Honor's Price (25 page)

“Otsoko could hold his own against them, but I'm hoping it won't come to that. He and Shadow have managed to make peace. If she can tolerate him, maybe the dogs will, too. How about Hob? Think there'll be a problem?”

Kane tried to picture the meeting in his mind. Every
scenario that he came up with ended badly. “Hob has made stranger friends over the years.”

Footsteps out in the hall had them both watching the door. Gideon led the procession into the room. He provided introductions between Kane, Averel, and Lady Lavinia. She gave Averel a bright smile, but when she turned to greet Kane, Lavinia hissed and backed up several steps.

He made no comment, but neither did he look away from her sharp gaze. The woman carried her own heavy dose of magic, although it lacked the dark flavor of his own. He couldn't change what he was. She would accept him or not.

But perhaps he'd underestimated her. She took a cautious step toward him. “Lord Kane, I'd been warned that you bore the mark of a high-ranking mage, but no one told me that it was so powerful. Please forgive my reaction.”

Well aware the other Damned were watching him closely, most especially Duncan, Kane allowed his own anger to drain away.

“No apology is necessary, Lady Lavinia. It isn't often that we encounter mages of great power, regardless of the source of their magic. Considering the actions of your half brother, it is understandable that you would have concerns about another whose gift is from the same end of the spectrum as his.”

Her dark eyes conveyed a wealth of sympathy. “I'm sure that, like me, you find your gift to be more of a burden.”

“It has ever been that.”

He didn't know which of them he surprised more with that admission, but he didn't regret sharing his truth. They would need to work together if they were going to defeat the duke. To do so, they needed to trust each other, which had to be built on a firm foundation of honesty.

They needed to know what had happened to him
while he'd been in the service of the duke, and the telling wouldn't get easier by delaying. Drawing a deep breath, he met the gaze of each person in the room.

“Averel and I will explain what we experienced while we were in the capital. Afterward, you can tell us all that has transpired here.”

Before he sat down himself, he added, “I know time is growing short for us all and that you will not delay our attack needlessly. I would ask you to remember that innocent lives depend on our actions, and one life in particular. If my lady comes to harm because we fail to act quickly, the gods themselves will not stand before my fury.”

I
fre lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to decide what was different. Ordinarily, his manservant would have awakened him by now, but he'd left orders that he was not to be disturbed. That headache last night had been the worst one yet, but the tisane the physician had given him had helped lessen the pain. But only at first.

Shortly after he'd taken to his bed, another blast of pain had left him writhing in agony, tangled up in his blankets and fighting to even breathe. When the worst was past, Ifre had stumbled from his bed long enough to take two more doses and finally managed to fall asleep.

In the past, the medicine had left him feeling groggy and sick the next morning. Not this time. In fact, he felt better than he had in weeks. He threw back the covers and got out of bed. A glance out the window confirmed that the morning was already mostly gone.

He rang for his manservant. After getting dressed, he would join his courtiers in the great hall. No doubt there was another long line of petitioners hoping to speak to him. Well, they could wait until after the midday meal. Then he'd make a token effort to listen to their whining. He had important work to do down in the labyrinth.

For the first time since waking up, he thought about his special guest and smiled. How had Kane fared since Ifre had finished with him last night? He'd never had quite so much fun bleeding a victim as he had working on Kane. He loved that the captain healed almost as soon as the wound was inflicted. It had been amazing to
watch. By now, surely Kane had recovered completely from their first encounter.

Ifre's creation had enjoyed the session as well, lapping up all that delicious blood and energy with such glee. Odd that Kane would have recognized it by name. Something else to question him about.

By the time Kane had finally lost consciousness, the cloud had been soot black and pulsing with power. Damijan had wanted more, but then it always did.

Except right now it was quiet.

In fact, Ifre hadn't heard a single sound from that direction since he woke up. The first flicker of concern had Ifre opening his door and shouting for his manservant to hurry. Where was the fool? If he didn't appear quickly, Kane would have a new companion by nightfall.

Finally, at the sound of running feet, Ifre returned to the window. His servant appeared in the doorway. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Sire. I wanted to make sure Lady Theda knew to hold the midday meal until you were ready to be seated.”

All right, he would forgive the man this time. “Thank you for your consideration. Now, lay out my clothes. I have pressing business to attend to.”

Such as finding out what had happened to quiet his creation, but that would have to wait until after Ifre ate. He'd need to be at full strength to face whatever waited for him down below. His real fear was that Damijan had finally gained enough strength to break free of Ifre's control altogether, a frightening possibility, to say the least. That didn't seem likely because he'd always suspected the first person Damijan would come after was Ifre himself.

So perhaps he had underestimated Kane's magical strength. The warrior's pulsing mage mark and those elongated teeth made it clear that Kane had much in common with the mages of old described in the forbidden manuscripts. According to the legends, mages of that strength had eventually been hunted down and
destroyed centuries ago, along with all their blood kin. Was Kane some kind of throwback to the days when those mages had commanded great power?

Had the bastard done something to weaken the connection between Ifre and the power he'd worked so hard to build? If so, Kane might think he'd suffered before, but he would soon learn differently. Night after night, Ifre would bleed the mage warrior near unto death, let him heal, and then start all over again. The game the two of them played could continue for days, weeks, perhaps even months.

Having made his plans, he headed down to greet all the fools waiting to see him in the great hall.

*   *   *

Ifre hated the leeches who craved his attention. It had taken him until after sunset to finish hearing petitions. How he looked forward to the day he could simply turn his back on their endless clamor for more money, more attention, more of everything. If he didn't need their cooperation, he would have ordered his guard to round those pathetic nobles up like sheep and lead them to the slaughter.

There was plenty of room for more corpses in the canyon where Markus had been disposing of Ifre's previous guests once he was finished with them. He unlocked the door and started down the steep passageway. He'd gone but a few feet when he realized something was wrong, something far worse than he'd even imagined. Panic wouldn't solve anything, but he ran until he reached the floor below.

In the distance, the glow of the fire pit was far dimmer than normal. But it wasn't the dying fire that sent a chill right through him. No, it was the absolute silence. At the very least, he should be sensing the hum of his creation in the back of his mind. Earlier, he'd worried it had broken free or that Kane had usurped Ifre's control. Even if one of those two things had happened, he should still be able to sense it this close.

He crept forward, unsure what would be waiting for him when he crossed the threshold into the chambers ahead. Fear mixed with worry, leaving his hands trembling and his knees unsteady, but he knew better than to show weakness. Drawing himself up, shoulders back, head held high, he strode forward, ready to confront the enemy.

With dawning horror, he slowly made sense of the scene in front of him. Nothing was left of his beautiful altar except gravel and dust. Damijan, his beloved creation, was pale gray as it hovered but a scant few inches over the floor, its power drained.

And worst of all, Kane was gone.

Ifre forced himself to approach the dais. One of the shackles lay on the top step, perfectly intact except for a few scratches on the lock. Kane's possessions were also missing. He picked up a chunk of the broken marble and threw it as hard as he could. The action gave him no satisfaction.

Finally, he walked around his creation, his heart aching to see it so listless, so lifeless. Damijan barely stirred, drifting on the slight disturbance caused by Ifre's movement. No eyes, no mouth, no hunger. Right now his weapon was impotent, Ifre's enemies safe from his retribution.

It all added up to one thing: betrayal. There was no way Kane, even with all his mage-given power, could have broken free of his chains alone. The lock had been picked, not broken.

Somehow the enemy had managed to infiltrate Ifre's stronghold undetected. How was that even possible? There were only two entrances: the way Ifre had just entered the chambers from the great hall and the way Markus used to come and go that led beyond the city walls.

Had the sergeant betrayed him? No, that didn't make sense. The man was smart enough to know that he'd be the first one Ifre would suspect. For now Ifre would give him the benefit of the doubt.

So whom did that leave? Did Kane have any special friends? There was that troubadour that Markus had mentioned. Maybe it had been accidental that the two had gone riding outside of the city on the same day, but he wouldn't discount the possibility that the two were connected in some way.

There was one way to find out for sure. His first order of business would be to send Markus to see if the singer was still at the tavern. Ifre stared at his creation. It would need to be fed and soon. No one would miss a wanderer like a troubadour, and his gift for music might lend special power to his blood. If the man was innocent, well, too bad.

Ifre trudged back up the ramp to the door to the great hall. Ignoring the few nobles still scattered about the place, he headed for the nearest guard.

“You there, fetch Sergeant Markus for me. Tell him to meet me in my office in fifteen minutes. If it takes any longer than that, I will not be happy.”

That's all it took to have the man running for the door. Satisfied that the sergeant would appear in short order, Ifre crossed the room to wait in his office. The last thing he wanted right now was to get caught up in some inane conversation with some self-important noble trying to curry his favor.

*   *   *

The knock on the office door came right on time. Ifre called out, “Enter.”

Markus looked curious, not worried. “You sent for me, Sire?”

“Yes, I did, but we will not talk here. You will accompany me below immediately.”

The sergeant paled, but he didn't question Ifre's orders or hesitate to follow him. Every eye in the hall followed their progress across the room. No one was foolish or brave enough to intercept them. Considering the mood Ifre was in right now, any such action might have ended in bloodshed.

As soon as they were safely down the ramp and approaching his chambers, Markus finally found his voice.

“Is something wrong, Sire?”

Ifre spun around to face him. “Not just something, Sergeant. Everything. But I'll let you see what has happened for yourself.”

He hurried into the chamber ahead of Markus, positioning himself to watch the guard for any sign that he already knew what was waiting for them. But no, the shock on Markus's face was too real. So was his fear. For the first time, the ghost of the cloud stirred, no doubt supping from the tension and worry that poured off Markus in waves.

Looking bewildered, the sergeant stared at the shattered remains of the altar. “By the gods, what happened here, Sire?”

“I would think the answer would be obvious. Someone freed Kane from his fetters and helped him escape. One of them, most likely Kane himself, drained my power and then used it to destroy my altar.”

Ifre clenched his hands into fists, wishing he had a handy target for his vengeance. “I need to know how they got in, how many of them there were, and where they are now. I'd suggest you start by checking on that troubadour again.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Ifre stared hard at the sergeant. “Bring me those answers, and you will be my new captain.”

Markus immediately brought his right fist up to his chest in a salute. “It will be my honor.”

Or it will be his death, Ifre added to himself. No use in scaring the man any more than he already was.

“For now we will search together for any evidence my enemies might have left behind. I've already discovered that someone picked the lock on Kane's shackles. That's how I know he had help.”

Hoisting a torch, he led the way down the passage that Markus normally used. The cart was right where it should be, so either Kane walked out on his own or his
rescuers had carried him. With no way to know for certain, that bit of information was useless.

The stone floor of the passage offered up no clues. No tracks, no drops of blood, nothing that hinted at how many people had trod its surface recently. The door at the far end was locked. He held the torch close to the mechanism.

“No fresh scratches, so either they had a key or else they only left by this route.” He glanced back at Markus. “Assuming, that is, that you still have your key.”

Markus immediately produced it. Again there was no sign of guilt in his expression.

“Put it away. If they didn't come this way, it would appear they somehow infiltrated the keep. How could they have entered through the hall above without being seen?”

Based on the evidence, that seemed to be the most logical approach for them to have used. The idea of an enemy being able to pass through Ifre's own stronghold unheeded was frightening. But then Kane had done exactly that from the beginning, hadn't he?

Markus said, “I will see who was on duty last night and determine if there were any irregularities that have not been reported. After that, I will go after the troubadour.”

“Do that. I want to know anything you learn, no matter how trivial it may appear.”

They walked back to the chambers. “Add wood to the fire while I look around one last time.”

Marcus started tossing chunks of wood into the pit, sending up a shower of sparks. It didn't take long for the room to warm up. The heat did little to relieve the bleak chill that had settled over Ifre's mood.

“Bring that troubadour to me by morning. If he's not to be found, I will need two—no, make that three—new subjects.”

“I will not fail you, my lord.”

Ifre fluttered his hand in the air in a gesture of dismissal. “I know you won't. Now go.”

The sergeant left the room with impressive speed. Relief did that to a man. For now there was nothing more to be done. Tomorrow they would clean up the mess Kane and his fellow conspirators had left behind. Ifre would also order the stone mason to make him another altar. One benefit of being the duke was prompt service.

Alone again, he returned to study his creation. “I'm sorry this happened, Damijan. When I have Kane back under my control, he will be my gift to you, and he won't have a drop of blood or magic left when we are finished with him.”

The memory of Kane screaming until his voice was ruined flared bright in Ifre's mind. “That warrior will die, but not before he watches his friends bleed out in front of him.”

The cloud stirred again, just enough to reassure Ifre that he wouldn't have to start over from the beginning to re-create his weapon. Once it was back at full power, he would strike out at those who stood against him. They would beg for mercy before he was finished, but they'd soon learn that mercy no longer existed for the people of Agathia.