In Rillanon, seek out an inn called the Golden Sunrise, and you’ve already been to the Cask and Vine in Salador. Should you find yourself in Krondor, you already know the Admiral Trask. Here, see the night barman at Molkonski’s Inn. We don’t have any agents in Opardum, more’s the pity, but if you can get a message up to the Anvil and Tong, in the town of Karesh’kaar in Bardac’s Holdfast, it’ll get to us.’
Tal laughed. ‘Are all your agents ensconced in inns and taverns?’
Magnus smiled. ‘No, but we find inns and taverns to be useful places to collect information. Devise a way to get a message to any of those locations, addressed to the Squire of Forest Deep, and it will reach us. Use the code phrase if you can. There are other inns in other cities, and Pasko can see you have a full list before you part company.’
‘Why am I to do without him?’
‘Two … no, three reasons. First, with each additional agent of the Conclave who gets near Leso Varen, the risk to us is multiplied. Mother has Lady Rowena as close to Kaspar as a woman can get – I assume in the vain hope Kaspar might let something slip among the pillow-talk – and with you there, our vulnerability increases; Pasko adds nothing of use to us, but increases the hazard.
‘Second, we have other tasks for Pasko.
‘And lastly, he works for the Conclave, not Squire Hawkins of Ylith, no matter what you have come to believe.’
‘Point taken.’
‘Now, I must make this clear: no matter what opportunity you have to revenge yourself on Kaspar, he is only part of the problem; find out what you may of Leso Varen. He is the true danger in this. Finally, if you are found out, we will see you dead before risking the security of the Conclave. Is that clear?’
‘Abundantly.’
‘Good. So, don’t get killed, or at least try to do something useful before you do. If you get into trouble, we can’t and won’t fetch you out.’
Suddenly he was gone. There was a slight intake of air where Magnus had stood and the room went silent.
Tal reached out and took his wine cup and muttered, ‘I hate that he always has to have the last word.’
Tal awoke feeling a little disoriented. He had only had one cup of wine the night before during his conversation with Magnus. The day had been uneventful, a somewhat leisurely ride down the mountain and through the city to the palace. But he hadn’t slept well, and wondered if his restless night was due to the choice that now confronted him.
Kaspar was in his debt; so how was Tal to take service with him and not look overly anxious? His idea of killing Prince Matthew and having Kaspar intercede to protect him now seemed eminently plausible; Magnus was correct: Tal’s status as Champion of the Masters’ Court gained him many privileges, but what were the obligations? Tal pondered that for a moment.
He knew he could manipulate any number of social situations where Prince Matthew would be forced to call him out for a duel. Someone would insist it be to first blood and Tal could ‘accidentally’ kill him; unfortunate, but these things happen. Ironically, Tal considered, they happen to me a lot, actually. No, that wouldn’t do, for a duel would be about honour and while the King might never again allow him in the palace …
A brawl perhaps? Matthew had an appetite for some of the seedier bordellos and gaming halls in the city. He went ‘in disguise’, despite the fact everyone knew him and he used his position to great advantage.
Tal discarded the idea; not public enough.
There was no easy way to kill him in such a way as to land in that magic place between being forgiven and being beheaded. And even if he did land in that magical place, and Kaspar interceded on his behalf, that would settle Kaspar’s debt. Tal liked having that debt.
No, he decided as he arose, he wouldn’t kill Prince Matthew. Another idea came to him. He sat back and thought about it, and decided he had not considered his own role closely enough. There might just be a way to make himself persona non grata in Roldem. He could keep himself off the headsman’s block yet seemingly have no social future left in Roldem. At which point it would seem as if he had no choice to but take service with the Duke.
‘Pasko,’ he called and a moment later Amafi entered the room. ‘Magnificence, may I serve?’ he asked in the language of the Isles.
‘Where’s Pasko?’ he asked, motioning for his trousers.
The former assassin handed them to Tal. ‘He went to the morning market, Magnificence, shopping for food. What may I do for you?’
Tal considered this, and then said, ‘I guess now is as good a time as any for you to learn to be a valet.’
‘Valet? Magnificence, I do not know the word.’
Tal had forgotten he was speaking Roldemish, a language in which Amafi could barely keep up. ‘Il cameriere personate,’ said Tal in the Quegan language.
‘Ah, a manservant,’ said Amafi in the Ring’s Tongue, as the language of the Isles was known. ‘I have spent some time among men of breeding, Magnificence, so it will be of little matter to learn your needs. But what of Pasko?’
‘Pasko will be leaving us soon, I’m afraid.’ Tal sat and pulled on his boots. ‘It’s a family matter, and he must return to his father’s side up north in Latagore.’
Amafi didn’t ask for any details. He just said, ‘Then I shall endeavour to match him in caring for your comfort.’
‘We still need to work on your Roldemish,’ said Tal, falling back into that language. ‘I’m for the Masters’ Court. Wait here for Pasko, then tell him to begin to acquaint you with my routines. He will explain as he goes. Become like his shadow for a while and observe. Ask questions if they do not disturb me or any in my company, otherwise keep them until the two of you are alone.
‘Tell him to meet me at Remarga’s at midday and bring fresh clothing. Then I will dine at … Baldwin’s, outside along the Grand Canal, then some afternoon cards at Depanov’s. I’ll return here to change into something more appropriate for supper.’
‘Yes, Magnificence.’
Tal put on the same shirt he had worn the day before, and threw a casual jacket across one shoulder as he grabbed his sword. ‘Now, find something to do until Pasko gets back and I’ll see the two of you at noon.’
‘Yes, Magnificence,’ Amafi repeated.
Tal left the apartment and hurried down the stairs. He fastened his sword around his waist and kept the jacket over his shoulder. It was a warm day and he had elected to forgo a hat. As he worked his way along the streets to the Masters’ Court, he pondered just how much damage he could do to a royal without getting himself into too much trouble.
The morning sun, a warm breeze off the ocean, the memory of the Lady Natalia’s enthusiastic lovemaking – all combined to put Tal into a wonderful frame of mind. By the time he reached the Masters’ Court he had a plan as to how to humiliate a royal without getting hung, and had convinced himself it might even turn out to be fun.
A week later, the gallery was full as Tal walked onto the floor of the Masters’ Court. With the return of the Greatest Swordsman in the
