36

Kylar had walked up to men in broad daylight within paces of the city guard to kill them. He'd crawled under tables while a cat clawed him as guards searched the room for intruders. He'd had to break into a vat of wine and hide inside it as a n.o.ble's wine taster had picked out an appropriate bottle for dinner. He'd waited a yard from a fully stoked oven after he'd poisoned a stew while a cook debated with himself on what spice he'd added too much of to make it taste so strange.

But he'd never been this nervous.

He stared at the door, a narrow servants' entrance, in dismay. He was a beggar today, come to beg a crust. His hair was lank and greasy, smeared with ash and tallow. His skin was tough and brown, hands gnarled and arthritic. To get to that door, he had to make it through the guards at the estate's tall gate.

"Oy, old man," a stumpy guard with a halberd said. "Whatcha be wanting?"

"I heard my little girl is here. Miss Cromwyll. I hoped she might find me a crust, is all."

That woke up the other guard, who had only given Kylar a cursory glance. "What'd you say? You're related to Miss Cromwyll?" The protective air around the man, who must have been nearly forty, was palpable.

"No, no, she's not mine," Kylar protested, sc.r.a.ping a laugh across his lungs. "Just an old friend."

The guards looked at each other. "You gwyna go find 'er and bring 'er out here at this time of day with the goin's on tonight?" Stumpy asked.

The other shook his head, and with a grumble, started patting Kylar down gingerly. "Swear I'll get lice off of one of Miss Cromwyll's strays one of these days."

"Ah know it, but she's worth it, inn't she?"

"You're not so magnamorous when you're the one patting the beggars, Birt."

"Ah, stuff it."

"Go on. Kitchen's that way," the older guard told Kylar. "Birt, I'm lenient with ya, but if you tell me to stuff it one more time, I'll show you the business end o' my boot-"

Kylar shuffled to the kitchen favoring a stiff knee. The guards, for all their talk, were professionals. They held their weapons like they knew what to do with them, and though they hadn't seen through his disguise, they hadn't neglected their duty to search him. Such discipline boded ill for him.

Though he took his time walking and memorizing the layout of the estate grounds, the walk wasn't nearly long enough. The Jadwins had been dukes for five generations, and the manse was one of the most beautiful in the city. The Jadwin estate overlooked the Plith River, and directly faced Cenaria Castle. Just north of the estate was East Kingsbridge, which was ostensibly for military use, but it was rumored to be used more often for the king's nocturnal liaisons. If Lady Jadwin really was the king's mistress, the Jadwin estate was perfectly placed for easy access. The king also kept the duke running all over Midcyru on diplomatic missions that everyone but the duke knew were pure pretense.

The manse itself was set on a small central hill that allowed it to look over the river, despite twelve-foot spiked walls that bordered the entire property.

With a trembling hand he masked as a palsy, Kylar knocked at the servants' entrance.

"Yes?" The door opened and a young woman wiping her hands on an ap.r.o.n looked at Kylar expectantly.

She was a beautiful woman, maybe seventeen, with an hourgla.s.s figure that even through a servant's woolens obviously would have been the envy of any of Momma K's rent girls. The scars were still there, an X on her cheek, an X across her full lips, and a loop from the corner of her mouth to the outside of her eye. The scar gave her a permanent little grin, but the kindness of her mouth eased the cruelty of the scar.

Kylar remembered how her eye had looked, swollen grossly. He'd been afraid she would never see out of it. But her eyes, both of them, were clear and bright brown, sparkling with goodness and happiness. Doll Girl's nose had been broken to mush, and Elene's wasn't completely straight, but it didn't look bad. And she had all her teeth-of course, he realized, she'd been young enough that she'd only lost small teeth in the beating.

"Come in, grandfather," she said quietly. "I'll find you something to eat." She offered her arm, and didn't seem offended by his staring. She took him to a small side room with a narrow table for the servants who needed to be within earshot of the kitchen. Calmly, she told a woman ten years older than she was that she needed her to take over while Elene took care of her guest. From her tone and the older woman's reaction, Kylar could see that Elene was adored here, and that she took care of beggars all the time.

"How are you, grandfather? Can I get a salve for your hands? I know it's painful on these chilly mornings."

What had he done to deserve this? He'd come as the most foul sort of beggar, and she showered him with kindness. He had nothing to give her, yet she treated him like a human being. This was the woman who had almost died because of his arrogance and stupidity, his failure. The only ugliness in her life was because of Kylar.

He'd thought he'd set aside his guilt two years ago when Momma K had told him the simple truth that he'd saved Elene from worse than scars. But looking at those scars up close threatened to throw him right back to that h.e.l.l.

She put a crust covered with fresh hot gravy down on the table, and started to cut it into smaller pieces. "Would you like to sit here? We'll just make this a little easier to chew, yes?" she said, speaking loudly the way people who work with old people learn to. She smiled and the scars tugged at her full lips.

No. He'd put her here, with these people who adored her, where she could afford to share a crust. Elene had made her own choices to become who she was, but he had made those choices possible. If there was one good thing he'd done, it was this. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes and looked at her without guilt darkening his vision, she was stunning. Elene's hair was l.u.s.trous gold, aside from the scars her skin was flawless, eyes large and bright, cheekbones high, lips full, teeth white, neck slender, figure entrancing. She was leaning forward to cut the crust for him, her bodice gapping in front- He'd put her here, with these people who adored her, where she could afford to share a crust. Elene had made her own choices to become who she was, but he had made those choices possible. If there was one good thing he'd done, it was this. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes and looked at her without guilt darkening his vision, she was stunning. Elene's hair was l.u.s.trous gold, aside from the scars her skin was flawless, eyes large and bright, cheekbones high, lips full, teeth white, neck slender, figure entrancing. She was leaning forward to cut the crust for him, her bodice gapping in front- Kylar tore his eyes away, trying to slow his pulse. She noticed his sharp move and looked at him. He met her eyes. Her look was quizzical, open. He was going to ask this woman to betray her employer?

A tangled snarl of emotions that he'd kept shoved into some dark corner closet of his soul surged and burst through the doors. Kylar choked on a sob. He blinked his eyes hard. closet of his soul surged and burst through the doors. Kylar choked on a sob. He blinked his eyes hard. Get a hold of yourself. Get a hold of yourself.

Elene put her arm around him, heedless of his filthy clothing and stench. She didn't say anything, didn't ask anything, just touched him. Tingles shot through him, and his emotions surged again.

"Do you know who I am?" Kylar asked. He didn't use the beggar voice.

Elene Cromwyll looked at him strangely, uncomprehending. He wanted to stay hunched, to hide from those gentle eyes, but he couldn't. He straightened his back and stood up, and stretched his fingers.

"Kylar?" she asked. "It is you! What are you doing here? Did Mags and Ilena send you? Oh my G.o.d, what did they tell you?" Her cheeks flushed and her eyes lit with hope and embarra.s.sment. It wasn't fair that a woman could be so beautiful. Did she know what she was doing to him?

Her face was the face of a girl surprised by a boy in the best way. Oh, G.o.ds. She thought he was here to ask her to Mags's party. Elene's expectations were about to meet reality like a toddler charging the Alitaeran cavalry.

"Forget Kylar," he said, though it pained him. "Look at me and tell me who you see."

"An old man?" she said. "It's a very good costume, but it isn't a costume party." She flushed again as if she were presuming too much.

"Look at me, Doll Girl." His voice was strangled.

She stopped, transfixed, peering into his eyes. She touched his face. Her eyes went wide. "Azoth," she whispered. She put a hand on the table to steady herself. "Azoth!" She flung herself at him so fast, he almost tried to block her attack. Then she was squeezing him. He stood stock still, his mind refusing to understand for a long moment: she was hugging him.

He couldn't make himself move, couldn't think; he simply felt. The smooth skin of her cheek brushed his scruffy, unshaven one. Her hair filled his nostrils with the clean scent of youth and promise. She hugged him fiercely, the notes of strong hard arms joining with supple firm stomach and back joining with the pure feminine softness of her chest pressed against his making a chord of perfect acceptance.

Tentatively, he lifted his hands from his sides and touched her back. He tasted salt on his lips. A tear, his tear. His chest convulsed uncontrollably, and suddenly he was sobbing. He grabbed her, and she squeezed him harder still. He felt her crying, staccato breaths shaking her slender frame. And for a moment, the world was reduced to a single hug, reunion, joy, acceptance.

"Azoth, I heard you were dead," Elene said, all too soon.

You will always be alone. Kylar froze up. If tears could stop halfway down a cheek, his would have. Kylar froze up. If tears could stop halfway down a cheek, his would have.

He released Elene deliberately, stepped back. Her eyes were red, but still shining as she dabbed her tears away with a handkerchief. A sudden desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss her crashed over him in a wave. He blinked, held himself still until reality could rea.s.sert itself. He opened his mouth, couldn't say a thing, couldn't ruin it. He tried again, ready to lay out his lies, couldn't. Relationships are ropes. Love is a noose. Durzo told me. He gave me a chance. I could have been a fletcher, an herbalist. I chose this. Relationships are ropes. Love is a noose. Durzo told me. He gave me a chance. I could have been a fletcher, an herbalist. I chose this.

"I was ordered never to see you. By my master." His tongue was leaden. "Durzo Blint."

He could tell even Elene had heard of Durzo Blint. Her eyes tightened in confusion. He could see her working through it: if Durzo was his master, that meant... He saw a quick little disbelieving smile, as if she were about to say, "But wetboys are monsters, and you're not a monster." But then the smile faded. Why else would her Azoth never contact her? How else would a guild rat disappear so completely?

Her eyes grew distant. "When I was hurt, I remember you arguing with someone, demanding that he save me. I thought it was a dream. That was Durzo Blint, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"And you... now you're what he is?" Elene asked.

"Close enough." Actually, I'm not even a full-fledged horror, I'm just an a.s.sa.s.sin, a hack.

"You apprenticed with him so he would save me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You became what you are because of me?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. He gave me a chance to leave after I killed Rat, but I didn't want to be afraid anymore, and Durzo was never afraid, and even as an apprentice, he paid me so well that I could-" he stopped.

Her eyes narrowed as she puzzled it out. "That you could support me," she finished. She put her hands over her mouth.

He nodded. Your beautiful life is built on blood money. Your beautiful life is built on blood money. What was he doing? He should be lying to her, the truth could only destroy. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you. I-" What was he doing? He should be lying to her, the truth could only destroy. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you. I-"

"You're sorry?!" Elene interrupted him. He knew what the next words out of her mouth would be: You're a failure. Look at what you've done to me. You're a failure. Look at what you've done to me. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "You've given me everything! You fed me on the streets when I was too young to find food for myself. You saved me from Rat. You saved me when your master was going to let me die. You put me with a good family who loved me." "What are you talking about?" she asked. "You've given me everything! You fed me on the streets when I was too young to find food for myself. You saved me from Rat. You saved me when your master was going to let me die. You put me with a good family who loved me."

"But-aren't you mad at me?"

She was taken aback. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"If I hadn't been so arrogant, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d wouldn't have come after you. I humiliated him! I should have been watching. I should have protected you better."

"You were eleven years old!" Elene said.

"Every scar on your face is my fault. G.o.ds, look at you! You would have been the most beautiful woman in the city! Instead, you're here, giving crusts to beggars."

"Instead of where?" she asked quietly. "Do you know any girls who've been prost.i.tutes since they were children? I do. I've seen what you saved me from. And I'm grateful for it every day. I'm grateful for these scars!"

"But your face!" Kylar was on the edge of tears again.

"If this is the worst ugliness in my life, Azoth, I think I'm pretty lucky." She smiled, and despite the scars, the room lit up. She was breathtaking.

"You're beautiful," he said.

She actually blushed. The Drake sisters were the only girls Kylar knew who blushed, and Serah didn't blush anymore. "Thank you," she said, and touched his arm. At her touch, shivers went through him.

He looked into her eyes, and then he blushed, too. He'd never been so mortified in his life. Blushing! Blushing! That only made it worse. She laughed, not a laugh at him in his discomfort, but a laugh of such innocent joy it pained him. Her laugh, like her voice, was low, and it brushed over him like a cool wind on a hot day. That only made it worse. She laughed, not a laugh at him in his discomfort, but a laugh of such innocent joy it pained him. Her laugh, like her voice, was low, and it brushed over him like a cool wind on a hot day.

Then her laughter pa.s.sed and a look of profound sorrow stole over her face. "I'm so sorry, Azoth-Kylar. I'm sorry for what you've had to pay to put me here. I don't even know what to think. Sometimes it seems the G.o.d's hand doesn't reach very far into the Warrens. I'm sorry." She looked at him for a long time and another tear tracked down her cheek. She ignored it, just absorbing him. "Are you a bad man, Kylar?"

He hesitated. Then said, "Yes."

"I don't believe you," she said. "A bad man would have lied."

"Maybe I'm an honest villain." He turned away.

"I think you're still the boy who shared his bread with his friends when he was starving."

"I always took the biggest piece," he whispered.

"Then we remember differently," Elene said. She heaved a deep breath and brushed her tears away. "Are you... are you here for work?"

It was a shot in the solar plexus. "There's a wetboy coming to kill someone at the party tonight and steal something. I need an invitation to get in."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

In truth, Kylar had barely thought about it. "I'm going to kill him," he said. And it was the truth. Hu Gibbet was the kind of twist who started killing beggars when he had to go too long between jobs. He needed murder like a drunkard needs wine. If Kylar came and stole the silver ka'kari first, Hu Gibbet would come after him. Hu was a full wetboy, and reputed to be as strong of a fighter as Durzo. Kylar's only chance to kill him would be to catch him off-guard. Tonight. said. And it was the truth. Hu Gibbet was the kind of twist who started killing beggars when he had to go too long between jobs. He needed murder like a drunkard needs wine. If Kylar came and stole the silver ka'kari first, Hu Gibbet would come after him. Hu was a full wetboy, and reputed to be as strong of a fighter as Durzo. Kylar's only chance to kill him would be to catch him off-guard. Tonight.

Elene still didn't look at him. "If you're a wetboy, you've got other ways to get in. You must know forgers. Kylar Stern must have contacts. Maybe an invitation from me would be the easiest way in, but that's not why you came. You came here to case the place, didn't you?"

His silence was answer enough.

"All these years," Elene said, turning her back, "I thought Azoth was dead. And maybe he is. Maybe I helped kill him. I'm sorry, Kylar. I'd give my life to help you. But I can't give you what's not mine to give. My loyalty, my honor, belongs to the G.o.d. I can't betray my lady's trust. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

It was a gentler banishment than he deserved, but banishment all the same. Kylar hunched and curled his fingers into arthritic claws and left. He turned once he reached the gate, but Elene wasn't even watching him go.

37

Like all good ambushes, this one came at a time and place where they least expected it. Solon and Regnus and his men had made it down the mountains, over the central plains, and had come within two miles of Cenaria's sprawling northern edge.

Duke Gyre and his men were between two wide rice paddies on the raised road when they came upon a man leading a cart horse. Several peasants were working in the paddies, but they were dressed simply, trouser legs rolled up to their knees, obviously devoid of armor or weapons. The carter pulled his old horse to the side, looking at the men in armor intently.

Solon should have noticed it earlier, of course. Peasants didn't wear long sleeves in the paddies. But it wasn't until he was within twenty paces of the carter that he saw it. The Vurdmeister dropped the horse's reins and brought his wrists together, green fire roaring down his vir and filling each hand. He clapped his wrists together and wytchfire spurted forward. brought his wrists together, green fire roaring down his vir and filling each hand. He clapped his wrists together and wytchfire spurted forward.

The wytchfire hit the guard to Solon's left and went right through him. The magic was designed to melt off in layers like an icicle as it punched through each man. It was the size of a man's head as it went through the first man, then the size of a man's fist as it hit the second, then the size of a man's thumb as it hit the third. In an instant, all three were dead, flames roaring off their flesh, burning on the blood that spilled out of the men as if it were oil.

A second later, wytchfire hit the guards from each side as a Vurdmeister on either side of the road hurled death into their midst. Another three men dropped.

That left Solon, Duke Gyre, and two guards. It was a tribute to the men's discipline that they did anything at all, but Solon knew they were doomed. One guard rode right. Duke Gyre and the other guard rode left, leaving Solon to take care of the Vurdmeister on the road.

Solon didn't move. The Vurdmeister had set their ambush so they'd have ample time to get off two or three b.a.l.l.s of wytchfire. Twelve swordsmen were no match for three wytches.

There was no time to weigh the consequences. Not even time to draw the sunlight streaming onto the paddies into magic. Solon drew directly on his glore vyrden glore vyrden and threw three tiny sparks through the air. They flew as fast as arrows and somehow avoided hitting the duke or his guards. Both Vurdmeister were gathering green fire again as the sparks, each hardly as big as a fingertip, touched their skin. and threw three tiny sparks through the air. They flew as fast as arrows and somehow avoided hitting the duke or his guards. Both Vurdmeister were gathering green fire again as the sparks, each hardly as big as a fingertip, touched their skin.

They weren't even close to lethal. Solon didn't have enough magic to face even one Vurdmeister alone, much less all of them together. But the sparks shocked them. A small shock, but enough to tense their muscles for a second and totally break their concentration. Before they could gather their wits, three swords descended with all the force of three galloping horses and three battle-hardened arms, and the two wytches to either side of the road died.

Solon threw the spark at the wytch on the road last, and the man blocked it. Indeed, it wasn't so much blocking as merely snuffing. The spark flew toward him and then died as if it were a fiery twig being dropped in the ocean. His counterattack was a gush of fire that roared toward Solon with the sound and rage of a dragon's breath.

There was no blocking it. Solon flung himself from the saddle and threw another spark as he fell to the ground and rolled off the road.

The wytch didn't even bother to quench the spark as it flew a good ten feet wide of him. He turned, bridling almost fifty feet of fire as if it were a living thing and turning it in his hands to follow Solon. feet wide of him. He turned, bridling almost fifty feet of fire as if it were a living thing and turning it in his hands to follow Solon.

The spark hit the cart horse's flank. The old beast was already terrified by the blood, the sounds, and the flash of unnatural fire. It jerked against the cart and then reared and lashed out with its hooves.

The Vurdmeister never even heard the horse's whinny beneath the roar of the flames. One second, he was reining the stream of fire down the bank of the road onto Solon, and the next, a hoof caught him in the back. He dropped on all fours, not knowing anything but that something was terribly wrong. He gasped and turned to see the horse regain its balance. Then horse and cart ran right over the man, crushing him into the road.

Solon pulled himself out of the water and mud of the rice paddy as the cart horse ran as it must not have run in ten years. His own horse was dead, of course, its skull a smoking ruin and the smell of burnt hair and cooked meat mingling over its half-ruined corpse.