The Prisoner of Limnos Read online

  He smiled crookedly, giving a conceding nod. “An excellent result.”

  She tried not to be warmed by the compliment. She was using this man, this sorcerer, she reminded herself. She couldn’t remember, in the chaos of the past two days, if she’d ever offered him any payment or reward for risking his life in this frightening venture. Even soldiers were paid, after all—quite insistent upon it if the army payroll was in arrears, as it so often was.

  She dismissed her conscience, ruthlessly. She was ready to use anything and anyone to hand, if it would help her to carry out this rescue.

  And thus what, exactly, was her ground for scorning his lewd use of Mira, or Mira’s lewd use of him, to get them all past the border before?

  The courtesan hadn’t just been a costume, or a ploy. She was in some strange sense still alive, inside his crowded head. And always would be, along with the rest of her barely understood sisterhood. To convert Nikys’s I fear they know too much to I hope they know enough had only taken one cryptic note.

  She settled back with a sigh, willing the team to trot faster.

  * * *

  At the western end of the main road from Vilnoc, service for coaches terminated at the grubby garrison town that guarded the three-way border between Orbas, Cedonia, and Grabyat to the southwest. Adelis had passed through here just a few weeks ago with Jurgo’s troop, in aid of the ally in that next realm. Nikys did not dare ask after him. Finding the army post and its commander, Nikys and Penric presented the sealed letter from the duke commanding all aid be given to them, which proved to be a sergeant, a muleteer, and four sturdy animals.

  Another dawn start brought them, by dusk, to the broken spine of the last ridge between Orbas and Cedonia, where they camped for the night. Neither the sergeant nor his assistant asked any questions; Nikys gathered they were used often as guides to slip spies over the border.

  “It’s likely a regular business,” murmured Penric. “You wonder if the empire uses the same route, or if they have their own favorite backdoor for their agents.”

  Adelis might have known.

  Nikys could see why they’d waited for daylight for the next leg, emphasis on the leg as they were forced to dismount and lead the mules over the worst ledges. There was no breath left for conversation. They really couldn’t have taken this route the other way three months ago, when Penric was still recovering from the injury to his heart; another point, Nikys grudgingly conceded, to Mira.

  In the late afternoon, they paused in their equally rugged descent for the sergeant and the muleteer to scout ahead and be sure the military road, along which Imperial soldiers ran regular patrols, was temporarily unpeopled. It proved a bare cart-track. They skittered across, the muleteer coming behind to blot out their prints, and worked their way as quickly as possible down out of sight.

  Nightfall brought them to a village where they could hire horses from an incurious farmer, whom Nikys thought likely a retired soldier, anyone’s guess from which army. After the briefest introduction, with names notably absent, and the purchase of some grain, the sergeant, the muleteer, and their animals faded away into the darkness, not lingering to be seen and reported by less indifferent eyes. This time Nikys and Penric really slept the night in the stable, and were grateful for it.

  Another long day’s ride downhill brought them to the first good coach road north of the border, which ran on west to Thasalon. They dismissed their guide and his horses with a double fee, half for the mounts and half for the silence. A larger town and a busier inn allowed them to take two adjoining rooms, wash, and change into their next set of clothes and new personas.

  After their late supper, Penric bade Nikys a polite goodnight and left her to lock the connecting door behind him. She sat staring numbly at it for a while, too exhausted to stand up after three solid days of grueling riding. This was, she realized, the first and possibly last time she would be alone with the sorcerer. With the man. The most wasted opportunity ever…

  The coach-hire the next morning seemed to care only that their coin was good, which thanks to Jurgo’s generous purse it was, and to get them on their way as efficiently and lucratively as possible. They would reach the hinterlands of Thasalon by sundown. Still unremarked.

  While not having to stop and let Penric steal them funds from local temples was certainly a boon, this round, Nikys suspected the return journey might not run so smoothly.

  V

  In the moonless shadows, Penric looked up and down the long wall that surrounded what Nikys claimed was the Xarre estate a few miles east of Thasalon. He hoped she was right in her identification; all the walls in this suburban area had looked alike to him. They’d dismissed their coach half a mile back, to conceal their destination from the curious postilion, and it had made a long, nervous trudge in the gloom.

  He extended his hand to the lock on the postern gate, and thought, Des.

  The heavy iron mechanism fell open to this well-practiced magic. Pen held the thick plank door ajar for Nikys, and she hoisted their luggage and slipped inside. Pen closed it as silently as possible after them.

  Pen concealed their cases behind a healthy flowering bush, outlier of the extensive garden. “Can you see well enough not to trip?” he whispered.

  “Not really,” Nikys murmured back. He reached for her hand and led her off down the winding paths that were not dark to him.

  There were supposed to be guards, she’d told him, if more like caretakers than soldiers, and dogs let loose at night. No sign of the first, but within minutes a pair of the second came bounding up, snarling. A quick tap of nerve-tweak stopped their alarm-barks, followed up barely soon enough by a brief shamanic geas to persuade them that these intruders were not enemies, but the best of friends. So they were slammed into not by an attack, but by an attack of sociability. Tails wagged like cudgels, thumping into Pen’s thighs as the beasts swirled around them. A couple of haunches of beef might have worked as well as pacifiers, Pen thought, had he possessed them.

  “These aren’t dogs, they’re ponies,” gasped Pen, fighting for his balance.

  “Mastiffs,” nodded Nikys. “Ew, stop licking me, you huge thing!”

  Pen fended off tongues the size of washing cloths, and a miasma of slime and dog-breath. With this unwanted, but at least silent, honor guard panting around them, they made their way to another long, blank wall, the exterior of the residence proper. In the usual Cedonian style, the manse was built around an inner court, giving a cold stone shoulder to the outside. But it was three floors high, and a lot larger than Pen was used to seeing. There were neither windows nor entries on this side of the ground floor, locked or no, but the stories above were pierced with a number of long doors opening onto wooden balconies. Golden candlelight filtered through a few of the delicate carved lattices.

  Nikys squinted into the shadows and counted down the doors. “That one,” she whispered, pointing up to one of the glowing screens. “Second floor.”

  The wall was entirely without handy ladders or climbing vines. “You do know my powers don’t extend to flying, right?”

  “You were a mountaineer. You said?” Her look up at him was far too expectant.

  “I was younger. And lighter. And stupider.” Nonetheless, he approached and studied the problem, mapping out the slight cracks and irregularities in the stuccoed surface. Maybe. Although a stone tossed up against the shutters might do to draw attention, he’d be happier to assure himself first it was the right attention.

  “Could you stand on my shoulders to get a start up? You’re not that heavy a man…”

  Pen disliked this picture, but there seemed no other way. He had her brace against the wall, planning his leap to linger on this prop as briefly as possible. He took a deep breath and bounded, one, two—he could feel her straining body dip beneath his feet—and just caught one hand-grip on the balcony’s edge. Then another. A foot-shove against the wall, alarming when a bit of old stucco gave way. Then heave up and over the balustrade.

&n
bsp; He landed crouching as quietly as he could, then unfolded to tiptoe over and try to peek through the lattice. A well-appointed sitting room, it looked like, the scent of expensive beeswax candles, but he saw no identifiable figures.

  He tapped cautiously on the carving. “Hello?”

  Only Des allowed him to evade, narrowly, the silent thrust of a thin knife blade through the lattice.

  He yelped, and yelped again as the door slammed open, bashing him hard in the nose. A swift figure, a swirl of fabrics, and he was spun about. A wiry arm snaked up through one of his own, yanking back and immobilizing it, and the blade snapped to his neck.

  And stopped, although pressing alarmingly into his skin. A hot huff of breath puffed against his ear.

  Don’t move! said Des, redundantly. That blade is poisoned!

  All of Penric’s carefully rehearsed introductions flew wide into the night, and he gasped out only, “I’m with Nikys!”

  A hesitation, thank the Bastard, though the grip didn’t slacken. “On your knees,” came an edgy tenor voice, sounding as sharp and dangerous as the blade. “Face the light.”

  Pen descended at once, free hand going up palm-out in surrender. Or prayer, either one just now. The steel grasp released him. Quick steps circled him, and Pen looked up past fine linen trousers and a fall of an embroidered silk outer robe to a beardless, scowling face as pale as the absent moon. Thick white hair was drawn back from the brow in some queue or braid.

  A female voice sounded from within the chamber: “Sura, what is it?”

  “An intruder. It seems.”

  “Visitors, I assure you!” protested Pen.

  “You pick an odd way of presenting yourself.”

  “We are on an odd errand.”

  The other leaf of the lattice swung open. “Stay inside, Lady Tanar!” the man commanded.

  Ah, said Des. At least we seem to be in the right place. Good.

  Disregarding this, the woman emerged. Slender, a little shorter than Nikys, also hung about with rich fabrics, loosed in the cooling late-summer night. She evaded the man’s half-hearted attempt to strongarm her back within, instead tripping to the balcony rail and peering over into the shadows. “Nikys?”

  “Tanar?”

  “I thought you were in Orbas!”

  “We were. We got your note to Adelis. And traveled as quickly as we could. Can you come and let me in before your dogs drown me in drool? We probably should not be seen before we can talk.”

  “Oh, dear. Stay there, I’ll be right down.”

  Lady Tanar darted back inside. The white-haired man made a futile noise of protest, half jerking in her wake, but then turned back to guard his prisoner, the unknown threat. He’d recognized Nikys’s voice, apparently. Pen tried to feel reassured by that.

  “Can I get up now?” he asked humbly.

  The man thought about this for a moment. “Slowly.”

  Pen complied, entering the sitting chamber at his gesture. One pale hand made the knife disappear inside his robe, and the man rolled his shoulders, allowing his murderous air to dissipate.

  He’s carrying four blades concealed, Des reported. And every one is poisoned. She considered. Drugged, anyway. They are not all the same.

  In the better light from the mirrored wall sconces, Pen could see the man’s irises were a thin carmine; likely they showed pink when the pupil contracted in daylight. His pinched eyebrows, too, were white. His face was fine-boned and regular, if tense. An old scar puckered the left side of his mouth, giving an impression of a permanent smirk, belied just now by the downturned right. His snowy braided queue, tied off with colored silk, reached halfway to his waist.

  My word, said Des. That one’s almost as pretty as you, Pen.

  Pen ignored this. But he bid a glum goodbye to his prior mental image of the pudgy, timid eunuch secretary, swapping it out for this overdressed white snake of an assassin standing taut before him. “Master Bosha, I presume?”

  A short nod. “And who are you?”

  “My name is Penric. I’ve taken the duties of Madame Khatai’s courier for this journey.”

  “Do you know what this journey is in aid of?”

  “Yes.”

  The carmine eyes narrowed. “I see.” He reached into his robe—Pen tensed—but the manicured hand emerged holding only a fine cotton handkerchief. Ironed and scented. He handed it blandly across to Pen. “Don’t drip on the carpet.”

  “Ah. Thank you.” Pen mopped at his upper lip, wet with blood. His price for the shamanic compulsion on the dogs, but let Bosha assume it was from the violent encounter with the door; maybe he’d feel guilty. Likely it was the result of both. The cloth grew saturated before the trickle stopped, at about the same time the door onto the courtyard gallery opened and Lady Tanar slid through, followed by Nikys.

  Nikys pressed her hand to her breast and sighed out relief as Tanar closed the door and locked it, as though they had reached a safe refuge after their arduous journey. Pen was not so confident.

  Urgently, Tanar turned to Nikys. “How is Adelis? Where is Adelis? We heard he was blinded in Patos, and then we heard he’d turned up somehow in Orbas, and none of it made sense.”

  Nikys took a breath as if to answer this, but then looked imploringly at Penric.

  He managed, “The seething vinegar was inadequately applied, and thanks to his sister’s good nursing, he recovered his sight. As soon as that was apparent, he fled to Orbas to save the emperor’s agents from coming back and trying again.” The official story. That Penric had rebuilt the young general’s half-boiled eyes with the most delicate and difficult week of uphill medical magics he had ever brought off was not something he wished to confide. Here or anywhere.

  Nikys’s mouth compressed in silent disagreement with this reticence, but she yielded to his tacit wishes. “Duke Jurgo employed Adelis at once, and has sent him off to command his expedition against the Rusylli incursion in Grabyat. Adelis having defeated the Rusylli once before, to no imperial thanks. I can only hope Jurgo will do him better. He could hardly do him worse.”

  Bosha’s lopsided lip seemed to twist in a real smirk, contemplating the gratitude of princes. He stood back with his arms folded, his attention never straying far from Penric.

  “Adelis was weeks gone by the time your note came to my hand,” Nikys went on. “In exchange for not distracting him with the news, the duke supported Penric’s and my journey to try to get our mother out of Cedonia, and then to Orbas with me. Somehow.” She looked back and forth between Tanar and Bosha. “I don’t know how much aid you can give without danger to yourselves, but whatever help you can spare, I beg it of you now.”

  “Of course!” cried Tanar, notably not seconded by Bosha. “You poor dear. All the way from Orbas, so swiftly? Here, you must be exhausted, come, sit. You should drink something.” She looked more doubtfully at Penric. “You too, ah, Master Penric.” A vague courtesy title, flattering if he were a mere servant. Pen didn’t think she took him for a mere servant. But he followed Nikys to the small round table with chairs placed to the side of the room, suitable for two people to take a light repast. Bosha, without comment, set two more chairs around it, brought a carafe of sweet red wine and a pitcher of drinking water from a sideboard, and served out glass goblets of the mixture all around.

  That’s not poisoned, is it, Des? Pen asked in worry.

  Not so far, she returned darkly. I’ll stand sentinel.

  Tanar touched her lips, and asked in a lower tone, “Was he terribly burned?”

  Pen watched Nikys struggle not to answer with the truth, Hideously. “It was not good. He was in dreadful pain for a while. But the scars are healing mostly flat, and confined to the upper half of his face, and the redness is supposed to fade in time. Except for his eyes; they didn’t come back brown. They are a kind of garnet color now. It unnerves people, but he says that’s fine, given his profession.”

  Tanar’s own gaze flicked to Bosha and away. “That’s all right. I’ve always thou
ght red was a lovely color for eyes.”

  Bosha spread his hand on his heart and offered her an ironic seated bow, which she dismissed with an amused quirk of her lips.

  “And if he has already taken up a new command, he must have made an excellent recovery.” She smiled in relief, sitting more upright.

  “I thought it miraculous, myself,” said Nikys, steadfastly.

  No remark, Pen? murmured Des, preening a trifle.

  Hush.

  Nikys turned more intently to Tanar. “What more have you found out about my mother? Does she know what happened to Adelis and me? Is she still on Limnos? Has anything worse chanced?”

  “And how did you find out about her?” Pen put in.

  Tanar glanced at Bosha much the way Nikys had lately glanced at Pen, seeking some permission. So, the two shared their secrets?

  Bosha, after a contemplative sip of watered wine, chose to answer Pen: “My elder sister is an acolyte of the Daughter’s Order on Limnos. I visit her now and then. She was thus aware of Lady Tanar’s interest in General Arisaydia, so when Madame Gardiki was brought in, she sent me a private note.”

  “I didn’t think men were allowed to enter the Order’s precincts,” said Pen, confused.

  Bosha cast him a head-tilt, and said dryly, “That is correct.”

  Pen gulped back an apology, in a dim notion that it would just make things worse. Likely so, murmured Des. He flushed slightly. Bosha seemed more grimly amused than offended at his discomfiture.

  Bosha added to Nikys, “Your mother is still at the Order. Unharmed as far as we know. We haven’t followed up with further inquiries, because such are dangerous should they fall into the wrong hands.”

  Penric wondered just whose hands those were, and what weapons they held. He supposed he’d find out in due course. Preferably not the hard way.