by Tanya Huff
Impossible to argue the later point as the Ilagian had, indeed, lost steadily all night. They'd followed him home, watched him climb into bed, discouraged Mirrin from following them away across the roof, and were now calling it a night.
"I suspect the governor will want us to observe him for a little longer," Vree pointed out. "He can't spend all his time planning an invasion. Maybe this was his night off."
"So we're staying?"
"For a while." She grabbed his arm as he started to turn away. "Where are you going?"
"Big Eylla's place is still open. I can see the torches from here."
Since she couldn't think of a good reason to hang on to him, she let him go.
"You should come with me."
"No, thank you."
"Your loss." Walking backwards, gracefully avoiding the other people still wandering the streets looking for entertainment, he winked. "You need to get laid more, sister-mine."
"Sod off. You too," she added before the elderly man leering cheerfully at her could make the obvious suggestion.
Just before dawn, someone heavy heaved himself up onto her balcony. The shoddy attempt annoyed her as much as being wakened and it sounded very much like he took out two or three other amateurs on the way down.
*
Their second day in the South Reaches was very much like their first, except
Bannon smelled faintly of cinnamon instead of limes. That night Hy Sa'lacvi had dinner with friends, ate sixteen crabs, drank half a barrel of pale beer, and threw up three times on the way home.
*
On day three, Orin attempted to shove Bannon into a cup-seller's cart, inexplicably missed, and somehow ended up crashing through it himself. The resulting shouting match was made funnier by the minor wounds Orin had taken. That night, they watched from the roof as Hy Sa'lacvi mixed powders and potions in his back room. After the first small explosion, Mirrin joined them.
When Vree returned alone to the Cyprus Gardens, heavy breathing and the creak of leather indicated she had company in her room. She thought about taking care of it herself, but figured Bannon would never forgive her for blowing their cover without him. Noting where each man stood, she backed away from the door, returned to the atrium, gave the information to the large young woman on duty, and let the inn's security handle it.
The intruders had swords out, but they weren't expecting crossbows.
"Who says assassins have no sense of humor," she murmured to herself as Orin and his crew were tossed down the front stairs loudly protesting that they were the governor's guard. Orin seemed to be bleeding slightly again.
*
"We need to deal with them," Vree muttered the next morning as Orin used a bandaged arm to shove that same poor water-seller out of his way. Keln and the still nameless fourth kicked the man on the way by. "They're starting to annoy me."
Bannon glanced behind him. The four guards were barely three or four body-length's behind, shadowing them obviously, scowling, hands on their weapons, the noon crowds scrambling clear. "They look a little bruised."
"They've had a rough couple of nights. Come on." She led the way into a narrow alley between a candler's and yet another ale house.
Rubbing at a bit of sandalwood scented oil in the crease of his elbow, Bannon shrugged and followed.
From the look on his face when he joined them, Orin had not been expecting an ultimatum.
"Sod off and we won't kill you."
His mouth opened and closed. Two of his men laughed. Reeno didn't.
Vree reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a square of leather stamped with a black sunburst. "This is your last warning," she sighed and tossed it onto the packed dirt between them.
Reeno whimpered.
"I'm guessing he served," Bannon noted from where he was leaning against the candler's wall. "And these three got deferments for being in the governor's guard.
"Orin!" Reeno grabbed the big man's arm. "They're..."
"…not armed with nothing but knives and they're runty," Orin grunted. "Soldiers die on leave all the time, accidental like."
Vree smiled at Reeno.
He whimpered again and ran.
*
That night, Hy Sa'lacvi went to another tile game and Bannon came back to their rooms smelling faintly of cloves.
*
"We can't keep this up indefinitely," Vree sighed as they followed Hy Sa'lacvi while he shopped.
"We could kill him."
"No," she flicked an apricot pit at a street performer. He shrieked, stopped trying to escape an invisible box, and grabbed his crotch. The crowd applauded. "Our orders say we have to be sure."
"So?"
"So we force his hand."
*
They laid a black sunburst on the sarong he wore out in the evening. Mirrin looked up at them, yawned, and went back to sleep.
*
"He probably doesn't know what it is," Bannon reminded Vree when Hy Sa'lacvi descended to the shop wearing the sarong, apparently unaffected by the square of leather he carried in one hand. "He's a foreigner, remember? Don't worry," he added as the square was passed to the woman in his shop. "She'll…"
Her shriek could be heard clearly across the street in the ale house.
"…know."
They settled in their regular place on the roof in time to see Hy Sa'lacvi carefully stack the contents of his work table into one covered basket and frantically shove a fistful of clothes and Mirrin into another. The calico kept up a steady protest as he pounded back down the stairs, through the shop, and into the street.
"Sounds like he's got a demon in there," Bannon snickered as they followed.
"Looks like he's heading straight for the docks," Vree pointed out.
"The Astolian ships."
"He's running right to his co-conspirators."
"So we can kill him now?"
"Works for me."
*
Hy Sa'lacvi was in the cabin of the fartherest ship with the Astolian woman he'd played tiles with. His baskets on the floor at his feet, he clutched her arm and spoke so quickly in Astolian it sounded like one long, hysterical word.
"Speak Imperial!" she snapped at last. "Your accent is terrible at the best of times!"
Tucked in the shadows outside the louvered window, Vree doubted his Imperial was any better. Although she could hear separate words, hysteria gave them unintelligible inflections.
"Why are assassins trying to kill you?" the woman demanded at last.
"My carpets!"
"What about them?"
"I sell cheap because pay no duty!"
"You're smuggling carpets into the South Reaches?" she asked as Bannon mouthed He's smuggling carpets?
"Hide them with sorcery!"
"Oh give it a rest, you're no more a sorcerer than I am."
Which was when Mirrin finally got the lid of the basket open. Yowling, she jumped up onto the table, scrambled through the piles of paper, knocked over the lantern, and threw herself out the window.
The lantern landed in the second basket.
Clutching the furious cat who'd landed in her arms, Vree danced along the railings, leapt to the other ship, skipped past an astounded group of sailors, and was on the dock before the purple flames had reached the top of the first mast.
Bannon was a heartbeat behind her.
"At least there's no invasion," he said as they slid into an alley while bells tolled and people yelled and Hy Sa'lacvi and the Astolian captain's voice could be heard screaming contradictory orders as the purple fire spread. "I think it's time we left."
"Past time," Vree agreed, wiping her bleeding cheek on her shoulder as Mirrin settled in her arms and began to purr.
"You going to take her back to the shop?"
She glanced at the burning ships. The purple fire had chased both crews onto the docks and seemed to be following them. "No, I think I'd better take her with us."
"What are we going to do with a cat?"
"Give it to Marshal Chela."
"Well, if we're bringing her something, we'd better get something for Commander Neegan too."
*
"So the Ilagian sorcerer was not the vanguard of an Astoblite invasion, although he might have precipitated one since Prince Aveon is likely to be more than a little annoyed about losing those two ships. Half of the South Reaches has been reduced to purple ash and rubble, three of the governor's personal security force are dead, someone named Big Eylla has sent me a bill for half a dozen body rubs…" Marshal Chela grabbed Mirran just in time to keep the inkwell from going off the edge of her desk. "…and I seem to have acquired a cat. Did you have anything to add, Commander Neegan?"
"Just that this," he told her holding the souvenir dagger between thumb and forefinger, and staring down at the dangling shells in disbelief, "is exactly why assassins do not take leave."
This novellette (I know, right, I thought it was a novella then I checked the numbers) takes place between Fifth Quarter and The Quartered Sea. Vree and Gyhard's story takes place in the former and Evicka makes a couple of appearances in the later. Actually, now I think of it, I reference things that happened in all four novels, at least in passing. If you've read the books, you'll recognized certain characters. If you're meeting those characters for the first time, you'll get to meet them again.
For all she had a very small part in The Quartered Sea, I found myself liking Evicka and her attitude quite a bit and when asked by Subterranean Press for a fantasy set in an already published mythos decided pretty much immediately to tell her story. I had so much fun returning to Shkoker and the bards after years away, that I just might actually get around to writing that closed door mystery Tadeus solves at the River Maiden. Maybe. Someday. Don't worry, you'll know if I do.
It should come as no surprise to anyone that I wrote Quartered during the winter.
Quartered
"Hang on to it, you fool!"
"I'm trying to!"
Evicka glanced up as the wind ripped the banner from the hands of the workman on the ladder . The painted canvass, flapping like a bird with a broken wing was heavy enough to hurt any of the dozen or so people crossing the courtyard, even without considering the added weight of brass grommets and dangling lengths of knotted rope. She whistled one long note, then four notes in quick succession to direct the air kigh that had answered her call. They draped pale, elongated bodies about the canvass and pushed it over to the wall where it slid to the cobble stones, disturbing nothing but a damp and disgruntled pigeon. Half the people bustling about on the Citadel's business remained unaware it had fallen and the other half noted they were in no danger and kept walking.
"My thanks, Evicka!"
"Happy to help." As the foreman began tearing a piece off his worker, Evicka whistled a gratitude, waiting to be sure the kigh actually flew off before continuing toward the Bardic Hall. The death of King Theron followed by the coronation of his daughter Queen Onele had kept more kigh than usual around the Citadel as the bards of Shkoder had worked to keep as much of the country as possible involved; first mourning then celebrating as one. After a month of being constantly on call, of being sent from Elbasan, the capital, out to all six provinces and back again, the kigh had begun to believe their presence was required even when it most certainly was not.
Most of the bards of Shkoder Sang air so the air kigh were the worst offenders, but the rain had made the water kigh nearly as plentiful and more than one bard who Sang water had found the bath suddenly less private than they preferred. Fires had been seen dancing between andirons, more than willing to leave if given something to burn. Only the earth kigh, dormant to all but the most powerful bards during the cold of Fourth Quarter, were behaving.
The new queen had put her foot down when the window in her private dining room had blown open and a cup of wine had landed in her lap.
"It was the first quiet moment I'd had to myself in over a month,"she'd snapped at the Bardic Captain, all Bards present in the Citadel gathered in a loose semi-circle behind him. "Fix this."
Evicka had spent the morning up on the west battlements Singing gratitudes and dismissing as many of the kith as could be convinced to go. She could faintly hear the Songs continuing, but her last shift had ended at noon. The moment she got the final word from the Bardic Captain, she was Walking south and while, as a rule, she enjoyed city life, she had to admit crowded taverns were significantly more fun after a few days of solitude.
Except for a fledgling racing toward the practice rooms, drum in one hand, pipes in the other, the Bardic Hall itself was pleasantly empty and Evicka took the stairs up to the captain's office two at a time. Outside his door, she unbuttoned the oilskin jacket she'd needed up on the battlements, checked that the sweater under it was presentable, and knocked.
"Come in, Evicka."
Older bards said that Liene, the old Bardic Captain, could tell a bard by their knock. She'd been a percussionist though so Evicka, who'd still been a fledgling when Liene retired, believed it. Evicka had no idea how Kovar, the present captain, managed the trick, but suspected he probably just expected his Bards to get to their appointments on time.
He looked up from a pile of paperwork when she came in and a managed a weary smile under the arc of his waxed mustache. "I envy you the road."
Evicka spread her hands. "Come with me."
"If only I could." He couldn't, of course, which was why she'd made the offer. She didn't dislike the captain, and after the last month they all appreciated the amount of work he did, but Walking with him would be like traveling with a fussy maiden aunt. A fussy maiden aunt who sang all four Quarters, but still... He rubbed at his forehead with an ink stained hand – a habit that probably didn't involve checking to see how far his hair had receded since the last time no matter what that bit of anonymous doggerel claimed – and said, "You're Walking through Somes, the Giant's Gap, Vidor, and home, right?"
"That's right."
He gestured at a chair, but she shook her head, too ready to Walk to sit still. Fortunately, the captain didn't care as long as she listened and Bards were good at that. Listening was at least half of the job. "I imagine the Duc will be home barely steps before you," the captain began, "and Pjazef is with her so that covers the coast road and leaves you free to deal with the small villages and holdings inland."
"That's right," Evicka said again and wandered over to peer at the large map of Shkoder on the wall facing the desk. Not only were the six provinces and their capitals marked, but every of the aforementioned small villages and holdings ever visited by a bard. She had to admit, she'd always been impressed by how tiny the scribes had managed to write. The bards, of course, didn't travel by map as much as by the kigh, going where they were needed as well as where they were expected.
"While you're out, I need you to cross to Bicaz. It should be First Quarter by the time you're there," he added as she turned. "The way should be open."
Evicka schooled her expression although the possibility of bad weather hadn't caused her reaction. Somes alone was a long enough Walk without adding another province particularly when weather often made Fourth Quarter travel more intent than actuality. "Is there somewhere specific you need me to go in Bicaz, Captain?"
"Yes." Palms flat on the desk, Kovar squared his shoulders and Evicka braced herself. This was the captain's I'm about to say something important posture. "I need you to check on the timber holding the late king granted to Vireyda Magaly and Gyhard i'Stevana."
It took Evicka a moment to find it on the map. Just barely over the border, it wouldn't be far out of her way – the kigh had certainly taken bards further off their planned route. Frowning slightly, she turned again. "Is there a problem?" The holding wasn't far as the bard Walked from Ohrid and Ohrid and had a small Bardic Outpost. "I'd have thought Stasya would be keeping an eye on things."
"Stasya is..."
"Old?" Evicka offered as the pause lengthened. Stasya was in her forties, as old or maybe old
er than the Bardic Captain.
Kovar snorted. "Biased. Annice has a history with Vireyda Magaly, through her daughter, and Annice is not... clear-sighted where her daughter is concerned. If Annice has biases, Stasya has biases."
"You think I...?"
"I think you can be objective, where they can not."
"I see." Bouncing up and down on her toes, Evicka realized the Bardic Captain was placing a great deal of trust in her. Vireyda Magaly was an ex-Imperial Assassin who'd come to Shkoder with her lover, Gyhard i'Stevana, sharing her body. Actually sharing her body. She'd helped the bards identify the fifth kigh because it had been impossible for them not to notice she had two. Two kigh. One body. Following close on her heels – their heels? – had been a crazy old man who'd killed and then stuffed the escaping fifth kigh back into dead bodies, creating a sort of family. The songs about it were as sorrowful as they were dark. It had taken Vireyda and Gyhard, and Vireyda's brother Albannon, and Annice, and Annice's daughter Magda, and another bard named Karlene to stop him.
Evicka had been on her first long Walk north when it happened. Had she only listened to the songs, she'd have assumed exaggeration for effect but she'd also read the Recalls – Kovar had wanted everyone familiar with the situation concerning the fifth kigh – and, if anything, the songs had played down the less romantic parts of the story. She was pretty sure she personally could find nothing at all romantic about having Gyhard's kigh replace a dead kigh stuffed into a live body. Well, the part about Gyhard getting a body of his own so he and Vireyda could realize their love, that was romantic. The dead kigh in a live body part, not so much.
Right from the beginning, Kovar's distrust of Gyhard had been open knowledge around the Bardic Hall. The captain considered him an abomination, but that was mostly based on why his kigh had been sharing Vireyda's body not so much because of the body he currently wore. Evicka understand Kovar's point. If jumping from body to body one step ahead of death, displacing the resident kigh to stay alive didn't take a person out of the Circle, she couldn't think of what would.