Crown Prince Cayleb knew he was staring at his totally unanticipated rescuer, but he couldn't help it. The newcomer looked unlike anyone he'd ever seen before. His complexion was paler even than Father Paityr Wylsynn's, and Cayleb had never seen eyes of such a deep, dark blue. Yet while Father Paityr's complexion and gray eyes went with an unruly shock of bright red hair, this man's hair was as dark as Cayleb's own. And he was taller even than Cayleb by a full two inches.
He was also quite improbably handsome, in spite of the thin, white scar which seamed his right cheek. In some ways, his features were almost effeminate, despite his fiercely waxed mustachios and neat dagger beard, yet that, like the piratical-looking scar, only gave his face a certain exotic cast. All in all, a most impressive character, and one who'd arrived at the proverbial last second.
Which, of course, raised the question of just how he'd managed to do that. Cayleb might not have been the most bookish scholar his tutors had ever encountered, but he'd been well grounded in basic logic, history, and statecraft, and his father had personally undertaken his instruction in the essential suspicion any head of state required. While he was perfectly well aware that coincidences truly did happen, he was also aware that some "coincidences" were made to happen. Especially when the people responsible for them were engaged in a shadowy struggle for the highest stakes imaginable.
"I hope you'll forgive me for pointing this out," the prince said, without cleaning or sheathing his own blade, "but you appear to have a certain advantage. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are, sir."
"Which must certainly appear suspicious under the circumstances, Your Highness," the stranger observed with a smile, and bowed ever so slightly. "I'm called Merlin, Prince Cayleb, Merlin Athrawes, and the reason the circumstances appear suspicious is because they are. I scarcely happened along by accident, and explaining exactly how I did come to arrive will require some time. For now, however—" He bent and ripped a handful of fabric from his last, whimpering victim's tunic, used it to wipe his blade, and sheathed the steel smoothly. "—both this fellow here and Lieutenant Falkhan would seem to require a little attention."
Cayleb twitched as he was reminded, and looked quickly at the lieutenant. Falkhan sat on the pine needles, his eyes glassy as he used both hands to stanch the flow of blood from his wounded thigh, and the crown prince took a quick step in his direction. Then he froze, his eyes whipping back to "Merlin," as he realized how thoroughly and effortlessly the stranger had redirected his attention.
But the other man simply stood there, arms folded across his chest, and raised one sardonic eyebrow.
Cayleb flushed. On the other hand, if the stranger had wished him harm, there'd been no reason to interfere in the ambush in the first place. That didn't mean he might not have some deeper, subtly inimical purpose in mind, but it seemed unlikely that burying a dagger in the prince's back was among his immediate plans.
The crown prince dropped to his knees beside Falkhan. Rather than waste time cleaning his own sword and returning it to the scabbard, he laid it on the pine needles, then drew his dagger and began slicing open the leg of the lieutenant's breeches.
The wound was ugly enough, and bleeding freely, but without the heavy, pulsing flow of arterial blood. He unbuttoned the huntsman's pouch on his left hip and quickly extracted the rolled bandage of boiled cotton. He covered the wound with a pad of fleming moss, then wrapped the bandage tightly around Falkhan's thigh, applying pressure to the wound. If pressure and the absorbent, healing moss didn't stop the bleeding, he had a packet of curved needles and boiled thread to close the wound with stitches, but he was scarcely a trained surgeon. He preferred to leave that sort of repair to someone who knew what he was doing.
The lieutenant had slumped back, eyes closed, while the prince worked on him. By the time Cayleb tied the bandage off, though, Falkhan's eyes were open once more.
The Marine turned his head, and his mouth tightened with more than the physical pain of his own wound as he saw Dragoner's and Dymytree's bodies. Then he looked outward, at the sprawled corpses of the assassins, and his eyes narrowed as he saw the mysterious Merlin kneeling beside the one surviving attacker. Merlin's hands had been busy attending to the other man's wounds even as Cayleb saw to Falkhan's, although it was apparent from the assassin's sounds that the stranger wasn't wasting a great deal of gentleness upon him.
Falkhan's head rolled back, his gaze met Cayleb's, and both eyebrows rose in question. Cayleb looked back at him, then shrugged. The lieutenant grimaced, then pushed himself up—with the prince's assistance and a grunt of pain—into a sitting position. Cayleb positioned himself unobtrusively to allow the Marine to lean back against him, and Falkhan cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," he said, looking up at the man who'd saved not only the prince's life, but his own, "but I think we need a few answers, sir."
The man who'd introduced himself to Cayleb as "Merlin"—and who had decided he really needed to work on never thinking of himself as Nimue Alban—smiled. The expression was rather more confident than he actually felt, but he'd known this moment, or one very like it, was going to come.
Well, not exactly like this one, he amended. It was sheer serendipity that his SNARC had not only stumbled across the plot to assassinate Crown Prince Cayleb but that he'd actually managed to arrive in time to help foil it.
Good thing I did, too. I already knew Cayleb was a good-looking kid, but I hadn't realized quite how much presence he has. Especially for someone who's barely nineteen standard. If I can just get him to trust me, I can do something with him.
Assuming, of course, that I can figure out a way to go on keeping him alive.
"I am known," he told Falkhan, "as I've already informed Prince Cayleb, as Merlin Athrawes. And I'm not at all surprised you have questions, Lieutenant Falkhan. I certainly would, in your place. And while I may be confident I cherish no ill designs upon the Prince, there's no reason you should feel that way. So, if you have questions I can answer, ask them."
Falkhan cocked his head, his expression wary, then bought a little time by easing his wounded leg's position with a wince of pain which was not at all feigned. He was uncomfortably aware that his own light-headedness scarcely made this the ideal time for a probing, insightful interrogation. Unfortunately, this was the only time—and the only wit—he had. Besides, something about Merlin's manner made him suspect he would be outclassed in any battle of wits with him at the best of times.
"Since you've been courteous enough to acknowledge that my duty to my Prince requires me to be suspicious of apparent coincidences," he said, after a moment, "perhaps you might begin by telling me how you happened along at such an extremely . . . opportune moment."
Cayleb stirred slightly behind him, but stilled as Falkhan reached back unobtrusively and squeezed his ankle. He knew the crown prince well enough to be aware that, despite Cayleb's own recognition of the need to be cautious, he retained sufficient of childhood's romantic faith in heroic ballads—and how the characters in them ought to act—to feel uncomfortable at such a direct challenge.
But this Athrawes (and what sort of surname was that, anyway?) seemed more amused then offended. He took time to recheck his rough but efficient repairs to the crippled assassin, then folded down gracefully to sit tailor-fashion on the pine needles.
"To begin at the beginning, Lieutenant," he said then, in that strangely clipped accent, "I come from the Mountains of Light. Although I wasn't born there, I've made my home among their peaks for many years, and after long and careful study, I've been blessed with some, at least, of the powers of a seijin."
Falkhan's eyes narrowed, and Cayleb inhaled audibly behind him. The Mountains of Light contained the second-holiest site of Safehold, the mighty peak of Mount Olympus, where the Archangel Langhorne had first set foot upon the solid earth of Safehold when God established the firmament in the misty dawn of creation. And the seijin were a legend in their own right—warriors, holy men, sometimes prophets and sometimes teachers. Only the archangels themselves could endure surgoi kasai, God's own mystic fire, but the seijin had been touched by anshinritsumei, God's "little fire," and it rendered them men forever set apart from other mortals.
To the lieutenant's knowledge, no authentic seijin had ever visited the Kingdom of Charis, and the mere fact that someone claimed to be one proved nothing. Although, he conceded, it would take more nerve than most people possessed to claim seijin status falsely.
"That's . . . an interesting statement, sir," Falkhan said slowly, after a moment.
"And one difficult to prove," Merlin agreed. "Believe me, Lieutenant, you can't be more aware of that fact than I am." He smiled wryly and leaned back, stroking one waxed mustachio with the fingers of his right hand. "In fact, I must admit that I never anticipated I might find myself called to such a role. Still, I believe the Writ warns us that our tasks in life will seek us out, wherever we may be, and whatever we may plan."
Falkhan nodded. Again, he had the distinct impression that Athrawes was amused by his questions, his suspicion. Still, he sensed no malice in the other man. His own current dizziness made him distrust his instincts, yet he found he felt more curious than threatened.
"For quite some time," Merlin continued, his expression more serious, "I've been gifted with the Sight. I sometimes see events which take place thousands of miles away, although I've never seen into the future or the past, as some have claimed to do. That ability to see distant events is what led me to Charis at this time. While I may not be able to see the future, I have seen other visions—visions concerning Charis, Crown Prince Cayleb and his father, and their enemies. Somehow I find it difficult to believe such visions would be given to me if I weren't meant to act upon them."
"Forgive me," Cayleb said, his expression intent, "but if, as you say, you can't see the future, then how did you know about this?"
He took one hand from Falkhan's shoulder and waved at the carnage all about them.
"Your Highness," Merlin said, almost gently, "surely you aren't so . . . naïve as to believe this attack simply materialized out of thin air this morning? You have enemies, Prince. Enemies who, whether they realize it or not, serve darkness, and I've seen many visions of their plans and plots, of correspondence and orders passing between them. I've known for almost half a year that they intended to bring about your death in any way they could. This isn't their first plan, but simply the first which came this close to success. I've been traveling from the Temple Lands to Charis for many five-days now, ever since I became aware that they were preparing to move from mere plans to actual execution, if you'll pardon the choice of words."
He smiled, showing improbably white, perfect teeth, and Cayleb frowned.
"Don't think me ungrateful," he said, "but I find it difficult to believe I'm so righteous that God Himself would send a seijin to save me."
"I suspect you're more righteous than many, Your Highness. Possibly even than most—after all, at your age, how much opportunity have you had to become unrighteous?" Merlin chuckled and shook his head. "However, I'm not at all sure your personal righteousness has anything to do with it. You seem a nice enough young man, but I rather suspect that what brought me here has more to do with what you may accomplish in the future than anything you've already done."
"Accomplish in the future?" Cayleb stiffened, and Merlin shrugged.
"As I've already said, Your Highness, it's never been given to me to see the future. I do, however, see the patterns of the present, and what I've seen of your father's rule gives me a very good opinion of him. I know." He held up one hand with an easy smile. "I know! Presumptuous of me to judge the worth of any king, and especially of a king not my own! Still, there it is. His people are happy and prosperous and, until . . . certain other parties began actively plotting against him, they were secure, as well. And he's spent years training you, which suggests you would continue in the same mold as king. At any rate, and for whatever reason those visions have come to me, it seemed evident your enemies were prepared—or preparing—to strike directly at either you, your father, or both. There was nothing I could do about it from my home, and so I took ship for Charis. I arrived three days ago, aboard Captain Charlz' ship."
"Marik Charlz?" Falkhan asked more sharply than he'd intended to, and Merlin nodded.
"Yes. I traveled cross-country to Siddar, and I was fortunate enough to find Wave Daughter there with a load of Zebediahan tea. Captain Charlz had run into some sort of problem with the Customs officers which took several five-days to straighten out, but he'd finally gotten it taken care of just before I arrived. He was headed home with a cargo of Siddarmark brandy, and I needed a ride." Merlin smiled again. "If the good Captain is typical of the way you Charisians haggle, it's small wonder so many envy your trading ships' successes!"
"Captain Charlz drives a hard bargain," Falkhan agreed. "I suppose it comes from all the years he spent as a purser in the Navy."
"You need more practice at trapping liars, Lieutenant," Merlin told him with a chuckle. "Captain Charlz was never a purser. In fact, I believe he told me he holds a reserve commission in your navy. As a full ship master, if I recall correctly." Cayleb snorted behind Falkhan, and Merlin winked at the crown prince. "Besides," he added, "it would be particularly stupid of me to give you the name of both captain and ship if I were lying, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, it would," Falkhan acknowledged. "Still, given the . . . uncanny nature of your tale, I'm sure you realize we will be speaking to Captain Charlz?"
Merlin simply nodded, with another small smile, and Falkhan inhaled deeply.
"So. You arrived in Tellesberg three days ago. Why didn't you make your presence known sooner?"
"Oh, come now, Lieutenant!" This time Merlin laughed out loud. "Suppose I'd walked up to the palace gate three days ago, rung the bell, and informed the commander of the Palace Guard that I'd journeyed all the way from the Temple Lands to Charis because I had a vision that the Crown Prince was in danger, and could I possibly have a personal audience with him to explain all that, please? Given all the political currents and crosscurrents swirling about between Charis, Emerald, Corisande, and Tarot, how do you think Colonel Ropewalk would have reacted?"
"Not well," Falkhan admitted, noting once more that whoever and whatever else this Athrawes might actually be, he was fiendishly well informed about events and people here in Charis.
"-'Not well' is putting it mildly, Lieutenant." Merlin snorted. "I'm sure he would've been at least reasonably polite about it, but I'd still be sitting in a cell somewhere while he tried to figure out which of your many enemies had sent me." He shook his head. "I'm afraid Colonel Ropewalk doesn't have a very trusting disposition."
"Which is why he's the commander of the Palace Guard," Falkhan pointed out.
"I'm sure. But without any way to prove my bona fides, it seemed best to me to find myself an inn and take a room while I waited to see what would happen next. At that time, I had no knowledge of any immediate, specific threat to the King or to the Prince. Indeed," Merlin said with total honesty, "it was only late yesterday evening that I became aware of this particular plot. In my visions, I'd already seen these men's commander"—a jerk of his head indicated the bodies sprawled around them—"receiving instructions and passing on instructions of his own. But only last night did I 'see' him issuing the orders for this attack. And, by the way, it was he who saw to it that one of the Prince's huntsmen heard about this slash lizard, as well. I'm afraid he and his masters had a very good idea of how the Prince would react to the news.
"Thanks to my vision, I knew what was intended, but I had absolutely no evidence I could have presented to anyone. Had I been in your boots, Lieutenant, I would have been most suspicious of any total stranger who arrived on my doorstep this morning with tales of hidden assassins lurking in the forest. I would have had the stranger in question detained, at least until I could get to the bottom of his preposterous story. Which would just happen to have put the only person—other than the murderers, of course—who knew anything about the plan in a position from which he could accomplish nothing. So instead of trying to warn you, I came ahead, determined to do what I could to spoil their plans myself."
Merlin paused, and his strange sapphire eyes darkened as he gazed briefly at the two dead Marines.
"I regret that I couldn't find a way to do it which would have kept the rest of your men alive, Lieutenant. Perhaps if I could see the future, I might have been able to."
Falkhan sat silent for several minutes, gazing at the blue-eyed stranger. The lieutenant felt certain there were a great many things this Athrawes wasn't telling, or was glossing over. And yet he also felt oddly certain the mysterious foreigner truly did wish young Cayleb well. And whatever else he might be up to, without his intervention, the prince would most assuredly be dead at this moment. Moreover, it was Athrawes who'd seen to it that they had at least one of the assassins to interrogate, which he would hardly have done if that interrogation might implicate him in any plots.
It was always possible Athrawes, or someone he worked for, had designs of his own upon Charis. He might know exactly who'd sent the assassins and be working at cross-purposes to that particular enemy without being a friend himself. At the same time, however, he'd provided a wealth of detail about his own arrival in Charis which could be readily checked, and it might well be possible to test his claim to see "visions," as well.
For the moment, the lieutenant decided, he had no choice but to take the seijin claim at least tentatively seriously. Where that might lead if, indeed, it proved accurate was anyone's guess.
Except, of course, that those who wished his kingdom ill would not be at all pleased to hear about it.