Baron Assassin: Chapters 8-10

I have been chipping away at this a few hundreds words at a time, here and there, so I figured I toss what I've gotten done out there for your consumption. Chapter 7 was the last chapter in the extended prologue. These chapters are where the main body of the book picks up, approximately 10-12 years later. Hence the big bold Now at the beginning. I'm only explaining all that because you guys are getting these chapter with so much time in between them. It would be fairly obvious if you were reading straight through. Anyway, enjoy! ~Eric

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Now

Chapter 8

Varal adjusted his grip on the hilt slightly before he launched his attack. There were a few, brief, glorious moments when he had the advantage. Then, that advantage disappeared, crushed beneath the weight of superior skill and experience. It was nothing but defense and more defense after that. After a full minute of furious exchanges, his instructor stepped back. His chest heaving, Varal could do little more than stand there. Yet, despite being pushed to his limits, he was pleased. A year ago, simply holding his own against this man for a full minute was nothing but a fantasy. He’d once thought of himself as dangerous. Looking back, Varal realized he’d been nothing but a cub with a few sharp teeth. Now, however, he was approaching a point where he thought he might be closing to actually earning the title of a dangerous man.

As his breathing slowed, he looked at his oddly plain instructor and asked, “Again?”

There was a moment of hesitation before the man said, “No. You’ve clearly been practicing hard. I’m satisfied. Continue on as you have been.”

Varal didn’t get a chance to answer before a joyous voice called out to him.

“Father!”

He barely had time to set aside his blunted practice sword before the young woman threw her arms around his neck.

“Marida! What are you doing here?” he asked, wrapping his daughter in a hug.

“I came to see you, of course. I heard you were in the capital.”

She finally released her grip and took a step back. Her bright smile gave way to a disapproving look he recognized well.

“I heard you were here from Elese and Mara. Why did I have to hear that from my bodyguards? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

He shook his head at the minor lecture.

“I’m not here for long. I just came to meet with a few people who couldn’t come out to the manor. I’ll be leaving again in a day or two. I didn’t want to distract you from your studies.”

Marida rolled her eyes and said, “I’d barely call them studies. The tutors you found for me were so much harder than the instructors at the academy. Honestly, the place feels more like a social club for young nobility than a school.”

“I suspect that it is.”

“It’s tiresome.”

Laughing, Varal said, “I’m sure that it is, but I have faith that you’ll get through it somehow.”

“Speaking of education, you haven’t introduced me to—” Marida turned to look at Varal’s sword instructor only to find empty space. “Where did he go?”

“Not sure,” said Varal.

“Well, who is he?”

“I don’t think I ever got a name.”

She frowned at him before walking over and picking up the heavy practice blade he’d been using. She hefted the longsword before giving him a concerned look.

“This is a war blade. Do you know something I don’t.”

“Of course, I do. I’m your father. I’m supposed to know things that you don’t, but not in this case. I’m just training.”

“With an instructor whose name you don’t even know?”

“His skills were more relevant to me than his name. Also, he came highly recommended.”

Marida smirked at him and asked, “By the countess?”

“Yes, by the countess and by others.”

“I saw her a few weeks ago. She was asking about you.”

“I’m sure she was, although I’m baffled about why. I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh, father. You know exactly why she was asking about you. When are you two going to stop dancing around it and just get married? Everyone expects it.”

“I have no intention of marrying the countess or anyone else, and certainly not for a reason as ridiculous as ‘everyone expects it.’”

“Why not? She’s beautiful, powerful—”

“And political. You know what I think of that.”

Varal watched his daughter heave a theatrical sigh before she gave him a steady look.

“I hate to break it to you, but our family is political too.”

“Not like her. We’re incidentally political. It comes with having been raised to the nobility. But, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I make it a point not to get involved whenever possible. She’s political intentionally. There is a very wide gulf between those two things, Marida.”

“I know,” she pouted, “but you two are way too close to just be acquaintances.”

“We are, and she’s been very helpful to both of us. I appreciate that, but the countess has agendas and plans. Most of which I don’t share. Never forget that. As much as you might like her, and as much as she might like you, her house and her plans will always come first for her.”

“Isn’t that true for us, as well?” asked Marida.

“No. It isn’t. I’ll do my best for the house and for the barony, but it will never come first for me. You come first. Always.”

It was truer than he’d ever let his daughter know. Varal could have filled a small graveyard with the bodies of the people who thought that they could get to him through her. Rival businessmen, other nobles, and even criminal organizations had all tried it over the years. She’d gone through a few attempts to kidnap her. The experiences had unsettled his daughter, but it was common enough among nobles that she hadn’t thought too much about it. A fact for which Varal was grateful. He didn’t want her getting too interested in the people behind those events. If she did, he knew that she’d never let it go. If that happened, she’d eventually discover how he and his people dealt with them and those behind the plans she didn’t know about. It was easy to hide things from outsiders, but a much harder thing to hide them from her.

He’d made examples of the businessmen and criminals in various ways. He’d ruined merchant houses that had stood for centuries with a combination of financial pressure, blatant sabotage, and a few strategic deaths. Then, he’d buy their businesses for coppers on the silver. He always found it particularly satisfying to arrange for those new paupers to see him replace their names with his on their various enterprises. There wasn’t always wailing, but it happened often enough to make it worth the effort.

Criminal organizations were simply culled to the last man. It was clean, efficient, and had turned out to be very profitable on a few occasions. As for the nobles, that was always a more troublesome problem. He couldn’t simply wipe out an entire noble house. Rather, he’d decided that doing so would draw far more attention than he wanted from the king and his spymaster. He’d opted for a different approach that involved the fools directly involved dying under mysterious, incriminating, or reputation-destroying circumstances.

It had been several years since the last attempt, though. Maybe word had gotten around that even the attempt came at too high a cost. Nonetheless, it wasn’t anything he wanted his daughter to find out about. For reasons beyond understanding, she thought of him as a good man. He knew better. However, knowing better didn’t change the fact that he wanted her to keep thinking that about him. The day would inevitably come when she learned who he really was at heart, but he intended to prevent that day from arriving for as long as possible.

Marida directed a beaming smile at him and said, “I come first? You know, this is why my friends say they wish you were their father. Still, I want you to be happy, and the countess would marry you in a heartbeat if you asked.”

“I am happy. I don’t need to marry the countess for that. Besides, a modestly successful baron like me isn’t nearly good enough for someone like her.”

“Modestly successful? Does anyone believe you when you say that? You’re richer than the dukes.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

Marida lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m not richer than the dukes. I’m may be richer than one of them, but it’s not like we’ve talked about it. After all, no duke wants to find out for sure that a lowly baron has more money than they do.”

“I guess that’s probably true. Still, you know, it might be nice for me to have a little brother or sister to spoil.”

Varal managed to suppress the sigh that threatened to escape his lips. This had become a recurring, if particularly mild argument. He wanted to blame the countess for putting ideas into Marida’s head, but he suspected that this was entirely his daughter.

“I’ll take it under consideration.”

He was amused to see that his daughter still hadn’t mastered the art of repressing her sighs.

“In other news, my friend Remen may stop by later,” said Marida before giving him another very stern look. “I want you to be nice to him.”

Varl lifted a dubious eyebrow and said, “Him.”

“Yes, father. Remen is a boy, and I know that being nice isn’t easy for you, but I want you to try regardless.”

“I thought you said your friends liked me?”

“My female friends all adore you, but it’s not because you’re nice. It’s because you make them all feel safe. My male friends are all positively terrified of you.”

“I’ve never done anything to them.”

“You don’t need to do anything. You just give them that look.”

“What look?”

“You know what look. That look that says, I can destroy you any time I want to, and I will if you let a single romantic thought about my daughter pass through your mind. Honestly, I’ll never get married at this rate.”

“Do you want to get married?” asked Varal.

“Not right now, but most people give it a try at some point. And it’s very hard to figure out what kind of person I’d like for that when no boy dares to ask me out on a date.”

“Is that what you’re hoping will happen with this Remen boy?” asked Varal.

He was almost certain he didn’t glower while asking that.

“Oh, goddess no. He really is just a friend, but I want you to meet him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s very smart. Honestly, he’s probably a genius when it comes to magical engineering. I think he’s someone you might like to employ in a few years.”

Varal frowned at that.

“Nobles don’t generally like hiring themselves out that way.”

“He’s barely a noble. The academy let him in more as a courtesy than anything. His father is a landed knight but a very poor one. The knighthood and lands are hereditary, so Remen will inherit someday. But it’s not like his father has a position to give him or could afford to employ him if he did,” said Marida with a frown. “Honestly, I’m not sure they can really afford to send him to the academy. I assume they’re hoping being there will let him make a connection that will secure him a decent livelihood.”

Then, Marida turned another of those beaming smiles on him. He rolled his eyes.

“And you’d like me to be that connection?”

“Are you really telling me that you can’t use someone with superior magical engineering skills in one of your businesses?”

“Yes, I probably can, but I hope you didn’t promise him anything. I at least need to meet the boy before I decide anything.”

“I’d never do that to you,” said Marida, suddenly serious. “He just thinks he’s coming over to have a meal.”

“Very well,” said Varal before walking over and taking a slender practice sword from the rack. “Now, let’s see if that academy has taught you anything.”

Chapter 9

“Remen Jareks. It’s an honor to meet you, Baron Harven.”

Varal considered the tall, overly thin young man who was offering him a slight bow. The boy was trying to put on a brave face, but it was clear he was nervous. The little things gave it away. The slight quaver in his voice. The way he kept his hands pressed hard against his legs so they wouldn’t tremble. The furious glare that Marida was giving him snapped Varal out of his analysis of the hapless creature that had stumbled into his path.

“It’s nice to meet you, Remen. I’ve heard good things about your father,” said Varal.

He hadn’t even heard of the family before Marida mentioned them, but the countess had assured him years earlier that it was a standard comment. Even so, Remen straightened up, and his smile turned a little more genuine. It was clear that the boy held his father in high esteem.

“Thank you, Baron. I’m sure my father would be flattered to hear that. He’s rarely able to visit the capital.”

Varal thought that a very genteel way to avoid saying they were poor, although it was obvious from the state of the boy’s clothing. It was of good quality, but any house with money to spare would have replaced it long since.

“Of course, I understand,” said Varal. “I’m often needed on my land, so I’m sure he’s needed on his.”

By dismissing that, Varal had also dismissed any underlying concerns that he found the boy too poor to associate with his daughter. The irritating conversational dance concluded, Remen visibly relaxed.

“You have a beautiful home, Baron,” said the boy.

“Thank you, although I can’t take much credit for it,” admitted Varal. “The building came with my elevation to baron, and others put in the hard work of decorating. Marida has been doing more and more of that work the last few years. Left to my own devices, there might be some furniture.”

“That’s not true,” said Marida. “There’d also be weapons.”

“A fair point,” said Varal with a smile, which seemed to reduce the uncertainty on the boy’s face. “Marida, will you check in with the kitchen, please? See how long until dinner will be served.”

Varal had a hard time suppressing his amusement when his daughter pointed at Remen’s back and mouthed the words be nice.

“I’d be happy to,” she said out loud and vanished down a hallway.

“Walk with me,” said Varal to the boy who looked very nervous again.

“Yes, baron.”

Varal led the youth to the same inner courtyard where he’d had a sparring session with daughter earlier.

“How are you finding the academy?” he asked.

A very complicated expression crossed the boy’s face before he managed to smooth it out.

“I’m learning a great deal, sir.”

“I suppose that’s as it should be. It is a school. As you can imagine, I never attended the academy, so all I know about it is what I’m told. What are you studying?”

“Several things. There are the courses in politics and history, which I expect will be useful for some.”

“No ambitions to participate in politics?”

“My family isn’t situated for politics. My father says that we should align ourselves with Duke Mirwell, as he is our liege. I trust that my father knows best about that. I have a limited grasp of and interest in politics.”

Varal nodded and said, “Of course. I’m given to understand that some young nobles find it fashionable to adopt positions contrary to their parents’.”

“Second and third sons and daughters do such things. I’m a first son. If I did that, it would reflect on my father and house. I won’t be the reason my father falls out of favor with Duke Mirwell.”

Varal was quite certain that Duke and Duchess Mirwell were not so petty as to hold anything this boy did against his parent. Even so, it was probably a wise attitude to act as though they might. It was a sensibly cautious path in a world where nobles were often far less noble than they should be. The boy’s earnestness in protecting his house was a little foreign to Varal’s way of thinking. He didn’t really care about being a baron in this kingdom. He was rich enough that he could buy a title, a far better title, in another kingdom. That meant that he could always afford to ensure Marida’s future. Even so, he found Remen’s earnestness admirable in a naïve way.

“A pragmatic attitude,” observed Varal. “And what of your other studies?”

“Then there are the more practical courses in mundane and magical combat, magical theory, and magical crafting of many types,” said Remel, lighting up at the last two. “Professor Amel teaches the introductory magical engineering course. She’s amazing. Brilliant. I’m learning so much from her!”

Remel’s enthusiasm had broken through the veneer of a young noble and exposed the excited boy beneath. His eyes were shining and a grin stretched across his face.

“And what do you find most interesting about magical engineering?”

What came next was a deluge of information that Varal only partially grasped. His own education in magical theory had been…haphazard. He knew a lot about a few, specific things that Erstwhon had covered in depth. But most of that applied to either highly lethal magic or magic related to stealth. The rest had been cobbled together through a combination of experience, reading, and some direct instruction he’d carved out time for. It left his overall understanding of Remel’s energetic discourse uneven. He comprehended enough to understand just why Marida had wanted them to meet. If this youth shored up some shortcomings and could direct that enthusiasm toward specific projects, he could be very valuable. When Remel finally started to wind down, Varal cut in.

“I can see that you’re very excited about your theory and crafting courses. Yet, I sense that you don’t feel the same about classes geared toward combat.”

All of the boy’s passion vanished as though Varal had popped a balloon.

“No, sir. I can’t say that I’m enthusiastic about that.”

“Why is that? Don’t you think it’s important to be able to defend yourself or your house?”

Remel’s eyes went wide like he was afraid he’d offended Varal.

“It’s not that, at all!” he hurriedly said. “I know it’s important. If there’s another war, I’d be called to service. I know that. I also know that if that happened, or I ever get challenged to a duel, I’d be done for.”

“So, why the seeming disinterest.”

“I have no talent for it.”

“No talent for it,” murmured Varal.

He knew that some people were more naturally inclined toward combat than others. Some of it was physical. Some of it was mental. But consistent practice had more to do with basic competence than talent in Varal’s experience. He scrutinized the boy a little more closely. Remel wasn’t just thin, he was gaunt. The kind of gaunt that came from persistently not getting enough food. Varal walked over to the rack of practice weapons and drew two dueling swords. He extended one to the boy, hilt first.

“Show me.”

“I wouldn’t want to waste your time, baron.”

“It’s my time to waste, if it even is a waste. Just show me what you know for now.”

Remel reluctantly took the practice sword and, after a grunt from Varal, assumed a basic stance. He proceeded to move through a series of thrusts, lunges, parries, and everything else that one might expect. The boy’s form was adequate. It was his speed and power that seemed lacking, which just reinforced Varal’s suspicions.

“That’s enough of that for now. Now, attack me.”

Remel looked even more reluctant, but did as he was instructed. There was a short exchange before Varal knocked the practice blade out of the boy’s hand. Remel let out a soft, resigned sigh.

“As I said, baron. No talent.”

“Untrue. You aren’t a born swordsman, but your skill is adequate. What you lack is strength. A situation that can be remedied.”

Remel braced himself like he was waiting for a blow. He no doubt expected Varal to give him some impossible to achieve goal. Like buying more food that he obviously couldn’t afford. If he could afford it, he’d no doubt be eating better. Instead, Varal put the swords back onto the rack.

“Well, I’m sure that dinner must be about finished. The cooks always make too much. I don’t know what army the maids tell them they’re feeding, but you’re young. So, I expect you to do your part and keep them distracted by eating a lot.”

The boy slumped in relief but nodded his head vigorously.

“Of course, Baron. I’ll do my best.”

And Remen did do his best with occasional coaxing from Varal. After the boy had eaten his fill and then some, he departed a much more relaxed person than he had arrived. No sooner was the coach pulling away than Marida turned an expectant look on him.

“What?” he asked, unable to resist teasing the girl.

“You know what? What did you think?”

“About what?”

“Father,” said Marida in a warning tone.

“Yes, he’s clearly very smart. With the proper guidance, I expect he will be very valuable to someone someday. Assuming he doesn’t starve to death in the meantime.”

“What?” demanded Marida. “What are you talking about?”

“I suppose you haven’t seen it often enough to recognize the signs. He isn’t just thin. He’s not eating. I assume because he can’t afford it. I suspect what he just ate was probably the first real meal he’s had in a good long while. It’s the same reason he doesn’t do well in combat. He literally doesn’t have the strength for it. Magic can make up some of the difference, but it’s built on what you have until you reach a certain point. If he’s wandering around with half the natural strength he should have, there’s nothing for the magic to build on. Pair him up against someone who’s eating and exercising regularly, and he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I never realized,” said Marida in a whisper.

There was a long moment of silence before Marida gave him another of those beaming smiles.

“Father,” she said in her most winsome voice.

“No,” he said automatically. “Whatever scheme it is that you’re dreaming up, no.”

“I don’t scheme, Father. You taught me better than that. I plan.”

“No, I plan. You scheme.”

“You should at least hear the plan—”

“Scheme.”

“You should at least hear the plan before you say no.”

He gave his daughter a level look and said, “This had better be a plan and not a scheme.”

Marida told him her plan. And it was a plan, of sorts. It was also definitely a scheme.

“You realize that for this plan of yours to work, I need to actually be in the capital most of the time.”

“Naturally. That’s what I get out of the plan.”

Chapter 10

Varal stepped off the train and looked around at what he could see of the town. At first glance, he wasn’t especially inspired by Emerald Vale. There wasn’t anything specifically wrong with the cottages and shops he could see. It was more an impression of resignation that seemed to permeate the place and everyone in it. The people nodded to each other, but they didn’t smile. They didn’t stop to chat. Some of that was simply the winter weather, but not all of it. This all looked far too familiar to Varal. His own barony had been much the same, and substantially worse in places, when he first took possession of it. Nonetheless, this sense of resignation didn’t bode well for the town’s future.

“Baron, I’ve collected your things,” said Daran. “If you’re ready, we’ve already made arrangements at an inn.”

Varal glanced at Daran. As always, the first thing that sprang to mind was the word average. There was nothing distinguishing about Daran. His hair was a dirty blonde. His eyes were a dull blue. His face was neither handsome nor ugly. Daran was the kind of man that people immediately forgot, which made him an ideal servant. While he was excellent at playing the role of servant, that wasn’t why Varal had employed him. A few years into restoring order in the Harven Barony, Daran had appeared on the Baron’s manor. He’d explained that he was a spy or, more specifically, had been a spy. The most interesting part was that he hadn’t been a spy for the kingdom of Serinar, where the Harven Barony was located. Daran had been a spy for Relgum, the kingdom located to the west.

“You must understand that admitting you were a spy for Relgum isn’t likely to earn my trust.”

“I do,” said Daran. “But I also know that a man with your training will discover that fact, regardless of any lies I might tell.”

“My training?” asked Varal.

“I’ve met men like you before. It happens more often than you might think. Spies and assassins often find themselves directed at the same people, even if it is for somewhat different ends. They have similar skills. Use similar magic. You learn to notice the signs. Besides, I have no doubt that you’d have me investigated. It might take some time, but you would have discovered the truth eventually. Even if you didn’t figure it out that way, you would have inevitably discovered it from my magic or if you tested me in combat. It seemed simpler and, frankly, infinitely safer to just be honest about it. If I’m honest and you turn me down, I expect I have a fairly good chance of leaving here alive. If I lie and you find out about it, I expect that things would not end on such benign terms. And, if you are who I suspect you are, I sincerely doubt I would survive being hunted by you.”

Varal contemplated all that he’d just heard in silence for most of a minute before he spoke again. It was a vexing that this man had recognized him as an assassin. Then again, he supposed that if anyone would recognize that, it would be someone with complementary skills. None of clarified the immediate situation.

“Let’s provisionally say that I accept that everything you’re saying is true, it still does very little to reassure me. After all, even with someone as politically disinterested as me, you’ll likely hear things that would be of interest to your kingdom.”

“It isn’t my kingdom. Not anymore.”

“Why is that?” asked Varal.

“I’m not inclined to help people that intended to let me be executed for an act of treason I never committed.”

“So, you’re a wanted man?”

“Not at all. I’m dead, officially speaking.”

“And how does that work?”

“After I declined to remain in their cozy dungeon, they found someone who looked like me to execute instead,” said Daran. “Despite my best efforts, I still have no idea who he was.”

“Why the interest?”

“It’s possible they found some prisoner who deserved that death. In which case, I have no interest. It’s equally possible that they found some innocent and murdered him in my place. In that case, I am very interested.”

“And if they did find some innocent?”

“Then, I will wait. Sooner or later, they’ll grow lax in their search for me. Complacent. When that time comes, I will return to my homeland and express my displeasure with all involved.”

Varal studied the man sitting across from him. He didn’t fully understand the man’s motivations. Guilt and innocence had rarely been a concern for Varal as an assassin. Admittedly, most of the people he’d been hired to kill had been guilty of something. That had made it easier to do the work. In the end, though, he had simply been a blade that was aimed by money. He didn’t have a code beyond the one that Erstwhon had given him. And that code had been simple. Kill the person you were hired to kill. Of course, things had changed after the guild had been disbanded. Even then, his code remained simple. Kill those who threaten what is yours. Since the only thing he cared enough about to think of as his was Marida, his killings had remained very focused.

Daran had clearly had other motivations. He felt betrayed, or at least he was pretending he felt betrayed, by his nation. That suggested that man had become a spy out of patriotism, a sentiment that Varal didn’t share. His only interest in the kingdom of Serinar and its continued existence was that it provided a relatively stable place for Merida to live. That didn’t mean he could be oblivious. If this Daran passed along sensitive information, it could come back to make like difficult for Varal and his daughter.

“I’ll admit that some of this is intriguing,” said Varal, “and I see no reason to obstruct you. I have limited business interests in Regnum. A certain amount of chaos there might even serve a few of my goals.”

“The slaves,” said Daran.

It was a statement. He knew. Varal suppressed an urge to kill the man immediately. The circle of knowledge about that particular project was exceedingly small, but it seemed someone had spoken without sufficient care. Seeming to read his mind and intentions, Daral held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“The fault isn’t with your people. It’s known in certain circles that someone has been making an effort to retrieve the children from this kingdom sold into slavery in Regnum. Retrieve them through any means necessary when their owners prove intractable. I spent an unreasonable amount of time and effort putting together enough information to make the educated guess that it was you.”

“Why?” asked Varal, still debating with himself whether he could allow this man to leave the grounds.

“I didn’t pick you at random. If I am to remain in this kingdom and go undiscovered, I need someone who understands discretion. I also need someone who wouldn’t necessarily care about my background. Most importantly, I needed someone that I could help achieve their own goals immediately. The list was short.”

“And just how is it that you can help me?”

“While I can’t go back right now for obvious reasons, I can offer you a wealth of information and contacts that could accelerate your efforts by years.”

“While at the same time letting me know that you can hamper my efforts by exposing me.”

Daran shook his head.

“Trust was always going to be the main obstacle in coming here. How can you trust what I say? How can you trust what I’ll do?”

“An insurmountable problem from where I sit,” observed Varal.

“Not with this,” said Daran, slowly reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a pendant on a chain. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a servitude pendant.”

“Just so. If we make bargain, you can use this to ensure that I’ve told you no lies and cannot knowingly work against your interests.”

This was a tactic that Varal hadn’t expected. Servitude pendants weren’t common in Serinar, but that was a matter of tradition rather than law. The pendants weren’t slave collars. They were, by nature, voluntary, which meant that both sides had to agree on the terms before it could be activated. So, it wouldn’t work as a stand-in slave collar that made Daran do whatever he wanted. It functioned as a kind of magical contract that enforced both sides. Varal couldn’t simply renege on his side of the deal. If he said he’d do it, the magic would make him do it as long as he was able to do so. Daran would face the same. It was the ideal tool for a situation like this, where trust was low but the potential benefits were high.

“I have a general understanding of what I stand to gain from this. You can give me information and even serve as something of spymaster for me, both of which are useful. But what do you stand to gain, aside from being shielded from prying eyes? What is it that you’re looking for? Money?”

“Money is always helpful,” said Daran, “but it’s not my main goal. I have some of the skills and magic I need if I have to go back, but not all of them. What I want from you is training.”

Varal stared at the other man for a long time after that revelation. Anyone else, he probably would have turned them down on the spot. It wasn’t simply learning information, techniques, and magic. Most people could do that if they tried hard enough and weren’t hamstrung by unfortunate magical affinities. There were habits and instincts that became increasingly difficult to train as someone aged. That was why Erstwhon had taken Varal in as a child. The guild master had wanted to train those habits and instincts into someone before they could develop other, less helpful ones.

But Daran was right that spies and assassins tread some of the same ground. Varal wouldn’t need to rebuild the man from the ground up. The spy likely already had some of the right instincts and training in place. He could simply expand on what was already there.

“Let’s say that I’m interested. What kind of terms did you have in mind?”

Now, as Varal looked at Daran standing on that train platform, he snorted. The servitude pendant was long gone. It had never been necessary, although Varal had no way of knowing that at the time. Daran was a man who returned loyalty for loyalty. Keep your word to him, and there was no length he wouldn’t go to return that kindness. The people who decided to throw him to the wolves back in Regnum had been fools. Not that any of them were still alive to regret that choice, or the choice to execute some innocent citizen whose only crime had been looking like Daran.

Varal had taken it upon himself at the time to visit certain people in Regnum’s royal palace. He’d suggested, ever so gently, that they look the other way concerning the rash of recent killings. That it had been a personal matter and was now settled. He might have also told them to stop looking for Daran. That the man had new employment that would keep him out of Regnum. At least, it would for as long as no one did anything stupid. He’d only needed to kill three spymasters and leave a vial of poison next to the king’s sleeping head before they took his gracious offer.

“Baron?” asked Daran.

“Just thinking about old times. Let’s get to the inn.”