"I don't take myself for so famous, Old Fisher. Beyond the Seven Seas Kingdoms, perhaps only sardines know my name."

  "Let us speak of business, my lords." Loren the night watchman was eager to make a good impression on the prince—though by his earlier showing, he'd failed roundly. "The headman sent me to—"

  "The headman wants me to take them over Kulen Mountain. Am I right?"

  "Ah." The watchman faltered. "Yes. That's it."

  Wally Laren Ctiton smiled at Loren, then waved him off. The watchman bowed, reluctant, and left.

  "Fewer ears make for freer speech."

  "Just so, Highness."

  Henris Weber Ian did not stand idle. He took the chance to stroll the perimeter of Old Fisher's shack, seemingly aimless, but in truth taking stock of the old man's circumstances. (You'll see nothing.) The killer sneered inwardly. (Those two are likely shark-chewed bones by now.) At the same time, the prowling quashed any notion Bryce Banhart had of inviting them inside. (This one bears watching.) He flicked a glance at Henris. (He may become trouble.)

  "Then you must already know our difficulty, good sir." The prince looked for a seat, but the damp crates and waterlogged barrels promised nothing but misery. "We mean to support Cynthia—drive those damned southerners back to their kennels. So we must cross Kulen Mountain. The headman says it's the quickest route."

  "That's true enough."

  "And you're the only man in the village who knows the safe road."

  "I'm the only man who has crossed Kulen Mountain alone," he corrected. "But I'll tell you plain, Highness—there's no such thing as a safe road. Coming down alive from that mountain is a matter of luck. Nothing more."

  "Then your luck must run deep, Fisher." The prince shrugged.

  "Handsome scales," Henris remarked from the shack's threshold, holding a palm-sized, iridescent plate up to the sunlight. "What manner of fish wears these? I have some memory of it, but it escapes me."

  (That damned mermaid's scale.) He nearly said it aloud. "Forgive me, my lord, but I'm not certain myself." He spread his hands in a show of helplessness. "I bought it at a market stall in Cynthia and never looked at it twice. Where did you find the thing?"

  "Right at your doorstep, good sir."

  "Well then, seems the trinket's taken to sulking." He took the mermaid scale back from Henris, thanked him, and hurled it hard into the sea. "Off with you, gaudy little thing."

  "Let me say it again." Wally Laren Ctiton's voice had an edge now, his patience worn thin by the interruption. "We need a guide who can lead me and my army safely across that mountain."

  "Very well, Highness," he said. "I do know a road that's less dangerous. Mark me well, Highness—less dangerous, not without danger."

  "I heard you clearly."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "Good." Bryce Banhart nodded, then held out a palm ridged with calluses and creased with age. "What's this for?"

  "Money."

  "Ah." The prince gave a cold laugh. "So the 'fisherman' has a merchant's mind after all."

  "Don't tell me that in your Seven Seas Kingdoms, folk enjoy working for nothing," the assassin replied, his tone of cool indifference pitch-perfect. "Post your commission on the village board and see how many are willing to take up a suicide mission. If someone will do it for free, I'll gladly surrender this honored position to them."

  "As I see it, no one is qualified for this esteemed position but you. Henris!" He thrust out a fair, smooth palm; his adjutant flung the purse. Metal clattered awkwardly as the purse hit the ground.

  At that moment, Wally Laren Ctiton, Prince of Shahani, wished the earth would swallow him whole. "No need to trouble yourself bending, Highness." The old fisherman picked up the purse and weighed it in his hand. "Seems a touch light still." He held two fingers a hair's breadth apart. "A little on the thin side."

  "Don't push your luck." The prince pulled himself upright from his half-stoop, grasping for dignity. "That's a full bag of gold, old man. You should know that even a half-decent pirate in the Seven Seas Kingdoms could spend half a lifetime raiding and reaving and never see that much gold. This is a fortune, not some sack stuffed with copper trash."

  Bryce Banhart placed the purse directly back into the prince's hand. "With all due respect, Prince—given the choice between having my throat slit by a pirate or my heart torn out by a ghoul, I'd take the knife every time."

  "Henris!" This time Wally's summons rang with fury. Bryce Banhart assumed they were finally resorting to the favored tactic of the highborn—threats, perhaps even physical coercion. (No matter.) His dagger hung at his waist, hidden behind a pouch of sika deerhide. (You look strong, Lord Henris—though getting on in years, your eyes are still sharp. Dropping you would take three heartbeats. With the prince included... two breaths, total.)

  Henris Weber Ian, upon receiving the command, strode swiftly toward the old fisherman. His hand reached behind his back, and his fingers had already touched the dagger's hilt. Alice, his intermediary—a woman of no fixed home who'd spent years living the vagrant's life—had taken this assignment from Doruni, the Empire's Master of Whispers, requiring him to wipe out Shahani's relief force on land before it could reach Cynthia. The Imperial Navy's strategy of disguising themselves as pirates had failed; the full weight of the task now rested on his shoulders alone. The Master of Whispers knew full well that even the finest assassin on the continent could not erase an entire army from the map by himself. Therefore, the minimum standard for completing this commission was simple: eliminate Wally Laren Ctiton, Prince of Shahani.

  It was indeed an excellent means to shatter the morale and scatter the will of the Seven Seas Kingdoms' allied forces—but it clearly wasn't Bryce Banhart's style. From the moment curiosity led him to place the Aelon Mask on his father's face, it was fated that this man would spend his life driven by curiosity, pursuing the unknown. He wanted to witness Kulen Mountain's magnificence and experience its extreme peril. He had conceived of a brilliant method—or rather, a method with a very high probability—of wiping out the island army entirely: leading them astray on Kulen Mountain and letting nature do the killing. He'd had many opportunities to strike; just moments ago in their exchange, he could have driven a dozen knife-thrusts into Prince Wally's heart, or simply slit his throat. But such methods would very likely invite unnecessary trouble, and nothing would raise less suspicion than deaths on a peril-laden mountain. Yet now, he might very well be forced to act here on the fishing village's dock.

  The dagger had cleared its sheath by several centimeters, ready to counter at any moment. But Henris merely produced another small cloth bag from behind his back. "Take it." This time Henris placed the bag firmly in the prince's hand, who then tossed it to Bryce Banhart. "A bag of pearls. Pure and flawless. Don't you dare haggle with me again."

  Bryce pried open the mouth of the bag with two fingers and gave it a cursory glance. (Fine goods.) "Done, Highness." (Though they're of no use to me.)

  "If that doesn't seal it, the seawater's rotted your brain..." The adjutant coughed, reminding the prince not to stray from the point. "All right, all right. Tell me, Old Fisher—what's your plan?"

  "That should be my question to you, Prince. I'm only the guide." Bryce remained detached.

  Wally ground his teeth. "I hope my pearls have bought me a capable guide and not deadweight."