Realms of Valor

Hasheth brightened at the mention of the ubiquitous southern beverage. 'I would be happy to prepare it. No northerner has the ability to brew a decent cup.'

'Such a gracious offer,' Danilo said dryly. He rummaged in his bag again, found an oddly shaped covered pot and a package of ground coffee beans, then tossed them to the boy. Hasheth took up the water flask and busied himself with the task.

When the coffee was ready, Hasheth filled Arilyn's mug and handed it to her with a courtly bow. Then, almost as an afterthought, he poured another cup for Danilo. Coffee was not widely known in the northern lands, but Arilyn had grown quite fond of it during their travels southward. Hasheth's offering was thick, black, and syrupy, identical to the coffee she had tasted in a dozen Amnian bazaars. She inhaled deeply, and her sharp elven senses picked up a foreign note in the fragrant steam. She caught Danilo's eye, glanced down at his mug, and gave a subtle shake of her head. The mage raised his eyebrows and painted an 'I told you so' smirk on his countenance.

'Would you be offended if I didn't drink first?' she asked Hasheth.

'Of course not. Only the prudent live to old age,' the lad replied graciously. He reached for her cup, offering, 'I myself shall taste it for you.'

The half-elf had anticipated that response, and the faint gleam in Hasheth's eyes confirmed her suspicions. Without doubt, he had an immunity to whatever poison he'd slipped into the coffee. It was one of the less common and more subtle tricks of a skilled assassin's repertoire.

'I would not dishonor you with such a task,' Arilyn said with grave formality. 'Actually, I'd thought of feeding the coffee to your horse.'

Hasheth's smug expression melted into the slack frustration of defeat, and he pounded the ground with balled fists. 'Why?' he blurted out. 'Why have the gods sent you to torment me!'

The half-elf waited until the boy's rage was spent. 'Why would your masters want you dead, Hasheth?'

'Apart from the obvious reasons, of course,' Danilo added.

Hasheth turned furious eyes on his captors. 'Can you not hear? My masters decreed that you must die, elfwoman. Then I can advance to the next sash level.'

'Let's step into reality for a moment, shall we?' Danilo drawled. 'Our home is many days to the north. Didn't it occur to you that an assassin whose reputation had traveled so far might prove a bit of a handful to someone your age?

Besides, the lady doesn't wear a sash.' The dandy's eyes swept over Arilyn's plain traveling clothes: trousers, shirt, and a long, dark cloak. 'Or any other ornament, for that matter,' he added in an aggrieved tone.

Before the young man could respond, Arilyn broke in. 'How old do you think I am?'

Hasheth blinked, clearly puzzled by her question. His eyes traveled over her delicate features, curly raven hair, and slender form. 'Three-and-twenty rains,' he guessed.

Arilyn shook her head. 'Try three-and-forty.'

'It is not possible,' Hasheth protested, his brow furrowed in disbelief. 'You are young and most beautiful.'

She brushed back her thick curls to display pointed ears, faintly tinged with blue at the tips. 'I'm a half-elf, remember? I'll probably outlive your grandchildren. When I started sword training, your mother was no doubt an infant How old was she when she came to your father's harem?'

'Fourteen,' he answered absently.

'For as many years as you and your mother have lived, I've been a hired warrior. I fought for the Alliance in the war against the Tuigan barbarians. I've earned a place of honor among the Harpers. Knowing all this, do you still think you were sent to fight an equal?'

Arilyn softened her harsh words with a smile. 'In a few years, this may change. You have much talent, Hasheth, and one day we may well meet on an even field. But that day has not yet come.' She paused, and her expression hardened. 'No one uses me or my sword against my will. I don't intend to be the instrument of your death, despite your masters' best-laid plans.'

'You lie,' Hasheth said, but his face betrayed a touch of uncertainty.

'Someone wants you dead,' Arilyn repeated softly. 'That's easy enough to prove. Since / won't take the job, it will go to another.'

Hasheth stared at her for a long moment. 'I will think about your words.'

The three travelers turned their attention to Danilo's fragrant stew. Hasheth scorned the offer of a spoon, instead using pieces of flat, hard travel bread to scoop up bits of fish and mushrooms. The lad ate hungrily, but with a nimble delicacy that struck Danilo as oddly familiar. He resolved to mention his suspicious to Arilyn as soon they could speak privately.

After their meal, at Danilo's insistence, Arilyn tied a length of rope around Hasheth's ankle and secured the end to her own saddle. The boy submitted to the indignity calmly, and not until they left the forest behind them did he speak to her again.

'I have heard of the Harpers,' Hasheth stated casually, but his tone clearly implied that he had heard nothing good. He wheeled his horse aside and placed as much distance between himself and his captors as the tether rope allowed.

Danilo reined his horse close to the half-elf's mare. 'For his next act, His Majesty will no doubt stick out his tongue.'

Arilyn grinned. 'Ease off, Dan. He's just a boy.'

'Is he?' Danilo asked pointedly. 'He appears to be a good deal more than your average sophomore assassin.'

'Oh? How so?'

'Noblemen in Tethyr seldom use forks or spoons. It's supposed to be uncouth. Another of the pasha's notions about northern barbarities, I believe. Then there's the matter of that horse,' Danilo pointed out. 'I'm a excellent judge of horseflesh, and I can assure that only the very wealthy could afford such a mount. And have you noticed the boy's ring?'

'I was wondering when you'd get around to that ring,' Arilyn murmured. 'So Hasheth has money.'

'And another thing. He's clearly both noble and wealthy, but he disdains such things in others. He positively despises what he sees in me-'

'For that he needs a reason?'

Danilo reached over and took Arilyn's chin between his fingers, turning her face to his. 'You're enjoying this far too much,' he said dryly.

'Get used to Hasheth, Dan,' she said as she eased her horse away. 'He's our contact at Pasha Balik's court.'

Danilo squinted at the sun, which had crested the top of the Starspire Mountains. Already it glared at them like an angry red eye. 'My dear, I'm afraid this desert heat is addling you.'

'Why? You've concluded that Hasheth is noble. He names Zazesspur as his home, but his face is that of a Calishite. Pasha Balik's palace is in Zazesspur. The pasha is a native of Tethyr, but he's known to stock his harem with the women of the South. Hasheth admitted to being born in a harem. Does his dislike of northerners remind you of someone?'

'All right, it's possible that he's the pasha's son,' Danilo conceded. 'Possible. We can't be sure.'

'We could ask him.'

'I like it,' Danilo mused. 'Simple, direct. The youngster likes to talk, so it just might work.' He cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, 'Tell me, Hasheth, how does Pasha Balik feel about having an assassin in the family?'

'Your father would disown you sooner than mine would me,' the boy responded curtly. 'Better an assassin than a fool.'

Arilyn chuckled. 'That answer your question?'

'It'll do,' Dan said flatly. 'You win. But what makes you think that Hasheth will work with us?'

'He will if we can convince him his life is in danger.'

The nobleman's face suffused with unholy glee. 'I can think of several ways to accomplish that feat.'

'Don't bother. The second assassin will strike soon. He has to, if they plan to blame Hasheth's death on a