Sword of Hemlock (Lords of Syon Saga Book 1) by Jordan MacLean Page A

these men had indeed been at Brannagh, if they had
been the ones to take Pegrine…once she was sure, she and Renda would put
Pegrine’s spirit to rest.
    The trouble was, she was not sure.  And the longer she sat
with these two men, the less sure she became.  Their Wirthing doublets fit
surprisingly well for bandits who had killed a random pair of knights afield,
and she couldn’t see, much less smell, any blood about them.  Besides that,
even though they were drunk, she had heard no slip in their cultured Wirthing
accents, nor had she seen the slightest misstep in their manners.  She, who had
spent years living among knights in castle and in battle, could not tell these
men from real knights.  If they did not serve the Earl of Wirthing, they were
good impostors.  Very good.
    “No, I’m quite certain of it, Bernold.  The name Gikka rings
familiar,” Finnig said, shaking his head.  “Though I would certainly remember a
face as lovely as this,” he added with a leer.
    The tavernkeeper had come to mop the spilt ale from their
table, overhearing the whole exchange.  He laughed in disbelief, but before he
could open his mouth Gikka dropped a coin into his apron pocket with a tangible
thunk.  He breathed out slowly, his fingers moving slyly over the engraving of
the coin.  A fiver.  That was enough money to see him through the rest of his
life if he was careful.  He smiled and put a hand on the younger knight’s
shoulder.
    “Course you knows the name Gikka.  Lads, there’s no soul on
Syon what lives and breathes as hasn’t heard of Gikka.” 
    “Gikka.”  Bernold looked at him dully.  “I do know that name...”
    Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing. He had no
reason to betray her.  He had to know he’d never survive it.  Her gaze touched
the door, the window above the spot where Renda listened outside, the two
drunken knights.  She decided she could afford to hear a bit before she killed
him.
    The tavernkeeper’s eyes sparkled, and he pushed back the
sleeve of his tunic, winking at Gikka.  “Aye, you do indeed, and no one in
Farras knows more about her than…heh heh…your humble servant.  Gikka, well, she’s
sheer legend, her.”  He rocked back on his heels and grinned, counting off the
famous bits of her life on his fingers like a shopping list.  “…robbed half the
merchantmen in Brannford ere she was grown, hired out to any as could pay.”
    “Hired out?”  Bernold leered suggestively.
    “Aye, as assassin and spy.”
    “And you know this?”
    The tavernman nodded.  “All Syon knows it.  I’m surprised
you do not.”
    “Absurd,” Finnig declared. “The best spy is the one no one
knows.” 
    Gikka nodded agreement.  “It does sound a bit farfetched.”
    “And that is twice true for assassins,” Finnig spoke over
her, crossing his arms smugly.  “Barkeep, if everyone knows who she is and what
she does, why would anyone just sit and wait to be killed? Why would they even
let her come near?”
    The tavernman blinked at the two knights and at Gikka.
“Exactly.”  Bernold nodded.  “She may have been a great assassin once, but she
cannot be so now, not with such infamy following her all over Syon.”
    “And why was she never captured or punished?” He waved
dismissively. “This story is rubbish.”
    “Oh, but she was captured. Once.  She spent some time in
Kadak’s prison.  After she escaped—”
    “Escaped Kadak’s prison?”  Finnig laughed.  “First an
assassin, and now she’s escaped Kadak’s own prison.  Ah, but stories do grow.”
    “I suppose she willed Kadak to find her,” chuckled Bernold.
    “—escaped, as I say.”  The tavernman shook a finger at him. 
“No prison stands as can hold Gikka, lad.  Aye, she escaped, only to turn right
back ‘round and go in again to help the sheriff’s knights as was captured
escape.  So twice it is she escaped.”
    “The Sheriff of Brannagh.” Bernold stroked his chin.
    “Aye, but