The Warlord's Legacy (26 page)

The mercenary’s grin slid from his face as Kaleb, Jassion, and even a few of the man’s comrades chuckled.

“Now, see here …,” he began, hand reaching for her wrist before
she could draw. And just as swiftly he froze, for while the sword hadn’t budged an inch, the knife concealed in Mellorin’s
left
hand poked abruptly against his groin.

“Look, friends,” Kaleb interjected,
hopefully
before things got any worse. “There’s no need for unpleasantness, is there? No, we’re not looking to hire your company—but we
do
need to speak with Captain Losalis, and there might be
some
degree of payment involved if he can help us out.”

“Not interested,” the mercenary grunted, his attention glued to the ugly blade.

“Really? Losalis must put a
lot
of faith in you, my friend. Letting you make decisions like that, considering how much gold and how many contracts it could cost him?
And
the rest of your men? Well, so be it. I’m sure that when he hears about this, he’ll be grateful you kept his best interests at heart.”

It took the bulky fellow a few moments to work through that, but he eventually arrived at the point the sorcerer was trying to make. His lips curled in a sneer, but he nodded. “All right. Tell the girl to put her knife away, an’ I’ll take you to him.”

Mellorin’s blade vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

“You see that?” Kaleb asked as he and his companions gathered up the reins and followed the grumbling fellow. “I knew he’d see reason eventually. I’m sure it just took him a while to recognize it, since I doubt it’s very familiar to him.”

“Could you possibly refrain from insulting the heavily armed men aloud while we’re in the midst of their camp?” Jassion asked as the mercenary glared back over his shoulder.

Kaleb cocked his head, apparently considering it. Then, “Probably not.”

Following their reluctant guide, they picked their way through clusters of tents, fire pits, and other components of an encampment only halfway organized. Losalis was known for maintaining an unusual level of discipline, but these were still mercenaries, and there were still limits.

They halted before a tent that, though larger than average, otherwise had little to distinguish it. A small throng of warriors had pressed
close, curious to see what their visitors had to offer—and how their captain might react if said offer proved insufficient—while their guide stuck his head through the canvas flap.

Moments passed, mercenaries whispered and jested, the summer breeze died to nothing as even the winds decided the weather was just too damn hot for all this running around. Jassion tapped a foot and drummed his fingers on his thigh, Mellorin looked about in rapt fascination, and Kaleb just waited.

Finally, the canvas flipped open and the mercenary returned, followed by two more men. One was huge, the other even bigger.

Losalis was a dark-skinned giant, a foot taller than Jassion’s own six feet and muscled enough to crack small rocks like chestnuts. The eyes peering over a thick growth of beard were of two different hues, and he wore a triangular, razor-edged shield bolted to his armor in place of his missing left hand.

His lieutenant—a moment’s quick reminiscence provided Jassion with the name
Ulfgai
—was only slightly smaller, but otherwise his captain’s polar opposite. The barbarian from the frozen south was pale practically to albinism, and his long blond locks and beard were wildly tangled.

They’d killed enough people in their careers, between the two of them, to qualify as a plague in their own right, and neither looked particularly thrilled at being yanked away from whatever discussion they’d been having. Jassion and Mellorin both suppressed the urge to recoil, or grab for their blades.

“All right, my lord,” Losalis said in a surprisingly soft voice, nodding first to Jassion, then Mellorin. “Reng here tells me that you need to speak with me, and that you seem to have difficulty with the word
no
. You don’t want to hire my company—you don’t have enough gold with you, and besides, you’re obviously not here on behalf of Pelapheron. So would you care to explain why you’re wasting my time—while I’m in a good mood?”

Kaleb’s mouth began to open, but Mellorin swiftly stepped on his foot.

“It’s a simple enough arrangement, Captain,” Jassion told him.
“I want some information and advice from you, and I’m willing to offer coin in return.”

“Do we look like sages to you?” Ulfgai grunted from behind Losalis.

The sorcerer threw Mellorin a glance, all but begging for permission to comment. She shook her head, struggling to stifle a grin and failing miserably.

Jassion, perhaps inspired by the presence of so many unfriendly mercenaries, kept a lid on his temper. “Not a lot of people might know what I need to know.”

“Go on,” Losalis said, raising a finger to silence his lieutenant.

“We’re hunting,” the baron told him, “for Corvis Rebaine.”

Every nearby face darkened with anger.

“I know,” he continued, “that you’ve little cause to bear him any affection. Rumor has it that he abandoned the lot of you after the Battle of Mecepheum. Help us find him, and we’ll
all
enjoy some measure of justice.”

“What makes you think, after six years, that I know anything useful about that traitorous rodent?” Losalis asked them.

“You were his lieutenant,” Jassion pressed. “You led his armies while he was imprisoned.”

“By you, as I remember it. Which means
you
let him escape.”

Again, the baron kept his calm, and again it required more of an effort than anyone would ever know. “My point, Captain Losalis, is that even if you don’t know where he is, you can help us. Knowledge of his habits, how he thinks, anything he might have revealed to you about his plans and objectives beyond defeating Audriss.
Anything
would prove helpful, and you’ll be paid for all of it.”

Losalis stood for long moments, ignoring the impatient shuffling of not only his “guests” but his own mercenaries as well. Until, finally, “No.”

Jassion—and, to judge by his expression, Ulfgai as well—couldn’t have been more thunderstruck if Losalis had dropped his trousers and given birth to a unicorn.

“
No
?” The baron’s voice almost squeaked.

“Captain,” Ulfgai protested, “maybe we should hear what he’s—”

“No,” Losalis said again. “Gods know I’d like to see you succeed in your hunt, but even if I knew anything useful—which I don’t believe I do—I wouldn’t tell you.”

“But—”

“It’s taken me a long time to get where I am, my lord. Me, my company, we’ve got a reputation as the best, and we get
paid
the best. And part of how I keep my reputation as a man worth hiring is that I don’t blab the secrets of my employers, even after I’m done working for them. I’ll fight a man I’ve worked for in the past, but I won’t
betray
him.”

Ulfgai looked as though he’d swallowed something venomous, with many wriggling legs, but he nodded in agreement with his captain.

“I’ve heard it said,” Kaleb interjected, “that Rebaine
didn’t
actually hire you, though. That he reneged on payment when he abandoned you.”

The southern barbarian snarled something ugly, but Losalis’s own expression never wavered. “Rumors only. I can’t stake my reputation on people believing a rumor’s true, can I? There would always be
some
folk certain that I’d violated my code. No, my lord, I’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s time for you and your friends to be off.”

And Jassion, fists clenched and jaw quivering, began to turn away.

N
O
. K
ALEB SCOWLED INTERNALLY
, though his face remained impassive.
No, this won’t do
.

Largely unnoticed, save for his single interjection, the sorcerer hung back by the horses, watching the proceedings. So Losalis wouldn’t or couldn’t help them; the sorcerer found no surprise there. But now the mercenary posed something of a problem.

Losalis knew, now, that Jassion was seeking out Rebaine’s old minions. He knew, too, that Mellorin was accompanying them—by face, if not by name. So far he’d not noted the family resemblance, but if he gave it any real thought, or if someone were to ask …

And since Jassion
wasn’t
an employer, there was nothing to stop Losalis from revealing all this to anyone who made him an enticing offer.

No, this simply wouldn’t do at all. Something would have to be done.

And that, Kaleb abruptly decided with a hidden smile, was a
good
thing. It meant Losalis could yet prove useful after all.

Two quick spells, in rapid succession. He saw Mellorin shiver as the first washed over her, and then he tensed, ready to act as his carefully crafted illusion began to form …

J
ASSION SPUN
, Talon leaping free of its scabbard, as one of the mercenaries burst from the throng, his own blade raised to attack. The Kholben Shiar swung, hewing armor and flesh with equal ease. Jassion, who had expected far greater resistance, stumbled as his momentum carried him full circle, but if he thought about it at all, he attributed the ease with which he’d cleaved a man nearly in twain to the power of his demon-forged weapon.

For less than a heartbeat he paused in a half crouch. Losalis was actually recoiling, a look of stunned horror on his face, mirrored on Ulfgai’s own.

Clearly, they’d anticipated a different result from their cowardly attack. Jassion leapt, Talon held high, and allowed his ever-burning fury to flare bright. Before him, before the Kholben Shiar, men and women fell. Their blades were as twigs, their shields as parchment. Blood flew, bones shattered, and the Baron of Braetlyn rejoiced.

M
ELLORIN STAGGERED BACK
from the unprovoked assault, footing unsteady as she fought to remain standing against a pressing tide of terror.
Gods, what was I thinking
? She wasn’t ready for this, not nearly! A few street fights, squabbles picked as much for the practice as anything else, that was one thing, but
this
 …

Despite her terror, or maybe because of it, she moved faster than ever before. Kaleb’s falchion protruded from one fist, her ugly dagger from the other, and she couldn’t remember drawing either. She watched
Jassion plow into the assembled warriors like a whirlwind of razors, saw the mercenaries lunging to protect their captain, to punish these interlopers who dared raise steel against them. And though everything in her head screamed at her to run, Mellorin moved to meet them.

No, wait. Not
everything
. In the back of her mind, behind her thoughts and memories and dreams, a voice spoke to her. She heard it in her soul, calm, steady, and she trusted it without hesitation.

And when it warned her, she listened.

Whether it was real or imagination, Mellorin never knew. What she
did
know was that, though a fast learner, she’d not had anywhere near sufficient training to stand toe-to-toe with even one of Losalis’s men, let alone the many who were closing—and yet, she did just that. Guided by that voice, she wielded falchion and dagger in twisting parries, deflecting swords that should have split her skull. She stepped and whirled as though in the midst of a formal ball, and blows rained harmlessly in her wake. She struck, falchion opening holes in her enemies’ guard so her dagger could open holes in their flesh.