The Warrior King (Book 4) Read Free Page A

objectives in the palace. Those objectives were of critical importance, or he would have chosen something more dignified. And no doubt Markal would behave in his typical sanctimonious way if he knew the truth.
    “The problem is one of the sultan’s eunuchs,” he said when he returned to where the other two waited. “He is a cunning, wicked man.”
    “And you know all about those things,” Darik muttered.
    Chantmer ignored him. “He does the sultan’s bidding and has gathered most of the harem himself. The eunuch has no carnal desires himself, but seems to recognize Mufashe’s strange tastes, and buys or coerces women and girls from all across the sultanates. This eunuch has been shadowing Sofiana, and when I’ve tried to get the girl alone, it has only made him more wary.”
    This was all true, if perhaps disingenuous. It had been a relief when Faalam turned his attentions to the girl, as it gave Chantmer the freedom to travel through the palace with minimal scrutiny. But it had also thwarted Chantmer’s attempts to eliminate Faalam from the palace entirely. He seemed to have some sort of magical ability himself and eluded any snares that Chantmer set.
    “I won’t be able to remove the eunuch,” Chantmer continued, “but I believe I have the means to distract him long enough for others to slip the girl out of the city. Those others can’t be anyone from Princess Marialla’s retinue. They are known and would fall under immediate suspicion. But the two of you could do it and take her back to Balsalom where she’ll be safe.”
    “I see,” Markal said.
    “Surely, we’re not going to be so gullible as that,” Darik told Markal.
    “You need proof that Mufashe intends to add the girl to his harem?” Chantmer asked. “Would you like a personal confession from the sultan himself?”
    “I don’t know if he does or doesn’t,” the boy said, “but this is an obvious ploy to remove us from Marrabat.”
    “If I wanted to remove you from Marrabat, I would simply alert the palace to your presence. Maybe I told my bird to do that already, did you think of that? Maybe even now, thirty guards with spears and scimitars are rushing up here.”
    The boy started, but Markal still looked thoughtful. “So we take the girl away. What then?”
    “When you return from Balsalom, we’ll talk,” Chantmer said. “We both want to defeat the dark wizard, and you’re a fool if you think King Whelan will overthrow him with force of arms alone. At best, his army will bottle up Toth in Veyre until spring, and then those of us with true power in this land will be called upon to finish matters.”
    “Wizards, you mean?” Darik asked.
    “So we travel the entire length of the Spice Road and back again,” Markal said. “That will take weeks. Meanwhile, you remain in Marrabat, gaining strength.”
    Chantmer hardened his voice. “That will happen whether you want it to or not. I am stronger than you, Markal, and always will be.” He rolled up his sleeves to show the other wizard the tattoos of snakes and fire salamanders, words in the old tongue and ancient runes, that entwined his arms. “I already carry more strength than you can imagine.”
    “And what about the Order of the Wounded Hand?” Markal asked. “Have you forsaken that path?”
    “You drove me out!” Chantmer turned away. He stared at the vines that crawled up the far wall, working their roots into the mortar to crumble it away, and waited until he’d regained control before he turned back around. “Anyway, I can call on the strength of the wounded hand as I like, and I can draw up the power of these mages, as well.”
    “A man who serves two masters gives his devotion to neither,” Markal said.
    “Maybe so, but my faith has always been stronger than yours. If you don’t believe me, take out that orb you stole and test me.”
    Some of this was bluster, but it had the desired effect. Markal stared at him for a long moment, seemingly undecided. Darik,