Avari smiled and looked back over her shoulder. Bo was still standing there, though his ears now pointed forward. Avari made a kissing sound and he ambled over. She enjoyed their astounded looks as he walked into view of her friends.
"Ye gods, lass!" DoHeney squawked as his pony took an involuntary step backward. "Ye should o' said ye were gonna be bringin' along an olefunt! Though I never seen a red one afore!"
"I don't know what an 'olefunt' is," Avari said, ruffling Bo's mane, "but this isn't one. This is Behemoth."
"An apt name," Lynthalsea said, nudging her mount forward and holding out a hand for Bo to sniff. DoHeney decided that such a beast could only be appreciated from a distance.
"Where's Shay?" Avari asked without undue concern; they would have told her outright, had there been a problem. "He wasn't waylaid by Cantie again, was he?"
Her friends' faces froze into masks of discomfort, and Avari knew instantly that something was amiss.
"What's the matter? Shay's all right, isn't he?"
"Oh, he's hale enough, lass," DoHeney volunteered. "Jist a bit heartsick. The lass Cantie was caught in the line o' fire when them stinkin' Shadowknives came after us. She caught a dart meant fer our priest friend, and it's all hit him 'im pretty hard."
Avari's heart wrenched at the guilt Shay must be feeling,
"He got so riled, he near took the Kindly Ki-rin from its foundations, so I hear," the dwarf continued. "But now the hurts had time to soak in, I reckon; he's none the better fer it. Said he had somethin' ta do, and that he'd meet us at the east gate."
"He went alone?" Avari asked, worried. "And on foot?"
"There was no way to stop him," Lynthalsea said. "I think it best to let him alone about it, Avari. He's stronger than most."
"I suppose," she agreed, though unsure. "We'd best be off. I hope you know the way to the east gate, because I'm totally lost."
The others laughed, bolstering her attempt to shift the subject, and heeled their mounts onto the street.
Yenjil Thallon swept into his office like a storm front. He was late for an appointment with the harbormaster, and there were details to consider before he could spring his plan on the emperor. He did not notice the cloaked figure behind the door.
"Where are those documents?" Yenjil fumed, shuffling through the papers on his desk. His uninvited guest made a discrete noise and the captain whirled, his sword drawn in a flash. One look at the intruder, however, and Yenjil attacked him with a curse, rather than his blade.
"Gods blast it, Shay! Don't do that to me!" He sheathed his sword and leaned back against his desk to still his pounding heart. "You nearly got a sword stroke, you know."
"I trust your instincts, Yenjil." Shay dropped his hood and smiled at his old friend. "I wanted to pay a visit before we left, to ask you how your evening was, and perhaps to ask a favor."
"Shay, I will never again doubt your word as long as I live!" he exclaimed, his anger forgotten. "Avari is like no other woman I have ever met. She's as pure a spirit as I have ever seen, and has a strength... Well, she is very special."
"She's very special to me also. Your evening together has, I am sure, healed a great many hurts in her, although, when I asked you to entertain her I did not..." the half elf paused meaningfully, "intend for you to keep her the entire night."
Yenjil shrugged and spread his hands in innocent defense. "You introduce me to a woman such as Avari, then expect me to relinquish her after one evening? As it was, I nearly threw myself at her feet and begged her to stay."
"She would not have stayed."
"I know," Yenjil sighed. "At least I managed to keep my dignity, even if I couldn't keep her."
The two stood silent, then Shay walked over to lean on the desk. "Yenjil, I have one more favor to ask of you, my friend."
"Name it!" the captain insisted. "I owe you a score for introducing me to Avari. Anything in my power is yours."
"Here," Shay said, handing his friend a pouch from under his cloak. Yenjil took it and peered inside.
"Bofuli's blue balls, Shay, there's a fortune here!" He spilled a few of the precious stones and trinkets into his hand, then stuffed them back into the bag and looked at Shay questioningly. "Who do you want killed?"
"A Nekdukarr named Darkmist," Shay replied without pause, "but that is not what the money is for.
"During the attack at the Kindly Ki-rin a serving girl was inadvertently killed. She got in the way of a poisoned dart intended for me. Her family is not well off, and the loss has crushed her mother. I thought you might..."
"The family shall want for nothing while I live, Shay." Yenjil placed the bag on his desk and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "And don't worry; I'll keep the source anonymous."
"Thank you, Yenjil. I knew you would understand."
"Oh, and Avari told me of the Nekdukarr. I wish you'd mentioned that earlier; we might have avoided some unpleasantness."
"I should have, I know, but I honestly didn't think you'd believe me. I didn't want to scare you before you spoke with Avari." He grinned and shrugged. "I did intend to tell you."
"Well, no harm done, but how did you get into my office?" the captain asked. "You must have walked past fifty guards!"
"Oh, that part was easy." Shay pulled a scrap of raw wool from a pouch and rubbed it between two fingers while chanting softly. Then, as the captain watched, the priest faded from view.
"Shay?" he called to the empty room, his mouth hanging open in astonishment.
"I'll let myself out, Yenjil," Shay's voice informed him from a window that opened of its own accord. He heard a few more whispered arcane words, and the creaking of the sill. "Take care, Yen. It has been very good seeing you again."
Yenjil stood staring at the window for a moment after Shay was gone. He closed it, then went to his desk and wrote himself a note to install locks on his third-floor windows.
The glory of unfettered and undetected flight brought an irresistible grin to Shay's invisible features. He was through, he had decided, with denying his powers under the fear of losing them. He was going to develop and use his talents and gifts for the good of their mission and his friends. This manner of travel was faster and less conspicuous than walking or riding; besides, it was fun. The defrocked priest flew a few lazy circles around the spires of temple of Tem, then swooped to the east. He found his friends with no trouble, just inside the eastern gate.
"I hope Shay's not too much longer," Lynthalsea said as she looked down the street. "I'd like to get going soon."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Shay relished their astonishment as he materialized on the back of his startled horse. He eyed Avari's mount with a raised eyebrow. "That is a beautiful horse."
"Thank you, Shay," Avari answered. She looked at him curiously. "How are you?"
"I'm..." He thought about his answer, and said, "I'm fine." His smile, he could see, failed to alleviate her concern. One day, Avari, you and I will have a long talk, he thought.
The tithing station was quick but not painless, and there were a number of pointed questions about Avari's horse. Once outside the gate, the road stretched away into fertile farmlands, and a brisk north wind bit into their faces. Avari's mount snorted and pranced, blowing steam in the cool air.
"We're off the cobbles, Avari," Lynthalsea pointed out. "Why don't you let him have a run?"
"What do you think, Bo? Are you as antsy as I am?" She laughed at his snort, and handed her packhorse over to Shay.
"I won't go far," she said as she kicked her mount and yelled "Get on, Bo!"
The gelding shot forward like a bolt from a crossbow, his thundering hooves sending dirt high behind him. Avari glanced back at the laughter that followed her and nearly fell from the saddle at the sight. DoHeney's shaggy little pony was in full gallop, racing after its giant cousin at its best speed, much to the discomfort of its screeching passenger.
"Well, we aren't accomplishing anything by just sitting here staring at the blasted thing!" Calmar
el surged out of her chair and paced, glaring at the scroll case on the table with every pass.
"I know you’re tired and frustrated, Cal," Lysethra said. "It's been some time now and—"
"Some time!" Calmarel kicked over a chair and whirled to glare at her sister. "We've been sitting here for hours trying to decide how to get around whatever spell that hell-spawned brother of ours cast on that thing! We need that information!"
"Let's review what we know one more time," Lysethra insisted, ignoring Calmarel's theatrics.
"Well, since we don't know a damned thing, that won't take long!" Sarcasm dripped from Calmarel's lips. There were other things she would rather be doing, things that she'd been fantasizing about for weeks. "We've been over it a dozen times, sister eldest. Don't you think it's time we tried something else?"
"Here then!" Lysethra snapped, snatching up and tossing the spell-trapped scroll case to her younger sister. "Take it to the mediator and explain its contents to her! Then apologize for betraying her and circumventing her control of the council. If there's anything left when she's done with you, I'll be sure to give it a proper burial down in those catacombs you love so much!"
Calmarel caught the scroll case gingerly, gaping at Lysethra's uncharacteristic outburst. "Fine," she said, taking her seat and placing the case on the table. "Let's go over it again: Iveron has gained great power, possibly through some sort of enchanted gems, two of which have been stolen."
"Correct," Lynthalsea agreed. "He has sent Shadowknives after the culprits, though we’ve seen no fruit from their labors."
"If the gems he mentioned are the key, then we must find out how many there are, where they are, and how he plans to harness their power," the younger sister reiterated.
"Iveron's been spending a lot of time in that room with all the engravings," Lysethra put in. "My guess is, that's how he plans to focus the magic. We need a closer look at that room; there may be clues to be gained from the inscriptions."
"Which brings us back once again to the fact that we need to consult a wizard," Calmarel concluded. "Not only to open this case, but to decipher the inscriptions in that room!"
"None of the clan wizards have the skill to breech one of Iveron's incantations." Lysethra chewed a thumbnail. "But if we contract an independent, we run the risk of information reaching the council."
"Risk?" Calmarel spat. "You mean certainty, don't you?"
"Only if he is successful, sister." Lysethra smiled with the spark of an idea. "If he fails and is destroyed by the trap, there would be very little left to go running off to the council."
"But if he does succeed and we get the information we need, he'll be alive to—" Calmarel's eyes narrowed.
"If in taking the enchanted scroll case as partial payment, the wizard discovers a latent curse, we would win on both ends."
"Possibly," Calmarel admitted, weighing the benefits and the risks. "But there is one other thing I would like to try first. It involves no risks and may bring much to light."
"You mean your guest?" Her older sister smiled. "I suppose so, but don't take more than a few days, Cal. I'll start making discrete inquiries to independent wizards."
"Fine," Calmarel said. "A few days will be plenty of time."
CHAPTER 14
Darkness enveloped him, striving to make him one with it.
That the lack of one thing could drive him so near madness worried him. The simple lack of light, the dubious memories of sunrise, sunset, or even moonlight, were draining his will. His diet had changed from meat to a pasty gruel. The same single bowl was refilled by the jailer, leaving him no idea if days, weeks or months had passed. The battle that raged inside him now was with sanity itself.
He had invented several activities to pass time and focus his attention. Chain rattling—pulling the chain that linked his arms back and forth through the wrist-thick eyebolt—provided noise and exercise, and also held faint hopes that the rough links would wear through the iron ring. Another was rat killing—his total was twenty-seven—but it required a lot of patience and quiet, which wore on his nerves. His favorite activity, the one that occupied him now, was his only true hope of escape. Thick bone rasped against his manacles; the remnant of a long-past meal honed into a weapon. He had four such blades, each sharp enough to shave the hair from his arm.
He was testing the point of his latest when the familiar rattle of keys wrenched him from his work. His stomach insisted that it was not mealtime. There were voices, too, which was also unusual. One bone knife vanished into his tattered shirt, another pressed into his palm. Two others were already hidden.
Squinting against the welcome glare, he made out the squat shape of his jailer, but this time the brute had company; taller, slimmer, and undeniably female. The woman spoke strange words, turned and walked out of his view. The jailer's rolling gait brought it near, closer than ever before.
Keys rattled, and he tensed his aching muscles. He tried to still his pounding heart while appearing sleepy and disoriented. The jailer leaned close, unhampered by the low ceiling, and twisted a key in the manacles. His arms dropped. He massaged his raw wrists, still managing to conceal his weapon.
"Gaash," the jailer snapped, limbering a many-thonged whip and pointing to the door. "Tegh nighe, rookgh!"
"What? I don't under—"
The whip cracked, its thongs ripping his shoulder. The meaning of the creature's words had been plain, but he had hoped to stall to create an advantage. Obviously, these people were experienced with prisoners. He would have to make his own opportunities. He fumbled to a stoop and limped to the door, leaning on the jam and heaving ragged breaths. The jailer's shove sent him stumbling across the corridor. He sagged against the wall, though the ceiling here was high enough to stand.
The female stood nearby. She spoke to the jailer, giving him a chance to take a closer look. She was slim, gaudily dressed in tight leathers and trinkets, with a wickedly spiked flail at her hip, but it was her voice that brought him up short. A memory surged to the surface—a taunting, cruel voice. Pain in a sphere of darkness that he could not escape, and that voice...
The woman turned and strode down the corridor as the jailer reached for his arm. The odds would never be better than this.
He snatched the thing's wrist and twisted, slashing with his knife. The bone blade bit into its thick neck, wedging between two vertebrae. The weapon snapped, but its work was done: the creature fell gurgling to the floor. Another bone dagger flicked into his hand as he charged the woman.
She whirled and reached for her weapon, but he did not slow his charge. He knew he could break her in half bare-handed. But instead of using the weapon, she touched a medallion at her breast and spoke a single, unintelligible word.
He froze.
He was held fast in mid stride, as if he had run headlong into a wall of sticky taffy. One foot hung an inch above the floor, yet he did not fall. He tried to look to see why, but his head would not move. He could move his eyes, blink and breathe—thank the gods—but that was all. Horror gripped his heart as he realized that the woman must be a sorceress.
She approached, smiling as she wagged a finger in front of his face. She said something in that incomprehensible language, but it was not her words that terrified him, it was her blithe manner. Veins bulged in his neck and arms as he strained to bury the knife in her throat, but her taunting laughter mocked his efforts. One slim hand patted him on the cheek in a caricature of affection as she walked beyond his vision. Noises of her doing something with the jailer’s corpse reached him, but he was too horror-stricken to care. He had to find a way to escape!
She returned bearing the jailer's whip and a gold circlet. The former she draped over his shoulder, the latter she dangled in front of his face then pressed to his neck, the cold metal sending a shiver down his spine. At her word he felt the thing soften, part, then move around his neck and refasten itself.
"There. That's better, isn't it, Jundagarro?" she asked, every word perfectly cle
ar. Her use of his name sent adrenalin surging to his muscles as he strove to bury the knife in her throat. "Tut tut, now, don't fight the invocation. You could hurt yourself."
Her laughter nauseated him as her hand caressed his cheek then jerked the whip from his shoulder. Pain lashed through his neck as she stepped back and caressed the whip like a pet.
"Your new necklace becomes you, my temperamental tribesman." She touched the haft of the whip to her lips, then smiled. "But it is much more than a simple adornment, you see. With it, I can make you do anything. Behold..." With a touch of her medallion and a few words he stumbled forward, no longer restrained by the spell. But before he could lunge, she spoke.
"Drop your weapon."
His fingers opened before the command even registered. There had been no compulsion, no painful inducement, he had just done it. He glared at her, his eyes burning with hate.
Fine, he thought, I'll do it with my bare hands! He lunged.
"Stop!" she snapped, halting his attack before it began. He seethed with frustration, and more than a little fear. Who or what was this woman? He snatched at the dagger hidden in his boot, intending to throw it the short distance to her throat.
"Stop!" she said before the blade was even clear. "Drop it!" Another dagger clattered to the floor. "You are proving most stubborn, Jundag," she said, her casual taunt biting deeper than the lash of her whip. "Now, disarm yourself."
At her command, he retrieved the last of his weapons and dropped it. He stood quietly, pondering his next move. She could not disarm him totally, unless she amputated both arms and legs, then pulled all his teeth. He repressed that thought, noting the glint in her merciless eyes.
"Is that all of them?" she asked. To his delight the collar did not make him answer her honestly.
"You figure it out, bitch!"
The lash bit as she whipped it across his face. Blood blinded one eye, obscuring his vision. He wondered if the eye was ruined, but it was not important; He did not have to answer her questions. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
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