Gail Martin - The blood king

Mikhail nodded. "I agree with Jonmarc. Much better to know your strategy-and your enemy- going into war than to change directions with troops on the ground."

Some days, Staden sent military experts from his army to consult on difficult scenarios. The rest of the time, Vahanian and the others met with leaders of the mercenaries Tris retained for the war against Jared. Tonight, Staden's spy chief, Hant, promised to bring them a leader from among the Margolan refugees who crowded Principality's makeshift border camps.

"Good night for a warm mug of ale," said Harrtuck as he met them at the door. "Miserable weather out there."

Vahanian looked askance at Harrtuck. "Missed you at practice today."

"Yes, well. Might have stayed up a wee bit too late last night, and had a tad more ale than I recall," Harrtuck said, rubbing his neck.

"The war hasn't even started yet, and you're already acting like a merc."

Harrtuck chuckled. "I'm a bit out of practice. Had a nice comfortable palace job for too long."

Vahanian, Kiara, and Harrtuck bantered with Soterius and Mikhail in the war room as they waited, jokingly taking bets on Soterius's ability to climb a local landmark. The door opened, and all joking stopped as Hant stepped briskly into the room, followed by a cowled stranger.

"It's nasty outside," Staden's spymaster remarked, shaking off the snow from his cloak as he set it aside. He gestured toward the man beside him. "I'd like you to meet Sahila." His companion,

a thin man, was wraith-like in a dark cloak. The hood fell back, revealing Sahila's badly scarred face.

"You!" The gasp of surprise came from both Sahila and Vahanian at once.

"We were told you died," Sahila said to Vahanian, falling into Eastmark's guttural language.

"I nearly did," Vahanian replied, in heavily-accented Markian.

"How is it you're here?"

"Long story."

Kiara cleared her throat. "Although Hant and I are following this, perhaps you'd like to switch back to Common for everyone else?" she prodded in perfect Markian. Vahanian glanced at Kiara. It was the first time he had heard her speak Eastmark's language. She spoke it fluently, without an accent.

"What mystery is this, I wonder," Sahila said, "to have a high-born swordswoman in Principality who looks and speaks like a daughter of Eastmark?"

Kiara met his eyes evenly. "I'm Kiara Sharsequin of Isencroft. Daughter of the late Queen Viata, who was sister to your king."

Sahila bowed low, making a gesture of deference. "A thousand pardons, m'lady. We could never forget the beauty of Princess Viata, nor the tragedy of her loss. May your days be long, m'lady, and may you favor her in both beauty and skill."

Kiara inclined her head in acceptance, then returned her attention to Vahanian. "You two know each other?"

Sahila spoke first. "He saved my life, ten years ago, at great cost to himself." Vahanian shifted uncomfortably as all but Harrtuck leaned forward to hear the unfamiliar story. Harrtuck exchanged glances with him, and Vahanian drew a deep breath, then shrugged.

"I'm Eastmark born," said Sahila, addressing first Hant, then the others. "I was hoping to live out a quiet life as a farmer in a village called Chauvrenne. A bad harvest left nothing to pay taxes with. The first time I saw Jonmarc Vahanian, he brought a troop of Eastmark soldiers to our village, demanding payment for the king.

"We had nothing to give, and he went away. But there was a shadow over the land in those days," Sahila said. "A blood mage named Arontala." He paused to spit and grind the spittle under his heel as a warding against evil. "Arontala corrupted a great general among my people, and turned his head against the king, father to King Kalcen, who now reigns.

"The general sent the soldiers back, and told them to burn us out. But this man, their captain, refused." Sahila looked at Vahanian, whose expression had become unreadable. "The soldiers warned us to flee, so disgusted by their orders that they buried their uniforms and fled in farmers' clothes with us."

"What happened?" Soterius asked quietly, looking at Vahanian as if taking his measure anew.

"The general sent more troops to hunt us down," Sahila said in a bitter voice. "Many were killed. Vahanian and his troops were run to ground and brought back in chains, as were the villagers, to make an example of us." He met Vahanian's eyes, sharing an old, painful memory. "They locked us in a barn, but we could see what they did outside. The general and his mage hanged the soldiers for treason-all but their captain." His voice became quieter. "They locked him in the barn with us, and set it afire. I bear these scars." He turned his head to show the puckered and discolored skin along one side of his face, and slid the loose sleeve of his robe up to show an equally disfigured arm.

"Together, he and I kicked out a portion of the floor, into the caves below. We saved as many as we could, but there were so many, and the fire was so fast." He shut his eyes, remembering.

Vahanian looked down, aware that the others were watching him, uncomfortable with the telling of the tale, the scenes that had replayed themselves too often in his dreams. He clasped his hands, sweating.

"When the fire was out, and the general was gone, those of us who survived dug our way out," said Sahila. He turned to Vahanian. "You left us, headed south toward Margolan. We heard you were taken by Nargi. Then we heard no more."

"Wasn't much to tell," Vahanian said, with a glance toward Harrtuck that quieted anything the other might have added.

"For a while, I fought with the resistance in Eastmark," said Sahila. "We were ten to their hundred. We took a heavy toll and, I believe, stopped Arontala. I grew tired of war, and made my way to Margolan, perhaps more luckily than you." He directed a faint smile toward Vahanian. "There I raised a family and found a living with my plow. Then Arontala returned, and the fires began again." The pain was fresh in Sahila's voice. "This time, I was able to get my family to safety, but many could not. And so, I laid down my plow and raised a sword.

"There are rumors, among the refugees, that Prince Martris survived the coup. General Hant tells me the rumors are true. I've seen what Arontala has done in Margolan, and I've seen how King Jared rules. Hant tells me that Prince Martris intends to destroy Arontala and win back the crown. If you believe that Prince Martris can do this, my friend," Sahila said, "then I'll give you what help I can."

"Believe," said Vahanian. "If there's anyone who can defeat Arontala, it's Tris."

Sahila took his place at the table, and Hant cleared his throat. "I contacted Sahila because he has done on a small scale what Soterius and Mikhail plan for Margolan. Sahila recruited and organized the farmers and townspeople in Eastmark against Arontala's general. They were able to harry him enough to stop him from gaining more power." Hant paused. "Sahila can advise you, connect you to the refugees, guide you through the camps."

"If you wish to raise an army against Jared and his mage, you'll find a legion waiting among the refugees," Sahila promised. "I'll take you to the camps and the hiding places, and they will show you where the others have fled. I'll show you how we fought in Eastmark, from the forests and marshes, in the mountain passes and the caves, so that we moved as shadows, and couldn't be driven out by armies a hundred times our size." He took in Soterius and Mikhail once more.

"You're both soldiers?" Sahila asked, and they nodded. "Are you willing to forget the rules, to

think like a stawar that stalks his prey, or a falcon that strikes like lightning? There are no rules in this combat, save honor. Can you fight like a predator without becoming an animal, without hurting your enemy the way he has hurt you, and thus becoming him?"