Tigueron leaned forward. “I don’t know. It would depend on the client and circumstances. You mentioned Paranor. If he is there, it would be much more difficult. Elsewhere, not so much. Usually, we settle matters in no more than one day.”
“You can do it so quickly?”
“Orsis Guild is unique. We have special skills. Special tools to call upon.”
A pause. “Do you have the use of magic?”
“Magic?” Tigueron gave him a look bordering on disgust. “Magic is for weaklings and charlatans. Besides, it is outlawed in the territories of the Federation. It is outlawed virtually everywhere but in Elven country and one or two other enclaves still wedded to its uses.”
“Just because it is outlawed doesn’t mean it isn’t employed. The Druids use it as they see fit. And who is going to stop them? Even the Federation seeks to avoid that sort of confrontation. It would take a bold effort indeed to challenge those who inhabit Paranor. You let some sleeping dogs lie.”
The stranger paused. “Besides, aren’t assassinations outlawed, as well? And are they not employed on a regular basis, too?”
The tankards of ale arrived, and the serving girl carefully placed one before each man, accepting the coin the stranger offered as payment before departing. The stranger picked up his drink and took a long pull, swallowing with relish.
“Wonderful,” he pronounced. “A fine batch they brew here. Now, I want this done at month’s end and not before.”
“As you wish.” Tigueron was growing irritated with this whole business. Irritated, as well, with this unflappable stranger he now regretted agreeing to meet. “Tell me, who is it we are to remove from your life?”
“Not yet. I want to hear the price first. Let me say that you will know the victim, and he will not be easily killed. In fact, it will be hard even to get close enough to carry out my wishes. He is trained to protect himself against men like you and yours.”
“I will have the name before you have the price,” Tigueron replied, his face dark. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“You should know he has magic at his disposal.”
Tigueron nodded slowly. “That means a higher price, then. Such men can prove troublesome.”
“Cost does not matter. Only success. Once you take this job, you must complete it. You cannot change your mind later.”
Tigueron stared at him. This client was being inordinately demanding. Most men who wanted another killed didn’t spend time worrying about what it might take to accomplish the job. They only cared about the cost. This stranger had the exact opposite concerns. And Tigueron was suddenly troubled in a way that he had not been earlier.
“What are you not telling me?” he asked pointedly, glancing at the men sitting at the other table.
“Do not even think about calling those men to your defense, Tigueron. You would be dead before they got out of their seats if I wished it. Let us try to stay on point. I desire your services and nothing more. You do not get to ask my name or the details of why I am doing this. You either accept the job or you don’t. The choice is yours.”
Tigueron glowered at him. “The name, first.”
Being stubborn, digging in. If word got around that he was letting his clients dictate the terms, he would be out of business in a flash. He held the stranger’s gaze, unmovable.
The stranger nodded. “Very well. His name is Drisker Arc.”
Now Tigueron understood the other’s concern. A Druid of Drisker Arc’s skill and reputation would not be easily dispatched. But the amount of money he could demand for such an endeavor would be enormous.
He named a ridiculously high figure—so high that, if he were the client, he would have walked away.
But the stranger just nodded his agreement with a shrug. “Done.”
Tigueron was suddenly unsettled. He felt oddly trapped, as if the bargain were a snare into which he had stepped. But he was not afraid of risk, so he nodded in turn. “You must pay me now.”
The stranger passed a slip of paper across the table. “Take it to any Bluestone Credit Agency outlet in Varfleet by tomorrow morning and it will be honored. The credits will be waiting.”
Tigueron read the amount written on the paper greedily. “If the agency fails to honor it,” the stranger continued in his soft, calm voice, “you have no obligation to me and you may keep what I have already given you to meet with me tonight. But the credits will be there.”
Tigueron sneered. “They had better be.”
The stranger’s face showed nothing. “Send word to Paranor when the matter is concluded. I will be there. Make sure your message reveals nothing about yourself. Make it a general announcement intended for all.”
He rose from the table, tightened his cloak about his shoulders, and pulled its hood forward over his head so his face was hidden once more.
“Do not fail me,” he whispered.
Then he walked to the doors of the tavern and went out into the stormy night.
TWO
Tavo Kaynin remembered enough of his early boyhood to know that he hadn’t always been like he was now.
When he was very little, the magic wasn’t yet a part of his life. He was a normal boy in most ways; he fit in with his family and he loved them. His sister was his closest friend, and they played together every day. She was younger by five years, and although now and then she told him there were things about him she didn’t understand, he never had reason to think much about it.
Still, he would catch her looking at him strangely sometimes. She would study him, as if trying to see something that was hidden. He would ask her what she was doing, and she would always say the same thing: Nothing. Even though he was the older sibling and he could intimidate her easily enough, he always let the matter drop.
After all, she was his little sister and he loved her.
But then, once she turned ten, she started to go off by herself, telling him he could not go with her, saying she wanted to go alone. Even though he did as she asked, he was hurt and angered by her secretiveness, and he told her so. But even knowing this, she refused to confide in him.
At first, he asked his mother.
“Oh, that’s just Tarsha,” his mother told him. “Girls are like that sometimes. Just give her some space. It won’t last.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, so he let the matter drop.
But soon, some of those secrets began to reveal themselves. He had just turned fifteen and was already beginning to test the boundaries of his parents’ control. He was beginning to disobey directives—sometimes because he felt it was necessary and other times because he simply felt like it. Disobedience was a part of growing up, although he didn’t understand this at the time. But he was noticing something else troubling about himself, too. His temper was getting the best of him with increasing frequency. Sudden rages, quick bursts of anger, and feelings of hostility toward almost everyone, including his sister and his parents, were becoming the norm. Most of the time there wasn’t even a reason for it.
His parents and his sister all commented on it, asking him to hold his temper, to think before he acted. But he found that hard to do, particularly when the release of his anger seemed to calm him—or even provide him with a strange sense of satisfaction.