Free The Warlord's Legacy by Ari Marmell Page A

first drew the attention of passersby. The rest of Rahariem’s nobles dwelt in patrician manors—large, luxurious, even imposing, but they were houses nonetheless. The ducal hall, by contrast, was a sturdy keep, dating to the days when various lords and vassal states battled for dominance. The peculiar juxtaposition of a modern and largely ceremonial iron fence surrounding the property, with the looming granite fortress beyond, gave the estate an unreal, fairy-tale feel.
    Today the fortress served as a barracks for Cephiran officers and was host to many of their strategic and governmental moots.
    Still clad as a Cephiran soldier, Cerris approached the front gate and drew himself upright. Half a dozen guards stood post, and all looked to be taking their duties rather more seriously than the men he’d murdered at the baroness’s abode.
    “I’ve a vital message,” he announced to the nearest, handing over the sealed parchment. “Captain Liveln’s eyes only,” he added as the man made as if to break the blot of wax.
    “From whom?” the guard demanded. “There’s no seal here.”
    “I imagine if he wanted that known, he’d have marked it, wouldn’t he?”
    The guard swallowed a bitter retort—which apparently wasn’t going down easily—and nodded once. “Deliver this to Captain Liveln,” he instructed one of the others, passing the letter along. A salute, thesound of jogging feet, and then five guards stood and scrutinized Cerris with various degrees of boredom or hostility. He stared fixedly right back, fighting the urge to fidget. If he’d judged the situation wrong, if Captain Liveln didn’t react as he anticipated …
    ‘
And a great time it is to be considering
that,
isn’t it, O master tactician
?’
    Cerris clenched his teeth and continued waiting.
    Finally, after only a few eons, the messenger returned and whispered in the officer’s ear. “The captain wishes to see you,” he told Cerris. “Immediately.” An experienced professional, he
almost
managed to mask his disappointment that he wouldn’t be permitted to toss the new arrival out on his rear.
    Cerris advanced, refusing even to acknowledge the man, his heart racing. A hundred and one things could still go wrong, and mentally cataloging them all kept him busy, scarcely even noticing the somber stone walls and the occasional bright tapestry he passed along his way. Actually, the artwork seemed remarkably anemic; most likely, the Cephirans had already looted the bulk of it, leaving only these smatterings behind. He stopped only once, to ask directions of a passing servant, and found himself finally before one of any number of identical doors.
    A shouted “Get in here!” punched through the door before the echoes of his first knock had faded. Expression neutral, he did just that, casually but firmly shutting the door behind him.
    It was a simple enough chamber, a combination bunk and office. Cot, wardrobe, and armor stand against the wall; desk and chair in the room’s center. Doubtless identical to every other officer’s quarters in the building.
    ‘
I swear, if these people ever had an original thought, they wouldn’t know what to do with it. The military mind must be an amazing thing; I hope somebody actually discovers one someday.
’
    Standing before the desk was a broad-featured woman, perhaps a decade younger than Cerris himself. Her dark hair was chopped short in a careless military cut, and her tunic and leggings suggested a physique that would be the envy of any warrior her age, gender notwithstanding.
    At her side hung a heavy, brutal mace. It tugged at Cerris’s mind,but he had no attention to spare it. Even as he entered, a ball of wadded-up parchment struck him in the chest. It fell to his feet with a faint crinkling, blossoming open just enough for him to read the words within. Not that he needed to, since he’d written them.
    I know about the Kholben Shiar. Let’s talk, and maybe your superiors needn’t know about