The Unwilling Warlord Read Free

— who was she?” the sailor asked.
    His grandmother? Sterren was even more baffled than before. He had been seven when she died, and he remembered her mostly as a friendly, wrinkled face and a warm voice telling impossible tales. His grandfather, who had raised him after all the others were dead, had missed her terribly and had spoken of her often, explaining how he had brought her back from a tiny little kingdom on the very edge of the world, talking about how she got along so well with everyone so long as she got her way.
    “Her name was Tanissa the Stubborn, I think; she came from the Small Kingdoms somewhere.” As did these four, he realized, or at least three of them. The questions suddenly began to make sense. She must have stolen something, or committed some heinous offense, and they had finally tracked her down.
    It had certainly taken them long enough. Surely they wouldn’t carry their revenge to the third generation! “She’s dead,” he added helpfully.
    “Was she ever called Tanissa of Semma?”
    “I don’t know; I never heard her called that.”
    There was another exchange in the familiar but incomprehensible language, including his grandmother’s name as well as his own. By the end of it the woman seemed excited, and was smiling.
    The smile didn’t look vindictive, but that was very little comfort; whatever crime his grandmother had committed must have been half a century ago, and this woman could scarcely have been born then. She wasn’t exactly young, but she didn’t look that old — and she didn’t look young enough to be using a youth spell. She must have been sent on the hunt by someone else; perhaps her father or mother was the wronged party. In that case she’d be glad to have the job done, but would have no reason for personal dislike.
    A glance to either side showed the two soldiers as impassive as ever, and he wondered whether they understood what was going on any better than he did.
    The interpreter, as the sailor apparently was, turned back to Sterren and asked, “Do you have any family?”
    “No.” He didn’t think it was worth trying to lie.
    “No wife?”
    Sterren shook his head.
    “What about your mother?”
    “She died bearing me.” Perhaps, he thought, they would take pity on him because he was an orphan.
    “Since you’re the eldest, there could scarcely be bro­thers or sisters if she died bearing you. What about old Kelder, your grandfather?”
    It occurred to Sterren, a bit belatedly, that he was removing the possibility of spreading the blame or getting off on grounds of family support, but it was too late already, and he continued to tell the truth. “He died three years ago. He was an old man.”
    “Uncles? Aunts? Cousins?”
    “None.”
    “Your other grandparents?”
    “Dead before I was born, from drinking bad water.”
    “Good!” the sailor said with a smile. “Then you should be able to leave immediately!”
    “What?” Sterren exclaimed. “Leave where? I’m not going anywhere!” He made no attempt to hide his surprise and indignation.
    “Why not?” the sailor demanded. “You’re not still an apprentice, are you?”
    “What if I am? Where are you taking me? Who are you?” His remaining assurance faded a little more; they wouldn’t dare kill him here in the tavern, probably not anywhere in Ethshar, but if they managed to remove him from the city they could do anything they pleased. There was no law outside the walls — or at least Sterren knew of none.
    “I’m just an interpreter . . .” the sailor began.
    “What were those sparks?” Sterren interrupted.
    The sailor waved the question away. “Nothing; I bought them on Wizard Street to help find you. Really, I’m just an interpreter. I’m not the one looking for you.”
    “Then who are these others, and what do they want with me?”
    “The Lady Kalira is taking you to Semma,” the sailor replied.
    “The hell she is!” Sterren said. “I’m not leaving the city!” He was close