who live in the town and spent the night at their homes."

"None of my people would be involved in such a…"

"Of course not. But they might have heard something or seen something and my orders were to speak with them." The captain's tone held a clear opinion of those orders and Vree almost smiled.

"This establishment is, of course, too far from the road for any of my guests to have heard anything."

"I know." Her reply was as blunt and uncompromising as a blow to the head and the innkeeper subsided into a petulant silence.

"Captain…"

Vree's pulse began to pound again as her brother walked out of the inn, Gyhard banished by the familiar voice calling out as it had a hundred, a thousand times over the years.

"… if the stablehands could bring our horses when they come for questioning, my sister and I could be on our way and out of yours."

What is he so furious about
? she wondered. Anger radiated off of him in almost visible waves.

Surprisingly, the captain seemed to approve of the emotional excess. "Go ahead." She jerked her head at the innkeeper who rolled his eyes but padded off to find his major domo and send the order to the stable. "You said your sister was out here?" she continued.

Head jerking from side to side, grace lost in his rage, Gyhard glanced around. Vree froze, trusting the pattern of shadow to keep her hidden.

"Vireyda!"

It was a summons meant to be obeyed.

"What is going
on?"
Bannon demanded.

"How the slaughter should I know?" Hands carefully away from her body, she stepped out onto the terrace and crossed to Gyhard's side. Fully aware that her accent would deny whatever story "her brother" had spun, she merely raised a questioning brow.

Gyhard's eyes blazed as he turned to face her and his fingers kept curling and uncurling as though he were squeezing a captive throat. "Prince Otavas," he growled, "has been kidnapped."

Thumbs shoved behind the thick leather of her sword belt, the captain watched the brother and sister trot their horse down the lane to the South Road. While she had no doubt of their uninvolvement—his anger had been too slaughtering real—there was something about the woman she didn't like. Something familiar in the way she moved touched an icy finger to the captain's spine.

The resemblance chewed at the edges of memory.

Who do I know who moves like that
? Whoever it was, she didn't feel good about the similarities. Perhaps it might be best to ask them a few more questions. She opened her mouth to call them back.

"Captain? The servants are gathered."

Jiir take it anyway
. She spun on one heel and scowled at the whispering knots of men and women crowded onto the the terrace.
It's not like I don't have enough on my slaughtering plate
. Dragging off her helm, she rubbed her other hand over the sweat-damp bristles of her hair. "All right, which of you lot lives along the road?"

"That's
all
she told you?"

"What was I supposed to do," Gyhard ground out through clenched teeth, "torture her for more information? The prince was kidnapped by three men—two young, one old—late last night. That's all I know." He snorted. "It looks like I'll be wearing this body for a while longer."

"I guess we don't die right away, sister-mine."

A trickle of sweat rolling down her side, Vree clutched at Bannon's comment. It could be the perfect explanation for the sudden surge of relief so intense she could barely breathe around it.

"So what do we do?" She hadn't intended to speak aloud.

Assuming the question was meant for him, Gyhard's muscles tightened across his back. "I don't know." He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry. His gelding, responding to his mood, began to buck.

"He's taking this personally, isn't he?" Bannon snickered as Gyhard fought to control his horse. "Like someone kidnapped Prince Otavas just to piss him off."

All around them, the men and women who lived and worked along the South Road put homes and businesses back together. The unit sent to search the area had done so with a thoroughness that could only be found in those who'd been dragged from their beds in the middle of the night and told they'd been derelict in their duty. Outside the occasional door or window, piles of furniture and clothing lay in tumbled heaps.

Gyhard chopped a wave at the chaos around them. "Capital's half a day's ride away; even if they started at midnight, how could the army get this far so quickly?"

"One unit searches while the others ride ahead, then they leapfrog each other down the road." At his questioning look, Vree shrugged. "Standard search procedure. It doesn't take long when you don't care about civil law."

"Why the blazes are they searching along the Great Roads anyway? Only an idiot would grab an Imperial prince and take such an obvious route away from the Capital."

"It's a big empire. They have to start somewhere. If you're so concerned about His Imperial Highness, why don't you try and find him?"

"Vree! What are you doing?"

"If he goes looking for the prince—if we go looking for the prince—we'll gain more time to get him out of your body."

"Yeah, and if he settles for second best, he'll transfer into someone else and I'll get my body back. If he's not going to kill the prince, why should we care?" His thoughts tumbled frantically over hers.

"If he settles for second best, he won't need our help anymore. The moment that happens he'll try to kill us. Bannon, we're the best. If we think of the prince as a target, we'll find him. But it'll take time, the time we need to come up with a way to get Gyhard out of your body."

"And if we don't get him out of my body, we kill him and then ourselves to protect the prince? Vree, honorably dead is still dead."

"But if we do get Gyhard out of your body and then we save His Highness we can ask for an Imperial pardon. Everything can be like it was…"

"Why is it always all or nothing with you, sister-mine?" She thought she heard him sigh. "Go ahead. Convince him if you can."

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Gyhard snapped. "I said that finding the prince and rescuing him would still end in my possessing him."

Vree stared at him for a long moment, then she locked her gaze back between her horse's ears. "We'll go over that wall when we come to it."

He'd be on them in three days, four at the most, his mounts supplied by Imperial way stations set along the roads. He rode the horses couriers rode, bred for speed and endurance, their pace slowed only by the needs of his hunt.

He'd learned to ride only when he gained his commission and it became an unavoidable necessity. While an assassin's strength and agility had made the skill an easy one to acquire, he'd never thought much of the beasts. Years later, he still didn't think much of a creature that needed more cosseting than any of the solders under his command, and he'd often been heard to growl that, if it came to it, they make a tasty sausage. Tastier with a little red sauce.

But his targets—however, wherever, whenever they learned—were riding. As forage suitable for horses had long since been stripped from around the Great Roads—especially roads in the southern part of the Empire, that meant they were also stopping every night at inns with stables in order to feed their mounts. That means they could be tracked. Easily.

To Neegan's surprise, they appeared to be heading exactly where Aralt's servants had indicated—straight up the South Road to the Capital. And not very quickly at that. They either thought themselves safe from pursuit or believed that, together, they could handle anyone sent after them. Under normal circumstances either would be an intelligent assumption. Blind luck, nothing more, had put the goatherd in the discarded assassin's blacks so close to the passing army and Neegan himself, in all the Seven Armies, held the only chance of their death.

He had watched them from the beginning. He knew their weaknesses and their strengths. He'd adjusted their training. He'd pulled strings to get them in his company and then in his command. He'd given them everything he could. He'd sent them out after targets that no one else could hope to hit because he believed in them. He'd even talked—if either or both survived long enough—of personally supporting their commissions as Chela had supported his.

Angry betrayal still dominating his thoughts, Neegan glanced down at the burly young woman pressed up against the stone railing of the bridge. His horse had crowded her but she had sufficient room. He rode on.

A beefy hand grabbed at his ankle. "Hey! I'm talkin" to you! You can't just push me aside, then keep goin' like nuthin' happened."

The grip on his leg got his complete attention. He stared at her fingers, trying to remember the last time he'd been so accosted. The woman was either crazy or crazy drunk. "Let go of my leg." His husky voice held a warning.

"Or you'll what, little man?" Ready for a fight, she tightened her hold and tried to yank him from the saddle.

Then he realized that although he wore a uniform, she had no idea of what he was. He felt a brief pity for her, rapidly overtaken by annoyance, and wondered if Vree and Bannon had met such ignorance. And then he remembered, as his hand snapped down and at least one of the small bones in the woman's wrist shattered, that they had given up their uniforms and all the rights that went with them.

Ignoring the howls of pain, he rode down the arc of the bridge and onto the north shore of Kiaz.

His targets hadn't stopped on the south shore although Kiaz boasted a multitude of inns along the road. If he found no trace of them on the north shore, he'd have to check with the bargekin to determine if they'd taken to the river. He would not allow them to escape. They'd pay for their betrayal.

"Here, at Evion's we respect the privacy of our guests."

"The child who takes the horse," Neegan husked, the scar on his throat tinted pale gray with the dust of three days' hard riding, "has already told me they were here." The commander laid both hands flat on the marble counter and stared up at the tall young man behind it. "But I require additional information."

"The army has no jurisdiction here." Gently patting an oiled curl back into place, he stared disdainfully down his nose at the other man. "We know the value of discretion at Evion's. Now, if there's anything
else
I can do for you?" His tone made the expected answer very clear.

Teeth clenched, Neegan leaned forward, his fingertips pressing grimy ovals into the highly polished counter. "Do you know what a black sunburst means?"

The young man glanced at Neegan's insignia and frowned. "My family paid my deferment, so I'm afraid I know nothing about the army."
Nor do I want to
, his tone added. "Now, as Evion's will not divulge information about its guests, I'm afraid that you…"

"There he is! That's the one what did it!"

Wearing nearly identical expressions of distaste, Neegan and the clerk turned together as the burly woman from the bridge—her left wrist bound, the arm in a sling—led a city guard into the inn.

"Him! The short one in the uniform! Bloody army. Think they can walk all over citizens what pay for 'em. Do yer duty, guardsman!"

Her boot soles ringing against the intricate pattern of small tiles, the guard strode across the atrium. "We have a complaint of assault," she declared neutrally to the commander. "This citizen says you broke her wrist."

Neegan nodded almost imperceptibly. "I did."

The guard frowned, recognizing authority, uncertain of how to react. "Imperial law," she began but broke off abruptly as Neegan turned enough for her to get a good look at his uniform. She stared at the black sunburst and slowly moved both hands away from her weapons.

"I am on target and she attempted to detain me," Neegan explained.

"What's he whisperin' about?" the woman demanded, scurrying forward. "Is he tryin' to deny it?"

"Shut up!" The guard spun about on one heel, scowling. "You're lucky he only broke your wrist, you fool. He could have killed you!"

"That little runt?" the protest echoed in the large open room. "Not likely!"