“Impossible!”
It’s not that I blamed Dalaris for her disbelief.
“Simply unbelievable!”
This couldn’t be easy, after all. It’s one thing to suspect a plot around one’s murdered husband, another thing entirely to have it confirmed. And to have his own brother implicated in it had to have been upsetting.
“You’re surely mistaken!”
So, like I said, I didn’t blame her for not believing me.
“That’s just … just…”
But after two hours of her expressions of incredulity, my sympathy, patience, and restraint were all wearing thin.
“You seem to have run out of synonyms, darling,” I said. “Should I take that to mean you’re ready to listen to me, or shall I fetch you a thesaurus?”
From across the carriage’s cabin, Dalaris fixed me with a glower. That, at least, was an improvement from the scowl she had first given me when I told her everything. And though she was still the same shade of incensed red, she at least seemed to be receptive to listening.
“Look, here’s what I know.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “The centaur raids are connected. There’s no way they launched two perfectly timed raids by coincidence. Someone sent them there to get crates of weapons out. Gerowan was killed in the process.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Dalaris said. “But to suspect Alarin, his own brother…”
I rolled my eyes. If the idea of one noble murdering another was unthinkable to the heir of Sidara, it was little wonder their house was in decline.
“I know what I saw,” I said. “There were sigils on the crates they took: Herevard’s sigil, and a long scepter on a gold field.”
“That’s House Stelvan’s sigil,” she said. “But they’re arms dealers. It’s simply unthinkable that they’d set weapons up to be taken.”
“Which leaves the last sigil I saw: two crossed rapiers.”
Dalaris’s face sank. Her head followed, drooping down as she rubbed her temples. “That’s … that’s the sigil of Amalien. Two swords, two siblings.”
“Makes sense to me,” I replied, leaning back in my seat. “Amalien smuggles someone else’s weapons to the centaurs. That’s a loss in profit for the other nobles and he secures the gratitude of a bunch of murderous and armed horse-folk.”
“That’s where it all falls apart,” Dalaris shot back. “The nobles of Yanmass are forever waiting for the day Taldor collapses. They hold onto their gold like a dwarf in rigor. For what reason would they give arms to centaurs?”
I sniffed. “I guess that’s what you’re paying me to find out.”
Dalaris fell silent at that, dropping back in her seat with such vigor that she seemed to think she could just sink into it. I had seen that face before—on the faces of wives discovering faithless husbands and children discovering that heroes don’t win.
Life’s rough. Rougher still if you spend time thinking it’s not.
She needed time to process this. I was inclined to give it to her. I eased the door open, stepped onto the carriage’s railing. She glanced at me with concern, but the day I couldn’t handle myself on a moving carriage was the day I found a more boring profession.
I made my way to the front of the carriage, where Harges sat. If he had any objections to me joining him, he didn’t voice them.
Rather rude of him. I could have used the distraction.
Because every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Sandan. Sandan’s wide eyes, Sandan’s honest smile, Sandan’s blood weeping out onto the floorboards as he choked on Chariel’s dagger.
Don’t get me wrong, I was no fool. I knew people died—good people or bad—and I knew a few who had died because of me. But Sandan was an honest boy. The deaths of honest people have never sat well with me.
And every time I saw his body hit the floor in my mind, I saw Chariel standing over him. And the cut on my cheek started to burn. Had she recognized me? I was dressed differently, wore my hair shorter, but she had those eyes that seemed like they could see right through any lie.
I wanted not to think about it. Any of it: Sandan’s death, Chariel … But I’d been in this business too damn long to believe trouble went away just because you didn’t think about it.
So instead, I stared out over the horses. The plains rolled away beneath us, slowly giving way to rising underbrush and trees. The guards at First Solace had said the centaurs came out of the woods nearby. Seemed to make sense to me—centaurs could traverse the difficult terrain easily; a full mounted guard, perhaps not so much.
It wasn’t exactly easy for a horse-drawn carriage, either. But an unanticipated benefit of Sidara’s declining fortunes was an upgrade in functionality. In Yanmass, the sturdy carriage with its wagon wheels and its two farm horses would be considered positively unfashionable. But here on the plains, the carriage and the horses handled the terrain without complaint.
“Dalaris says you know these woods,” I said, glancing at Harges.
“Mm-hm,” he grunted, not bothering to glance back.
“Says you grew up playing in them.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m not crazy for thinking that we’ll find the centaurs here, am I?”
“Mm-hm.”
Harges didn’t say anything else. Harges didn’t even look at me.
I liked Harges.
At any rate, I assumed either he or Dalaris would voice an objection to my plan if they had one. It seemed to me that, if the centaurs were the only lead I could point to, finding them would lead, one way or another, to Gerowan’s murderer.
Harges had heard the plan. He hadn’t said anything.
He took the reins in one hand, then reached down into his boot. He pulled out a dented flask, unscrewed it, and took a long sip. He smacked his lips, then handed it over to me.
I really liked Harges.
I was well on my way to enjoying his offering—it smelled like whiskey, about as old as he was—when the carriage came to a sudden stop. The horses whinnied, but didn’t protest further as Harges drew back on the reins, causing me to spill the liquor over my leathers.
“If I was drinking too much, you could have just grunted,” I muttered at him, vainly trying to brush the liquor from my clothes.
Harges didn’t reply. He didn’t seem to be listening. He hopped off the seat and stalked to the nearby underbrush, eyes on the ground.
Brush and scrub grass rose up densely here, the vanguard to the forest proper, which loomed tall not a mile away. The evening cloaked the sky in pale purple as the crown of the sun slipped over the horizon. But there was more than enough light for me to see absolutely nothing that would have caused such a sudden stop.
“Harges?” The carriage’s door opened and Dalaris stepped out. “Why have we stopped?”
I hopped down to join her, keen to know as well, as we walked to him. He knelt down, gestured over a patch of scrub.
“Flat,” he grunted. He glanced up, pointed over the plains. “Flat all over.”
I blinked. “Well, consider any doubts I had about your expertise banished. I can see it’s flat, you imbecile.”
“Too flat,” he said. “Should be full of bushes ’n’ saplings here. Scrub got trampled down.”
“Why?” Dalaris asked.
Harges grunted. He stalked off and returned with a heavy rock. With another grunt, he heaved it forward. It struck the earth and then, suddenly, disappeared.
“Pits,” he said. “Dug up all over here ’n’ covered.”
“Just in case someone were being pursued by horses,” I said, realization dawning on me. “Centaurs would be nimble enough to dart around them.”
“Horses, not so much.” He shook his head at Dalaris. “Can’t go no further, m’lady. Can’t get no carriage ’round no pits.”
“Just as well,” I said, checking my dagger. “If there are traps here, the centaurs can’t be too far away. I’ll head out by myself.”
“But…” Dalaris began. “That could be dangerous.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I would expect so.”
“I should come with you.”
“Excellent idea.” I nodded at her. “My original idea was to sneak in, uncover evidence as to what they’ve been doing, and sneak out. But with your help, I think we can go in and deliver a stirring, strongly worded lecture on the impropriety of their raids. With any luck, they’ll be shamed into confessing and vow to bring their raids up to standard.”
Dalaris stared at me. I stared back.
“I’m being sarcas—”
“I know what you’re being,” Dalaris snapped. She sighed and rubbed her temples. “It’s just … he was my husband. I feel so … so useless, standing here and letting you put yourself in danger.”
I shrugged. “I assumed you paid me for that reason.”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Maybe it was something in her voice—that soft, frustrated tone. Or maybe the way she seemed to shrink into herself, crossing her arms tightly. Or it could have been the way she pointedly looked away from me.
At that moment, I didn’t care exactly what it was she was doing that made me smile so. There was just something so novel about someone who gave a damn for someone else.
Norgorber help me, I was starting to like this puppy of a woman.
But on the list of places I would not want to bring a puppy, a camp full of bloodthirsty centaurs ranked pretty high.
“Four hours,” I said, holding up four fingers. “If I’m not back by then, you have my full permission to come after me, leave me, hate me, whatever. Agreed?”
Dalaris nodded, grudgingly. I glanced to Harges, who shook his head violently.
He took a step forward, thrust his hand out, made a beckoning gesture.
I glared at him for a moment before slapping the dented flask into his palm. He grunted.
“Just for that,” I said, turning on my heel, “make it five hours.”
* * *
“It isn’t a matter of payment, stabled, it’s a matter of practicality. We lost three warriors to the damn guards so we could carry your crap back here.”
A voice. Thick, burly, bestial; like someone had been swallowing gravel.
“If you’re saying you’d rather not be paid, then we’ll be happy to shovel the gold we’ve been feeding you somewhere else, barbarian. Until then, you get paid to carry out orders, not second-guess them.”
A voice. Deep, bellowing, rolling; distant thunder over a low hill.
“Gold won’t do crap for us if we keep losing warriors doing these petty raids.”
“Pettiness, you half-wit coward, is what the plan calls for. Have faith in Halamox’s ideas.”
“Kjoda pisses on Halamox’s ideas, and if you want to bend down a little lower, he’ll gladly piss on you, too.”
“Keep talking and we’ll see how well you piss after I put my hoof straight up your ass.”
Isn’t Taldane just the most beautiful language?
They’d been at this for the better part of half an hour now: grunting, snarling, throwing complaints, insults, and the occasional punch. And still, neither of them seemed to be at all interested in stopping.
I had to admit, the centaur reputation for tenacity was well earned, if this was any indication. And it was interesting to see how well that trait crossed cultural boundaries.
As I understood it, the majority of centaurs out there in the big wide world were clannish and wild, barely a step removed from the orcs, goblins, and other tribal humanoids that plagued humanity. Hunters, gatherers, raiders—most of them didn’t aspire to be much more than that.
But occasionally, a few did. Now and again, a centaur put his mind to social mobility. He cut his hair, trimmed his beard, stopped pissing wherever he stood, and joined civil society. Valued as a strong warrior, he occasionally got as far as a four-legged humanoid could expect to get in many human-dominated societies—that is, occasionally he got invited into the house and not the stable.
I had always wondered what happened when the two breeds met.
And now, I was finding out.
One of the savages, a big, shaggy son of a mare wearing nothing but war paint and a truly impressive number of tattoos, squared off at the center of the camp. Behind him stood a number of other similarly half-nude clansmen and women, stamping irately. I assumed he was the leader—at least, he was the only one who talked about himself in the third person, so I guessed he must be pretty important.
He was the one voicing grievances, pounding a thick fist to his chest, snarling out his painted mouth, scowling out of beady eyes beneath a shaggy mane of hair. And every threat he made was backed up by snarls from the six savages behind him.
Not that this seemed to impress the other, cleaner centaurs any.
There were three of them: two males, one female, each about seven feet tall, burly humanoid torsos rising out of burly horse bodies. Their arms were crossed defiantly across their chests. Unlike their other kin, their hair was clean, and they wore polished armor and barding. One might have thought them completely civilized, were it not for the fact that they, too, pawed the ground aggressively with their hooves in anticipation of a fight.
“We’ve got gold enough to pay you for one more raid,” the female centaur said to the savage. “You want it or not?”
“Kjoda doesn’t mind taking your gold,” the big one, Kjoda, said. “But it’s not worth crap if we keep losing warriors because of your stupid ideas. You tell Halamox that, stabled.”
I saw the female’s face contort in fury at that. My knowledge of centaurs was limited, but I knew enough to know the more civilized, city-dwelling ones—like her—found the term “stabled” to be something of a slur.
Which was doubtless why Kjoda had called her it. And which was doubtless why he was fondling the hilt of the greataxe strapped to his back like it was his lover.
Whatever the savage wanted to happen, it didn’t. The centaur woman tilted her nose up and turned away, taking her cleaner cousins with her. The shaggier ones did likewise, skulking back to their side of the camp.
Neither of them noticed me, of course.
Funny thing about humans and humanoids alike is that they don’t really look up unless they feel they’re in trouble—usually to spew off a quick prayer to one god or another. Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have seen me, lying on my belly and peering out over the edge of the cabin’s roof. But then, I hadn’t moved since I got there.
Navigating my way through the traps and forest had proved not too difficult. Slipping past the sentries and into the shallow valley the camp was situated in was slightly tougher, but still, nothing I couldn’t handle. The challenge came only now, when I realized just how big the camp was.
This had once been a hunting camp, if the various cabins were any indication. Whatever humans had been here had long since left, and the centaurs had moved in—the stabled ones, anyway. Their shaggier, barbaric kin still preferred sleeping out of doors.
The savages preferred to dwell on the far side of the camp, keeping to their bonfires, spending their time sharpening weapons and whispering to whatever noisome creatures they had in those big wooden cages they held at the edge of the camp.
Even if I hadn’t just heard that little exchange, I could have told hostilities between the two groups were running high. Ordinarily, that’d be a good thing; if they weren’t watching each other’s backs, it meant they wouldn’t be watching me slipping behind both of theirs.
Now, if only there weren’t so gods-damned many of them.
At a quick count, I had guessed there to be maybe two hundred centaurs present. But after I found myself lingering up there awhile, I had been able to count closer to two hundred and seventy—eighty or so had been the clean kind. Combine that with however many were doubtless out raiding right now, then combine that with the six big wooden cages and whatever creatures they held, and …
I’m sure you can figure out why I was reluctant to move.
Night wore on. And as it did, more centaurs retired to sleep standing up, letting their bonfires dim. But there were still too damn many up, alert, and active for my tastes.
Not that there was ever an acceptable number of bloodthirsty centaurs.
But regardless of how many were present, I still had a job to do. The centaurs were strategizing and plotting, just as suspected. If I were a gambling woman—or a better one, anyway—I’d have laid odds that I’d find whoever was behind it here.
My eyes drifted to the edge of the camp. Situated farthest away from the uncivilized contingent, the largest cabin stood imposing and dark. Unlike the other cabins here, whose doors had been shattered to make way for centaur girth, this one still had a door on it. This one had something to hide.
Good enough place to start, I thought. But getting there would be an issue.
Would be, that is, if I were bad at my job.
I slipped to the edge of the cabin’s roof, slid down the walls, and took off. The night was dark enough already that the tree branches that leaned down to smother the scant moonlight were just another little present for me. By the light of that half-masked moon, and the distant glow of the centaurs’ fires, I picked my way around the edges of the camp.
I darted quietly from cover to cover: through underbrush, behind cabin walls, toward a nearby barrel. And it was behind this last that I froze. Because it was behind it that I heard footsteps approaching.
Moving now would be too risky. I slowed my breathing, stilled my body, closed my eyes.
“What’d those ugly things bring us, anyway?”
“Weapons, finally. Just like Halamox said they would.”
Centaurs. Clean ones. Two of them. They came up to the barrel, fumbled around in the dark. I heard liquid sloshing into cups. Even through the short breaths I took, I damn near passed out from the reek of alcohol that flooded into my nose.
So I was hiding behind a cask. Full of whiskey, by the smell of it, and strong, at that. Made sense; it must take a lot to get a centaur drunk.
“’Bout time, you ask me,” one of the centaurs said. “I tire of letting those barbarians do the fighting. I want a fight.”
“Halamox says it’s coming,” the other said between gulps of the brew.
“Yeah, Halamox says a lot of stuff.”
They wandered off, muttering to each other. I didn’t wait for them to come back. It had been just luck that had made them more concerned with liquor than security. I might not get that again.
I swept out, picking my way deeper into the camp. A wide gap of space between the two sides allowed me to slip toward the uncivilized end. I moved quickly from the shadow of one tent to another, giving their dying fires a wide berth.
I couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. The tribal centaurs were so embroiled in their own complaints that I felt like I could have started playing a trumpet and not been noticed.
“See Kjoda tonight?” Around a nearby campfire, a pair of them muttered to each other between strokes of whetstones on their blades. “Looks pissed. Not gonna take crap from the stabled much longer.”
“Good,” the other grunted. “I say we should’ve killed them before they got so many. More of these things keep showing up each day. Not gonna be able to take ’em for much longer.”
“Weakling,” the first snarled. “I could kill three in my sleep, at least.”
“I could kill four. Kjoda just needs to give the word.”
“If he don’t? Then we get rowdy.”
“Yeah,” the other chuckled. “Rowdy.”
Charming.
The discourse of centaur politics seemed enough to keep them distracted as I crept through their camp until I could get to the wooden cages at its edge.
I could hear the heavy sounds of animal breathing around me. Apparently, whatever was in these cages was not interested enough in centaur affairs to wake up. Still, that didn’t mean I could be less careful. I’d had my share of dealing with guard animals before. I moved slowly, trying not to disturb anything that might make a new scent.
A low growling reached me from nearby. I glanced over, saw a pair of yellow eyes peering out from a large cage. Behind the lone watcher, five more wolves slumbered blissfully—presumably the ones the centaurs had used to find their weapons.
Fortunately, trained wolves weren’t as suspicious as their feral kin. The one looking at me quickly lost interest and returned to sleeping with its pack.
Unfortunately, they could still be a pain in my ass if I had to get out of here quickly. I slipped toward the door of the cage and grinned at the sight of a metal lock.
Now, picking a lock is no mean feat: it takes years of practice to do it right. But jamming up a lock? That’s easy.
I slid Whisper out of his sheath and into the lock, gave it a few twists until I heard something grind. Anyone wanted these wolves out now, they’d have to work for it.
I slipped away from the door before anyone could notice me and almost backed up into the largest of the wooden cages.
This one, massive as it was, was dead silent. I peered between its bars, looking into the darkness.
Luck had given me the night. Skill had got me this far. But it was pure instinct that made me jerk my head back just in time to avoid it being taken off by a massive, ursine claw.
Big as my skull, the hairy brown paw groped around the bars for a moment. When it found nothing, a pair of wide, yellow eyes peered out, crowned by a feathery scowl. The creature within made a short, rasping trill of frustration.
Paws. Feathers.
Some kind of bear … owl … thing?
Fantastic.
You sometimes hear of these things: insane unions between two beasts that ought not, by natural means, be able to crossbreed without a lot of liquor and a lot of regrets. Some say they’re a god’s disfavor made manifest. Others say it’s evolution in action. Personally, I suspected it had a more logical explanation, such as a union of wizards and the aforementioned copious amounts of liquor.
It was a rare occasion that I actually didn’t disapprove of crazy magic, but this was one of them. In the cage, another great shape stirred as a second of the creatures rose from its slumber. I crept to the front of their cage, saw the door secured by a lock no more sophisticated than the chain it held.
Not that I was expecting much from centaurs.
I slipped a hand to my belt, pulled free the tiny leather roll of lockpicks I carried inside it. With a quick glance around to make sure no eyes were upon me, I plucked out two picks and went to work.
I wouldn’t have told you I was great at picking locks. No more than I would have told you I was good at understanding men or women. Truth was, I just knew what they all had in common.
Find the right spot, give it a flick, and watch them open.
The padlock clicked open, fell to the ground. I scrambled around the cage, scaled up its bars to its top, and simply waited.
It didn’t take long for the curious creatures to realize what had changed. They nudged the door, watched it creak open, and came creeping ponderously out.
In the shadows, I hadn’t realized just how gods-damned big they were. But as they came lumbering out on four meaty limbs, avian faces taking everything in, I guessed they both weighed a ton, at least.
Curiosity turned to exhilaration in a few short seconds. The creatures came loping out into the camp, silently making for the nearest cluster of centaurs.
I closed my eyes. And began to count to ten.
“HOLY HELL, THEY’RE LOOSE!”
I had gotten to four when the screaming began.
“Whose job was it to look after ’em?”
“IT’S GOT ME! HELP! HELP!”
“You gods-damned savages, get those things under control!”
“Stuff it under your tail, stabled!”
“SOMEONE, PLEASE!”
There were a lot of voices, a lot of screams, a lot of curses, a lot of terrified wailing. And none of them were louder or prouder than the blood-hungry screeches of the bird-bears.
Had I the time, I would have gladly stayed to hear how it all ended.
But time is money.
I leapt off the cage, broke into a run for the big cabin. The centaurs were all rushing for the center of the camp, content to ignore me in favor of the monsters currently making a scene. None of them so much as looked my way as I slipped around the side of the cabin. Peering into a window, I saw the dim glow of a lantern and nothing else. I took a breath, then hauled myself up and over the sill.
The room was quiet inside—quiet as it could be, considering the chaos outside. Bare but for the large tables set at either wall, a few barrels of whiskey stacked in the corner, and paper.
Loads and loads of paper.
By the light of the lantern hanging overhead, I could see them: maps pinned to the walls charting out caravan routes and guard patrols; various notes upon the tables, scribbled in a language I couldn’t understand; books on military treatises and Taldan history.
If I was going to find anything, it would be here.
From outside came a scream, followed by an agonized screech from one of the bear-things. I cringed.
An amateur thief might have heard that sound, realized they likely only had a few precious minutes left before the camp got itself in order, and started getting sloppy. Overwhelmed by the fear that they would be discovered and subsequently mutilated, they would search too hastily, leaving things out of order, making evidence of their passage all too obvious. Then, realizing their looming fate, they would sit down and cry and wait for death.
Fortunately, I was a professional.
So while I was certainly aware of the possibility of being discovered and mutilated, I definitely did not cry.
I’d save that for when I had to beg for mercy.
I slipped over to the table, let my eyes wander over the papers instead of my fingers. Stories may tell of burglars who slip in and leave a bare treasure vault behind, but the reality is that the best burglars are the ones that no one even knows were there. As I liked to think of myself as at least fairly good, I wasn’t about to touch anything until I was damn sure I could—
Aha.
I picked out a sentence I could read on one of the papers. Careful not to move the papers atop it, I gently pulled it out and looked it over. Written in common Taldane, dark ink, fantastic penmanship. But I was more concerned with what it said.
H—
I grow concerned by your brazenness. The assurances you offered that your alliance with the savage tribes would be to our mutual benefit has yet to manifest. Instead, I very nearly saw everything ruined by their raid. They didn’t kill enough people for it to look convincing. The target was only narrowly eliminated. I remind you that subtlety is the price you pay for protection.
I have enclosed, with this week’s missive, a dictionary, that you might learn the meaning of that word. In addition, the caravans have altered their routes. The maps I sent will tell you where to strike next. As usual, avoid the ones marked in red if you want your supplies to keep coming.
No signature, naturally.
Pity. But then, that would just have been too easy, wouldn’t it?
Protection. Target. Eliminate.
These words, and the rather detailed map of caravan routes that only someone directing said routes would be able to pen, were merely suspicious. But it was the ink on the page that sealed it.
Granted, I’ve never been a noble myself, but I’ve known enough of them to know that it’s fierce training they go through to prepare them for the rigors of being stupidly wealthy: there are manners to learn, languages to decipher, and penmanship so precise you could cut yourself on it.
I supposed whatever training the noble who wrote this letter underwent, it was too much to break even for the sake of sending a covert message.
A noble was behind it. All of it: the centaurs, the raids, Gerowan’s death.
Dalaris would be very interested to hear this.
“Don’t you walk away from me, stabled.”
I really hoped I’d be able to share it with her.
Voices. Footsteps. Outside. Getting closer.
I darted to the corner of the room, leapt behind the casks of whiskey, pressed myself deep into the shadows, and held my breath.
Through the gap between the barrels, I saw the door open. A great shape bent low to enter. And when he righted himself, I could see the centaur in all his glory.
His big, giant, kill-me-with-one-hoof glory.
Funny, but from the waist up, he wasn’t actually that bad to look at. His torso was broad and lean, his arms, corded with muscle, left bare by the breastplate and pauldron he wore. Beneath elegantly braided black hair and neatly trimmed beard, a rather regal face with a square jaw looked out.
Indeed, had he not been a freaky abomination of nature intent on slaughter, I might very well be tempted to introduce myself.
But as I mentioned, the horse-bit looked a little less inviting. Below, he was a massive destrier: black hair, thick legs, heavy hooves that could split my skull with a flick. A heavy sword belt with a heavier sword hung around his waist—human waist, not the horse waist.
“I’m hardly walking away from you, savage,” the big centaur said as he walked toward a table. “That would imply I cared about you at all. I started walking back and you simply followed me.”
“You know damn well what Kjoda meant.” Kjoda, shorter and leaner, pushed his way in after the big one. “Two of my beasts are dead now, thanks to your kind.”
“And five of my compatriots are dead thanks to your animals,” the new centaur replied, sneering over his shoulder. “I’m being generous in calling it even, considering that your shoddy locks are to blame.”
“Warriors say they locked them tight,” Kjoda growled. “They aren’t liars. No one lies to Kjoda. Without big muscle, we aren’t gonna make it far when we start raiding big towns.”
My eyebrow quirked at that. Centaurs were bad enough without ambitions.
“I lament your loss, truly,” the civilized centaur replied. “We may discuss renegotiations in the morning, if you so choose.”
“You said that last night. And the night before. And the night before that. And you never been here come the morning.”
The centaur glanced briefly at his desk, then back to Kjoda.
“And what have we learned?” he asked.
My other eyebrow quirked at that. Handsome and witty was rare. But I suppose it was true what they said: the good ones are either married or horrific horse-beasts.
Kjoda turned and stalked away, muttering something about glue. He slammed the door shut with such force as to send the lantern swaying overhead. The big centaur stared at the door, arms folded, for a long time. Upon the floor, his monstrous shadow was painted even more twisted by the swaying lantern.
I mentally ran over the numbers in my head: about two hours since I had entered the camp had passed. That left about three left until I gave Dalaris permission to come after me—give or take one, depending on how antsy she got. I assumed the centaur came back to consult some charts, but he’d have to leave again, eventually, to get a drink or to take a piss or—
“Would you care to come out?” he asked.
Or he could just find me right away. That’d be fine, too.
“Mind you, I’m not adverse to searching for you,” he said out loud. “But if I have to tear my command room apart, I’m going to be cross when I find you.” He stamped a hoof upon the floorboards, making the tables quake on their legs. “Very cross.”
Damn it.
You got sloppy, Shy. Amateurish. You left the papers misplaced. Of course he noticed.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, ran over my options in my head. I could stay hidden, make him work for it. I could try to run for the window, maybe make it out … before he sicced his two-hundred-odd exceedingly mobile army of horse-people after me, each of which could run twice as fast as—
Yeah, no, maybe not that.
“Well?” he asked the room. “Keep me waiting much longer and I’ll start to think you’re a touch rude, thief.”
“Now, sir.” My words came as slowly as I did as I rose up behind the casks, my hands in the air. “I should accuse you of the same.”
He whirled around, a scowl etched across his proud brow. I met him with what I hoped was an adequately-sheepish-yet-not-completely-spineless grin.
“After all, I have taken nothing from you yet,” I said. “I am not quite a thief, and resent the implication.”
No chance for retreat. I had to stall for time until I could think of something.
His face slowly softened as he took me in. I had to bite back my surprise as he swept low in a modest bow—not so much that I could have stabbed him, but far more gracious than one would typically expect in these circumstances.
“My apologies, lady,” he said, straightening himself again. “Though I would hope that my state of mind would be understandable, given that you clearly intruded upon my camp without proper introduction.” He tapped his chest. “Who does Halamox have the pleasure of meeting?”
“Anna, Sir Halamox. Anna Nimm.” If I wasn’t going to give a guardsman my real name, I sure as hell wasn’t going to offer one to this guy. I managed a low bow of my own, careful to keep my hands visible.
“Anna Nimm.” He spoke the false name slowly, as if he could taste it for a lie. “I won’t humor you by saying you’re welcome here. But I will forestall taking your life, for the moment.”
“How generous of you,” I replied. “I can see why your soldiers trust you.” My lips curled in the slightest of smirks. “The clean ones, anyway.”
Halamox eyed me coolly. “I take it, then, that you’ve overheard quite a bit. Speak plainly, human. What are you here for?”
“Merely lost, sir,” I replied. “I stumbled into your camp and—”
“I’ll not presume to insult your honor, madame, if you’ll not presume to insult my intelligence.” He stalked forward, making sure each hoof landed firmly to remind me just how big he was. “You were clever enough to recognize my command room. You are no hapless traveler.”
I met his cool gaze with one of my own, slowly lowering my hands. Obviously, I hadn’t expected him to buy that. But sometimes little lies are required to sell the big ones.
“I’m an adventurer,” I replied. “Heard there was trouble in the woods after your raid on First Solace. Came to see if there was loot to be made.”
The tension left Halamox in a great, snorting breath. While his eyes were still narrowed on me, he didn’t seem quite as ready to kill me as he had been a moment ago.
“As you can see, we’ve not much here, madame,” he said. “The Rockhoof Clan are a proud, simple folk. We take only what we need from the land.”
“And what you want from the humans,” I added, perhaps a bit hastier than was wise. “I’ll thank you not to insult my intelligence, either, sir. I saw what your clan did in First Solace.”
One of the barbaric centaurs would have gutted me for the insolence creeping into my voice. But Halamox, though he cringed, did not raise a hoof against me.
I knew his type. Observed the airs of city life from the outside, adopted their codes and mannerisms to fit in, found that it wasn’t enough and tried all the harder. Whether human or centaur, people were all the same. He wouldn’t kill me right now.
It just wouldn’t be proper.
Like I said, I knew his type. And, as the lantern steadied overhead and bathed him in a consistent glow, I realized that I knew him.
“Unless I miss my mark, sir,” I said, “I’ve seen you before.”
“Have you, madame?”
“In the courtyards of the nobles of Yanmass, outside in their yards.” But never in their homes, I refrained from adding. “You’re from the city, are you not?”
“Your memory is apt or my reputation precedes me.” Halamox inclined his head. “I and certain members of my company were popular choices for the instruction and training of the guards of the noble houses of Yanmass. Their coin afforded their guardsmen the fruits of my expertise.”
“And doubtless, you learned a thing or two from them, yourself,” I said. “Such as how to avoid their guard patrols.”
“You are observant, Madame Nimm. I commend you.”
“Not observant enough to understand, apparently. Why give up the noble life of a mercenary to become a common bandit?”
“Noble.” He scoffed, an ugly sound tearing out of his throat. “Indeed, at times, I was left to wonder which aspect of my life was more noble: peddling my honor like a tramp or desperately attempting to ignore the whispers of ‘monster’ behind my back.” He glowered at me, through me, hatred plain on his face. “No, madame. I was all too happy to give up that noble life for the fate of a centaur nation.”
“A centaur … nation?”
I caught the incredulity in my voice just a moment too late and his glower intensified. But I could hardly help it; whoever heard of such a thing as a centaur nation?
“We are but tribes now,” Halamox said. “Tribes pushed out of our own lands by human incursion. Tribes disunited and easy pickings for the savages of this world. Tribes forever wandering in search of a place to call our own.” He gestured those big brawny arms out wide. “Taldor is a nation with too much land and too few citizens to use it. They will not miss what we carve out for own.”
“Hence your need for weapons,” I said. “Hence your raids.”
“I have spent enough time among humans to know that all they respect is force. Like my savage kin, save the savages don’t hide their lust for violence behind airs of superiority.”
I furrowed my brow. “And what part of this demanded—”
“No.”
His voice was followed by the hiss of steel as his tremendous sword came flashing from his scabbard. He swung it about, as if to decapitate me in one fell blow. To my credit, I managed not to piss myself before the edge of that blade came to rest just an inch from my throat.
“I don’t fancy myself a savage, madame,” he said. “I am loathe to spill blood unnecessarily, but I have humored you enough. You are clearly no common adventurer out for coin. Your mind is too inquisitive and your tongue too refined. And unless I miss my guess, I have you to thank for the release of the beasts that killed my kin tonight.”
I smiled at him, sheepish as I dared. “Would it soothe you to know, sir, that the locks were faulty?”
“It would,” he replied. “But not nearly as much as it would soothe me to know my people had been avenged.” He drew back his blade. “Pity. I was so hoping you’d give me a reason to spare you.”
He swung.
“Would my employer do, sir?”
I know it’s terribly gauche to be impressed with oneself, but you would be, too, if you could speak faster than a blade could swing.
And if it halted Halamox’s sword, once more, from tearing my head off, so much the better.
“What?” He scowled down the length of his blade at me.
“My employer, sir,” I replied, eyeing the blade without moving my head, lest it cut me. “As you say, I am no mere adventurer.”
“I do not like liars, madame,” he growled.
“There is not enough room between your blade and my neck for lies, sir,” I said. “I was sent here at the behest of a noble whose trade you have disrupted.”
Halamox glowered. “Which noble?”
Of course, there was room for lies here. Some of my best lying I’ve done with a blade at my throat, even. But occasionally, even someone as resourceful as me can’t afford to speak anything but the truth.
“Sidara,” I said. “House Sidara.”
“They are of no concern to me. Nor are you.”
“But we both will be, sir,” I said, “if I don’t return. The other nobles are already quite suspicious of your activities. If I don’t return to my lady, she’ll have no problem convincing them to rally a force to come rout you out.” I glanced up at him. “You’ve been in their homes. You know how many guards they have.”
Halamox furrowed his brow. Grit his jaw. He didn’t quite buy my story, I could tell. But he hadn’t hacked my head off, either, so I was happy.
And his hesitation told me more than he thought. Whatever noble was supporting him, he was not confident in their ability to protect him from the rest of them. Whatever hand was holding his leash, I guessed it was just one instead of many.
“Ah, curse my gentlemanly ways.” Slowly, Halamox lowered his sword. “But I would hate for the nobles to think me a savage.”
“Of course, sir,” I said, allowing myself a breath of air. “And once I return to them, I will be happy to tell them whatever you—”
“When you return to them,” he interrupted me, “it will be after I am paid.”
I blinked, my facade slipping. Uh, what?
“I don’t like liars, madame. But you seem like an honest sort. If you say you are a friend of nobles, I believe you.”
His sword rose slowly, its tip pressing against my chin to raise my eyes into his smiling, haughty face.
“Just as I believe they will pay handsomely for your return.”