Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “Thrun,” Borsen replied after swallowing a mouthful of nutcake.

  “Pardon?” Stevahn felt as if he’d been smacked with a large fish. Thrun? City Thrun were invariably dirty and dishevelled, usually creeping around up to no good. All the Thrun Stevahn had seen were very tall, massive people. How could Borsen possibly be Thrun?

  “I’m three-quarters Thrun,” Borsen affirmed. “Thrun was my first language and when my mother spoke Mordanian it was with a very strong Thrun accent. It’s the singsong way of speaking and the drawing out of certain syllables that you’re not familiar with. I’m not likely to lose it, I’ve been around Mordanians for ages, but it hangs on.”

  “Don’t lose it,” Stevahn said firmly.

  “Not much chance. Now, before they come with a bill and there’s a great to-do as to who will pay it, let me know the etiquette. I’ve never been to dinner with anyone who isn’t family. Remember, I have added the equivalent of another person to this meal with my voracious eating habits.” Borsen’s eyes were twinkling again with inner amusement.

  “You’ve never …”

  “No. The family estate is quite remote and I have not been to dinner with anyone who is not my family,” Borsen repeated, looking down at his cake, obviously hiding a smile.

  “I asked you. You’re my guest,” Stevahn replied, his mind whirling with the implication that Borsen truly was unattached. “Even with your extra courses. I’m sorry to seem surprised, but you’ve been so at ease, I just assumed you’d been out with a… friend before.”

  Borsen looked up from his plate slowly, his heavy eyelids moving in a manner that made Stevahn’s heart skip a beat.

  “There are many things I’ve not done,” Borsen said, his voice dropping a bit, giving it a seductive husk that cut through Stevahn like one of the knives the young man had salted about his very attractive person.

  The Shadows, Mordania

  Erdahn, Mordania

  11

  Thelak Carvers

  K

  aymar let himself into Borsen’s workroom just as Borsen signed his name to a letter to Katrin detailing his evening with Stevahn Rondheim. Kaymar waited while Borsen put the letter into an envelope and made a distinct point of sealing it with a heavy blob of wax.

  “Do not read that until Katrin’s had a chance, Nosey,” Borsen directed, handing the letter to his cousin.

  “You cut me to the quick, youngster,” Kaymar grinned.

  “You’ll survive. Could you check this name for me? Have Menders run it through the mill?” He handed Kaymar a card.

  “Stevahn Rondheim? Banker, right over there,” Kaymar said in surprise, pointing toward the building opposite.

  “Don’t gesture, for the gods’ sakes, he’ll see you!” Borsen pushed Kaymar’s offending hand down.

  “Borsen, what on earth are you up to? I can probably tell you anything you need to know.” Kaymar sat on the edge of Borsen’s worktable and observed him closely. Borsen, to his dismay, felt a red flush rising from his collar to his hairline.

  Kaymar began to chortle.

  “I see,” he said with amusement. “Well, he’s nancy, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “I’ve managed to figure that out, Father Wisdom,” Borsen snapped.

  “Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Kaymar gloated. “Looking to give up your famous chastity?”

  “Shut up! I never expected that kind of nastiness from you!” Borsen turned away, plunging his hands into his pockets.

  Kaymar rose, closed the curtains so that Stevahn Rondheim wouldn’t see this altercation and went to Borsen.

  “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I shouldn’t have teased you. I can tell you that he’s from a very wealthy banking family. They are very powerful in finance, very influential. He’s the only son but surprisingly, they’re not put off by him being nancy. Seems there’s a sister who has a boychild who can carry the banking torch, so there’s no pressure on Stevahn Rondheim to produce an heir. They’re not nobility, so there’s no nonsense about titles and heirs and convenient marriages. He seems a quite respectable fellow. No rumors of salacious doings. No attachments that I know of. I’ll have Menders check more closely but I’m very sure you’re safe to do as you like.”

  “You know this is about protecting Katrin, not me,” Borsen snapped, still angry. “And how the hells do you know so much about him?”

  “It’s my business to know as much as possible about the powerful people in Mordania. Stevahn Rondheim and his family are some of them. My personal advice for you is to make him pursue you. Be sure he wants you as a person, not just a roll with a pretty young man who looks younger than he is. If he’s only after the physical he’ll go his way to greener pastures. If he’s looking for more, he’ll be willing to put up with some unrequited passion to get to know you better. Then, be intimate only when you’re sure he’s what you want.”

  Borsen wasn’t quite ready to lose his ire. “You know I don’t want any danger coming to Katrin.”

  “Yes, I do and I appreciate it more than you know,” Kaymar replied, giving him a quick hug around the shoulders. He could feel Borsen taking a deep breath and saw that he was calmer. “Now, let’s open this curtain so he doesn’t think I’m seducing you. Gazes at you a bit, does he?”

  Borsen nodded silently, returning to his work table.

  “I’m going to the races with him tomorrow,” he said suddenly.

  “Wonderful. Have fun, and don’t rush. I’ll be back to you in a few days. Katrin’s not going out yet, so I’m still redundant at The Shadows. Take care, Little Cuz,” Kaymar said, letting himself out of the workroom.

  Borsen sighed and bent over his table. Then he remembered, and looked up.

  Stevahn was standing there at his window and looked startled when Borsen caught him at it. Borsen waved, and looked back at his work.

  ***

  “Look at this!” Katrin said excitedly, handing the letter from Borsen to Menders. He took it, switched to his reading glasses and perused it, his eyebrows going almost to his hairline.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “Not only that, but he asked if you would run the man’s name through the mill,” Kaymar added, handing over the card Borsen had given him. Menders took it wonderingly.

  “So it’s not all on the side of Mister Rondheim at all! Borsen is actually interested in someone!” Katrin looked extremely pleased.

  “Very much so. He blushed like a bride when I asked why he wanted to know about the fellow,” Kaymar grinned.

  “Good! Maybe this man can keep him from working so hard,” Katrin replied.

  “I know who Stevahn Rondheim is but let’s make the inquiries anyway,” Menders said, picking up a flat grey dossier folder and handing it to Kaymar. “Not because I think he’s anything other than an investment banker, but best not to take a chance.”

  “It’s a pity Borsen has to do this,” Katrin sighed.

  “Yes, but he’s sensible enough to know it must be done. I’m not worried about Stevahn Rondheim. He’s not a threat, but someone could use him to get at Borsen – or at you,” Menders explained. “We need to know if he’s going to be impervious to manipulation. He’s very bright. He has to be to do what he does. His father is impeccable, very astute and forward seeing. I doubt there would ever be a problem with them knowing about Borsen’s connection to you. I’m sure Borsen will be able to go ahead with whatever he’d like to do, but I appreciate his caution and care.”

  Kaymar hesitated, looking torn over something. He shook his head a little and spoke.

  “I was surprised Borsen didn’t mention it in his letter – well, thinking about it, I’m not so surprised,” he began. “He handled the matter himself, but I think you should know. Borsen’s father turned up at the store a week or so ago. I wasn’t there, but heard about it through the usual channels.”

  Menders and Katrin exchanged a startled glance. There had been no sign of Borsen’s family from the time they had left hi
m behind at The Shadows ten years earlier.

  “I was afraid this might happen,” Menders said quietly. “I need to know about it.”

  Kaymar perched on the corner of the desk, his hand resting on Katrin’s shoulder.

  “Seems he turned up one morning and asked for Borsen. From what I was told, the man is an enormous Thrun.”

  Menders nodded. Kaymar went on.

  “He gave the store director a tragic tale of being Borsen’s father, which I had warned him about when they opened. He rang the bell.”

  “What bell?” Katrin asked.

  “There’s an alarm bell at Borsen’s. Many businesses have them,” Menders explained. “It alerts the store security of a problem without frightening people who aren’t involved. There’s one on each floor of Borsen’s, only the staff know about them.” Katrin nodded and turned her attention back to Kaymar.

  “Borsen heard it, of course. It’s connected to his workroom as well as to the security room,” Kaymar went on. “He came down in the elevator. When it opened in the lobby, he was face to face with his father.

  “His father began the ‘my long lost son’ routine, but Borsen pulled out his sparkly little pistol and escorted him out without a word. On the street he told him never to come back around or he’d use the gun on him. Borsen then walked calmly back inside, thanked the director for his quick action and went back to his workroom as if nothing had happened.”

  Katrin sighed in disgust. “I’d hoped for something more dramatic than that,” she said. Menders and Kaymar burst out laughing.

  “And there is the difference between women and men,” Kaymar grinned. “You want drama, we think Borsen is admirable for dealing with it without drama.”

  Katrin pinched him. He stood up and got out of range.

  “It’s time for my walk,” Katrin announced, not wanting any more edification on the differences between women and men.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Menders smiled. She went to get her coat.

  “Is Borsen’s father still in Erdahn?” Menders asked softly once he was sure she was out of earshot. Kaymar came close, so their voices wouldn’t carry.

  “I made some inquiries. He is. No sign of the woman he was with when he was in this area years back, no young people with him who would have been their children. He’s either abandoned them or they’ve moved on or died. He looked very down and out, half crocked Varens told me. All ready to try to lean on Borsen for money, I’m sure.”

  “Eliminate him,” Menders ordered quietly. “I don’t want Borsen having to contend with this nonsense, and I don’t want to risk his father getting his hands on him. Borsen will have his chance without worthless scum coming out of the woodwork to foul things up.”

  “Consider it done,” Kaymar answered.

  “And now to take Katrin for a stroll. Care to come with us?” Menders asked, as casually as if they’d been discussing the weather.

  ***

  Thelak Carvers slumped in the corner of a cheap tavern that attracted City Thrun. He’d hoped to cadge a few drinks, but the crowd was very thin tonight and none of the Thrun he’d met since arriving in Erdahn were present.

  He’d drunk his way through the coins he’d gotten for a pickpocketed watch and he had nothing else to pawn or spend. He huddled back into the dark corner and pretended to nurse his drink, though the glass was empty. If the barkeep noticed he was loitering and not drinking, he’d be out on the street. It was a stinking night, foggy and dank. Best to become invisible and spend more time in the muggy warmth of the tavern.

  Erdahn was a mean town, hard to steal a living in. People tended to stay close to home, or traveled in cabs. They were wary of City Thrun and kept their hands on their money bags and watches whenever one was in sight.

  Thelak was seven feet tall and couldn’t blend into a crowd. He’d always depended on his woman for pickpocketing, but she’d dropped dead in Surelia from sickness last year. Their brats had long since gone their own ways, those that hadn’t died along the way. Women were not anxious to couple with him now, as years and drink had spoiled his face and body. He had nobody to help him and unless he could manage a housebreak, he was going to be a in a bad way. Housebreaks were hard to come by in this city of stay-at-homes.

  In Surelia he’d heard stories of Borsen’s, a great store in Erdahn run by a young Thrun man who was making a fortune as a fancy men’s tailor. Thelak had been gobsmacked. He was sure there couldn’t be too many Thrun men named Borsen in Mordania. How his puny, nancy, eldest son could have managed such a trick was a mystery to Thelak. He caught a ferry to Erdahn, curious to see if this Borsen was actually Thara Borgela’s priceless brat.

  Thelak was dazzled by the imposing building. It was entirely covered in the white shiny stone the Surelians used for important buildings. More money than Thelak had seen in a lifetime was in the entryway alone, in those slabs of stone. It must have been some trick for Borsen, who was nearly blind and worthless at anything but being a coward, to become the owner of this place.

  Thelak drifted into the store in the wake of a group of well-dressed people and was immediately struck by the elegance and costliness of the place. The stealing in here would be prime. Even if it turned out this Borsen was someone other than his son, he would be able to lightfinger enough out of this busy mercantile to get himself back to Surelia. And if Borsen was someow the owner of this place, the right words would make a weakling sorry that his poor old papa was in a bad way. Thara Borgela had made the boy worthless with her prattling about the Way of Light. In Thelak’s experience, people who were too pure were easy marks for a sad story. Thelak might end up getting some value from his oldest brat after all.

  A dandified man approached Thelak and asked if he could help him. Thelak dropped into his most useful guise, the Thrun fresh from the country and down on his luck. It put people off the City Thrun wariness.

  “Oh yes sir,” he’d said humbly, intensifying his accent and holding his hat in front of him. “I did hear that the young man who owns this place is called Borsen and was wondering if he might be the little son I lost when his mother took him away long ago. I was worried about coming in such a fine place, so I could wait outside…”

  “Just a moment, sir,” the man said, going to a panel full of switches on the wall. He flicked one up and then down. “Borsen should be right along.”

  Thelak was aware of several men coming in his direction, but his attention was taken up by the ringing of the elevator bell and the door opening.

  Being confronted by Thara Borgela’s face on a tiny man who stared coldy at him through a pair of eyeglasses made Thelak catch his breath anxiously. It was his eldest son all right, a runt as always but dressed like a damned king, rings on every finger, diamond studs in his ears. How could that little bastard have managed this? He’d been worthless! Scared of his own shadow, always hiding in a corner and drawing pictures of men wearing fancy clothes!

  Borsen was obviously not pleased to see him. Still he’d always been a shy brat. He might not recognize Thelak as his father, since he’d never been able to see past the end of his nose.

  “My Little Man,” Thelak said, making himself smile, feeling pleased that he remembered what Thara Borgela had called the little nancy. “It’s Papa. I’ve looked for you for so long…”

  “Shut up.” Borsen reached into his pocket and took out a small golden pistol flashing with inset gems, only lifting it far enough for Thelak to see he had it. “Outside.”

  Thelak had seen the bore of the pistol. Though it looked like a toy, it was capable of putting a very large hole through him. He managed a sickly smile and went through the door with Borsen right behind him.

  “Get away from here and don’t come back. If you do, I’ll use this gun,” Borsen said abruptly. Four men came out of the store and stood behind him, also holding pistols discreetly but where Thelak could see them.

  “But son, I want to make amends,” Thelak tried desperately.

  “That is impos
sible.” Borsen stood there, his jewelry glittering in the bright sunlight, his hair shining. “If you come back here again, I will kill you.”

  Thelak fled down the Promenade toward the docks, not even daring to look back. When his heart stopped banging, he’d made enquiries among the City Thrun about Borsen and was enraged by the tale.

  The little bastard was rich. He’d hove into town almost two years ago and set up that posh store, then made a name for himself making men’s suits. He lived nearby. He had an enormous dog that went about with him, carried a walking stick with a lead-loaded stone handle, was armed with several knives and carried that improbable gun.

  What Thelak hated, as he heard more and more about Borsen during the days after his visit to the store, was that the City Thrun were proud of him and spoke of him with a mixture of awe and enthusiasm. All of them claimed to know someone who worked for him, someone who otherwise would have no job, because only Borsen would hire Thrun as regular employees. He hired other poor folk as well, giving them a chance they otherwise would not have had. They all acted as if Borsen was something wonderful. They told about the charities he’d started and how anyone who wanted could go into Borsen’s without fear of being chucked back onto the street, so long as they behaved and didn’t try to steal. Borsen would order a discount on something if a customer was short of money or would give a voucher for a free meal in the store employee’s restaurant if someone looked in need of a handout. Oh, but Thelak was turfed out straightaway by the little nancy!

  Thelak watched Borsen over several days, peering from alleyways and shadows. The dog was no exaggeration. It was an enormous hairy thing, the size of a pony. Worse, Borsen met up with a big bruiser of a man from the bank opposite almost every evening and went off to a swank restaurant, the racecourse or the theatre. Noontimes were also devoted to the bank fellow. Probably the one who set Borsen up, though gods knew what the great people the brat had been left with in Old Mordania had done for him. That busybody white-eyed master of the estate who’d offered to take the brat for an apprentice had a bundle, that was certain.