Free Traitor's Knot by Janny Wurts Page B

reeked of clogged smoke from the seeress’s fusty attic. Then he shed his swathed bundle on a marquetry table and addressed the fidgety staff. ‘Roust up the boy. Then, get out, every one of you.’ Jet hair dishevelled, a steel gleam to pale eyes, he forestalled the least opening for argument. ‘My armed men will not allow you to leave. You’ll have to bunk down in the ante-room.’
    The scared servant shook the logy page to his feet, hushed his grumbling, and steered for the doorway. The valet did not stir a finger to help. Gangling arms clasped, his grey hair fashionably styled above his immaculate livery, he stuck in dapper heels and refused.
    Sulfin Evend met that obstinacy with frightening resolve, an uncompromised fist closed over his sword grip, and his unlaced, left sleeve flecked with blood-stains. ‘Stand clear!’
    â€˜Someone should stay,’ the gaunt servant insisted. ‘Whatever foul work you intend to commit, my master will have a witness.’
    â€˜That’s a damned foolish sentiment, and dangerous!’ The Alliance Lord Commander crossed the carpet, cat quick, prepared to draw steel out of hand. ‘You have no idea what vile rite’s to be done here. Nor have you the strong stomach to last the duration.’
    â€˜I daresay, I don’t,’ said the man with stiff frailty. ‘Nonetheless, I will stand by my master.’
    Shown threadbare courage in the face of such trembling fear, Sulfin Evend took pause with the blistering glance that measured his troops on a battle-line. Then he sighed, moved to pity. ‘Why under Ath’s sky should you ask this?’
    The valet swallowed and shuffled his feet. His manicured hand gestured toward the bed. ‘For too long, I have watched something evil at work. You are the first who has dared to react. If your trust proves false, then I fear nothing else. His Divine Grace may be saved or lost. If I share in his fate, come what may, I will know that one steadfast friend remained at his shoulder.’
    â€˜Have your way, then, but be warned: I’ll have no interference.’ Sulfin Evendreleased his weapon, his level, black eyebrows hooked into a frown as he moved past and snapped the curtains over the casements. ‘Fail me there, or breathe a word of loose talk, and I’ll have your raw liver for a league bountyman’s dog-meat. What you’ve asked to observe can’t be done clean, or dainty. If you lose your nerve, or if I fall short, this room’s going to burn, taking every-one with it. My captains won’t pause, or shirk the command. Leave now, and I won’t fault your bravery’
    The valet backed a step, rammed against the stuffed chair, and sat as his spindly knees failed him. ‘This time, the command not to speak is a blessing,’ he said, in a quavering voice.
    Sulfin Evend had no second to spare and no words to acknowledge such staunchness. Dawn approached, far too quickly. Fingers flying, he stripped off spurs and boots. His surcoat came next, then the corded twill jacket that had masked his mail shirt at the feast. His studded belt clashed onto the pile, followed by his baldric and several sheathed daggers. Stripped to gambeson and breeches, he crossed the chamber and peeled back the carpet. Somewhere downstairs, a kitchen dog barked. A door banged, and a shrill voice berated a scullery maid for returning late from a tryst. Sulfin Evend bit back a harried oath. The household servants were already stirring, no favour, in light of the trial lying ahead.
    He built up the fire. Without the oak logs, he used only the birch, split into billets for kindling. As the flames crackled and caught, hot and sweet and fast-burning, he rifled the night-stand, set the filled wash-basin onto the floor, then cracked open the curtain and whacked the bronze latch off the casement. He used the snapped fitting to stub ice from the sill. The chips were dumped in the bowl, where