Gail Martin - The summoner

Vahanian's face was an unreadable mask, and his dark eyes looked skeptical. "Ah, you know you're a good friend of mine, Toy," he hedged, a hint of the river patois coming into his voice. "But I don't usually run people as cargo for a very good reason. I'm rather fond of my neck."

"I happen to know for a fact, Jonmarc, that you'll run anything except slaves and dreamweed for the right price."

"It would have to be pretty damn high."

"Twice the bounty, once we reach Dhasson safely," Harrtuck offered, his scarred, boxer's face taking on a cagey expression.

Vahanian looked skeptical. "In gold?"

"In gold," Harrtuck promised.

"And who's going to be so glad to get these witnesses that he'll pay such an outrageous sum?"

"King Harrol."

Vahanian was silent for a moment and looked hard at Tris as if trying to decode the last few minutes' conversation. "The king, huh," he said uncertainly after a pause. "So when you said 'hot,' you might have been understating it?" he asked dryly.

"Perhaps just a wee bit," Harrtuck admitted.

"And how well-heeled is the noble who wants these two?"

"He's got an ample treasury," Harrtuck replied. "Enough to hire scouts and bounty hunters, and pay spies from here to the border."

"Uh huh," Vahanian replied. He looked at Harrtuck. "And what's to keep me from seeing if this noble's willing to up the ante?" the mercenary asked.

Harrtuck shrugged. "Nothing. Except that he's got a blood mage keeping him in power and keeping the people under his thumb." Harrtuck raised his eyes to fix Vahanian's gaze, and Tris had a feeling that much more was being communicated between the two than what was said. "The same one you ran into back in Chauvrenne," he added, his eyes narrowing.

For an instant, before Vahanian's impassive mask slipped back into place, Tris thought he saw a reaction in the smuggler's eyes. Vahanian gave another appraising glance at Tris, and then his jaw set. "I don't like it, Tov, but I'll do it,"

Vahanian said. "But you knew that before you ever found me."

Harrtuck grinned. "I suspected, but I didn't know. You're a good man, Jonmarc."

"I'm a fool in a business where fools die young," Vahanian snapped. "Don't forget for a moment that I expect to be paid well."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Jonmarc," Harrtuck replied blithely. "Now, let's find a place to stay the night and unhitch this nag of yours so I can ride back to Ghorbal for the other two members of my party."

When Soterius followed Harrtuck and Carroway into a roadside tavern upriver from Ghorbal, they found Tris waiting with Vahanian. "And this is the last member of the party," Harrtuck introduced as Soterius joined them. "Ban, former captain of arms for our dubious noble," he added, with a meaningful glance to Soterius.

Vahanian looked Soterius over with a practiced eye. "Captain of arms, huh," he said, his voice making it clear that he was not impressed. "You pretty good with that thing?" he said, nodding toward the sword that hung at Soterius's belt.

Soterius met his gaze and his challenge. "I didn't get to be captain by accident," he replied levelly. "I could outfight any of my men, and they were all trained by a master."

"Uh huh," Vahanian replied, looking away distractedly, as if he had already reached his conclusions. "Well, I'm your guide now, which

means you're paying me to get you to Dhasson alive, so it's my rules." He turned back toward the fire. "Rule number one, kill the bastard or get the hell out of the way."

Soterius bristled, but a warning glance from Harrtuck tempered his reply. "And rule number two?" he asked, not attempting to hide the insolence in his tone.

Vahanian glanced back at him with a hint of wry amusement. "Give me plenty of leg room," he replied cryptically.

"Who does that guy think he is?" Soterius muttered later, when he and Tris headed up the stairs together toward their rooms.

Tris chuckled. "Apparently Harrtuck thinks Vahanian's opinion of himself is deserved," Tris said, amused at Soterius's reaction. "For what Harrtuck agreed to pay him, it had better be."

They entered the room that the five of them had paid extra to have for themselves, and Soterius nodded toward Vahanian, who was looking out the window onto the street below. "How much did Harrtuck tell him?" he asked in a whisper.

"Not much," Tris replied. "Gave him the basic story, left a few things out. Offered to pay him twice the bounty once we reach the palace at Dhasson alive. So Vahanian knows we're hot, but not who we are."

"Or quite how hot," Soterius added, looking toward the fighter once more. "Do you trust him?"

Tris shrugged. "No. At least, not yet. If he's an honest mercenary, he won't change sides in the middle of a war. Harrtuck's fought beside him, so that's something. But I don't think he stays alive by being overly sentimental."

"Then we're thinking alike," Soterius replied. "I'll keep an eye on him."

The sword glinted in the sunlight as it struck for its mark. Teeth gritted, the auburn-haired young woman parried, her arms aching at the jarring blow.

"Good, get in closer, closer," the instructor hissed, and she drove forward, slashing determinedly, her jaw set resolutely. And then, the opening she was watching for came. With a cry, she dove forward, beneath his guard, to score on the shoulder of his padded practice jacket. Overhead, a little greens-caled gyregon, Jae, fluttered its leathery wings and rasped its excitement, a spectator with an aerial view.

"Well done, your Highness, well done!" the instructor congratulated her, out of breath but pleased.

Kiara Sharsequin, princess of Isencroft, grinned tiredly and wiped the sweat from her brow with her padded sleeve. Her auburn hair was caught back in a knot, framing features that showed both her mother's Eastmark blood and her father's Isencroft heritage. Dark, almond-shaped eyes and a slightly duskier complexion gave an exotic look to the northern features she had inherited from her father, along with her height and high cheekbones. The little gyregon fluttered to land on her shoulder, and she reached up to stroke its scales.

"By the Mistress, you made me work for that, Darry!" she exclaimed, catching her breath.

"That's enough for today," Darry replied, still grinning at her triumph. "But your parry has gotten much better and you're taking the offensive more vigorously of late. Working out frustrations?"

Kiara reached up to loosen the knot that held back her hair, and shook her head as the auburn waves cascaded around her face. "You've guessed it. Some days, I think you and these sessions are the only things keeping me sane."

Darry sobered. "So I guessed, Kiara. But you are the Goddess Blessed," he reminded her. "The Holy Lady watches over you."

Kiara sighed and sheathed her sword, dropping down on a bench to unlace her padded gear. "I hope so, Darry. With the way my luck's been going, She's lost interest, or forgotten me altogether."

"Not likely, my princess," Darry replied, his weathered face softening with a smile as he ran one hand back through thick hair well streaked

with gray. "I remember when She appeared to you, lady, everyone who was living then remembers! No, She has a purpose for you," he repeated with conviction. "But, like you, I pray it bodes well for Isencroft."

Kiara set aside her padded jacket. "So do I, Darry," she said pensively. "Of late, nothing bodes well for Isencroft, I fear."

"You are tired, my princess," the salle master replied. "Perhaps things will not loom so large in the morning," he said, reaching out to touch her chin affectionately. She smiled, but it was forced, and the smile did not reach her eyes. "Or, if not, perhaps you will feel more their equal." He paused. "At the least, you can give thanks that another day has passed without you being Chosen for your Journey."