King of Foxes. Raymond E. Feist

with Tal’s dagger at his throat.

      ‘Why are you following me?’ Tal asked, his voice a hissed whisper lest he arouse those asleep upstairs above the shop.

      The man was quick, for his hands were moving towards his own dagger before the last syllable was uttered. He was also no fool, for he recognized he was in a hopeless situation a scant moment before Talon would be forced to plunge the blade into his throat. He slowly raised his hands to show they were empty. In a whisper, he answered, ‘Magnificence! I mean you no harm! My sword and dagger are still at my belt!’ He spoke in the language of the Kingdom of the Isles.

      ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I am Petro Amafi.’

      ‘Amafi? That’s Quegan. But you speak the language of the Isles.’

      ‘I have resided in Salador many years now and, to tell the truth, my command of the Roldemish tongue is lacking, so I employ the King’s Tongue.’

      ‘Tell me, Amafi, why are you following me?’ Tal repeated.

      ‘I am an assassin by trade. I have been paid to kill you.’

      Tal took a step back, leaving his blade against the man’s throat, but gaining a perspective on him.

      Petro Amafi was a half-head shorter than Tal’s two inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His clothing marked him as a foreigner; he wore a curious long tunic, gathered at the waist by a black leather belt, and rather than the long wide-bottomed trousers affected by the style-conscious in Roldem this season, he wore leggings and a courtier’s slippers. He sported a moustache and goatee and upon his head he wore a felted wool beret with a clasp and feather on the left side. His face was narrow, with deep eyes that revealed his menace more than his vulpine appearance. ‘You mean me no harm, but you’re an assassin sent to kill me. Something of a contradiction, don’t you agree?’ observed Tal.

      ‘I gain nothing by hiding the truth, Magnificence. My life is preserved by your ignorance. Should you kill me this moment, you will wonder who hired me.’

      Tal chuckled. ‘That is true. So, then, we are at an impasse, for should you tell me, then I must kill you. So it is to your benefit not to tell me. But as I cannot spend the rest of my life waiting for you to divulge who sent you, so I gain nothing by keeping you alive.’

      ‘Wait!’ said Amafi, holding out his hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I did not come to kill you. I was hired to do so, but I have been observing you since nearly a week before you departed Salador and I wish to bargain.’

      ‘For your life?’

      ‘More, Magnificence. Let me serve.’

      ‘You’d take service with me?’ said Tal in dubious tones.

      ‘Willingly, Your Magnificence. Any man of your skills would be a worthy master, for I have seen you duel in the Court of Blades in Salador, and I’ve watched from the corner as you play cards in the ale houses; you win just enough to raise no suspicions, yet you are a master cheat. You are welcome in the homes of the great and near-great. You are admired by men and desired by women. What’s more, no one has ever done what you just have, turned me from hunter to hunted. But most telling of all, you are Champion of the Masters’ Court, the greatest blade in the world, and a rumour circulates that you are secretly in the service of Duke Kaspar of Olasko, and one who serves such as Kaspar can only prosper greatly. I wish to prosper greatly with you.’

      He gently moved the tip of Tal’s blade away from his throat with one finger, and Tal permitted it. ‘As you can see, Magnificence, I am getting on in years, nearly sixty of them. The assassin’s trade requires skills that are fading as I age. I must think of my latter days, and while I have kept some part of the fees paid me over the years, it is not enough. I have fallen on hard times.’

      Tal laughed. ‘Bad investments?’

      Amafi nodded. ‘A trading concern out of Salador, most recently. No, I wish to take my bloody skills and use them to a more permanent advantage. Were I your man, then I would rise with you. Do you see?’

      Tal put away his dagger. ‘How can I trust you?’

      ‘I will swear an oath in whatever temple you require.’

      Tal considered. Few men would willingly break oath, even if they weren’t as honour-bound as the Orosini. ‘Who told you I was in Kaspar’s service?’

      ‘A rumour here, there, nothing more. You were reported to have been seen in the region of Latagore where Duke Kaspar has interests, and it is well known he sought you out after you won the competition at the Masters’ Court two years ago. Duke Kaspar employs only the most gifted and ambitious young men, so it is assumed you are his.’

      ‘Well, I’m not,’ replied Tal, intentionally turning his back on Amafi. He knew he took a risk, for as much as the assassin claimed age was slowing him down, Tal judged him capable of a swift attack from behind if given the opportunity. The attack didn’t come.

      Instead, Amafi fell into step beside Tal. ‘You wish to know who sent me?’

      ‘Yes,’ replied Tal.

      ‘Lord Piotre Miskovas, though I am not supposed to know this.’

      ‘He does hold a grudge,’ observed Tal. ‘I haven’t slept with his wife in more than two years.’

      ‘As I understand it, she became intoxicated at a gala given by Lady Amsha Detoris, and threw the facts of your … liaison into her husband’s face over supper some months after you last left the city. The couple are yet not reconciled and she abides in her suites here in the city, while he resides at their estates in the country. He blames you.’

      ‘He should look to his own philandering,’ remarked Tal, ‘for had he not been so quick to bed every pretty face he saw, his wife would not have been so eager to receive my attentions.’

      ‘Perhaps, Magnificence, but it takes a man of unusual character to openly confront his own shortcomings. It’s so much more convenient to blame others.

      ‘Upon hearing of your planned return, he sought out an assassin – far less discreetly than he should have – and I was hired to remove this –’ he pointed at Tal ‘– blot on his honour. He was at least intelligent enough to have used a … broker … in Salador, lest blame fall upon him here in Roldem. I have “failed”, so I am honour-bound to return his gold, and seek to turn this failure into a triumph. Employ me, Magnificence, and I will serve you. My oath upon it!’

      Tal considered his next move. He had been back in Roldem for less than a day and needed reliable eyes and ears. ‘Until such time as you can successfully betray me without risk?’

      Amafi grinned. ‘Possibly, my lord, for I have never been a man of constant heart. But oath-breaking does not come easily even to one such as me, and given your rare talents I suspect such a time would never exist, for it would require an opportunity to become even richer than I hope to become in your service.’

      Tal laughed. Amafi had a refreshing candour that made Tal think he could trust the assassin – up to a point, anyway – and as long as he didn’t attempt to press him beyond that point, he should prove a reliable servant. ‘Very well, let us to the Temple of Lims-Kragma, where you will swear an oath.’

      Amafi grimaced. ‘I was thinking perhaps Ruthia or Astalon,’ he said, naming the Goddess of Luck and the God of Justice.

      ‘I think wagering your chance at being reborn to a higher station a good hedge against betrayal,’ said Talon, putting away his weapon. ‘Come along. And, we must work on your Roldemish. We may be here a while.’

      If Amafi thought even for an instant to draw his weapon and strike, he masked the impulse completely, quickly moving to fall into step beside his new master as they vanished into the fog shrouding the city.

      The magician stood in the corner, his features veiled in shadow. Tal knew his face even if he couldn’t see it in the gloom. A single