“Why are you in here?”
He reached into a bag he’d brought along and produced a bundled cloth. Unwrapping it revealed a decent-sized trout skewered on a stick, roasted and still warm. Her stomach roaring, she put the candle on an empty barrel, took the fish, and sank her teeth into its crispy skin, which slid easily off the warm meat.
“I won’t share this one with you,” he said. “Your cheekbones are starting to stick out and your eyes are darkening. Why weren’t you outside today or yesterday?”
“I was busy preparing for the ceremony.”
“Well, from now on, make time to come outside. I’ll bring you food.”
She stopped chewing. “What?”
He pointed to the fish. “Eat. I said I’ll bring food from now on. You won’t have to worry about starving.”
“I was fasting!”
“Call it what you want, but you won’t be doing any more of it. I caught this in the river earlier, and I’ll catch another one tomorrow. I’m going to make sure you eat.”
Kalea couldn’t argue with him while she so desperately scarfed the food.
“Though I’d prefer you leave with me. We can go to a place where we don’t have to worry about food.”
She dropped the stick and fish skeleton on the floor and licked her fingers. She leaned back against another empty barrel because the temperature change from the room above this one and her hunger had caused her a dizzy headache.
“Nonetheless,” Dorhen went on, “I don’t care what you want to do. Stay here if it’s so important. I’ll stay too, and make sure you eat.”
She shook her head. “Dorhen.”
“What?”
She swallowed, and he stepped toward her.
“You’re going to tell me no? You’re going to refuse help? You’re going to refuse reason? Kalea.” He took her wrist, for she was too slow to dodge his hand, as gentle as he was. “I want to take care of you. Let me provide for you… I want to protect you.”
Her heart raced.
“Kalea.” He moved in closer. “Let me protect you.”
He tugged off her novice veil and released her hair. The veil dropped to the floor beside the fish skeleton. “Please,” he whispered into her hair and lingered there, breathing, his lips touching her skin. His fingers combed through her hair on both sides of her face.
She trembled all over. He did too. She was sitting on the barrel now, relaxed, her knees apart. Her back arched the moment he laid his hand against it. His warmth radiated through her layers of clothing. His lips trembled when they grazed across her cheek to meet hers. Soft. Kalea groaned, partly in fright, partly in euphoria. He pressed his lips firmer and took her bottom lip between them. Moist.
She put her hands on his shoulders. She could push him away or pull him closer. Before she could decide, he slid both arms around her waist and drew her off the barrel, pressing her against his body. He hugged her and stroked her hair.
“I don’t like having these thick walls between us.”
She pushed away. She did it before he could decide to take the situation further. On her own feet again, she swayed and braced herself on the barrel. She owed this bout of dizziness to his bold action.
“Get out of here,” she groaned.
When she raised her head again, a look of shock stopped him cold and his hands shook, partially raised.
“Did you not like it?”
“No.” A sob escaped her throat. “I don’t need your protection. I don’t need your fish. I don’t need you! I’m going to be a vestal. That means I’ll be married to God!”
He leaned over and took the glowing stone off the wall. He held it out to her, his lips trembling, open as if to speak soon.
“No more gifts!” She struck it, and it skidded across the floor. She let the barrel go and stood on her own feet again. Dorhen had become a shadow form standing in front of the distant blue glow. “If I see you once more, I’ll call the guard and tell them about the elf who’s harassing the novices!”
She took her candle and left him standing in the dark.
Chapter 13
A Gem for the Jeweler
Roaring waves crashed against rocks unseen down the long drop of the cliff. Daghahen’s toes hung off the edge. As brightly as the moon shone, he couldn’t see what jagged formations awaited below. The wind rushed around him in front and then hooked around behind as if to tease him. One strong gust, misplaced foot, or second of dizziness would finally end it. His hood blew off his head, and he didn’t bother to pull it back on. He’d already seen the stars tonight.
A smile curled on one side of his mouth, and his eyes went to the sword in his hands. He pushed aside the musty wrappings. Highlighting the gleaming surface was no problem for the full moon. Hathrohjilh’s peaceful dead face glimmered in cold blue, the shining points dancing along the sculpture with every movement.
“What a strange fellow you are,” he said to it. He cast his sight into the endless realm of blue and black with the dark caress of the moon against the ocean and sky. Such a calm, dark scene for such noise roaring below him. He pulled the fresh salty air deep into his lungs.
“Well,” he said to the sword. “Time for us to part, you scamp.” He held the whole thing out horizontally over the cliff. “Go trouble someone else for a while. We’ll meet again on the other side, I’ll wager.”
Stop, you fool! What are you doing?
Ibex again.
“I’m doing the wiser thing,” Daghahen said. “How am I to acquiesce those”—he pointed upward—“with this thing bringing all manner of scoundrels into my hair? I’ve got a dismal amount of hair left as it is.”
Throw it away, and the sorcerers will have it by Sunday.
“Then I’ll go with it, so at least my misery can end.”
Even if you were so brave, they’d still have it.
Daghahen huffed and his arms dropped to his sides, still holding the sword in one hand. “You’re right. It may still kill Lambelhen… I’m no swordsman, though.”
He observed the stars again. With each progressing night, their formations tightened. Their latest news was grim, but it didn’t involve the sword. The orb containing Wik had been the new item in question. Somewhere, sometime soon, he’d have another reunion with Lambelhen.
Looking up, he pointed to one of the constellations and then traced his finger in an arc to the horizon opposite the ocean. North, maybe northeast, but only by a smidge. “How far will I have to go?”
Ibex didn’t answer. Behind him, a salty old inn was nestled in between the rolling hills of Wistara. He trailed his eyes across the stars again, squinting at the odd way the Wooden Tortoise was poised over the roof of the inn, as if it crawled across the thatch. He’d planned to spare a few coins to sleep there tonight, but something…useful might also be found inside. The major problem with the stars tonight was the upside-down orientation of the Cloven-Headed Man, especially when he had spied it through a hole in a passing cloud during an earlier hour, bringing back the eerie memory of spying Lambelhen through the peephole at his old cabin twenty-two years ago.
Daghahen’s ability to collect messages from the stars was extensive, though unwanted. Even their relation to odd things like clouds, birds, and twilight colors communicated messages to him. He didn’t want to run into Lambelhen yet. He wasn’t ready. And he certainly couldn’t encounter him while holding the sword, so he had developed the temptation to get rid of it, or hide it at least. But Ibex was right, as always. It still might play a part. He stepped away from the cliff’s edge and refastened the sword to his bag. Then he made the short hike around the little hill to the inn.
Rayna was a whore for the worms now. Chandran traveled alone through the pine forest, though he hung onto her clothes and her wig. He could look for a new thrall while out here chasing that scaly elf. The kingsorcerer hadn’t been joking about him being a greased viper. Daghahen had even undone years of Rayna’s training within one evening of flirting and kissing. He dodged Cha
ndran’s traps several times more along an eastward arc across the Lightlands.
Eventually, Chandran found himself north of the Wistaran peninsula, close to its border, at an inn on the coast which bustled with all manner of travelers. This humble inn didn’t have a courtyard or stable, just a large front door with a wanted poster nailed to the wood, leading straight into the dining hall. Chandran stepped past the glaring bouncer at the entrance. The inside bustled, as expected, with the worst riffraff in the area. He strained his eyes for the telltale hood. At least the idiot’s choice in fashion helped Chandran narrow down his search criteria.
Over to the side, a musician strummed on a mandolin, making horrid little piercing plucks here and there and missing notes other times. The bystanders started throwing food at him, and he raised a hand, mushy potato caked in his hair, with apologies and “Let me try again” speeches before going back to it. The food throwers laughed and allowed him to continue as if he was worth at least the comedy.
Chandran’s armpits and neck moistened with sweat soon after walking in; many bodies heated up the place in addition to the big, blazing hearth in the center of the room. Summer would arrive in a few weeks, which meant an increase in travel due to all the fairs and pilgrimages the warm seasons ushered in, providing better environments in which Daghahen could hide. He might disappear in the crowds that would bleed away afterward.
A cheer escalated in a corner opposite the bad minstrel. Another, louder cheer waved across the crowd. A few seconds later, another arose. Someone must be on a winning streak at cards. Chandran pushed his way over. He could stalk the winner to find the right moment to supplement his own finances. Daghahen had worn him thin for the last week.
At a little round table, two people squared off in a dice game; Highest Score was what they played. Each person rolled two dice simultaneously in cups, then slammed the cups upside down, and the person with the higher number won. The players added more to the pot whenever a tie occurred.
He’d found Daghahen. Some daft young man squared off against the raggedy elf hiding under his hood. He had to be cheating the game. The smirk gracing his thin-lipped mouth flashed each time he tilted his head. Thin strands of silver-blonde hair wisped out of the hood and trailed down his back through its open end.
The players hit another tie, and the crowd raised another loud cheer. Each added another coin, dropped the dice back into the cups, shook, and slammed. Daghahen won again. A huge cheer. He scraped the other man’s money across the table toward his growing pile. Another man snatched the chair as soon as the loser rose.
Chandran squeezed closer. Nestled into the corner behind Daghahen’s chair sat his travel bag with Lamrhath’s sword swaddled in rags, leaning against the wall.
Daghahen added yet another fistful of coins to the pot, and with it dropped little pearl earrings. Other, more elaborate objects were already in the pile, like little marble figurines and a delicate red glass box, empty because it in itself held value.
The new opponent reached into his pocket and pulled out a large gold coin, holding it high between his fingers. He slapped it on the table. A big smile spread across Daghahen’s face. His shoulders shook too, though the loud room muffled his laugh. Chandran crossed his arms.
Clack! This opponent slammed his cup loudest of all. He lifted it. The dice showed nine.
“Beat that now,” he said, leaning back and waiting.
The elf kept his bony hand flat atop his cup. He rose halfway, waving his free hand with an outstretched index finger. The crowd quieted. His index finger met his lips and they hushed all the way. He sat again and put both hands on his cup. Slowly lifted it. Ten.
The crowd roared, and the opponent’s face turned bright red. He stood and cocked his fist, but the men behind him grabbed it and pulled him away from the table. They all laughed, and the next man seated himself on the empty chair.
Daghahen stood up. “Not you,” he said and peered across the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd. Chandran dipped his chin to shield his face under his own hood.
Daghahen’s pointing finger passed over many faces. He couldn’t help but think of one of the constellations he’d soon follow, the Pointing Young Man. He hadn’t been “young” for centuries, but a powerful connection tethered him to that constellation.
He settled his pointing finger on a man with dark hair and a scruffy face who must’ve been forty years old at least. Daghahen had spotted him as soon as he approached the table to watch the spectacle, lugging a large, box-shaped thing upon his back under his cloak. The accessory made the man appear comically like…a turtle.
The man’s smile dropped as he uncrossed his arms and pointed to his own chest. “Me?”
Daghahen waved him over, and the crowd parted for him.
“I don’t have much, old man,” he said.
“I’m sure you have something.”
The scruffy man sat down and ogled the glittering pot of spoils. He dug through his pockets. “Why not?” He sighed and slapped four silvers and six coppers onto the table.
“There ya go, lad.”
They both dropped the dice into the leather cups and shook.
Clack! The scruffy man peeked and revealed his number, grimacing. He’d rolled four.
Daghahen lifted his cup with a gripping slowness.
Two. A round of sweeping hisses went over the crowd before they cheered and rattled the scruffy man’s chair. Some playful slaps to his head disarrayed his hair. He checked again.
“Really?” He let out a laugh. “I don’t believe it, no stinkin’ way!” He laughed again as he reached over to scoop Daghahen’s pile over to his side.
Daghahen crossed his wrists on the table, a smile pasted on his face.
“Are you okay, old man?” his opponent asked, leaning forward and trying to see under his hood.
“Of course.”
“Are you…” The scruffy man lowered his voice. “Are you an elf?”
He made a slight laugh. “Now, now, that’s not polite, lad.”
“You are,” the scruffy man whispered. “What tricks are you playing here?”
“No tricks. I lost it all, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember now, mercy.” He bowed his head and ran a finger across the front of his hood. He had already tried and failed to remove the word from the hood’s leather surface by scraping a rock over it. The stubborn stains appeared a bit weathered now, but the word remained as legible as always. Daghahen was still a mercyman.
“Whatever, old man.”
Daghahen motioned to the cups on the table. “Let’s try again. Let me redeem myself a bit so I can pay for a room.”
“I don’t know…”
Daghahen put up his two hands, palms forward, showing his filthy woolen gloves with the fingers cut off. “Don’t bet it all, please, sir. Enough for a room will be fine for me.”
“Fine by me.” The scruffy man picked out a silver half-dendrea and a few coppers. He slid the coins to the center of the table.
Daghahen eyed them while scratching his chin, faking his hesitation. “Hmm.”
“What, not enough for you, old man? It’s more than enough for a room.”
“No, I’m just thinkin’, how ‘bout this?” He leaned way over to his grimy, mud-spattered travel pack against the wall and untied the sword. He unwound its bindings, revealing the pristine, shiny surface to entice the man. He was sure to expose the long rain guard between the blade and crossguard, showing the sculpted naked figure.
The scruffy man snorted. “What am I looking at? An elven sex token?”
He placed the sword on the table. “Elves don’t have sex tokens, young man. This is a terribly powerful saehgahn who died long ago.”
“You think I wanna see his cock ‘n’ balls every time I get into a fight?” The man laughed, and those around him laughed, too.
Daghahen gave a toothy grin. “I said he’s dead. We aren’t born with any clothes and can take nothing to the afterlife with us
either, now can we?”
The scruffy man shrugged. “Looks expensive. And it’s a bit short, even though it has the drooping crossguard of a claymore. Is this ornamental or what?”
“No, it’s a fine sword for fighting, light and balanced. And it has special secrets to share with you, if you have the patience to unlock them. Put your ear here…” Daghahen leaned over and hovered his ear over the nude figure’s face. “Listen carefully, and he might whisper to you. What’s your name?”
The scruffy man gawked at him for several moments before he shook himself out of his trance. “Bowaen. I’m a jeweler, and also the best swordsman in Gaulice.” He held out his hand, but Daghahen ignored it.
“Bowaen,” he said, “better not let anyone take this from you. Don’t let anyone buy it from you either. It’s more valuable than money.”
“Why would you bet it?”
“I need a room. I’m so sick of sleeping on the ground.” He told only half the truth. In reality, he hated the stars outside so much, one hundred roofs to separate him from them would be too little.
“Okay. You’re crazy, but okay.”
Bowaen dropped his dice into the cup, and Daghahen did the same. He had switched to his special dice, weighted to show their lowest number, for this opponent.
The cups rattled. Clack!
Snake eyes. Bowaen deflated in his seat.
Daghahen slammed his cup down and lifted it with flourishing hands. Two. A tie. The whole room fell silent. He shrugged.
Bowaen grabbed a few more coins off his pile of winnings and added them to the pot; Daghahen added three coppers.
They rolled. Slam, slam!
Bowaen rolled a three.
Daghahen raised a finger and did another flourish with his arm to excite the audience. Lifted his cup. Two.
The crowd roared, some tousling Bowaen’s hair while others aimed laughs and jeers at Daghahen. He stood and leaned over to collect his pack.
After scooping up his winnings and tying the sword to his belt, Bowaen caught Daghahen’s arm before he could walk away. “Get your room.” He placed a few silver dendrea in Daghahen’s hand.
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