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  “That is a hard thing to consider, the deaths of your own children,” said Calliande.

  “It is,” said Accolon, “but a king must consider many hard things. You know this, Keeper, for you counseled more High Kings than just me. Though I pray God grants the mercy that my children outlive me.”

  “We all pray that,” said Gavin.

  “What, that my children will outlive me? Let us hope that does not come true too quickly!” snorted Arandar, and they laughed. “Though if Accolon has found a suitable wife among the men of Cintarra, I would encourage him to wed at once, even before we take the field. Usually, the marriage of a Crown Prince encourages unity among the nobles, but the war against the Dragon Cult will do that for us. Accolon needs an heir, and soon.”

  “He’s shown no interest in pursuing any woman since we left Castarium,” said Ridmark. “The only one he’s really spoken to has been Moriah Rhosmor, and I think she would be a poor match for him.”

  “Moriah Rhosmor?” said Arandar. “Caitrin had a sister?”

  “Bastard half-sister,” said Calliande. “She has many contacts among the thieves of Cintarra. Her aid helped us stop Aeliana from opening the Great Eye, and Accolon granted her a decree of legitimacy in gratitude. She has been serving as Accolon’s spymaster, keeping an eye on the nobles of Cintarra.”

  “You’re likely right, Ridmark,” said Arandar. “Lady Moriah sounds like she would be a valuable servant but a poor wife.” Ridmark could just imagine what Moriah would say if the idea was posed to her. “But I will have to discuss this with Accolon. I have other news. High King Kothlaric is sending us aid.”

  “He is?” said Ridmark, surprised. “I didn’t think Kothlaric had any aid to send.” The War of the Seven Swords had left Owyllain at peace but exhausted, with thousands of men slain over twenty-five years of fighting. For that matter, even though both the Sovereign and the Confessor had been defeated, the realm of Owyllain still had enemies. The dark elven noblewoman called the Visage now ruled in Urd Maelwyn, and she had escaped from the battle of Cathair Animus with most of the Confessor’s former army. The orcish warlocks of Vhalorast were rebuilding their strength, and Owyllain still faced dangers from pagan jotunmiri and raiders from the Deeps. Kothlaric Pendragon did not have many fighting men to spare, and he needed those he had.

  “A small force, but a powerful one,” said Arandar. “Two hundred Arcanius Knights, led by old friends of yours – Tamlin Thunderbolt, Master Tamara, Calem Whitecloak, and Lady Kalussa. Apparently, Tamara has been so busy training new Arcanius Knights that the Order is at its greatest strength in centuries, and Kothlaric thinks he can spare the Arcanius Knights. They will pass through the gate from Aenesium today or tomorrow, I think, and then will begin the journey to Rhudlan.”

  “That is good news,” said Ridmark. Tamlin, Tamara, Calem, and Kalussa had accompanied him and Calliande during the final stages of the War of the Seven Swords, and their aid would be invaluable.

  “I am not surprised,” said Calliande. “I thought Tamara would make an excellent teacher.”

  “The Magistri and the bishop of Tarlion were not happy,” said Arandar. “The magic of the Well has long been the only permitted magic in Andomhaim. But our treaty with Kothlaric allows the Arcanius Knights to come to Andomhaim at the invitation of the High King. We shall need their aid before the battle is over.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “I can think of a dozen times in the last few weeks when the help of the Arcanius Knights would have been invaluable. If Accolon had their assistance at Cintarra, he might have been able to burn the warships of the Heptarchy as they approached.”

  “Yes,” said Arandar. “The Heptarchy. Never before has the realm of Andomhaim faced a threat from across the sea. The harsh truth is that we are not ready. Few castras guard the coasts. We do not have many warships. If the Heptarchy returns in force – when the soldiers of the Heptarchy return in force – they will almost certainly be able to land their army unopposed. I thought of trying to build warships, but there are not enough shipbuilders in all Andomhaim, or even Owyllain if I asked Kothlaric to lend some. When the Heptarchy comes, we shall have to fight them on land.”

  “All the more reason,” said Ridmark, “to defeat the Dragon Cult quickly.”

  They rode on, discussing the battle to come.

  ***

  Chapter 3: The Prince’s Shadow

  “You might have a problem,” said Uncle Helmut.

  Moriah grunted and shifted her weight on the stool.

  It was a futile effort.

  The Loyal Man, Helmut’s tavern, had been built to the scale of the halfling kindred. Partly this was because all of Helmut’s customers were halflings, and so he catered to their comfort. Mostly it was because Helmut was the unofficial leader of the city’s halflings and had numerous contacts among the thieves and other criminal enterprises lurking in Cintarra’s shadows. Humans did not find the Loyal Man comfortable, which helped discourage human authorities from looking too deeply into Helmut’s business arrangements.

  “Just the one?” said Moriah. “Or have new ones arisen?”

  She gave up trying to find a comfortable position on the stool. It had been designed for halflings, and Moriah was tall for a human woman. She settled for leaning forward, bracing her elbows against her knees as she stared across Helmut’s worktable. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but at least it minimized the ache in her lower back and hips.

  Helmut, for his part, looked perfectly at ease. He sat on the other side of his worktable, which was littered with parts of half-assembled crossbows. Helmut’s public face was that of a halfling bowyer and tavern owner, and he was in fact a good maker of crossbows. Moriah had fired some of his weapons and found them excellent in every respect. Helmut looked like a kindly uncle, with curly gray hair and bright blue eyes in a seamed face. He actually did have many nephews and nieces, and they brought him information from across the city.

  And now that Moriah was Prince Accolon’s spymaster, that was useful.

  “You remember our old friend Lord Zimri Talvus?” said Helmut.

  “Oh, yes,” said Moriah. An image of a fat-faced man with the pointed beard of the Cintarran nobility popped into her mind. “He was secretly meeting with Sir Orderic, an emissary of the Dragon Cult.”

  “An emissary who you killed, as I recall,” said Helmut.

  Moriah shrugged. “It wasn’t as if he was an ambassador.”

  “Technicalities are the soul of the law,” said Helmut. “But Lord Zimri has apparently been speaking with another emissary of the cult.”

  “Has he, now?” said Moriah, her voice cooling. She had no qualms about killing agents of the Dragon Cult in the city. They were spies, and if left unchecked, they might open the gates to Duke Merovech’s army or work any number of potential mischiefs. For that matter, Moriah had no qualms about killing Zimri Talvus. The noble and his allies had proven themselves willing to betray the Crown Prince.

  But…she wasn’t an assassin.

  Cintarra didn’t even have an assassins’ brotherhood any longer, not since Aeliana Carhaine had slaughtered the Red Family. Moriah did not want to start killing people on suspicion. For that matter, neither Accolon nor Archbishop Caelmark Arban, who governed the city in the Prince’s stead, wanted her to start killing lords of the city.

  But Moriah had killed Sir Orderic in front of Zimri. If the lord had failed to learn the lesson the first time…

  “He’s going to regret that,” said Moriah. “So will his friends. I told Archbishop Caelmark about Zimri’s meeting with Sir Orderic, and the archbishop would not act without more proof.” She had thought that Caelmark would have Zimri arrested, but the archbishop was too scrupulous to arrest a man without hard evidence.

  So Moriah had asked Helmut to keep an eye on Zimri, and it seemed that precaution was about to pay off.

  “His lordship the archbishop has great respect for the law,” said Helmut.

  “But if the archbishop’s
men catch Zimri in the act of meeting with the Dragon Cult emissary, that would be different,” said Moriah, thinking it through. But that might be chancy. Every man Merovech had brought over from the Frankish Empire could wield magic with varying degrees of proficiency. They were no match for someone like Calliande Arban, but a Dragon Cult wizard would be a deadly threat to the militiamen of Cintarra.

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” said Helmut with a sigh. “It seems that Zimri is planning to kidnap Prince Tywall and bring him before Merovech.”

  “What?” said Moriah. “How? The Prince is guarded night and day.” Accolon governed Cintarra now, or at least Caelmark did in his stead. But Accolon was the regent for Prince Tywall Gwyrdragon, the legitimate ruler of Cintarra. Of course, Tywall was only a boy. Cyprian and the Regency Council had ruled Cintarra in Tywall’s name, keeping the Prince a prisoner so they could loot the city and Cyprian could pursue the Great Eye. Most of the Regency Council had been killed when Cyprian had found the Eye. Now Accolon was the regent of Cintarra, and Tywall had been spending most of his time with Caelmark, learning the art of governing from the dour old archbishop.

  “I am not certain,” said Helmut. “You will recall, of course, that my granddaughter and her two cousins work as servants in Lord Zimri’s household.” Moriah nodded. Most of the halflings in Cintarra worked as domestic servants, and the nobles tended to forget that the halflings were there. A foolish mistake, since the servants saw and heard everything, and passed on the interesting news to their kindly Uncle Helmut. “She reports that Zimri of late has been meeting with a cloaked and masked visitor who speaks with a Frankish accent. My granddaughter has been careful to remain unobserved during these meetings. She has overheard Zimri, the Frankish man, and Zimri’s friends discussing how they might best kidnap the Prince and bring him before Duke Merovech. It seems that Zimri is already dreaming of the generous reward that Merovech will give him.”

  “He’ll be lucky if Merovech doesn’t burn him to ashes on the spot for one reason or another,” said Moriah. Merovech Valdraxis was not all that stable or even particularly sane. The ability to transform into a dragon must have scrambled his brains.

  “Greed has a way of ruining a man’s mind,” said Helmut with calm. “That’s why I’m careful not to indulge it.” Moriah raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look so surprised. I live modestly and keep out of trouble. The foolish thief tries to steal the entire cake and perishes for his efforts. The wise thief only steals a slice and goes to bed with a full stomach.”

  “Is that a halfling proverb, or one of your own?” said Moriah.

  “A traditional halfling proverb, of course,” said Helmut. “Though modified for my own needs. But you didn’t come here to discuss proverbs, my dear Wraith. What do you intend to do with my news?”

  Moriah considered. “You’re not telling me out of the goodness of your heart. You want something out of it.”

  Helmut spread his hands. “On the contrary. I am a loyal subject of the Prince of Cintarra, the Crown Prince, and the High King of Andomhaim, and I would be loath to see them come to harm.”

  “Because then someone like Cyprian might take over again,” said Moriah.

  “Precisely,” said Helmut. “Or Merovech Valdraxis or Aeliana Carhaine. And the Heptarchy is coming back, we both know it.” A little chill crept along Moriah’s nerves. “We know the realm needs a strong hand like Accolon or the High King to defeat such enemies. Prince Tywall is only a boy, of course, but with the guidance of the Crown Prince and the archbishop, we may hope he grows into a strong man.”

  “All worthy aspirations,” said Moriah. “But let’s be honest. If Lord Zimri is involved in treason against the Prince of Cintarra, very likely Zimri Talvus will soon answer for his deeds before the Dominus Christus. Lord Zimri is a wealthy man. I would imagine that his strongbox contains numerous jewels and gold coins. And if those jewels and coins should happen to go missing after Lord Zimri is placed under arrest…well, things get lost, do they not?”

  Helmut smiled. “I am grateful I do not need to explain matters to you. Besides, if Lord Zimri falls, my granddaughter and her two cousins shall be out of work. I will need to find them new positions. Money will go a long way towards easing that particular problem. And some young man or another has been sniffing around my granddaughter.” Moriah had absolutely no doubt that Helmut already knew everything there was to know about the young man in question. “I might find myself needing to pay a dowry sooner or later, possibly sooner.”

  “Very well,” said Moriah, coming to a decision. She eased to her feet, taking care not to crack her head on the low ceiling. Her back was already sore, no need to add a headache to it. “Does your granddaughter happen to know when Lord Zimri is next meeting the Dragon Cult emissary?”

  “Tonight, as it happens,” said Helmut. “Lord Zimri likes to make his clandestine meetings at midnight, in his study on the top floor of his domus.” He smiled. “After you happened to kill Sir Orderic in the middle of his courtyard, Lord Zimri believes his meetings will be more secure there.”

  Against a normal foe, that would be true. Against someone like Moriah Rhosmor and the resources she commanded, that would be a fatal mistake.

  “Thank you, Helmut,” said Moriah. “I’m sure I will have news for you in a few days.”

  Helmut smiled back. “And if you should happen to give me advance notice of Lord Zimri’s downfall, my lady Moriah, I would be most grateful.”

  “And richer,” said Moriah, turning towards the door.

  “The wise man is grateful for his wishes.”

  Moriah wasn’t sure if that was a halfling proverb or not and decided not to ask.

  ###

  She returned to the Prince’s Palace an hour or so before dawn.

  The Palace was a sprawling castra of red stone, its curtain wall tall and strong, its interior courtyards broad and dotted with gardens. All her life, Moriah had thought of the Prince’s Palace as a strong fortress. And from the perspective of a thief, it was a powerful stronghold. But her experiences at Rhudlan, the first genuine battle she had seen, had given her a different viewpoint. Part of her mind noted how hard it would be to defend the Palace’s curtain wall. It was too big, and many men would be needed to hold all of it. For that matter, the houses and domi of the city’s richer quarters came too close to the wall. Enemy soldiers could get near to the Palace without fear of arrows or missiles.

  Hopefully, it would not come to that. Prince Accolon and the High King would destroy the Dragon Cult, and then would come south to defend the city before the Heptarchy returned.

  Yes. That was what would happen.

  Or so Moriah kept trying to tell herself.

  But the fate of the war against the Dragon Cult was out of her hands. Moriah could only do what she had promised Accolon, and to do that, she needed sleep. After the Heptarchy attack and the downfall of Cyprian and the Regency Council, Accolon had given Moriah a decree of legitimacy and a sinecure as a lady of his court. Most people assumed that Moriah was Accolon’s mistress, and she did nothing to dispel those rumors, though her half-sister Caitrin would have been appalled.

  It was better that people considered rumors instead of the truth, which was that Moriah was Accolon’s spymaster.

  Her work typically took place during the night, so Moriah returned to her rooms during the day to sleep. Her position as the noblewoman of the court gave her a small apartment in one of the Palace’s towers, and she also could afford two servants. Of course, both servants were friends from her days working as a thief with Gunther and Delwen, before her best friends had fallen into the grasp of the Drakocenti and lost their lives. Elena was short and plump while Moriah was tall and lean, and little happened in the Palace that Elena did not know. Giselda was a halfling woman and one of Helmut’s vast army of nieces and nephews. Moriah had no doubt that Giselda reported everything she did to Helmut, but that was all right. She would have been concerned if Helmut had not thought to keep an ey
e on her, and she and Helmet were on the same side anyway.

  Once she reached her bedroom, Moriah stripped out of her disguise, dumping the clothes on the floor, crawled naked beneath the blankets of her bed, and was asleep before her head hit the pillow. She had been pushing herself hard. The commoners of Cintarra were far calmer than they had been three months ago. Accolon had reversed the land enclosures and dissolved the Regency Council, and that had gone a long way to redressing the grievances of the commoners. Of course, half of the formerly enclosed land was now under the control of the Dragon Cult, but the commoners blamed that on Cyprian, not the Crown Prince, since the Drakocenti had been the ones to weaken Cintarra before the invasion.

  The nobles were a different matter.

  A majority of them were behind Accolon and Archbishop Caelmark. But many nobles had enclosed their land for sheep and had lost a great deal of money when Accolon had reversed the enclosures. Their resentment had not faded. And with Merovech holding a large portion of the western lands of Cintarra, some of those disgruntled nobles wondered if Merovech was on the verge of founding his own kingdom, if they ought not to transfer their allegiance to him.

  Which was why Moriah had been working so hard.

  The dreams were another matter.

  Moriah had stolen without a qualm of conscience for most of her life. If she had not become a thief, she would have been impoverished, and the best an impoverished woman of Cintarra could hope to become was a licensed prostitute, or perhaps the mistress of a tavern keeper or a rich merchant. Moriah had stolen from the nobles and the merchants without the slightest flicker of guilt and slept soundly at night.

  In the last year, that had begun to change. Not from guilt, but from the things she had seen and survived. Moriah had always been so confident, so assured, and had never really suffered from doubts. The last year had changed that, though she kept her doubts and fears shoved to one corner of her mind where they could not trouble her.