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  “Morning, Sire,” Hark mumbled as he poured himself some java and sat opposite his uncle.

  Elric nodded as watched his nephew under hooded eyes. “Do you have a report on the barter dispute?”

  Hark shook his head. “I’m going there this morning to finalize the negotiations. The Merchants are merely being stubborn.”

  “Do not underestimate the Merchants. If they want to cause trouble they still have a vested voice among the people.”

  “The people like you as their Governor, uncle,” Hark reminded him, draining his cup.

  “But the Merchants do not. They haven’t forgiven me for defeating their trade syndicate to replace it with an open route. And if enough protests reach the King then my time as Governor could come to an end, as would our family dynasty.”

  Hark shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much, if I were you. The King likes you. Our family has been in charge of Eyvindar for generations. What’s past is past.”

  “The past,” Elric stated firmly, “is the only thing we have as reference not to repeat any mistakes. And I can’t afford to make any new ones. Now, the Merchants trust you more than they do me, so for that reason you are my voice in these negotiations. But even for you will I not lose the solid ground beneath my feet. Do you understand, Hark?”

  While his eyes still on his uncle, Hark rose and finished off the spiced java in his hand before setting the cup down sharply upon the table. “Unequivocally.”

  His back was stick straight as he left his uncle behind, fuming. He was a warrior, a properly trained warrior, and all he’d been reduced to was a negotiator. It frustrated him to no end to be his uncle’s voice, not allowed to train beside the other warriors. To ride off in service of something bigger, something great, instead of going off to argue merchant sales. The stagnation of his life was one of the reasons why he drank. The other, well, denying himself the man he wanted was enough to drive any sane person to drink. He lived with Alisander day and night, and the strain of a perpetual hard-on was beginning to drive him mad.

  ****

  The merchants of Eyvindar had enjoyed a monopoly along their route for years, employing their own laborers and exploiting their fees. The chief among them, Laurltrant, came from generations of chiefs. In the past, the King had simply taken his taxes from the merchants as his due. But one of the battles that Elric had fought and won was the right of equal trade. He had believed no one person or organization had the right to monopolize the price of day to day necessities, and this was his one stand that had tipped him over in the favor of the people, and with their support, the King had declared a combat of arms to decide who should be the victor.

  Hark had heard stories of the combat between Laurltrant and Elric. It had been a bloody fight, so the stories told, draymen on one side and castle guards on the other. The arena had been soaked with blood as the two men fought. The outcome had been awarded to Elric, though it was a less than honorable win. On a thrust, Elric’s blade had ripped open Laurltrant’s eye, and the merchant had stumbled back. His own sword had swung wide in his backward trip, and the tip had impaled his only son, who had been standing as his father’s second.

  Laurltrant had fallen, but it was not his enemy’s blade that had killed him. He had been defeated by his own emotions, though by looking at him Hark would never have guessed the chief once had a heart.

  Now in his fiftieth year, Laurltrant stood as straight and unbending as he must have done twenty years ago, though a little grayer and perhaps a tad gaunt. The Merchant district was located on the first and second tiers of Eyvindar, and Laurltrant stood at the courthouse steps, watching Hark approach with his arms folded in front of him and his one good eye squinted.

  “You’re late,” the chief muttered as Hark mounted the courthouse steps.

  “Observant as ever.” Hark passed right by him to enter the cool shade of the building.

  Hark hated these meetings, but they were part of his duty to his uncle and his King. The King expected both parties to get along now that the combat had been settled, although nothing could be farther from the truth. Hark entered the long meeting room where Laurltrant’s draymen waited and walked over to the openly displayed books.

  “Everything is in order,” the chief muttered from behind him.

  Hark’s eyes skimmed over the meticulous records. “It looks that way. What new merchants have you allowed to open shop?”

  “A bookstore,” came the sarcastic remark, and, as predicted, the henchmen all gave a snicker.

  “Too expensive a commodity for Eyvindar,” Hark replied blandly. “May I suggest offering mugs of water to even out the non-selling clause?”

  The chuckles died abruptly. Laurltrant walked around the tables until he stood in front of the younger man. “It’s good to know Elric’s dour disposition did not cultivate in you.”

  “Since I’m not here to talk about what I inherited from my uncle, let’s continue our discussion on the trade routes.”

  Laurltrant narrowed his one eye. “Very well.”

  ****

  Several hours later, Hark left the delegations behind and marched over to Poro’s. Many greeted him as he walked from the Merchant tiers, heading several streets up toward Winemaker Row. The sun was bright and high in the sky, causing him to squint slightly as he made his way, passing by Penitent Square and the Great Cathedral of the Gods. Holy stars, he had a horrible headache. He needed a drink badly.

  He stepped into Poro’s bar and walked straight up to the counter without letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior. He knew his way well.

  “Lord Hark,” Poro stuttered, clearly shocked. “I haven’t seen you since … well, since that night.”

  “I’ve come for another bottle,” Hark muttered.

  “I haven’t any more,” the skinny man whined. “I told Alisander...”

  Hark reached over the counter and grabbed Poro’s shirt, pulling him into the wooden bar and closer to his face. “Alisander is my voice when I’m not present, but he is just a servant who’s more pleasant natured then I. We both know what your wine is made from, and we both know that when you make the batch it’s a continuous run. I’m not your only customer, but I am your most influential. So, I don’t care who your other clients are, but I am walking out of here with a bottle. Do you understand?”

  He shook the skinny man once to demonstrate his grip, and immediately Poro nodded his head. And when Hark set him down the barkeep turned and hobbled away as fast as his could to the door leading to the cellar. He used his key, unlocked it, and disappeared in the murky depths.

  Hark waited, arms crossed, his back to the door. It only took a moment for Poro to return. Hark grabbed the wine, slapped a coin on the table, and turned to leave, his mind was already lost to his salivating glands and the hunger spreading through his gut.

  ****

  Cax watched his target from the corner of the door, following after Hark as he exited the bar. He skimmed the big man in one curious up and down glance. Hark had obviously spent his life training and fighting. He was big muscled, lean of hip yet sturdy on sleekly tailored thighs. He carried a sword at his side, though it was a short bladed weapon, an unusual choice of weapon for a man of his stature and build. It made Cax wonder if he carried it simply because he was inside Eyvindar’s walls and thus felt safe, or if he felt invincible as the Governor’s nephew.

  There was no use denying Lord Hark was a handsome man. Before Ali had come into his life he would’ve stated someone like Hark was his perfect idea for a life companion. As he spied the man’s plump lips he thought about kissing him, and his cock hardened.

  Holy stars! It was like he was some randy youngling, unable to keep his base desires at bay! Never, in all of his thirty-five years, had his body ever betrayed him like this.

  Then his body hummed, his skin went cold, and in his mind he saw the circular disk with five razor sharp points jutting from the thin edge. It was spinning as it cut through the wind to hit its mark. Without another
thought he grabbed the lid off a nearby garbage barrel and jumped behind Hark, bringing the thick wooden cover up and catching the black disk’s forceful flight.

  Cax immediately threw the lid down to chase after the would-be assassin.

  He kept one eye on the street before him and one eye on top of the buildings, watching the shadow of the man he was pursuing. He could hear Hark behind him but ignored him to concentrate on hunting his prey.

  Since Eyvindar was a city built in a mountain the streets were not lined in a grid. Rather, each section claimed territory on each tier as the city had been built inward and upward. Cax realized he wouldn’t be able to track the assassin if he kept to the lower ground. At the next intersection of alleys, Cax ran straight to the next tier of stairs. In moments he had the higher advantage and saw that the assassin had not slowed his escape. A shadow moved on the ground, and Cax caught a flash of a sword shadow and realized the sight of Hark following him made the assassin careless.

  The assassin had kept to his rooftop. Cax pushed on, jumping and racing over tiles, laundry, plants, and whatever else people kept on their roofs, to catch up. The gap between the tiers caught up to him suddenly in the form of scaffolding. The carpentry was without workers. Cax launched onto a ladder and sailed up and over to bang into the lower building. He jumped onto his feet while his eyes roamed around until they caught a blurred movement to his left. As a Mercenary, Cax had learned how to be the pursuer as well as be the pursued, with a sleek body developed for just such scenarios. This was his territory, his open field, and he knew it well.

  As a testament to his character, Hark was still with him, though traveling a bit slower because he was racing through the twisted turns of the alleys below, and even over divided tiers of the province layout.

  A taller building loomed, blocking their path. The assassin did not bother to veer off course; he simply jumped though the open window. One leg bent behind him and one leg out in front, he stretched low to make the narrow clearing. Only a few strides behind him, Cax frowned when he came to the same spot, skidding to a halt to peer cautiously inside. The room was bare, so he climbed inside.

  An electric charge ripped over his skin, a promise of intention. Cax jumped through the window and raced through the open door, which had been swinging slightly from a quick force. The door led to a white painted hallway, with a sturdy railing that went one floor up and one floor down. He tried to suppress his harsh breathing to listen for telltale footsteps.

  Someone yelling.

  A child crying.

  From the ground below he heard Hark burst upon the landing, racing up the stairs. “Where did he go?” he asked, gasping.

  “Good question.” Cax placed a finger to his lips to hush him. He took one silent step, away from the stairs to edge toward a door that was almost completely closed.

  As he moved closer, the electricity burning over his skin intensified. Cax removed his two lethal blades from where they formed part of his belt. The weapons had rested flush against each other in sheaths hidden as a decorative shield. He primed himself, ready for any attack.

  The door creaked slightly through the landing, echoing.

  Another black disk flew from the room before them, but Cax was already prepared, vaulting in front of Hark and knocking the bigger man out of the way. As the spiked edges of the disk imbedded into the painted wall behind them, Cax twisted and threw his blade through the narrow crack of the door.

  They heard it thud into wood, followed by a gasp. Then silence.

  “Don’t kill him!” Hark muttered as he knocked Cax off. He took a cautious step forward. “We need to interrogate him, find out who paid him.”

  Cax grabbed his arm and held him back as he pushed the door open. The assassin was pinned to the wall, held in place by the dagger imbedded deep in his throat. The man’s eyes followed them as they approached, blood hissing and bubbling through the wound.

  Cax crouched down next to the nearly dead man. “He’s an assassin.”

  “That’s stating the obvious.”

  The assassin gave one gagging jerk, and then his eyes drifted sideways, unfocused. Cax reached up and closed the eyes before he yanked away the veil that covered the lower half of his face. The assassin’s skin had been painted orange, and his teeth had been filed into sharp points that hung over the top lip.

  “That’s a Krellian,” Hark said.

  “Now who’s stating the obvious?”

  Cax put his hand on the dead Krellian’s shoulder and grabbed his weapon with the other, wedging it free from the wooden wall. The body slumped to the ground.

  “Why would someone hire a Krellian?”

  “Probably because Krellians hate Eyvindar?” Cax asked sarcastically.

  “Who are you?”

  “A concerned citizen.”

  “You’re no citizen of Eyvindar. Why did you save my life?”

  “I think the question you should be asking is who was it that tried ending it?”

  Cax could feel Hark watching him with cautious eyes so he turned and met his gaze. He could see a brown ring swirling through Hark’s green irises, and that odd feeling once again passed over him, something charged and magnetic but completely indefinable. They stared at one another, and Cax saw Hark’s gaze drop to his lips. His body responded, wanting very much to explore the obvious interest in the other man’s gaze. The moment stretched as each man sized the other one up, and Cax had the oddest feeling that somehow he had been destined to meet this man.

  Hark broke the stare first, turning away and shaking his head as if trying to clear cobwebs away. Cax didn’t blame him. He felt like doing the same. Hark walked over and set the bottle down as he picked up another disk that had fallen free from the assassin’s limp hand.

  “What type of weapon is this?” he asked, studying the disk.

  “Those are Krellian stars.”

  “You seem to know a lot for a stranger. Did you know this man?” Hark’s sword came up to rest at Cax’s throat.

  “Of course not. I, personally, don’t know any Krellians.” He did not break eye contact. “Put away your sword. I’m not your enemy.”

  The two stared at each other, the weight of measure prevalent in each other’s eye. “I’d be a fool to believe you, since a Krellian assassin is dead at my feet.”

  “If I had wanted you dead, Lord Hark, you would be.”

  Never blinking, never faltering as the assessment grew between them, Hark finally nodded and returned his sword to its sheath.

  “This building is being renovated,” he said. “Most of it is empty. Do you think the Krellian led us here deliberately?”

  Cax shook his head as he looked out the window. “I don’t think he expected to be followed.” He turned, cocking one eyebrow. “He didn’t expect you to have survived.”

  “I guess I’m lucky you were around ... and so vigilant.”

  Cax didn’t answer as he holstered his blades, his eyes sliding away.

  “I see,” said Hark. “Well, that’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “You saved me. So if you were hired to save me then someone must have been hired to kill me.” He turned and stormed away, clanking heavily upon the wooden floor.

  Cax hurried to catch up. “Where are you going?”

  “I can think of only one person who would wish Elric’s reign to come to an end, that my death would be the succinct ending to Elric’s rule.”

  Cax said nothing more, yet he stayed close behind Hark as they left the building and retraced their steps. Past Winemaker’s Row, down the tiers until they reached the merchant section at full blossom with bustling crowds. It did not take long for word to spread of Hark’s arrival, and instantly the crowd silenced, parting as he made his way to the narrow steepled edifice sitting incongruously between two wooden stalls. The mortared stone of the two-story building was the same color of the high cliffs of the mountain.

  Though Hark stormed past the draymen standing guard outside withou
t a glance, Cax memorized each face and position, and he flexed his hands. The double doors flew open with a bang.

  Laurltrant raised a hand to hold back his men. “What is the meaning, Lord Hark, of your trespass?”

  “Your Krellian assassin is dead!”

  Silence fell like a velvet curtain.

  “Krellian?” Laurltrant questioned softly, a flat look coming into his eyes. “In Eyvindar? How interesting.”

  “He’s dead, Laurltrant,” Hark repeated, tossing out the reminder as if baiting him. He had the look of a man hunting his prey. “Expect to be brought up on formal charges.”

  The draymen took a step closer at the threat. Hark unsheathed his sword, and Cax pulled his bloodletters free.

  “Hold. Hark, removing you from the throne would not be very beneficial to me, would it? I would be forced to talk to your uncle during negotiations, and that, my boy, is beyond my ability.”

  “Nothing is beyond your ability, Laurltrant. I’m not sure what your angle is, but I will find out.”

  “You’re welcome to try.”

  Not a breath stirred. The shifts of different emotions could be felt, in the tension of shoulders and in the thinness of compressed lips. Eyes darted back and forth, waiting, seeking. If a battle should commence, it would be bloody.

  “What do we do, Hark?” Cax asked, his voice over loud in the silent room.

  Hark eased back and lowered his sword. That one gesture steadied the ground under all their feet and dropped the friction spiking in the room.

  “I’m going to order an inquest,” he said, his tone cold.

  “Good luck with that,” Laurltrant taunted.

  Cax put his weapons away and followed after Hark as he left the building.

  “What was that about?” Cax demanded once they were out in the open. He followed Hark, matching his angry strides.

  “How much do you know about my uncle’s past with Laurltrant?”

  “Everything.”

  Hark halted and faced him. Cax held his stare for a long minute. “My uncle hired you, didn’t he?”