The Way of Caine ,The Warcaster Chronicl - By Miles Holmes Page 0,45

Rynnard was an old man. It was not impossible, and Thaddeus here might well be putting on a show for Caine. He looked up from the ledger, regarding the man before him as he might a card player.

“Oh, I suppose you should kill me. This was wrong from the beginning. I begged him against it!” Thaddeus lowered his head, pulling his spectacles from his head to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Who? Who did you beg?”

Thaddeus looked alarmed, instantly covering his mouth. Caine shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“This is Rynnard’s show, isn’t it?” Caine glared at Thaddeus over the top of the ledger. The treasurer said nothing, only keeping his head low.

Downstairs, there came a pounding at the door. Caine looked at Montague sharply, while Montague himself blanched. With a growl, Caine stood up and grabbed the treasurer by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him out to the balcony. Below, they could see a squad of city guard, knocking at the door. Caine pointed a Spellstorm in Montague’s face, then pointed to the roof above them. The man nodded, shivering in the cool night air. Caine boosted him up, and then flashed himself there an instant later. Montague jumped, startled by the display, but kept quiet. Below, they could hear the door being smashed open. Guards stormed in.

Caine kept the gun to Thaddeus forehead, and listened. Room by room they moved, calling for Montague. Finally, they were right below, looking out at the balcony.

“He’s not here, sir!” came the shout in Llaelese.

“I can see that, idiot. Would you like to inform his majesty of this yourself?”

“N-no. No, sir!” Then, as quickly as they had come, the guards stomped out.

Caine laughed at the timid man next to him, as the pair sat still on the roof.

“Why all this … subterfuge, Montague? If Rynnard wants Leto gone so bad, why not just supply the nobles without all this?” The distraught man nodded. A weight seemed to lift from him with each bob of his head.

“He wanted to be able to distance himself from it, if there was a chance it came to light. Plausible deniability. It’s ambitious. He knew it could blow up in his face, and we’re supposed to be your allies after all. You are Cygnaran, yes? The accent … from around Orven?”

“Bainsmarket, actually,” Caine corrected, as he glanced back at the ledger.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Thaddeus sighed, despondent.

Caine looked up at the stars as the odd pair continued to sit on the sloped copper roof. Dawn was coming, maybe another couple of hours. By Morrow, what a night. He had the ledger and the man, too. By Rebald’s order, what came next was clear enough.

And yet.

His hand was reluctant to point a Spellstorm at Montague anymore. Instead, he holstered it, and reached into his pocket for a trinket he’d been given in Ceryl. He found it easily enough. Caine turned it over in his hand, and thought about the words of the man who’d given it to him: Lord Brigham Walder. Montague saw the gleam of it and looked over with interest.

“What is that?”

Caine looked up, as if breaking from a trance.

“I reckon it’s the reason I’m not going to kill you. No matter how dear that decision might cost me.”

Montague blinked.

Caine and Montague tinked glasses and the fourth round of brandy disappeared in a sudden warm rush.

“Every day! She used to bake them ev’ry day! You wound’t be’lieev how good they were,” Montague slurred, eyes wide at Caine. For his part, Caine had only managed to get tipsy, but with each new round, the aches and pains of the day receded a little further. In fact, when he’d gone down for the bottle and glasses, he’d managed to patch himself up with some bandages and a cooling balm. It felt wonderful on his shoulder. On the whole, he felt surprisingly good, despite the fact that just about everything he’d touched in the past week was a smoking disaster.

He leaned back on the slope of the roof, looking up at the stars.

“Just remember what I said about yuir brother, Montague,” he said. “If he sold yeh out once, he’ll do it agin.” Montague’s eyes were instantly glistening, and he rubbed them with a sleeve.

“Thaddeus, Caine. Call me Thaddeus. Kreel, … my brudder, ... he … wasn’t always like this. Before he started playing cards …”

“Don’t yeh make excuses for him!” Caine snapped with surprising anger. “I mean ... well ...”

“What … will happ’n to you now?”