The Broken Blade

The Broken Blade - Simon Hawke

Acknowledgments
With special acknowledgments to Robert M. Powers, Sandra West, Bruce and Peggy Wiley, Marge and James Koski, Liz Danforth, Emily Tuzson, Daniel Arthur, Vana Wesala, Jennifer Roberson, Allen Woodman, Brian Thomsen, Rob King, Russell Galen, and all my students in the Sonora Writers Workshop, who keep me on my toes.



Prologue
A dust-covered, blood-spattered young mercenary passed through the elaborately carved wood gates and into a wide courtyard, a space paved with dark red bricks and lushly landscaped with desert plants. The graceful fronds of a pagafa tree shaded a large fountain, surrounded by stone benches intricately decorated with glazed blue and yellow tiles. In garden beds densely planted with purple-flowering broom bush, red and yellow desert paintbrush, and white-furred old man cactus, large, variegated desert agaves grew over six feet high and twice as wide, their curving spiked leaves striped in blue and yellow. Beside a blue-needled agafari, a weeping desert acacia swayed gently in the breeze, its yellow puffball blooms attracting dozens of hummingbirds, which flitted among the branches like tiny darts.

It was a lovely, peaceful, bucolic scene, the gentle trickle of the fountain adding to the restful atmosphere. It was a stark contrast to the scene the young mercenary lieutenant had just left.

Matullus paused by the fountain. Taking a deep breath, he unwound his blue and yellow turban and dipped one end of it into the water, soaking it thoroughly. It would not do to confront Lord Ankhor all covered in blood. The news he had to give him was bad enough. He wiped away the dust and blood on his face, chest, and arms. The blood was not his own. The man whose blood it was, the captain of the house guard, had died suddenly and terribly. He had been standing right next to Matullus when it had happened.

They had responded to an alarm in the merchant plaza. That, in itself, was no unusual occurrence. The crowded central plaza of Altaruk, with its many merchant stalls, was frequently the scene of arguments and altercations, but this one had quickly become a full-scale riot. The disturbance that had set it off turned out to be merely a diversion for the attack that followed, and it had all happened so quickly that Matullus wasn’t even sure who had attacked whom.

The house guard had come marching in quickstep down the aisle between the rows of tented stalls, where they found a crowd gathered around a couple of combatants, who circled each other with obsidian knives. As Matullus pushed through the mob to separate the two men, it happened.

There was a blinding flash of blue light just beyond the crowd, and someone screamed. Matullus heard the unmistakable low whump of thaumaturgic energy bolts striking human bodies, and suddenly everyone was screaming and bolting from the scene. The guard formation fragmented as the crowd shoved past, and Matullus drew his sword, trying to find the source of the attack.

He glimpsed several white-robed figures moving quickly behind a row of merchant stalls, and a chill ran through him. The Veiled Alliance!

“Guard!” the captain shouted. “Assemble on me! This way! On the double!”

“Captain,” said Matullus, “those men are—”

“Move, Lieutenant!” the captain shouted without pausing to hear him out. “Now! Go!”

They pushed their way through the milling, panic-stricken throng, past the prone and moaning figures of people who had been knocked down and trampled by the mob.

The next thing Matullus knew, he was lying facedown in the dirt. He had tripped over a body, or what was left of a body: the corpse was charred beyond recognition. Where the chest had been there was now a gaping, blackened hole, its edges cauterized by intense heat. Matullus recoiled in horror, and that was when it happened.

His captain was bending over him, holding out his hand, and saying, “Get up, man, come on, get—” when he disappeared in a searing flash of bright blue light. A soft, dull sound followed, like a hammer striking meat, and the captain came apart in an explosion of blood, entrails and viscera.

For a few moments, Matullus could not see. The blinding flash of thaumaturgic energy had washed everything out, and bright, pinpoint lights danced before his eyes. He yet felt the heat of it, and of the spattered blood.

The captain’s eviscerated, blackened corpse lay just a few feet away, thrown back by the power of the energy bolt, and there was not much left of him. One arm and shoulder were missing, most of his chest was gone, and his hair and flesh had been instantly incinerated. Matullus gagged at the sight and heaved his guts out, there in the street.

By the time he rose unsteadily to his feet, it was all over. The entire merchant plaza had emptied, save for a few determined vendors who desperately tried to save goods from burning tents.

Bodies lay everywhere, some alive and moaning, some unmoving, trampled by the fleeing crowd, and some, like the captain’s, incinerated by the devastating magical assault. Matullus stood there amid the flames and rising smoke while the guard squadron gathered around him.

“Sir, what happened?” one of the mercenaries asked, wide-eyed. They had drawn swords and knives and were glancing nervously about.

“Where’s the captain?” someone asked.

Matullus pointed with his obsidian sword. “There… what’s left of him.”

He was gratified when two other mercenaries became sick at the sight. At least he was not the only one.

The fire brigade was already arriving, and there was nothing left to do but watch for looters. Matullus detailed the remainder of the squad to do so, then returned to the barracks, where he immediately sent reinforcements, under the command of a guard corporal. He, unfortunately, had a much less pleasant duty to perform. Lord Ankhor would have to be informed at once.

With a sigh, having cleaned himself up as best he could, Matullus wound the turban back around his head and tucked the long, wet end underneath his cloak.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders to the building before him—the mansion of the House of Ankhor, one of the largest, most powerful merchant houses of Athas. The adobe walls of the sprawling, four-story building dominated the surrounding area, rising above the one-and two-story buildings of the town around it. Even the exterior of the house spoke of opulence and luxury. The tan stuccoed walls were artfully textured by expert craftsmen, and the windows and archways were bordered with blue and yellow glazed ceramic tile. The gracefully stepped and rounded topcaps of the walls naturally led the eye toward the center of the mansion, where an arched parapet bore the house crest of Ankhor. It was a swallowtail flag divided horizontally in two bars of blue and yellow, and it flapped against a background of yellow tile.

Though the House of Ankhor maintained offices and residences in all the major cities of Athas, this was its headquarters in Altaruk, where the Ankhor family lived and from which they ran their merchant empire.

Matullus crossed the courtyard and went through a portal, down a walkway leading through an atrium and through the doors of the mansion. The steward greeted him as he came in.

“Guard Lieutenant Matullus to see Lord Ankhor on a matter of great urgency,” he said.

“Very well, sir, follow me,” the steward said. He led him across the high-ceilinged front hall of the mansion and up a flight of tile-covered stairs to the second floor. The floors of the hall were covered with expensive Drajian rugs woven in elaborate patterns of red and blue and gold. Wrought iron braziers from Urik provided the illumination, and wooden chairs and benches from Gulg, elaborately carved and set with obsidian and precious stones, lined the hall. Every detail testified to the vast trading empire of the House of Ankhor and the immense wealth of the Ankhor family.

The steward had Matullus wait outside the offices while he entered to announce him. A moment later, the carved agafari door opened, and the steward said, “Lord Ankhor will see you now.” Matullus nervously moistened his lips and drew himself up. He took a deep breath and entered the airy room beyond. It centered on a rectangular brick fireplace big enough to roast three full-grown men. The walls were whitewashed in a dull cream shade, and the ceiling high above had thick, round wooden beams running across it—old growth agafari trees harvested in the Mekillot Mountains. There were several arched niches built into the walls, and these held statuary, expensive pottery, and other luxury goods imported by the house. Several tall iron braziers were placed around the room, and censers on either side of the fireplace filled the air with the piquant scent of mountain moonflowers.

On the far side of the room, in front of three narrow, arched windows, stood a wide desk crafted from hundreds of blocks of agafari and pagafa wood inset with obsidian. The worth of that desk alone could have fed an average family for years. In front of the desk stood two wooden chairs of exquisite craftsmanship, with soft cushions artfully embroidered in blue and yellow.

One of those chairs was occupied by an elderly man with long gray hair, a lined, narrow face, high forehead, hooked nose, and deeply sunken eyes. He wore a thin chaplet bearing the hammered-silver house crest and white robes trimmed with blue and yellow in geometric designs; Lyanus, the minister of accounts for the House of Ankhor.

The man standing at the windows behind the desk was considerably younger. He was handsome, in his early thirties, tall and slender, with shoulder-length black hair and dark brown eyes. Unlike Lyanus, whose pallor gave evidence of a life spent mostly indoors over ledgers, Lord Ankhor was deeply tanned, and his fine features had the look of a sensualist.

Since his father, Lord Ankhor the Elder, the patriarch of the house, had become infirm in his advanced years, Lord Ankhor the Younger had taken control of the family empire, and his shrewd business acumen had led the house to great profit in recent years. He was magnanimous in rewarding success among his employees, and equally intolerant of failure.

Matullus felt a knot form in his stomach as he crossed the room to stand at attention before the massive desk. He gave the mercenary salute, thumping his left breast with his right fist, and bowed his head respectfully. “My lord,” he said.

“Ah, Matullus,” said Lord Ankhor, turning to face him. “I see smoke rising from the merchant plaza. I take it you bring news of what’s transpired?”

Lord Ankhor’s tone was casual and pleasant, but that meant nothing. Matullus had heard Lord Ankhor sentence men to fifty lashes in exactly the same tone of voice. “My lord, we were attacked.”

Ankhor raised his eyebrows. “The House Guard of Ankhor, attacked? In the merchant plaza?”

“We had learned of a disturbance, my lord, and when we arrived, we found two men fighting in the plaza with knives. However, the fight was merely a diversion. As we moved in to break it up, we were attacked by magic.”

Ankhor frowned. “By magic, you say?”

“Yes, my lord. I saw it myself. It was the Veiled Alliance.”

“You saw them? Attack the house guard? I don’t believe it. Where is Captain Varos?”

“Dead, my lord. Killed in the attack.”

“Incredible,” said Ankhor. “Tell me exactly what happened, without leaving out the slightest detail.”

Matullus described exactly what had occurred, from the moment they received the alarm to the moment of the captain’s death, leaving out the part about his throwing up. Ankhor listened carefully, as did Lyanus, saying nothing until he was through. Then Lord Ankhor spoke.

“You say you saw the flash of light from just beyond the crowd, and then you heard someone scream—before anything else happened?”

“Yes, my lord. That was the moment the attack began. The crowd panicked and dispersed our formation, but I caught a glimpse of men in the white robes of the Alliance just as Captain Varos gave the order to assemble and move forward—”

“Did you tell Captain Varos you saw men in robes of the Alliance?”

“I tried to, my lord, but there was no time. Captain Varos gave the order to advance, and then I fell over a body, as I told you, and in the next instant, Captain Varos was killed. It all happened so fast… It was a well-planned ambush, my lord.

There can be no mistake.”

“It was an ambush, all right, but you were almost certainly not the targets,” Ankhor said.

“My lord?”

“The Veiled Alliance has nothing to gain in attacking my house guard. We are not political. Their enemies are defilers, not merchants. Clearly, they stalked defilers, not you. They must have spotted their quarry and launched their attack before you blundered into it.”

“But, my lord, the captain was killed.”

“An accident, no doubt,” said Ankhor. “He was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. You do not even know who killed him. From your description, it is clear that spells were exchanged. The Alliance has always been careful not to injure innocent bystanders. Defilers have no such scruples. Varos could have been killed by one of the Alliance or one of the defilers they were after. Either way, it was almost certainly a mistake. You were just caught in the middle. Varos was a brave man and a good fighter, but much too headstrong. Well, I had planned to replace him, anyway. This merely simplifies the task.”

“My lord, I will do my utmost to do you credit,” said Matullus, bowing respectfully.

“You?” said Ankhor. “What makes you think I am offering you the job?”

Matullus looked up and blinked with surprise. “But… my lord, as Captain Varos’s second-in-command, I… I naturally assumed—”

“Only fools assume things, Matullus,” Lord Ankhor replied. “A wise man knows, and if he does not know, he takes the trouble to find out. You would do well to remember that. You are young yet and do not have enough experience. No, this constant skirmishing between the defilers and the Alliance has become too troublesome. Something must be done, and the job calls for a top-ranked professional.

“I had already sent for Captain Varos’s replacement, and he is to arrive shortly. But until Kieran assumes his duties, you will act as temporary commander of the house guard. Try not to get any more of them killed, if you can manage it.”

“Kieran, my lord?” said Matullus with surprise. “Kieran of Draj?”

“You know of him, then?”

“I know his reputation, my lord,” Matullus said. “What mercenary does not? But I heard he had retired.”

“I was able to induce him out of retirement to lead my house guard,” Ankhor said, “so you had best prepare the men. If everything I’ve heard of him is true, you can expect Kieran to crack the whip from the very moment he arrives. He sounds like just the man we need at a time like this. Now, go clean yourself up. You stink of blood.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Matullus, bowing and backing away several steps before turning to leave.

Once outside, he heaved a sigh of relief. It could have been much worse. It stung his pride to be so summarily dismissed from consideration as the new captain of the house guard, but at the same time, he had been passed over for nothing less than the very best.

Kieran of Draj was a living legend among mercenaries, a veteran campaigner who had covered himself in glory and achieved the dream of every mercenary, to retire a wealthy man. And he had done it before he had reached his fortieth birthday. Matullus wondered how much Ankhor had offered him to tempt him out of retirement. It must have been a princely sum. To be second-in-command to a man like Kieran of Draj would surely make his reputation. And a reputation was worth money in this business. Matullus smiled. Lord Ankhor had not blamed him for the death of Captain Varos, and it could well be the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him.




* * *




“I had not known you’d hired a replacement for Captain Varos,” Lyanus said after Matullus left. “How long ago did you reach that decision?”

“Oh, some time ago,” said Ankhor, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand.

“You normally consult me on such matters.”

“Your knowledge of trade is second to none, Lyanus,” Ankhor replied, “but hiring mercenaries is a bit outside your field of expertise. Why, do you disagree with my decision?”

“No, my lord, I know nothing of this Kieran of Draj. I was merely curious… But, as you say, the matter is outside my expertise. Still… I might have been effective in conducting the negotiations. I am sure I could have saved the house some money in concluding arrangements with this man.”

Ankhor smiled. “Oh, I doubt that, Lyanus. And that was no slight to your bargaining abilities. Kieran stated his conditions clearly, and they were absolutely non-negotiable.”

“May I inquire what they were, my lord?”

“One hundred thousand gold pieces for one year of service, with half payable up front and the rest in equal monthly installments.”

Lyanus’s jaw dropped. “One hundred thousand in gold!” he said with disbelief. “But… but that’s outrageous!”

“Yes, it certainly is,” said Ankhor. “And at the end of the first year, the contract is subject to renegotiation.”

“And you mean to tell me you agreed to these incredible demands?”

“I imagine Kieran was no less amazed than you when I accepted his terms,” said Ankhor with amusement. “He expected me to refuse, of course. That was why he named so ridiculous a sum. He had no wish to come out of retirement, especially not to command the guard of a merchant house. This is a man who had distinguished himself in war. However, once he stated his terms and I agreed to them, he had no choice but to accept. Otherwise I could have accused him of dealing in bad faith, and that would have besmirched his reputation. A man like Kieran lives and dies by his reputation.”

“But, my lord…why?” Lyanus said, aghast. “You could easily have hired an entire battalion of mercenaries for such a sum!”

“It is a significant expense, I agree, but we can easily afford it,” Ankhor said. “Besides, if I had hired a battalion of mercenaries, it would not have created the impression I intended.”

“But… I do not understand, my lord,” Lyanus said with a puzzled expression.

“The Merchant Code requires us to be nonpolitical,” said Ankhor, “but we are, of course, very much concerned with politics. One cannot transact business profitably otherwise. I wanted everyone to know that the House of Ankhor will spare no expense in hiring the very best to lead our guard in this turbulent time—a man whose reputation is established and beyond question. We share with the House of Jhamri the responsibilities of policing Altaruk; both houses are headquartered here, and I wanted everyone to know just how seriously we take that responsibility.”

“Lord Jhamri, in particular,” said Lyanus, catching on.

“Precisely,” Ankhor replied with a smile. “My father spent his entire life competing with the House of Jhamri, and it wore him out. They were always bigger, always wealthier, and they always regarded us as upstart newcomers. At social functions, they treated my father as a second-class citizen, as a peasant unfit to rub shoulders with them. Oh, they were unfailingly polite, but their condescending tolerance was a slap across the face. I have never forgiven them that, and I never shall.”

“But you recently signed a partnership with the House of Jhamri,” said Lyanus.

“Because trying to compete with them in the marketplace is pointless,” Ankhor said. “We could never match their resources. Whereas if we join them in partnership, we can take advantage of them. Jhamri thinks he has beaten us. He believes I am more pragmatic than my father, that in allying with his house, I have made a wise decision that ensures our survival and extends his own holdings, since the agreement places him in the preeminent position.

“Well, he is half right, at any rate. I am more pragmatic than my father. I realize that competing with the Jhamris is not the way to beat them. The way to beat them is to join them… and undermine them politically.”

“And Kieran is part of your plan?” Lyanus asked.

“Exactly,” Ankhor said. “I had my agents negotiate with Kieran on behalf of the House of Jhamri, in my new capacity as junior trading partner. His salary will come out of my pocket, of course, but he will wear the red of Jhamri, not the buff and blue of Ankhor.”

Lyanus frowned. “I fear you’ve lost me, my lord. You mean, you have, in essence, given this Kieran as a present to Lord Jhamri’s house? Where is the profit in this? And how can he lead our house guard if he wears the Jhamri colors?”

Ankhor smiled. “You have an excellent mind for detail, good Lyanus, but a poor one for intrigue. Lord Jhamri will see my employment of Kieran on his behalf as a gesture to ingratiate myself with him. It is just the sort of thing a man in my position would be expected to do.

“After years of competition, he has finally brought the House of Ankhor to its knees, and in my new position as his subsidiary trading partner, it would seem perfectly logical for me to curry favor with him as evidence of my good faith. After all, my father was his enemy, and as his supposedly weaker, more pragmatic son, whose primary interest is in enjoying a self-indulgent lifestyle, I will play up to his expectations by trying to prove myself his friend. He will, of course, have no idea how much I am paying Kieran, and it would be impolitic of him to ask. And a condition of my contract with Kieran is that he not reveal the amount of his salary.

“However,” Lord Ankhor continued, “at the proper time, I shall allow that information to leak out. Meanwhile, Kieran will command my house guard because Lord Jhamri will insist on it, especially now that I have tragically lost Captain Varos. The fool could not have gotten killed at a better time. Lord Jhamri already has a captain for his house guard, and it would not be practical to demote him in Kieran’s favor, especially when he has done nothing to deserve it.

“No, he will magnanimously offer Kieran to me, to command my own guard, but I will insist that Kieran wear the Jhamri red and act as the nominal co-commander with Jhamri’s own captain. A merely titular appointment, with no real authority behind it. The two units will continue to remain separate. At the same time, Jhamri will have the satisfaction of having all of Altaruk see the commander of the Ankhor House Guard wearing his colors, a clear sign to everyone of who is in control. He will think he has outmaneuvered me, and I will be seem to have placed myself at a considerable disadvantage for the sake of public safety.”

“Very shrewd, my lord,” Lyanus said. “If, indeed, it comes out as you predict.”

“Rest assured, it will,” said Ankhor. “These recent outbreaks of violence in Altaruk have steadily been growing worse, and everyone is greatly concerned. The Alliance has always maintained a strong presence here, because the defilers have never had much influence.

“However, defiler numbers have been growing, and the Alliance is stepping up efforts to eliminate them. Each faction tries to spy out the other, and Altaruk has become a hotbed of intrigue. If things keep up at this rate, we shall soon be caught squarely in a full-scale mage war. And that would be very bad for business.”

“And you have a plan to prevent this conflict?” asked Lyanus.

“Oh, I always have a plan, Lyanus. Kieran is only the first part of that plan. The public part, for there is also another, very private part. The first part is the fire I light under the House of Jhamri, and the second is the ice.”

“The ice, my lord?” Lyanus asked, puzzled.

“Yes, an ice that will freeze the very soul, Lyanus,” Ankhor said with a smile so warm and pleasant that it sent a chill through the old minister of accounts.

Lyanus had learned to watch his young master’s eyes when he smiled. This time, they were terrifying—dead and flat, devoid of emotion. In that moment, Lyanus wondered if Ankhor had a soul. “I… I do not understand, my lord.”

“All in good time, Lyanus,” Lord Ankhor replied as he turned back to the window to watch the merchant plaza burn. “All in good time.”