Traitors' Fate

by Andy Peloquin

  Ilanna snorted. "Please, has the Mistress' luck ever been that kind to us?"

  Errik inclined his head. "But why does it have to be us? More accurately, why does it have to be you?" He motioned to the collections of weapons in the sword rack hanging on his wall. "I'm not being prideful when I say none of the other Serpents can handle the job as well as I can. None of them can handle a blade as well, and only Sys has ever visited Voramis. But what's your reason for going? Why not stay safe in the Night Guild where there's no chance the Bloody Hand—or the Duke, Praamian Guard, or even the Heresiarch—can capture or put a blade in you?"

  Ilanna sighed. It was easier to deal with Darreth's melodrama. The Scorpion's idea of danger was sipping a wine glass without first reading the label. He was clever, sharp-witted, and a genius with figures, but no one had ever accused him of excess bravery. Of course he'd counsel against leaving the safety of the Guild tunnels.

  Errik, on the other hand, had an irritating tendency to make rational arguments. He knew her skill with sword and blade—he'd been the one to train and spar with her well over a decade. His argument wasn't out of fear, simply concern for her safety.

  "I know staying here would be the smart thing to do, the safe thing. But I'm tired of being cooped up in here." Her words came out in a sharper tone than anticipated. "I'm sick of the Keeper-damned paperwork, the Council meetings, and all the mundane rot that comes with the position of Master Gold. I've never regretted accepting the position, but Watcher's beard, it's bloody boring at times."

  "So run the Hawk's Highway. Break into a nobleman's mansion. Hells, bait the Praamian Guards or, if you need a real thrill, the Arbitors." Errik shook his head, his face hardening. "But I doubt there's anyone in Einan the Bloody Hand hates more than you. If they knew you were in Voramis—"

  "They'd set every one of their thugs, cutpurses, and killers out on the streets to find me. I know." She threw her hands up. "I know the risks, Errik. I knew them the moment I came up with this plan. But think about it: if we do this right, we could put an end to the Bloody Hand's operation in Praamis once and for all."

  "The Duke ought to be arresting Lord Stonecroft at any moment," Errik returned. "We've captured their main base of operation, captured their thugs, and deprived them of their income."

  "But if we don't cut the head off the snake, they'll be back." She held up a hand to forestall his argument. "No, I'm not suggesting we try to assassinate the First."

  "Gods know we've wasted enough effort trying." Errik's brows knitted.

  Ilanna raised an eyebrow. She'd known of a couple of attempts made to eliminate the leadership of the Bloody Hand—the Five Fingers, they were called; a bloody stupid name!

  She plowed on. "Think about what would happen if someone eliminated Lord Beritane. We'd still be able to operate in Praamis, but we'd lack the element of legitimacy. We wouldn't be able to make the investments that keep the Night Guild solvent, and we'd never gain access to the upper nobility. We'd be left with whatever the Foxes and Grubbers scrounged up, or whatever the Hawks steal."

  Errik inclined his head. "Fair point."

  One of Ilanna's biggest surprises upon assuming the mantle of Master Gold was just how much money came from legitimate business ventures. The Night Guild had part-ownership in merchant vessels, farms, cattle ranches, and dozens of other companies. All through Lord Beritane, of course.

  "Whoever is running things from here, in Praamis, they'll have all the information we need to winkle out the people secretly supporting the Bloody Hand. We'll be able to find out who is selling the Bonedust, who is buying the girls, and everything else we need. Just one man, and we could effectively put an end to the Bloody Hand in Praamis."

  She reached into her cloak and produced the strange alchemical flesh. "Then there's this."

  Errik examined it with a blank look.

  "Remember what Graeme took from the Temple of Whispers?" she asked.

  Errik's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he said, slowly.

  "The leader was wearing this to hide his real features. He looked like just one more roughneck, but it was just to disguise his features. There's no doubt about it, he's a nobleman through and through. His face, his voice, the way he handled his sword—he's an aristocrat."

  "But Darreth said House Torath had no heir."

  "No legitimate heir," she responded. "But what if there was a bastard? He wouldn't be the first nobleman's son to end up working for the Bloody Hand."

  Errik’s expression soured. He'd been as surprised as she to discover that Allon, the Hound who had been a part of her crew, was actually the illegitimate son of King Ohilmos. He'd aided the Bloody Hand in a misguided attempt to bring down the nobility that had ignored, abandoned, and mistreated him.

  "If he is a bastard son of the late Lord Torath," Errik mused, "it would explain the use of that crest." He motioned to Darreth's parchment.

  "It would. And if he is a nobleman's son, it means he'll have connections among the nobility of Praamis, especially the minor nobles. We could have more than just Lord Stonecroft working for them."

  "So explain to me why this necessitates you traveling to Voramis?"

  Ilanna grinned. "I'm the only one who knows what he really looks like."

  Errik's face fell. "Damn. I was hoping you wouldn't find an excuse so damned incontrovertible." He steepled his fingers and placed them under his chin.

  "Look, I know it sounds crazy. Hells, even I have a hard time believing that I'm volunteering to go. I know how dangerous it is there. But this is something I have to do. Because of Ria, it's personal—you of all people should get that. If I can bring a bit of suffering to the people who have made so many girls suffer, I'm bloody well going to do it. I'm doing it for Praamis, for the Night Guild, and for me, too. That's reason enough, in my book."

  After a long moment, Errik sighed. "Aye, no arguing that." His brow wrinkled, his expression growing pensive. "How many are you thinking for the job?"

  "Aside from you and me?" Ilanna shrugged. "Two, maybe three more Serpents you can trust."

  "Shame we can't bring Darreth along. He'd be the right man to do some digging on this mystery nobleman and the Torath crest."

  Ilanna nodded. "He'll be running things in my absence, but he gave me a couple of names. Jonoh and Keltor."

  "Keltor, for sure," Errik said without hesitation. "He can handle himself on the streets."

  "Good," she replied. "Do you think we need a Hound or two?"

  Errik pondered the question. "Maybe. Give me a few hours to think about it, and I'll let you know. If I think we can use them, I've got a couple of lads in mind."

  "Excellent." Ilanna rubbed her hands. "I've got a way into Voramis figured—both for us and more than enough gear for the job."

  Errik cocked an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"

  Ilanna grinned. "Not until it's too late to protest."

  Errik groaned. "Just remember, Ilanna, I'm not as young as I used to be. No more cartwheels or flying trapezes for me."

  "Well, so much for that plan, then." Ilanna mimed ticking an item off a list. "Don't worry, I've got something much less flamboyant in mind."

  He shook his head. "Why does that make me feel less comfortable?"

  Ilanna laughed. "Trust me, Errik. You won't do anything too embarrassing." She stood and strode toward the door. "Now, I've got one last stop to make before we go."

  Ilanna slipped into the Menagerie without a word. Instead of the ornate, gold-trimmed robes of Guild Master, she wore plain, simple clothing sturdy enough for travel and a dark cloak to cover it all. With her hair hanging loose and her sword, daggers, and pouch hanging from her belt, she looked more like the Hawk she'd once been than Master Gold.

  The change of clothing had its desired effect. Only a few of the girls recognized her. The Issai, however, brightened at her approach and surged toward her, chattering in their language.

  Ria's voice cut through their words, and the girls backed away. The dark-skinned Ghandian sm
iled up at Ilanna from her cot. "They have just called down the blessings of their gods on you. You are very fortunate, Mkombazi."

  "You going to tell me what that means?" she asked.

  Ria's grin widened. "There is no word in your language, but in the language of the Issai, it means 'fierce devil'. A compliment, I think."

  Ilanna chuckled and sat on the edge of Ria's cot. "How are you?"

  Ria motioned to the bandages covering her side and the lacerations on her legs and thighs. "Once Master Tyman ceased his complaining about being woken up at 'an hour for heathens and idolators', he managed to take a closer look at it. Says it didn't hit any organs." She winced. "Doesn't make it hurt any less, though."

  "I can ask him for a remedy for the pain. I know he has some—"

  "No!" Ria's voice cracked like a whip, so hard and loud it turned heads. "No," she repeated in a softer voice. "I need nothing to dull the pain."

  Ilanna nodded. Many of Tyman's remedies contained narcotics similar to those Ria had been forced to take during her enslavement at the hands of the Voramians. She would never allow herself to be that weak again, even if it meant enduring terrible pain.

  "How are the girls?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

  Ria glanced toward the eastern side of the Menagerie, where close to a score of pale, shivering girls lay on hastily erected cots. "Not well. Tyman says they will not live long, even with his potions."

  Ilanna gritted her teeth. "You remember the girl who said there's an antidote?"

  Ria nodded.

  "One of the Bloody Hand thugs confirmed it. It exists. Problem is, it was with the nobleman in charge."

  Ria muttered a curse in her native language. She looked Ilanna up and down. "Judging by that outfit, you're going after it. And something tells me it's somewhere dangerous."

  "I…" Ilanna hesitated. She glanced toward the brass plaque set in the wall. Ten new names had joined the twenty-six already etched there. "I have to go to Voramis."

  "Voramis?" a voice sounded behind her.

  Ilanna whirled. Kodyn stood a short distance away, his eyes wide. His grip on the wildflowers in his hand tightened until his knuckles turned white.

  "Kodyn, I—"

  "No!" He stomped toward her. "You can't go. It's too dangerous."

  Ilanna sighed. "This isn't the place to talk about it, little hawk."

  Anger twisted his handsome face. "There's nothing to talk about, Mother."

  She winced at his use of the word—he only called her “Mother” when angry.

  "Going to Voramis is suicide!" Her son's voice grew strident. "You're going to get yourself killed, for what?"

  "Kodyn, come here." Ria's words were soft, gentle.

  Stiff-backed, face taut with anger, Kodyn circled around Ilanna to Ria's opposite side.

  "Sit," Ria said, patting the edge of her cot. When Kodyn hesitated, her voice took on a commanding tone. "Sit, Khodein." She used the Twelve Kingdoms variation of his name for emphasis.

  He obeyed. She took the wildflowers from him and gripped his hands in hers. "Your mother must go." She held up a hand to forestall his protest. "Look around you, Kodyn. Look at these girls. See how young they are, how frightened. They need someone to protect them, just as your mother has protected us all these years."

  Kodyn's gaze darted to her, his anger still undimmed. "But—"

  "Hush, little hawk." Ria cupped his cheek. "I fear for her, too. She is running into the fire, and there is a great chance she will be burned."

  Kodyn's eyes went wide.

  "We ran into the fire once," Ria continued in a voice barely above a whisper. "We did it to survive. But your mother runs into the fire not for her sake, but for the sake of others. Others like I once was, those who need her protection. We must let her go, because these others have need of her."

  Ilanna swallowed the lump Ria's words had brought to her throat. She had expected Ria to protest, but the woman had said what she needed to hear. Reaching out, she took Ria's hand and squeezed. She slipped her other hand into Kodyn's. After a moment, he returned her grip, his expression somber and tears in his eyes.

  They sat there, the three of them, joined as a family. There were no words needed and none spoken. Ilanna drew strength from their presence, their acceptance. The love in Kodyn's eyes was reflected in Ria's. When she reached for her son, he allowed himself to be drawn into her embrace, and his arms wrapped around her waist.

  "Be safe, Mama," he whispered in a voice that reminded her so much of the chubby, curly-haired boy she'd gone to extraordinary lengths to protect. "Come home to us."

  "Yes, kauna," Ria added, squeezing Ilanna's hand. "Bring back the means to save these girls if you can, but most important of all, come home to us."

  Ilanna bent and kissed the Ghandian girl. "Kauna? I've never heard that before." Behind her, Afia and a few of the Issai girls giggled as she mangled the pronunciation of the unfamiliar word. "Are you going to tell me what it means?"

  Ria's hand slid up the outside of Ilanna's leg. "Later."

  Ilanna raised an eyebrow.

  Ria grinned. "Now you have a reason to return."

  Chapter Five

  The red-robed Heresiarch raised an eyebrow. "And just what the bloody 'ell is you lot s'posed to be?"

  Errik drew himself up to his full height. "My good sir, how is it possible that you do not recognize us?" He spoke in a pompous voice, staring down his nose at the Voramian city guard. "Surely the fame of Les Tueur de Fous has reached even this far south!"

  The guard ran an eye over the ornate coach, taking in the words painted along the wooden side in bright red, orange, and yellow. "Lay what now?"

  With a theatrical sigh, Errik hopped down from his position atop the box seat and swept a courtly bow, flaring his purple- and gold-sequined cloak out behind him. "Les Tueur de Fous, my savvy friend. Only the most spectacular theatrical company to come out of Nysl since the great Queriolus took the stage." He sniffed. "Bringing to your backwater city a multifarious selection of the most delectable farces, masques, and mystery plays to bewitch your minds and dazzle your eyes." He raised his voice and proclaimed, "Behold, Voramis, maiden of the south, for we have arrived!"

  His only response was a "Shut up and hurry it!" from the people in line behind their cart. Atop the wagon's roof, Ilanna stifled a laugh. Who knew Errik had so much melodrama in his bones?

  With a roll of his eyes, the less-than-impressed Heresiarch moved past Errik. "You lot bringin' anythin' of value?"

  "The greatest value!" Errik decried, striking a noble pose. "The poetry of the Enlightened Age, the works of the greatest playwrights of Einan. Tales that will chill your bones and bring nightmares to your children."

  Ignoring Errik, the guard poked his head into the coach's interior. "Troubadours, eh?"

  "Faw!" Errik clapped his hands to his breast, as if mortally wounded. "Simple troubadours we are not, you ignorant—"

  The guard rounded on him, anger flaring in his eyes.

  "Er…what I meant to say, good sir, is that we are a great deal more than troubadours. Music is but a portion of the magic we will weave in your fair city." He waved his hands in broad, sweeping circles, pantomiming casting a spell. "Like the Serenii of old, but with words and songs so potent you will—"

  "Move along," the Heresiarch cut him off, stepping aside and waving him through.

  Errik seemed to deflate. He stood in the street, his mouth half-open, at a loss for words.

  "Now!" the guard snapped.

  "Er…of course." With a hasty bow that had lost its theatrics, Errik clambered onto the coach's seat and set the horses in motion through the gate and into Voramis.

  "Bloody troubadours," the Heresiarch muttered as they passed.

  Ilanna gave him a jaunty salute of her broad-brimmed, red-feathered hat. He only shook his head and turned to the next person in line.

  "Keeper's beard, Errik," Ilanna said, sliding from the roof of the coach and onto the seat beside him,
"you are full of surprises."

  Errik scowled at her. "One word of this gets back to the others, and there'll be hell to pay."

  "I'm almost sorry he didn't ask you for a demonstration." She struggled to suppress her giggling.

  Errik adopted the thespian voice of his character. "The inbred boor wouldn't know his Encarnada from his Taivoro! No doubt he'd whinge at the absence of a dancing bear to complete the show."

  Ilanna burst into laughter, and Errik chuckled.

  The disguise had been her idea, much to the chagrin of Errik and the others. They understood the logic behind the farce—the Bloody Hand would never expect the Night Guild to enter the city in plain sight, and the elaborate costumes concealed their true identities—but they didn't like it. However, after a few long days of crossing the Windy Plains in silence, they'd begun to practice as a way to pass the time.

  She'd been surprised to learn Errik had a real knack for showmanship, and Sys, his fellow Serpent, could hold his own on the lyre. By the eighth and final day of their journey to Voramis, they had managed to play the most basic tunes expected of a troubadour.

  Not that they'd spend much time entertaining in taverns. The brightly-colored coach with its gaudy sign and ribbon streamers held their true equipment and weapons. Before nightfall, the coach would have a fresh coat of paint—one far less garish. The passenger box would be stripped down, leaving only the frame to be converted into a freight wagon.

  First, they had to reach their destination: The Sour Mash Inn, the same roadhouse where she and Errik had hidden from the Bloody Hand the last time they'd come to Voramis.

  Though she played the role of troubadour—waving to the crowds and strumming her lute with fingers that refused to form proper chords—her eyes never stopped roving. Any of the dust-covered houses lining the streets of Lower Voramis could conceal threats.

  The Bloody Hand's power in Voramis was near-absolute. They held court in the Blackfall District in the northeast, but their tendrils spread through the entire city. If even one person suspected that they were anything but what they pretended to be, news of their arrival could reach the wrong ears. She had no desire to spend her time in the city dodging thugs and killers, and they couldn't remain indefinitely. They needed to find the information she sought, locate Lord Torath, and eliminate him. After finding out everything about the Bloody Hand's trafficking operations to Praamis, of course, and getting the antidote to the Bonedust from him. From his corpse, if necessary.