consider himself an honored guest or a prisoner. He was still mulling it over after his bath as he sat on the edge of the bed calmly tearing up one of the linens to bandage his hip. The inn could charge the Duke for the missing sheet; he didn't plan to be around to pay for it. Someone hammered at the door, then threw it open. A Brurjan filled the opening, his tall crest brushing the top of the doorframe in spite of his stoop. 'Clean clothes,' he said, tossing a bundle toward him. 'So you don't stink at table. And hurry it up.' He slammed the door on his way out.
'So. The bath wasn't for my benefit at all,' Vandien observed to himself. The pale blue shirt was loose and cool, woven of a soft fabric he didn't recognize. The brown trousers were of the same stuff in a heavier weave, and fit him well enough; he wondered idly who had guessed at his size. On the other hand, perhaps the Duke kept a full wardrobe in a range of sizes to fit the people he planned to kill. Vandien smiled crookedly as he tucked in his shirt and fastened his sword belt.
He crossed the room to where his own clothing lay in a heap on the floor. From them he retrieved a necklace, a small carved hawk on a fine chain. For a moment he stared at it cupped in the palm of his hand, then he looped it quickly around his neck. A tiny packet he tucked securely into his cuff. The last item he took up was a small ball of wax that Lacey had given him that morning. He stared at it for a long time, then set it carefully on the floor. He put his heel atop it, pressed down. It squashed soundlessly, the milky poison squirting out to stain the floorboards.
Vandien mentally hefted the silver candlesticks weighting the heavy cream-colored tablecloth. Probably enough there to buy Ki a new wagon, he thought idly, and then winced from the notion. It was, he reflected, an obsolete measurement of value anymore. Better to say it was heavy enough to break the battle fangs of the Brurjan that was running her black-clawed hands up the sides of his legs, searching for concealed weapons. She slapped the bandage on his hip, winning a muffled grunt from him, and then pointed wordlessly at the sheathed rapier.
'You'll have to excuse her suspicions,' the Duke said smoothly. He sat at the head of the table already. His hands were spired together before him. A spill of lace draped from each of his cuffs; stupid shirt to wear if he truly expected to fence tonight. Vandien made no reply.
'You'd be quite astonished to know the depths to which some folk would sink in an effort to do away with me. Let her see your weapon, please.' Vandien drew it slowly, presented it to the Brurjan hilt first. She took it from him carefully, ran first her eyes, then her short fingers up the length of the blade. A second time, and then she sniffed the metal suspiciously. She turned puzzled eyes to the Duke. 'No poison,' she said.
'Such a subtle race, my Brurjans. Such social finesse. Halikira, be a sweet thing and cleanse the blade in spirits of wine anyway.'
Vandien thought he had never seen such a look of contempt as Halikira afforded her master, but the Duke chose to ignore it. Or perhaps he was truly unaware of it. As he received his wiped blade back from her, their eyes met briefly. Her face pelt was lighter than most Brurjans', making her eyes seem darker. For a moment their dislike of the Duke was shared; her black lips lifted a trifle to bare more fang. Then her eyes were empty again, and he turned from her toward the table.
'Please, be seated. You are ... Vandien, I am told. Do I have the name correctly?'
'Yes.' He drew out a carved chair, sat in it carefully. His hip was stiffening.
'An unusual name. I understand you are not from around these parts.'
'No.' A simple parry to the Duke's thrust.
The soup was brought, served to them by the Brurjan, the white cloth a strange contrast to the scarred and hairy forearm it draped. Vandien smelled chicken and cream and tiny mild onions. He tasted it and was suddenly reminded that he had not eaten since breakfast. He ate, leaving the Duke to be conversational.
'Travelling alone now, are you?' the Duke pressed.
For a silent moment Vandien regarded him. The Duke's eyes were hard as cold silver as they held him. Did he know about Ki? Vandien wondered. And then it didn't matter. He picked up a soft brown roll of bread, split it open to reveal the creamy inside. As he spread butter thickly on it, he said, 'The leader of the rebellion for this area seems to be a man named Lacey. But he is not in perfect control of his people, and they could easily split into factions. They already hold the plans to a place called Masterhold. Does that have significance to you?'
The Duke was pouring wine. He set down the bottle, tested his glass, then picked up the bottle and reached across the table to fill Vandien's goblet. 'Betraying them now can't spare you the bout,' he said softly. 'The example must be made.'
'I agree.' Vandien lifted his glass, tasted it. A damn sight better than the swill Trelira had served him so long ago. Maybe this was one of those southern vintages he had heard so much about. His eyes met the Duke's. 'I don't expect to live to see the dawn,' he said, quite truthfully. He smiled, the expression tugging at the old scar down his face. The scar he had taken saving Ki from a Harpy. 'I intend to see that many of them share my fate.' He returned to his soup.
The Duke was plainly unsettled, and his silence lengthened. Finally, he said, 'Do you think I will offer you money for this information, or a quick death? What are you trying to buy?'
Vandien shrugged, set aside the soup to make room for a plate heaped with sliced rare meat. He saw the Brurjan server's nose twitch in distaste from the smell of cooked meat. 'Revenge, I suppose. I'msupposed to kill you with a poisoned blade tonight. In return, they promised to set free a friend of mine they hold hostage.' He sipped more wine to clear his throat. 'I know she is already dead.'
'How careless of them,' the Duke commiserated. He smiled coldly. 'The meat is from our plainsbuck. I shot this one myself. It isn't too rare for you, is it? I'm afraid I've come to share my Brurjans' habits where flesh is concerned.'
'It's fine.' Vandien's voice was steady. 'The bloodier, the better. Blume and Kurtis - the men I killed today - they were a part of this rebellion. And the fencer named Trask is one of theirs, as is the woman who wore the red silk blouse today - I don't know her name, but someone will.' Vandien sliced into the meat, lifted a forkful. He appraised the Duke carefully and was suddenly wary. His face was troubled, but in the wrong way.
He passed him a dish of stewed spiced fruit. A strange smile stretched his lips. 'Earlier today, I mistook you for a man of honor.'
Vandien accepted the dish, served himself some. It was a good accompaniment for the strong-flavored meat. He didn't reply to the Duke, but went on eating. Silence would draw him out.
'I was sure you had some secret grudge against me, something that drove you to win a bout with me at all costs. I almost admired you for it. And when I witnessed your final display of swordsmanship, I said to myself, There is a nobleman born and true to the old ways of honor. I knew you wouldn't be swerved from your resolve to kill me.'
Vandien set down his wineglass. 'And?'
'And I find I'm wrong. You cut through those men for a chance to betray them. For revenge.' The Duke permitted himself a small smile. 'You may be more useful to me alive than dead. I'd have to mark you in some way, so folk would not think I'd gone softly with you ... perhaps a slash down your face. One more scar should not matter to a man marked as you are. Though I'd like to see the swordsman who put it there.'
Vandien kept his rising temper from showing in his face as he sliced more meat. 'Not a swordsman, Duke Loveran. A Harpy's talons. Not that it matters to our previous discussion. I am curious as to what use you would find for an honorless man like myself. Do you refer to what I could tell you of the rebellion?'
The Duke made a dismissing gesture with his hand that had nothing to do with the meat being cleared from the table. 'The rebellion. Pah. Frankly speaking, Vandien, there is very little you could tell me of them that I don't already know. No. When I said you might be useful to me, I was speaking of your skill with the sword. Archaic and obsolete as it is, I'd still love to learn Harperian fencing.'
Vandien let the last thrust slip by him. 'If your knowledge of the rebels is so complete,' he asked slowly, 'why haven't you acted upon it?'
The Duke chose a pastry from a beaten silver platter set before them. 'I might say they amuse me. Surely, even you must have been amused by the childishness of their plottings. Try one of the raspberry cream ones; my cook has a special knack with them. I could tell you that it's easier to leave them intact and deal with their small treacheries as my informants make them known to me; if I crushed them here, I'd only have a dozen more such rebellions popping up tomorrow. Sort of like a skin rash, Vandien. Scratching only spreads it.' 'And your real reason for not dealing with them?' Vandien was eating the pastry calmly, forcing his face to stay neutral despite
