by Shannah Jay
Jonner patted her arm awkwardly. He could see tears trickling down her face. He’d never seen Cheral in such a state. Cheral, of all people! But when he tried to talk her out of this ridiculous idea of going out with him that night, she was obdurate. 'It's my duty,' she repeated. 'My honour demands it. Our Brother will understand that. There are some things one just has to do.' And from that she would not move.
That was typical of someone born in Mer-Halani, Jonner thought as he bustled about, setting out his goods and serving customers. Cheral must have been born there. Now he came to think of it, she had a look of the Mer Halanin. Something in the nose, the colouring - and the arrogance. Oh yes, she had that, all right.
They were absolutely obsessed by their honour up there on the north coast. And now Cheral had reverted to type.
Never mind whether it would put everyone else in danger, her coming into town with him. Never mind whether it would do any good or not. Just plain stupid, it was. And he, Jonner, would be the one to suffer if anything went wrong. She didn't seem to have even thought of that!
CHAPTER 24 TROUBLE RISING
When dusk had fallen, Jonner damped down the camp-fire and escorted the two women to the wagon.
They climbed into it and he tied up the flaps at the rear, making a great fuss of telling them to behave themselves and not to poke so much as a nose outside while he was gone.
The noise of his voice covered the sound of Cheral taking off her dark robe and climbing out of the wagon on the side away from the new watcher, settled for the night at the side of the square. Clearly, Those of the Serpent in Beldarik didn’t trust traders.
Cheral was dressed in men's clothing now, with chest padding to hide her breasts, and she’d cut her hair short, temporarily suppressing regrowth at the front so that the hairline seemed to be receding. The less she had to cast an illusion about herself, the better, since that wasn’t one of her stronger Gifts.
It all gave a very credible impression that she was a plump ageing man, Jonner noted with relief. If anyone suspected she was a woman, the two of them would be in deep trouble, so deep that no one would be able to dig them out of it. He was feeling a bit depressed tonight, because he’d found Sythia's family domain in ruins, the house a burnt-out shell and the grounds covered in new vegetation. None of the neighbours knew where they’d gone, or else they weren’t willing to tell him.
It was a rotten time to be alive, he thought, rotten. Whole families vanished into thin air, people were killed as if they were no more than meat nerids - less, for no one whipped and tortured meat nerids. As far as he could see, Those of the Serpent were gaining ground everywhere. Then he remembered the destruction of the shrine in Marrinak and he cheered up a little. Their Brother's forces had won there, hadn't they? Why, they'd absolutely routed Those of the Serpent. So maybe they’d manage to survive here in Beldarik, too. Maybe their Brother would help them again. Maybe.
When Riefin from the next wagon joined them, Jonner simply introduced Cheral as a friend who was a bit shy of the wrigglers, a common name among traders for Those of the Serpent.
Riefin grinned. 'Aren't we all? Come on, then. I know a quiet route through town to the Shambles. I haven't tasted Pivithin's ale for months. No one brews ale like him.'
I bet that's my recipe, thought Cheral. Warral always said I made the best ale in the Twelve Claims, which was why he bought the alehouse and brewery in the first place. She strode along beside the two men, matching her strides to theirs and changing her bearing instinctively to that of a man. Who knew better than she how bodies worked and moved? Would she ever be able to share that knowledge with others again, though? Or would this night see her death?
She kept her breathing under control, but nothing could suppress the fierceness of her determination to safeguard the honour of her line, especially since she felt none of that gentle tugging urge to desist from a path of action which signalled her Brother breathing his wisdom into her.
The alehouse was indeed the one Warral had bought, but now the Shambles had surrounded it. As they entered, Cheral almost expected to see Warral standing there. The place was bright and crowded, but somewhat shabby, the sort of place where poorfolk from the Shambles met with folk from the city who needed to buy their services. Only men were present, even to serve the ale. In one corner a plump man was talking quietly to a white-haired fellow in gaudy clothing, but keeping an eye on the business around him even as he spoke.
When the plump man turned round to greet another customer, Cheral's heart nearly stopped from shock.
He was so like Warral, so very like him, that it hurt. Well, her suspicions were confirmed now. He had a look of her father, too, with those same wide-set dark eyes. Oh yes, he was most definitely of her line.
She frowned in puzzlement as he came towards them. She could sense no taint of the Serpent, and yet he must be co-operating with the Servants of the Shrine, to be allowed to continue his trade here. It was clearly a popular meeting place, noisy and full of customers. Her frown deepened. She could sense nothing of this man's soul, nothing. How was he hiding himself from her? Was this a new trick the Serpent was teaching its followers?
'Give you greeting, friends,' Pivithin said easily, his professional smile not reaching his eyes. 'Can we serve you some of our good ale?' His eyes flickered from Cheral to Jonner, then came back to linger on her. He frowned, as if he were trying to place a face he’ seen somewhere before.
She stared back at him stonily, lips pressed tightly together.
Jonner watched his companions uneasily.
It was Riefin who spoke, the only one whose smile was unclouded. 'I've been thirsting for your ale for days as I travelled the road to Beldarik, Pivithin.' He smiled around the room. 'And I've been boasting of it to my friends here. Do you have a private table where we can discuss our business in comfort?'
'Of course. Come this way.'
When they’d been served, Cheral took a mouthful of ale and nodded. 'It's good,' she said in a deeper voice than usual. Yes, it was very good, definitely her own recipe. They used the same recipe in Temple Tenebrak -
or they had done before the temple went under stasis. She closed off that thought and the pain it brought.
'The best ale in the Twelve Claims,' said Riefin, smacking his lips and drinking deep.
Jonner said nothing, just sipped slowly and continued to scan the room. A couple of times he checked his daggers, making sure they were ready for use. He felt ill at ease tonight, had done ever since they entered the alehouse. He wished he had Quinna by his side. Now there was a fighter to admire. But Those of the Serpent would have killed any woman carrying a sword on sight.
Oh, he was so sick of this bleak life, sick of discord and violence! But he couldn’t abandon the quest, whether he'd been chosen for their Brother's service or not. He had his duty as a trader, and that counted just as highly with him. Traders didn’t deal in violence. This quest was one way in which he might be able to help his own people, who were finding life hard in these troubled times. So he must follow the path wherever it led. But that didn't mean he enjoyed danger, and there was danger hovering in the air tonight.
There was a commotion near the door and people fell back to allow a Servant of the Shrine to enter. Most of the men present sat staring into their drinks, unwilling to catch his eye, and a couple of people who had been sitting in a secluded corner, slipped quietly out of the room.
'How go things tonight?' the Servant demanded loudly, scanning the room. He was a large man, well fed, with a square face and yellowish eyes. 'Any strangers to town that you don't know?'
Pivithin, who’d hurried forward to greet him, shrugged. 'Two men I've never met before, but they're with a trader I see regularly and they seem quiet enough.'
'Show me them.'
The hint of a frown passed across Pivithin's face. The Servants who came nightly to check on his premises usually took his word for such things. If they caused too much trouble for him, trade would drop off an
d then he wouldn't be able to pay the hefty bribes which kept Those of the Serpent at bay. As he led the way across the room, his professional smile returned. 'Favler, one of the Initiates of our shrine, wishes to meet you,' he said, by way of an introduction to Cheral and Jonner.
'Give you greeting, honoured sir,' said Jonner, bobbing his head respectfully.
After questioning Jonner and Riefin, Favler turned to Cheral. 'And where might you be from, fellow? I don't recall seeing you in the town - or in the shrine. And I've a good memory for faces.'
'I'm from past Wetherbrin,' Cheral said in a slow gruff voice. 'Don't get into town very often. But I thought I might make a bit of extra money selling some produce to the traders. Looks like it's going to be a hard winter. Best to be prepared.'
As Favler questioned her about Wetherbrin, Cheral answered his questions easily, and it soon became clear she knew the district far better than he did. He seemed satisfied, but turned to frown at her as he left the alehouse, as if something had made him uneasy. And he stared at Pivithin, too, a long thoughtful stare.
Cheral watched him go, relieved that she’d managed to hide the fact she was a Sister. She’d been wondering for some time if that were possible, wondering how to develop something she’d tentatively called Soul Shielding, and she’d succeeded - at least, it appeared she had. Perhaps this was a new Gift developing in a time of dire need, as Gifts sometimes did.
Jonner let out his breath in a whoosh. 'How did you do that?' he asked Cheral in a whisper. 'I thought we were lost for sure when he came over to us. How come he didn't recognise - ?' he broke off, not daring to utter the word 'Sister'.
She shook her head. 'I don't know. I was trying something new. Perhaps our Brother was helping me.'
As soon as he’d escorted Favler outside, Pivithin began to circle the room, till eventually he came back to their table. 'How's the ale going?' he asked loudly, then added in a low voice, 'Best if you don't drink here again. A Servant from the shrine comes here most nights, though not usually an Initiate. They're always suspicious of strangers.'
'Best if I speak to you privately now, then,' said Cheral. 'It was you I came here to see, anyway.'
For a moment, as Pivithin stared at her, there was that same look of near recognition in his eyes, then he shook his head. 'Not safe to talk privately. Not for either of us. There are always watchers hanging around, inside and out. The Servants in our city shrine don't trust anyone nowadays.'
'I'll say what I came for here in public, if I have to.' Cheral's voice was flat and utterly determined. 'But it'll be even more dangerous for you if I do that.'
Pivithin growled in his throat, then forced a smile back on his face. 'Yes, it is good ale, isn't it?' The words he added were so low that Cheral could only just hear them and his lips barely moved. 'In the alley at the rear, then. Go outside as if to relieve yourself. But keep an eye open for watchers. Your friends can go back to their wagons at the same time.'
'I'll wait here for my old mate Chivrin,' said Jonner, slapping Cheral's shoulder familiarly. 'Still got some business to finish with him.'
'Finish your business back in the market square, then. When he,' Pivithin gestured to Cheral, 'goes outside, you leave. Or I speak to no one.'
Riefin drained his second pot of ale quickly. 'I don't want to get involved in anything dangerous,' he said, as he stood up. 'Good trading, all.' He strode out, not looking back.
Cheral stood up. 'That ale goes through you quickly,' she said in a loud blurred voice. 'Got to have a piss.'
She too added a few quiet words. 'You go back to the wagon.'
'Well, you would try all the taverns,' said Jonner loudly. 'So you're satisfied with my terms for your produce, then?'
'As satisfied as I'll ever be with a trader's terms.' Cheral allowed her voice to blare out loudly. 'I'll deliver the stuff tomorrow.'
Jonner nodded and left the alehouse, his spine tingling in a way it always did when he sensed danger hovering nearby. He strolled off down the street, whistling, and when he turned the corner he ducked quickly into a doorway. He gulped as someone crept past, someone who moved as quietly as a shadow and was obviously trailing him.
While the pursuer scouted around for him in vain, Jonner made his way back to the rear of the alehouse. A man stepped out from an alley just as he was loosening his knives, and he was caught unprepared by someone whose expertise was even greater than his own. A coldness that could only come from a steel blade pressed against his throat, and he froze where he stood.
'If you so much as twitch, I'll slit your gizzard,' a voice breathed in his ear. 'We're going to move back along this alley. I'll have my knife at your throat the whole time. You're not going to make any fuss about that, are you?'
Jonner shook his head. The hands that held him knew their trade and the man had chosen his moment of attack perfectly. A member of the Hashite Guild, he'd guess. Brother, let it not be an assassin, he prayed, as he moved slowly backwards. I don't want to die yet.
Meanwhile Cheral strolled out of the side door of the alehouse and made her way to the urinals, banging the door open and casting a quick illusion as she ducked past them. Any watchers would think they’d seen her enter.
'This way.'
She recognised Pivithin's whisper and followed him, readying her body for betrayal and danger. Her heart would have thudded wildly inside her breast if she hadn’t exerted all her self-control. Even so, she was aware that her whole body was alert, tingling and ready to move. She just hoped the self-defence tricks she’d taught others for so many years would serve her now. It was, she realised with surprise, the first time she’d ever had to use them in earnest. Always in other battles there had been companions around her, and Benjan and Quinna to take the brunt of the fighting. She had a sudden longing for her big iron frying pan. It made a comforting weight in your hand when you were facing an opponent.
Pivithin led her into a half-concealed doorway. Inside the building there was no light to betray the door's opening and Cheral heard him walk very softly across the room while she paused for a moment to speed up the adjustment of her eyes to the darkness. 'This way.' His voice was a mere hiss of sound.
The next room had a shaded lantern burning low in one corner. Pivithin stopped and locked the door through which they had entered. 'What was so important you had to speak to me?'
'You're of Warral's line,' she said abruptly.
'So?'
'And you're dealing with Those of the Serpent.' She was unable to keep the scorn and loathing she felt from her voice.
'What of that? A man has to make a living. I'm not a rich man. If I didn't run this alehouse, I'd starve. You have to keep Those of the Serpent on your side nowadays.'
'You ought to be a very rich man if you're of Warral's direct line,' she snapped. 'I know he left his descendants a large enough inheritance to make them rich for a dozen lifetimes.'
'Well, things went wrong after my great-great-great-grandfather died, didn't they? And then it got worse.
Discord isn't good for trade. All I've got now is this alehouse, and I aim to keep it. So I repeat, what's that to you?'
'I'm of Warral's line, too, and I don't deal with the Serpent. Warral would be soul-sick if he could see you.
Nor will my own honour allow me to pass by when those of my line betray their blood.'
His breath whistled inwards in shock. 'You're of Warral's line? But where do you come from? We know of everyone who - ' He broke off, then ground out in a voice thick with suspicion. 'It's a trick. It has to be a trick.
But if I die, you'll die with - '
There was a hammering on the outer door. 'Get away, Pivithin!' yelled a voice. 'They've found out and they're raiding us.' Footsteps ran off at top speed.
Pivithin grasped Cheral's arm. 'One word from you! One whisper, even, and I'll break your neck.'
She froze. She could have tossed him across the room, but something prevented her, something which said he wouldn’t harm her. Then it was
too late to seize the moment! He was guarding himself against attack now. She could sense that.
He opened another internal door. 'Scatter and flee!' he called through the opening. 'Full emergency.'
Crashes and bangs from all directions spoke of instant compliance, and only a moment later there was silence, except for someone out in the drinking rooms banging on the door of the living quarters and demanding that it be opened in the name of the Serpent. When no one opened it, there was the sound of thudding as Those of the Serpent tried to break the door down.
Pivithin dragged Cheral across the room, holding her in an expert grip. There was a whisper of sound and one wall slid sideways. Pivithin bundled her inside and followed. She made no attempt to struggle against him, but when she heard the door close behind her, she murmured involuntarily, 'Brother, look down!'
Pivithin stopped dead in his tracks and his voice snapped through the darkness. 'What did you say?'
'I said,' repeated Cheral in her normal voice, 'Brother, look down!'
'You're a woman!'
'Yes.'
'And you serve our Brother.'
'Yes. But shouldn’t we be following the secret tunnel now? We can talk later.' Her voice was soothing. 'I shall give you no trouble, Pivithin. I really am of your line. And we both serve our Brother, do we not?'
'Yes.'
After a few minutes of shuffling forward, Pivithin whispered, 'Stop here.'
Cheral smiled in the darkness. Just so had Lord Ebrrlk designed the tunnels in Tenebrak. She’d told Warral about them once and he’d had these tunnels built for her, in case anything ever threatened her safety. Discord had barely started spreading across the land then, but Warral had always been a cautious man. He would be pleased that their descendant hadn’t betrayed the family honour, pleased that the tunnels were coming in useful. There were tears in Cheral's eyes as she murmured, 'Warral, we bred true. Oh my love, our line holds good and our honour is safe.'
* * *
The tunnel came to the surface in a clearing in the woods, and from there Cheral and Pivithin made their way silently around the edges of some fields. At a lonely barn they found a shaded lantern burning, riding nerids shuffling their feet and saddles hanging on the walls. Jonner joined them there a few minutes after their arrival, accompanied by a fellow whose face was so unremarkable that you had to keep staring at him to see what he looked like. Middle height, nondescript hair, pale eyes, ordinary nose. Even his clothing was unremarkable.