The High Lord

'Yes,' Krinn replied in a strained voice.

Savara withdrew the knife and stepped away in one fluid movement. Krinn rose and looked down at her warily. He was at least a head taller than her, Cery noted with amusement.

'Practicing on my men again, Savara?'

She smiled slyly. 'Only on invitation, Ceryni.'

He considered her carefully. What if he...? There would be some risk, but there always was. He glanced at Krinn, who was edging toward the door.

'Go on, Krinn. Close the door behind you.' The assassin hurried away. When the door had shut, Cery stepped toward Savara. 'I invite you to try me out.'

He heard Gol's indrawn breath.

Her smile broadened. 'I accept.'

Cery drew a pair of daggers out of his coat. Leather loops had been attached to the handles to prevent them slipping out of his grasp, and to allow him to grab and pull. Her eyebrows rose as he slipped his palms through the loops.

'Two are hardly ever better than one,' she commented.

'I know,' Cery replied as he approached her.

'But you do look like you know what you are doing,' she mused. 'I expect that would intimidate the average lout.'

'Yes, it does.'

She took a few steps to the left, drawing a little closer. 'I'm not the average lout, Ceryni.'

'No. I can see that.'

He smiled. If her reason for offering to help him was to gain his trust long enough to get a chance to kill him, he was probably handing her the perfect opportunity. She would die for it, however. Gol would ensure that.

She darted toward him. He dodged out of reach, then stepped in and aimed for her shoulder. She spun away.

They continued like this for a few minutes, each testing the reflexes and reach of the other. Then she came closer and he blocked and returned several quick attacks. Neither quite managed to get past the other's guard. They stepped away from each other, both breathing heavily.

'What have you done about the slave?' she asked.

'He's dead.'

He watched her face closely. She did not look surprised, only a little annoyed. 'He did it?'

'Of course.'

'I could have done it for you.'

He frowned. She sounded so confident. Too confident.

She darted forward, blade flashing in the lamplight. Cery slapped her arm away with his forearm. A fast and frantic struggle followed, and he grinned with triumph as he managed to lock her right arm out of the way, and slip his knife into her left armpit.

She froze, also grinning.

'Yield?' she asked.

A sharp point pressed into his stomach. Looking down, he saw a different knife in her left hand. The other still held her original knife. He smiled, then pressed his knife a little harder into her armpit.

'There's a vein here that goes straight to the heart. If cut, it would bleed so fast you wouldn't live long enough to decide how to curse me.'

He was gratified to see her eyes widen in surprise and her grin disappear. 'Stalemate, then?'

They were very close. She smelt wonderful, a mixture of fresh sweat and something spicy. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but her mouth was a tightly held thin line.

'Stalemate,' he agreed. He stepped back and to one side so that her blade left his stomach before he removed his from her armpit. His heart was beating quickly. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

'You know these slaves are magicians?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'How do you plan to kill them?'

'I have my own ways.'

Cery smiled grimly. 'If I tell my customer that I don't need him to do in the murderers, he's going to ask some rough questions. Like, who's doing it instead?'

'If he did not know you found a slave, he would not need to know who did the killing.'

'But he knows when they're about. He's got the guard telling him about the victims. If they stop finding victims, without him killing the murderer, he's got to wonder why.'

She shrugged. 'That will not matter. They are not sending slaves one by one now. I can kill some of them, and he will not notice.'

This was news. Bad news. 'Who are 'they'?'

Her eyebrows rose. 'He has not told you?'

Cery smiled, while silently cursing himself for revealing his ignorance. 'Perhaps he has, perhaps he hasn't,' he replied. 'I want to hear what you say.'

Her expression darkened. 'They are the Ichani. Outcasts. The Sachakan King sends those who have earned his disfavor out into the wastes.'

'Why are they sending their slaves here?'

'They seek to regain power and status by defeating Sachaka's old enemy, the Guild.'

This was also news. He slipped the loops of his knives from his palms. Probably nothing to worry about, he thought. We're killing off these 'slaves' easily enough.

'Will you let me kill some of these slaves?' she asked.

'Why do you need to ask? If you can find and kill them, you don't need to work with me.'

'Ah, but if I did not, you might mistake me for one of them.'

He chuckled. 'That could be unfort—'

A knock interrupted him. He looked at Gol expectantly. The big man moved to the door. An even larger man entered, his eyes flitting nervously from Gol to Cery to Savara.

'Morren.' Cery frowned. The man had sent the usual one-word message late last night to confirm that he had disposed of the murderer's body. He was not supposed to visit Cery personally unless he had something important to report.

'Ceryni,' Morren replied. He glanced at Savara again, his expression wary.

Cery turned to the Sachakan woman. 'Thanks for the practice,' he said.

She nodded. 'Thank you, Ceryni. I will let you know when I find the next one. It should not be long.'

Cery watched her walk out of the room. When the door closed behind her, he turned to Morren.

'What is it?'

The big man grimaced. 'It may be nothing, but I thought you might want to know. He didn't kill the murderer straightaway. He tied him up, then left. When he came back, he brought someone with him.'

'Who?'

'The girl from the slums who joined the Guild.'

Cery stared at the man. 'Sonea?'

'Yeah.'

An unexpected feeling of guilt stole over Cery. He thought of the way Savara had sent his heart racing. How could he let himself admire some strange woman, and one who probably couldn't be trusted, when he still loved Sonea? But Sonea was beyond his reach. And she had never loved him anyway. Not in the way he had loved her. Why shouldn't he consider another?

Then the implications of what Morren was saying sank in, and he began pacing the room. Sonea had been taken to see the murderer. She had been brought into the presence of a dangerous man. Though he knew she had probably been safe enough with Akkarin, he still felt a protective anger. He did not want her involved in this.

But had she been aware, all along, of the secret battle taking place in the darkest parts of Imardin? Was she being readied to join the fight?