“If he’s in league with the Adana’Ro, there’s trouble. Now Gendishen seems to think they’re fulfilling that old prophecy, but the purifiers are saying he’s not human, and he’s got a mighty powerful mage with him.”
“The woman? Mage Threll. She’s a pretty one. I wouldn’t mind being claimed by her,” said the older man.
“No, I heard it was a man, a battle mage.”
The older man chuckled, “Must be one scary bastard to have the purifiers shaking in their boots.”
The men went on to discuss less interesting gossip, and Rezkin left the guardhouse, entering the palace wing typically reserved for visiting officials. After slipping from the bathhouse via a secret passage he had found behind the water fixtures, he had slinked through the palace to the barracks where he had hoped to procure a uniform. The building was crawling with people who obviously knew each other and would have noticed a newcomer. One particularly intoxicated guard, who had apparently thoroughly enjoyed the feast, had the misfortune to require the use of the outhouse. Rezkin shot him with a blow dart laced with a toxin that would induce sleep for several hours. He was taller than the other man, but most people were too preoccupied to notice an ill-fitting uniform.
He watched the maids carrying trays to and from the rooms to determine the location of his target and then rapped on the Channerían ambassador’s door. The ambassador’s aide answered and admitted him without question.
“He is not here,” the aide said as Rezkin surveyed the suite. “He enjoys taking advantage of the benefits of Lon Lerésh. He rarely spends time here.”
“It was my understanding that ambassadors to Lon Lerésh must be married to prevent a conflict of interest,” Rezkin said.
The man said, “They are. Most of the Leréshi do not care, though, so neither does he.” After latching the door, the aide warded the room to prevent eavesdropping. He approached Rezkin, saluted, and bowed. “Your Majesty, it is my honor to serve you. Please tell me I am to be recalled.”
“You do not care for your assignment, Striker Akris?”
“Your Majesty, I will serve in whatever way is required, but this assignment was supposed to last no more than eight months. Bordran sent me here nearly three years ago. I had begun to worry that I was forgotten.”
Rezkin nodded. “It is possible. I cannot say.” He made sure he had Akris’s attention and said, “I am not Caydean.”
Akris peered at him pensively. The man was on the leaner side, for a striker, making him appear less formidable. He had the dark, wavy hair and eyes more common to Channería. Even now, he spoke Ashaiian with a Channerían accent, probably out of habit.
Finally, the striker said, “I know you are not Caydean.”
“And you know that I am his rival,” Rezkin said. “If you serve him, then you are obligated to attempt to kill or capture me.”
“I do not know Caydean well. Since I spent little time in the palace, I only met him briefly, on a few occasions when he was younger. Everyone who has ever spoken of him claims him to be insane. With each piece of news that reaches my ears, I am more convinced these are not rumors politically motivated by his opponents.”
“And what have you heard of me?” Rezkin said.
“Some call you a rebel. Others say you are the rightful king. I heard that two strikers have sworn fealty to you already. Apparently, they did so after you took the entire tournament without so much as a scratch. Some say you killed Prince Thresson, while others say you kidnapped or rescued him. Most reports agree that you are holding the Wellinven heir hostage, along with a few others. From there, the rumors become increasingly unbelievable. I have heard that you are a powerful battle mage who fixed the tournament and then tried to destroy everyone when they would not give you the prize. They say you stole the bride of Prince Nyan of Jerea. I have even heard that you are a demon who wields a black blade forged in the Hells.”
“Your rumors are surprisingly thorough yet only salted with truth,” Rezkin said.
“As I thought.” The man glanced down to the hilt at Rezkin’s waist and said, “Is that it? Is that the so-called black blade?”
Rezkin frowned. “This? No, this is not mine. It belongs to the man from whom I borrowed this uniform. It will kill, should the need arise.”
“Of course,” Akris replied. “So, are you here to recruit me, kill me, or just seeking information?”
Rezkin said, “Do you want to be recruited?”
“I heard you carry proof of your claim. I am willing to see it, if you are willing to share.”
Akris read the paper Rezkin proffered. Without looking up, he said, “I wish to go home to my wife.”
Rezkin said, “No one in my company will soon be returning to Ashai. In addition, the families of those known to be in my company are slated for imprisonment or death. Caydean is not a friend to the strikers, though. If they do not slough their honorable ways to do his dirty work, he will treat them the same as any enemy. You are an absent striker, yet to make your loyalty known. When he hears of my visit, he may consider you to be an important player. He may have already contacted you.”
The tingle of power filled the air, and Akris said, “I swear by mage oath that I have had no contact with Caydean, his agents, or any other strikers since I took this assignment.”
“And yet you could be acting on your own accord, satisfying your duty to report to your king or carry out his decree regarding my capture. You are an unknown factor.”
“But you made contact anyway,” Akris said.
“I am not afraid of the unknown. I recognize that if you choose to serve me, it might end in betrayal. It will not stop me from using you in the meantime. Be assured that I make contingencies for such events, and your efforts will fail.”
Akris appeared skeptical. “Even a failed betrayal can do much damage.”
Rezkin shrugged without concern. “The final result is what matters.”
“So you do not care who gets hurt in the process?”
“No one is indispensable,” Rezkin said with a trifling discomfort in the back of his mind. Upon noticing Akris’s displeasure, he felt it prudent to amend his statement. “My concern extends only insofar as my duty to those I must protect and honor. I have taken responsibility for many people, and I am seeking responsibility for more, including all of Ashai. I would prefer for few to suffer, but war is generally not accommodating.”
Akris acknowledged Rezkin’s statement with a solemn nod. “You assume the ideology of a striker, duty above sentiment. It is a paramount quality in a soldier, but I am not sure it is best in a king.”
Rezkin said, “The qualities of a king are irrelevant so long as he is born first and to the right parents.”
“Yes, I see your point, but I am still bound by oath to serve the King of Ashai.”
“Then you should decide who you recognize as king. Your position here is valuable because you can spy on both Channería and Lon Lerésh; but, the truth is, I do not need you. My network spreads quickly, and I already have agents to feed me information.”
Rezkin told the lie with confidence, but it was worth the surprise and suspicion in the striker’s eyes. Whether he ended up serving Rezkin or Caydean, it was to Rezkin’s advantage for the striker to believe he had more than he did.
Akris returned his gaze to the parchment, his expression one of intense contemplation. The man had made a mistake in revealing his weakness, his desire to return to a wife they both knew could already be dead. Rezkin thought it a sentiment unbecoming of a striker, though. It stunk of a desperation he doubted the man felt. He might truly be desperate for liberation but for some reason other than the one he stated—probably boredom. For a striker, three years of serving as an ambassador’s aide in a nonhostile queendom would be akin to torture. Or he might be trying to gain his way into Rezkin’s company by appealing to Rezkin’s ability to empathize, in which case he had not only failed but revealed that he had no idea with whom he was dealing.