Maul allowed himself to be guided into the vast sprawl of granite that was the Palace. His legs were still cramped from gripping Sasha's sides, and he stumbled once, recovering quickly. Not so quickly that Elspeth didn't notice; she glanced at him, and her sliver-gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She said nothing, but slowed her pace so that Maul could keep up without straining. He found himself grateful for both the care and the discretion.
They walked swiftly through the twists and turns of the corridors. Maul automatically memorized any distinctive features—statues, tapestries, etc—as best he could, not because he truly thought he was in any immediate danger, but because one never knew. Finally, Elspeth stopped and opened a door into a small cozy chamber containing a desk, two chairs, a small backless couch snugged beneath the single window, and many shelves of books.
"Sit down," she said, indicating one of the chairs. "Let me see your hands."
Maul sat with an inaudible sigh of relief. The chair was well padded in worn leather, sturdy and exactly the right size. It felt wonderful to sit on something that wasn't moving. Elspeth perched, not in the other chair, but on the edge of the desk. She reached out and began carefully removing the ruined gloves from his hands, and her skin was soft and cool. Yet, as she examined his palms, Maul recognized the calluses on her hands, almost identical to his, the mark of one skilled and experienced with a sword. They seemed at odds with her appearance of pampered nobility and he found himself more confused than ever.
"I can't do much," she was saying, "but a touch of the Healing gift still runs in my family."
As she spoke, Maul felt a strange cool tingle, and the agony of his slashed palms eased tremendously. The sheer relief made him a bit lightheaded for a moment.
"That should do, until the Healer arrives."
Just then, there was knock on the door. Elspeth slid off of the desk to answer, revealing the curly-haired Herald who had taken the packet from Maul, and a boy of about ten in a light-blue uniform burdened with a covered platter. Elspeth took the platter and stood back to allow the other Herald to enter. He closed the door behind him and sat in the second chair as Elspeth placed the tray on the desk.
"Do you feel up to eating?" she asked as she lifted the cover, and Maul nodded.
It was a bit of a challenge, with hands that were injured and nearly numb, but Maul was making inroads on the slices of cold meat and bread that heaped the platter when there was yet another knock on the door. This time, the visitor was an elderly woman in a rumpled green smock and trousers who looked at Maul over her spectacles, "humphed" once, and took his hands in hers. Again that cool tingle flooded him—but this time it was stronger, so intense that he was content to simply take it in. He realized, with the part of his brain that was still capable of thinking, that this must have happened when Nightsong had healed him back at the Vale, and he wished he could have been awake for that…
And then the feeling receded, and Maul looked down at his hands, whole now and unscarred. Not only that, but his legs no longer cramped, and he was not nearly as weary as he had been before. Tired, yes, but no longer ready to drop. He bowed his head to the Healer.
"My thanks," he told her, and was rewarded with a grin that spread like sunshine over her wrinkled face.
"A trifle, my boy," she wheezed. "Just try not to do it again, hmm?" And then she was gone, leaving Maul alone with the two Heralds.
"Ahem." Maul gave his attention to the man, who ran his hand through his tangled curls, disheveling them even more. "I'm Herald Koric, the King's Own," he said formally. "I know some of what happened already—Rolan got some of it from Sasha before she died. But I need your side of it as well. Tell me everything you can—why you were on the road, where you were going, who was with you, what you remember of the men who were hunting Verran—everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem."
Maul took a deep breath as Elspeth handed him a cup of tea. "I'm a mercenary," he began. "I was traveling with my partner, looking for work. We stopped to camp for the night, and I was awakened by what sounded like bells…"
Elspeth and Koric listened carefully as Maul recounted the entire incident. Koric's brow furrowed slightly when Maul mentioned the curse he had used to shatter the arrows and inconvenience the Herald's attackers, but he did not interrupt. Elspeth's face remained opaque. When he told them of the arrow wound Verran had suffered, she slid from her perch on the desk and wandered to the window, where she stood for the rest of the narrative with her back to Maul and her arms folded tight across her middle.
There was silence when Maul finished, and he took the opportunity to drink his now-cold tea. Finally Koric leaned forward and asked, "You're a mage, yes? What school and rank are you?"
The question made Maul blink. "I—have no school…that you would recognize," he said cautiously. "And I do not know how you rank your wizards here in Valdemar."
Koric nodded thoughtfully, and swiveled his head to face Elspeth. "Princess?" he asked. "What do you think?"
Princess? Before Maul could react to that revelation, she answered, and her voice was distant as she said, "I think we should hire him."
Koric's jaw dropped, as did Maul's, but Princess Elspeth turned and gave Koric a look which Maul interpreted as, We'll talk about this later. Koric closed his mouth, and nodded. Then he stood up, bowed slightly to Maul and more deeply to Elspeth.
"Would you object to staying the night here, in the Palace?" he asked delicately. "It seems we may have—business—to discuss."
No wanted to go home. This place was too cold and too dry, the cadences of the local tongue grated on his ears, and everyone was taller than he was! Well, that had always been the case since leaving the tropical swamps where the Nyueng Bao made their homes, but it had been different in his own world, or with the Kalad'a'in. They had preferred low tables, and sprawled on cushions or low stools for the most part. Not like this heathen land, with its high heavy furniture that seemed purposely designed to make him feel as insignificant as possible.
And now he was lonely as well. Maul had been the only creature in this world that he had felt any sort of kinship with, and he had ridden away leaving No with only a dying man as a companion. Well, No had made the man—the Herald, whatever that meant—as comfortable as possible, until his inevitable end. He hadn't know what death rites these barbarians used, so he had said a Nyueng Bao prayer before picking through the dead man's pockets, wrapping the white-clad body in a light blanket, and gifting it to the river. It was what he would have done for any of his people, it was exactly what he had done for his own father, and it was as much as he could do for this stranger who had become so abruptly involved in his business. The bodies of the bandits were also thrown into the river, but with no prayer to honor them, and the silver in their pockets joined that in No's.
So. What to do now became the question, and No determined to keep walking in the direction he and Maul had already decided upon. No had no idea how far away this "Haven" place was, but he figured Maul wouldn't expect him to hang around in one place. His packs were quickly gathered up; Slender Reed rested in her usual place across his back, gleaming in the late morning sun.
There was no scabbard for her; she was too big to unsheath properly, and so No carried her tied just under the quillions with a leather thong, where the heavy blade remained unsharpened. When he had need of her, a quick jerk would sever the tie, and she would be in his hands in an eyeblink. Or, he could simply reach behind his shoulder and give the trailing end a jerk, and the knot would come undone, allowing him to lay the sword down without cutting the tie. A thorough cleaning and oiling every night meant that she never rusted; a murmured song to the blade's spirit meant she would never desert him. And thus far, all of his care had been rewarded. Since the very hour when No had retrieved the blade from those members of his clan that would have destroyed her, she had guarded his life with her gleaming edge.
Oh, some of it was his own skill, too. Though he had been only the merest student of the Path of the Sword, the intense discipline required had elevated him well above those who had learned the sword in the field or under some heathen teacher with no concept of the true nature of the union between soul and steel. But without a partner—without Slender Reed, whose spirit sang in unison with his own soul when they danced their battle-dance—without such a partner, what use was any amount of skill?
But however elegant a lady she might be, Slender Reed could not speak to him, could not laugh at his jokes or share an ironic observation. And so No was lonely and chilled despite the clothing the hertasi had made for him. He pulled his hazori low over his face and trudged along, a little yellow man with a sword seemingly too big for him, as alien as it was possible to be in this land that welcomed nearly everyone who crossed its borders.
He worried, for a time that whoever had ambushed the Herald might attempt to do the same to him. But this was civilized territory, with few opportunities for outright banditry, so after two days of looking over his shoulder, No figured he was safe enough. Which didn't mean he could afford to be careless. Rather than camping on the road, he holed up in barns or cheap inns, and he accepted rides form peddlers and farmers whenever possible, both to make better time and to make it more difficult for anyone to track his progress. Unless they had a wizard who could scry his face. No knew that was a possibility, but after considering it, he decided not to let it worry him too much. If they did have a wizard, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
He had been walking for a week, headed steadily toward Haven, when his ears caught the sound of bells on the road. Remembering his midnight awakening, No looked around for some sort of cover, but had found nothing suitable by the time the white horse and rider appeared on the road ahead of him. He moved aside to allow them to pass, but they stopped right beside him. The rider—a tall lean woman with graying hair pulled back from a long bony face—looked down and said something in Valdemaran.
"No speakee!" No answered suspiciously.
To his surprise, the rider smiled and dismounted. She pulled a folded paper from her saddlebag and handed it to No. The edges were pasted closed, but there was a crude sketch of the weeping mask the Tears used as their standard on the outside. Quickly, No ripped open the paper and found a single line in Maul's sprawling hand: This is your ride to Haven.
No grinned and whooped in delight, as the Herald smiled indulgently. It took a few minutes to get all the packs distributed onto the Companion, and then she laced her fingers together to form a step that allowed the much shorter man to scramble onto the pillion pad behind the saddle. When No was settled comfortably, the Herald mounted in front of him, indicating that he should hold onto her belt. Remembering how quickly the Companion had taken off with Maul, No took a firm grip on the white leather. As soon as he had done so, he felt the Companion's muscles surge beneath him, and they were away, with No's gleeful shout hanging in the air behind him.
A week after his abrupt arrival, Maul was summoned once again to the small office where he had talked with Koric and Elspeth the first day. He had not seen the Princess at all, except at a distance, but Koric had made time to speak with him briefly at least once every day. He had arranged for No's transportation to Haven. ("I promise Herald Felicia will be a little more considerate of him than Sasha was of you," he'd said with a half-grin.) Maul had been installed in a room, assigned a few gray-clad trainees to act as servants of a sort, and then been left largely to his own devices. At first he had been puzzled, then almost insulted. Could these people really be so naïve, to trust him so quickly, or did they completely discount him?
But after a day or so, he realized it was neither. He was neither completely trusted, nor considered harmless. He was still largely an unknown quantity. But he had arrived on a Companion. That seemed to be enough, at least for the Heralds, to begin to trust him. And everyone listened to the Heralds.
Oh, not everyone listened entirely to the Heralds. Maul spent just enough time in court to realize quickly that Valdemar's King (who also wore Herald's Whites on his gaunt aged frame,) did not rule so much as reign. His word was not necessarily law. In the few hours Maul spent in the Throne Room, he heard at least a hundred compromises. Yet most of the King's judgments and decisions seemed to make most people, if not completely happy, at least mostly satisfied. And those who were not satisfied were not afraid to say so at loud. Which told Maul that no one was afraid of being hauled from his bed for speaking what might be considered treason in other lands.
Slowly, he was putting together a picture in his head of how this land, so similar to many others on the surface, worked so differently. And he was discovering that he rather liked what he saw. Still, he was unprepared for Elspeth's question when Koric left him alone with the Princess in the small office.
She was sitting behind the desk today, with a stack of papers before her, and a pen in her hand. Her white uniform could have been the same one she had worn a week ago, and her sleek dark hair was confined with the same silver band. But Maul detected a hint of dark shadows under her eyes as she put aside her pen and looked at him gravely.
"Tell me," she asked abruptly, "what you know of Valdemar so far?"
Maul felt his brow crease as he thought about what he had heard before, and what he had observed the last few days. "I know that you are largely peaceful, with allies on all sides. I have also heard that those allies are being set upon from outside their borders." At her nod, he continued, "You have a small standing army, and a mercenary company based near your border, but you rarely use either one. You King is rumored to be in failing health—and you are the heir apparent."
He stopped there, and Elspeth waited a moment before giving him a small, unexpected smile. "Very good," she said. "I expect you have kept to what you actually know, without divulging what you suspect." Before Maul could answer that, she continued, "Now, I know you are at least somewhat familiar with the mind-magic that Heralds use. I don't need to know why or how; it's enough that you are. You are also an observant, resourceful individual. These are qualities I need desperately right now. So; listen carefully to my proposal."
"The Eastern Empire is enormous, and they are always looking to expand.For the last century and a half, they've been pushing against our borders, and those of our allies. When they first began the push, they nearly annexed Hardorn; the circumstances that prevented them from doing so were, shall we say, unique, and not likely to ever be repeated."
"Valdemar itself is surrounded by allies, but only the treaty with Rethwellan is likely to persist after my father dies. And he will die soon; there is nothing anyone can do about that." For a moment Elspeth's cool mask slipped, and Maul glimpsed the grief she felt at that fact. "There will be a delicate dance between us and the envoys of Karse, Iftel, and Hardorn, and I am certain that that is when the Empire will strike. It will not be a military maneuver; the Empire is too cautious for that. It will be something that will cause one or more of our allies to break away, to isolate each country as much as possible. Ideally, from the Empire's point of view, it will also throw at least one country into confusion and discord. That is the way the Empire has always worked, you see—spread as much strife as possible within the target, so that the Imperial troops are hailed as saviors rather than conquerors."
"They will have a hard time doing that in Valdemar," Maul said.
Elspeth's smile was pleased. "Yes, they will. And I do not believe we will be the initial target. However," her smile fell away, and her face was grave again, "there is nothing to prevent them from attempting such on one of our neighbors. I must do what I can to aid them. First, because such was promised, and second, because if the Empire succeeds, it gives Emperor Melles a gateway from which to campaign against Valdemar."
"And where does a lone mercenary and his partner figure into this?" Maul asked.
Again she smiled, and her gray eyes glinted like steel. "I want to hire you to work for me. Not Valdemar, not the Heralds—only me, Herald Elspeth. I want someone clever, resourceful, observant, and not opposed to dirty tricks to stall the Empire—not to stop them, but to slow them down during this critical period."
"You have only a limited time. Once I have been confirmed as Queen, our contract will end, and any progress you have made will have to be enough. If you get caught, I will do what I can for you, but please understand that I will likely be able to do nothing at all. You will be, effectively, on your own."
Maul drummed his fingers on his knee as he considered the Princess's offer. "And if I agree?" he asked. "I am a mercenary—I won't do this for free."
"I wouldn't expect you to," she replied agreeably, and reached for a piece of paper in the stack to her left, pushing it across the desk to Maul. "This" she said, tapping the paper, "will be your payment if you accept. You may have it all in hard currency, or half in supplies, if you prefer. And this," she indicated another notation, "will be your bonus if you succeed."
It took Maul a moment to puzzle out the unfamiliar notation, and another to convert it to trade-weight. The result made him blink, and hastily re-check his figures.
"This…you have a lot of faith in me, Highness," he said.
"I don't know that you will succeed," Elspeth replied quietly. "But I do know that you can. You see," and now the glint in her eyes could only be called mischievous, "my strongest Gift is Foresight."
Maul took a deep breath and laid his hand on the paper. "Where do I sign?"
A/N: Yes, the plot sickens...er, thickens...anyway, reviews are like chocolate for my muse!