by CJ Brightley
He paused, his head turning. His intent gaze caused me to turn my head. I made out the silhouettes of horseback riders vanishing over a distant hill.
Hlanan turned back to me. “Where was I? Oh yes. This spring Thianra discovered that the theft ring was not only protected, but it was part of something much larger. Do you know where Thann lies?”
“No. Wait. Isn’t that somewhere beyond Thesreve?”
“Yes. Mountains—hills, really, mining country, between Thesreve and Akerik, which had petitioned to become part of the empire. Akerik has been thriving since joining the empire’s protection, and everyone has been happy except the Duchess of Thann, who has ambitions. She uses the wherewithal from her mines to raise and train the Wolf Grays.”
He paused to glance around, then said, “The conditions in her mines are deplorable, as she wrests every bit of wealth she can out of them. The empire would like to . . .” He shook his head. “Listen to me ramble! It’s walking in the sun like this.”
“So this duchess is running the thief ring?”
“I think it’s more that she’s benefitting, and using the thieves as spies. And assassins, Thianra thinks. She had been looking for proof when an assassin team came after her. This is one of the reasons why Rajanas set sail as suddenly as he did.”
“And here I thought Thianra was just a bard. Except she fights too well to be just a bard,” I said.
“She would like to be just a bard,” Hlanan observed, his tone difficult to understand. It was tentative, like he could say more, or should say more, but didn’t.
Instead, he shifted so he was walking sideways as he peered out over my head. I whirled to look as well, but I wasn’t tall enough to see over the hedgerow growing alongside the road, so I turned back, and nearly stumbled into Hlanan. I stepped back, distracted by the shape of his jaw, and the unexpected ruddy-gold glint of whiskers. I snapped my gaze down, my nerves jangling like one of Thianra’s stringed instruments. I’d never felt that before, like I had walked uninvited into someone’s privacy.
I sneaked a glance upward, to discover him regarding me speculatively. “You’ve another terrible surprise to spring on me?” he asked, the corners of his mouth deepening in the quirk that meant he was holding in laughter.
“You haven’t done the spell to stop beard growth?” The question just slipped out.
He exhaled a laugh. “No.” He passed a quick hand over his jaw. “I don’t need the beard scraper but two or three times a week. I seem to have been remiss.” And, the amusement pronounced, “It could be some day I might need a beard to lend me some presence. I am aware that, even when I am wearing my best clothes, I look like someone’s junior clerk.”
Perhaps because of Dhes-Andis, the subject of families was not far from my thoughts. “Does your father look like a clerk? You and Thianra are so different. What are your parents like?”
“My father looks like what he is, an archivist,” Hlanan said. “On normal days you will find his fingers stained with ink, his robe dusty, and a feather quill or two stuck behind his ears. Thianra’s father is an artist—ho, there they are.” His eyes narrowed, and he beckoned to me, drawing me under a leafy tree near the road. “After we escaped from the galleys, Rajanas was determined to get military training, and though I didn’t, I have learned a little from him. Such as, avoiding creating a silhouette on a hilltop.” He gestured to the tree overhead. “And second is to understand search patterns. There are two search parties down there, faster than I expected. It’s unlikely that they have anything to do with us,” he said apologetically. “But they are too far for me to determine whose colors they are wearing. I’d feel easier if we considered leaving this road altogether, and cutting cross-country toward the nearest town, where it might be easier to get lost among the populace.”
“Dhes-Andis did say he was sending somebody to find me,” I said, my shoulder blades prickling as I scanned the peaceful countryside again, at least as much as I could see. “I tried to make him think I was going to Thesreve, in case he really could do that. Can he?”
“If he had riders along the border, he could. Even he cannot send armies hither and yon via magic.”
“I wish Tir would find us.” I dug the last bean out of the cap, sighed, and began stuffing my hair into it. If we were being chased, the sight of my hair would be worse than a beacon.
“I think I transferred too far for Tir,” Hlanan said with obvious regret. I finished tucking my tail into my trousers, rolled up my now-dry second outfit (I still could not believe the profligacy of owning two outfits!), and tucked it into the knapsack, and turned to find Hlanan staring. “You better keep the cloak.” And, “Which way?”
He blinked, then pointed in a northwesterly direction. “On that last hill, I caught sight of a trade town alongside a lake. From what I’ve seen so far, the searchers, if they are searching for us, are mostly looking to the east. Let’s take an unexpected route.”
“Shall I summon horses?”
“I think we’re better on foot, though it’s slower. We can hide if we’re not mounted. And I’d rather not draw attention by an unexplained stampede of animals in our direction.”
“Lead on.”
20
We left the hilltop directly, and plunged down the wooded slope, following a stream until we found ourselves deep in a valley. Water trickled everywhere, unseen; slow-stirring air smelled of a thousand kinds of herb, shrub, and tree. On the steep slope of a river streaks of dirty snow remained, stippled with small paw prints.
We picked our way along the riverbank until the folds of land on either side of us gradually began opening as the river broadened. Presently Hlanan glanced at the westering sun and, “You should probably take the cloak back.”
“Why?”
“Because we should begin seeing signs of habitation soon, and possibly a road. I’m afraid you’ll catch the eye. It doesn’t quite cover all your hair in back. Not many have silver-blue hair.”
“Oh. Didn’t think of that,” I said. “Well, if we can get to yon town before the shops close, just let me get about for a bit, and I promise you, nobody will recognize me.”
“It’s those searchers who worry me. And anyone else who might pass by and be questioned.”
I was about to retort that I was very good at avoiding possible pursuit, but then I remembered the first time we met, I was running just ahead of a howling mob. I jingled the coin bag hanging inside my loose clothes. “I can hide. And when we get to town, we’ve got this.”
So it was.
The sun had just set when we drifted into town, me going first, and him a hundred or so paces behind. We agreed to meet in the town center at the next bell, and find a place to stay.
The lakeside portion of town was the busiest. A coin here, and trade there, and my nice new silken outfit vanished piece by piece. When I rejoined Hlanan, at first he looked right past me, gratifying me so much I chortled. Then he whirled around, and whistled. Then sniffed. “A very convincing urchin,” he said appreciatively.
“There is nothing like a sprinkling of overheated horse and rancid onion to keep nosers at a safe distance,” I said, flapping the front of my new tunic, a patched, tattered garment I’d traded the pretty orange silk sash for.
He peered down at me. “What is that sticking out of your cap?”
“Horse hair. I stopped by a stable, and pulled the hairs out of a curry comb. The splotches are just mud. Nobody will see any silver now.”
“Excellent. Here is your apron,” he said, handing me a sturdy canvas covering, with many pockets sewn on it. “We are now locksmiths.”
I’d given him some coins before we parted. He’d been as busy as I was; his clothes were now worn, patched laborer’s clothes of dull green and brown. Over it, of course, he wore the apron, with the guild stitchery over the top pocket.
He led me back to the poorer side of town, away from the lake, where he’d taken a room with a cubby off it at a rundown but popular inn. It catered to laborer
s and artisans’ apprentices. The common room was jammed with brightly dressed people, four and five or even more sitting shoulder to shoulder around little tables meant for two or three at most.
We threaded through to a tiny table, covered by a clean cloth with cheerful bunches of cherries embroidered on it. This table was on the opposite side from the low dais, where an act with two singing women and a pack of dancing dogs performed with loud vigor. The crowd at that end was solid, loud, even roistering as mug-waving customers sang the chorus along with the two-legged performers.
Not long after we sat, a brawny young fellow set down two plates, two bowls, and two mugs of ale. The food was plain, but delicious: plenty of hot bread and cheese on the plates beside roasted bits of fish on skewers, and spicy bean-and-rice soup in the bowls. I put my fish skewers on Hlanan’s plate. He inhaled them, licking his fingers after each bite.
When our hunger had abated some, I asked, “Do you know anything about locks?”
He grinned. “As it happens, I am pretty deedy with them. Not among the best, as I only spent a winter season working at it, but good enough to have passed through a few locked doors during my first encounter with Geric Lendan.”
“Hah,” I said, flourishing my bread. “Crime!”
“I am aghast at your insinuations. My movements were investigative. This untoward glee at my lapses in civilized behavior grieves me,” he said soulfully, but he was mocking himself, as he knew, and I knew he knew—and he knew that I knew that he knew—that he had been in every respect a thief. Even if he hadn’t actually purloined anything.
I was about to ask why a scribe would study both magic and locksmithing, when the door slammed open and tough-looking armed guards in dark purple surcoats stamped in.
Instinct was faster than thought. Between one heartbeat and the next I’d sunk under the table, my bowl and plate clutched against me.
“Hi, there,” the innkeeper’s deep voice rasped. “I’ll not have my custom disturbed!”
“We are on orders directly from our king,” was the accented response. “We seek a Hrethan who has been endangered. We are to provide safe escort.”
“Hrethan!” the innkeeper exclaimed.
“Female, appears to be somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five years, brown eyes, not blue.”
“There are no brown-eyed Hrethan here, or any other color,” the innkeeper stated. “Hrethan not being part of our usual custom, whatever age.”
His sarcasm raised a belly laugh from the avid watchers.
“Now get along, please. I’ve broken no laws, neither me nor my custom, and I’ll thank you to send that to your king in Liacz.”
The door slammed. The air promptly filled with voices exclaiming, cursing, demanding answers to questions. Above them all the innkeeper roared, “Where’s our entertainment?”
A clash of cymbals, a tweetle of pipes, and the singing started up again, ragged but determined.
I oozed back into my chair, and settled my dishes on the table.
Hlanan’s brows lifted. I was about to speak, but glanced around, and caught a puzzled look from a woman at the adjoining table. I scowled and crouched over my plate, breaking the last of my bread into pieces.
Hlanan said in the slurred accent we’d been hearing around us, “Mind your manners, rascal. No more diving for coins under the tables!”
The woman looked away again, and we finished our meal in silence, then Hlanan (who was fighting yawns) led the way out. I slouched after him, doing my best to appear the dejected young apprentice.
The room we’d been given was tiny, the cubby off it barely enough to spread out a blanket on the floor.
As soon as Hlanan shut the door, he muttered a spell and light sparked, catching on the wick of a very small piece of candle. He set the candle on the bare table next to a bed with a sagging middle, sat down, and gave himself up to silent laughter. “Under the table?” he finally said.
“Habit.” I shrugged.
“Probably as well.” He poked the sagging middle of the bed. The slats beneath groaned unpromisingly. “‘Hrethan.’ Well, we know at least one of their targets?”
“Unless there’s another Hrethan besides me running around. What was that about the king of Liacz? Aren’t we in Namas Ilan?”
“We are. I take it you do not know the local history?” The candle light flickered in his eyes.
“Nothing. This is as far north as I’ve ever been. As I remember ever being,” I corrected.
“A succession of terrible rulers resulted in a civil war after the last king died, and his descendants squabbled over the crown. After two years of the countryside being laid waste as this prince fought that princess and back again, the populace rose against the few contenders left, and appointed a council made of guild leaders and free-town mayors. That lasted about ten years, until the corruption disgusted the populace all over again, and civil war threatened. The last act of this council—as the people howled outside the old palace, wanting to hang the lot of them—invited the King of Liacz in to help keep the peace. He was very glad to oblige, and his warriors are still here. Nobody wants them, but nobody knows how to get rid of them. The kingdom is too impoverished to organize against Liacz.”
“This inn, at least, seems to be doing well.”
“I will venture a guess that most of that custom works for their bean soup and bread. You saw how little trout there was on those skewers.” He glanced at the candle. “If you wish to change, I suggest you take that bit of candle into the closet before it burns out.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I just got my new outfit. It needs at least six months of proper seasoning before I change.”
“Seasoning!”
“Yes. If capture is likely, I might add a layer of vintage fish in aid of the rancid onion.”
“A formidable threat. Do you want the bed?”
“I think that thing would smother me. I’ll take the floor,” I said. “I’m used to floors.”
“At least have the blanket,” he said. “It’s chilly in here.” He pointed to the open window high on the outside wall.
“All I need is the cloak.” I pulled it off the bedpost where he’d hung it.
The candle was already guttering. Hlanan blew out the flame, and I listened to the rustle of clothing as he undressed, then the creaking of the bed as he settled in. Again I had that sense of intruding on his privacy, though I had often slept in a room full of thieves, many of whom had preferred to air their clothes at night, and I hadn’t given them a second thought. I could not understand my reaction, which made me feel off-balance.
As I wrapped the cloak around me, I thought about how seldom in my life I had been on a name basis with people, much less exchanged as much information as I had of late. If you liked people, it made you vulnerable to attack—Geric Lendan had certainly known that, when he’d threatened to kill Hlanan. A vivid image of Hlanan lying there tied up, his shirt ripped baring that tattoo on his shoulder, and I resettled myself to face the other way, my mind wheeling too much for rest. The mud I’d smeared on my face and the backs of my hands itched, an old sensation that I found steadying. That, at least, was something normal.
“What are you thinking?” Hlanan said presently. His voice was warm in the darkness.
Usually I was quite ready to blurt out exactly what I was thinking. But I found myself reluctant, at least until I understood myself a bit better. “Can’t anybody help the people here get rid of the King of Liacz? I mean, without sending another army in?”
“I hope the people themselves will do that. You noticed how most everyone wore a bit of red?”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “I thought the room downstairs cheerful, but my habit is to watch faces for threat or question, and hands for weapons. What does the red mean?”
“The original flag was crimson with yellow oak leaves. The red is a gesture of, oh, resistance to outsiders? Maybe even a kind of loyalty, renewing itself after all the trouble. What they need is a leader.”<
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“And then there’s a new king, heigh ho, and it all starts over again.”
“Not necessarily. Custom and habit are as strong as greed and ambition. Education can be . . .” His tone was musing. “Effective.” He was taken by a yawn. “I beg pardon.”
The pause lengthened into a silence. While I wrestled with questions, gradually I became aware that his breathing had slowed and deepened.
I remembered that he’d had little sleep before showing up on the border of Alezand in my wake, and I wondered how much rest he’d gotten the previous night while rain-soaked and chilled.
My body was tired, as I was not used to walking all day, but my mind was not going to let me sleep. So, instead of lying there while my thoughts hooted questions at me like a cluster of owls, I decided to seek some answers on my own.
A quick hop, a wriggle through the small window, and I stepped onto the rain gutter along the edge of the roof. From the hubbub of voices below, the common room was still occupied, though with fewer people. The town was slowly settling down for the night.
I stood up and looked around. In this end of the town, the houses were close enough together for me to leap. Very practiced at this method of travel, I sped along the edges of roofs so that my steps would not be heard by anyone sleeping in attics. I hopped from eave to eave, watching below in alleys and narrow byways for anyone in those purple coats.
In my experience, one seldom overheard important conversations while people were busy on a job. It was when they relaxed in their own quarters that an eavesdropper had the best chance of finding things out.
I finally spotted a patrol, and altered my path to run along above them. As expected, what chatter I could hear was mostly about names I didn’t know, sour beer, stable problems, late pay, and observations about what they saw.
But I stuck it out, until (after what seemed forever) my patrol went off-duty. They led me straight to their guard-house, which was not only lit all along the ground floor and half of the upper story, but most of the windows were open to the balmy night.