“I killed him.”
Halting, Trian stared at him. “You chill me to the bone! To speak of such a thing so carelessly-”
“Why the hell should I care?” Hugh kept walking and Trian had to hurry to catch up. “When the bastard found out who I was, he came at me with his sword. I fought him-bare-handed. The sword ended up in his belly. I swore it was an accident, and the sheriff believed me. After all, I was only a boy and my ‘noble’ father was well-known for his lecherous ways-girls, youths, it didn’t matter to him. I didn’t tell anyone who I was, but let them think I was someone my father had abducted. The Kir had seen to it that I was well-educated. I can sound high-bred when I want to. The sheriff assumed I was some nobleman’s son, stolen to feed my father’s lust. He was more than willing to hush up the old lech’s death, rather than start a blood feud.”
“But it wasn’t an accident, was it?”
A stone turned under Trian’s foot. He reached out instinctively to Hugh, who caught the wizard’s elbow and steadied him. They were descending, moving deeper and deeper into the monastery’s interior.
“No, it wasn’t an accident. I wrested the sword from him; it was easy, he was drunk. I spoke my mother’s name, told him where she was buried, and stuck the blade in his gut. He died too quick. I’ve learned, since then.”
Trian was pale, silent. Lifting the glowlamp in its iron lantern, he flashed it into Hugh’s deeply lined, grim face. “The prince must not suffer,” the wizard said.
“So, back to business.” Hugh grinned at him. “And we were having such a pleasant chat. What did you hope to find out? That I’m not as bad as my reputation? Or the opposite? That I’m worse.”
Trian was apparently not to be drawn off onto any side paths. Keeping his hand on Hugh’s arm, he leaned close, speaking softly, though the only ones to hear them that the assassin could see were bats.
“It must be swift and clean. Unexpected. No fear. Perhaps, in his sleep. There are poisons-”
Hugh jerked his arm from the man’s touch. “I know my business. I’ll handle it that way, if that’s what you want. You’re the customer. Or rather, I take it you speak for the customer.”
“That is what we want.”
Reassured, sighing, Trian walked only a short distance further, then halted before another locked door. Instead of opening it, he placed the glowlamp on the floor and indicated with a motion of his hand that Hugh was to look inside. Stooping, placing his eye to the keyhole, the assassin peered into the room.
The Hand rarely felt emotion of any sort, never showed it. In this instance, however, his bored and disinterested glance through the keyhole at his intended victim sharpened to an intense, narrow-eyed stare. He was not looking at the plotting, scheming youth of eighteen who had sprung from Hugh’s reasoning. Curled up on a pallet, fast asleep, was a towheaded, wistful-faced child who could not be older than ten.
Slowly Hugh straightened. The wizard, lifting the glowlamp, scanned the assassin’s face. It was dark and frowning, and Trian sighed again, his delicate brows creased in worry. Placing a finger on his lips, he led Hugh to another room two doors down from the first. He unlocked it with the key, drew Hugh inside and softly shut the door.
“Ah,” the wizard said softly, “there’s a problem, isn’t there?”
Hugh gave the room in which they stood a swift and comprehensive glance, then looked back at the anxious magus. “Yeah, I could use a smoke. They took my pipe away from me in prison. Got another?”
CHAPTER 6
KIR MONASTERY, VOLKARAN ISLES, MID REALM
“BUT YOU FROWNED, YOU SEEMED ANGRY. I ASSUMED-”
“-that I was feeling squeamish about butchering a small child?”
It is his privilege to die an innocent child, and escape the evil to which mankind is heir. The words came to him from the past. It was this dark and chill room, the cracked stone walls that brought the memory back to him. Hugh drove it down into the depths of his mind, sorry he’d recalled it. A warming blaze burned in the firepit. He lifted a coal with the tongs and held it to the bowl of a pipe the magus had produced from a pack lying on the floor. Stephen, it seemed, had thought of everything.