by Tanya Huff
Original four kigh. Liene shook her head. That seemed to imply a possibility of further discoveries. A sixth and a seventh kigh perhaps? Perhaps. All things were enclosed in the Circle. But for now, she told herself emphatically, we have enough to concentrate on without adding further complications.
Upon dismissing the kigh who’d brought Karlene’s message, Liene had gone over every recall in the Bardic Library that mentioned Imperial assassins. It hadn’t taken long. Although bards had gained access to the Havakeen Empire twenty-two years before when Princess Irenka had joined with the Empire’s crown prince—now Emperor—not one of them had met an assassin until they’d encountered Vree and her brother. Apparently, as few people had the necessary combination of skills it took to kill on command as had the perfect pitch and desire to Sing the kigh. Uncomfortable with the analogy, Liene hastily put it aside.
A small amount of the available information had been gleaned from the military. The rest, unfortunately, was nothing more than rumor and hearsay. When she’d had the kigh contact Aurel, the bard Karlene had replaced at the Imperial court, he’d expressed doubts that assassins actually existed.
No doubt of that now. The young woman who turned to acknowledge a shouted farewell from the Fancy’s stern with a truncated wave, had danger wrapped around her like a crimson cloak. Danger to what, though; that was the question.
Was Vireyda Magaly a danger to crown or country? Karlene believed not and, more importantly, Gabris had agreed with her. But they had both warned her to watch Gyhard i’Stevana.
“According to Gyhard, unless Vree pushes him, he can’t jump to another body without killing the body he’s in. He says he has no wish to do that, but then he’s not likely to tell Vree otherwise, is he? Vree has agreed not to help him if it means the taking of a life, but we have little doubt that while he is in her head, he’ll attempt to convince her otherwise. He has been outside the Circle for so long, we cannot trust him.” The kigh had grown very agitated at that point, making the rest of the message difficult to understand.
“We suggest, Captain, that the bards and healers both watch him closely.”
Liene snorted, remembering. Neither bard had been able to suggest how they were supposed to watch a man reduced to kigh and sharing a body with another.
As the young woman drew nearer, it became more and more difficult to be aware of anything but the two kigh she carried.
A good thing I came myself, the captain mused. A younger bard might lose the larger picture in the smaller. Might find a pair of kigh completely overwhelming. Bardic Captain for twenty-nine of her sixty-eight years, Liene considered herself long past the possibility of being overwhelmed by anything. She held out her fist as the ex-assassin stopped an arm’s length away. “Liene. Bardic Captain.”
*Touch the bottom of your fist to the top of hers and tell her your name.*
*She knows my name,* Vree protested, shifting her weight forward onto the balls of her feet.
*It’s the way they introduce themselves in Shkoder. Just do it.*
He was definitely nervous. Under the circumstances, Vree decided to do as he suggested and ignore the tone he suggested it in. “Vireyda Magaly. But I am always Vree.”
“Vree.” Liene nodded. She’d noted the signs of a silent conversation and, abruptly, decided to acknowledge the situation. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. More’s the pity. “And your companion?”
Vree started and glanced around. No one in the surrounding crowd of buyers, sellers, sailors, and city folk seemed to paying them any attention. “Uh, Gyhard i’Stevana.”
*Maybe I didn’t want them to know.*
*You think Karlene or Gabris hasn’t already told her? She’s their captain.*
*It isn’t a military organization, Vree.*
*Then why are they using military rank?*
*She’s like the captain of a ship.*
*Then she’s still the person in charge and they’d still have told her.*
“Is Gyhard not able to speak for himself?”
“No.” When Liene’s eyebrows rose, Vree found herself elaborating. “Not without I give him control of my body.”
The captain half smiled. “Unless. Not unless you give him control of your body. Which, as I understand it, is probably not a good idea.”
As she didn’t seem to expect a response, Vree waited.
“Is that all you brought with you?” Liene used her cane to point at Vree’s pack.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She half-turned and, still using the cane, pointed to a cluster of stone buildings just visible above the slate roofs of the city. “That’s the Citadel, there on the top of that hill. That’s where we’ll be walking to.” The last phrase emerged like a challenge and when the expected protest wasn’t voiced, the Bardic Captain shook her head in disgust at her own defensiveness. “Most of the bards and some of the healers seem to think I can’t walk across a room anymore, let alone halfway across the city,” she snorted as Vree fell into step beside her. “My joints stiffen up in the damp, especially my hips and knees, but I’ve walked across this whole country in my time and I won’t be coddled.”
*Am I supposed to say something?* Vree asked, a little confused.
*I don’t think so.*
“Kovar thought he should be the one to come to the harbor to meet you.” Her cane hit the damp cobblestones of Upper Dock Street with unnecessary force and a young man pulling a wheeled dolly loaded with bales of raw cotton moved hastily out of her way. “I had to remind him that I remain Bardic Captain until Third Quarter Festival and he can just live with it.”
*What is it about you and old ladies?* Gyhard wondered as they followed the captain around the edge of the Dock Market, the roar of buying and selling making audible conversation impossible. *All of a sudden, you seem to be attracting them. First in Pitesti and now here.*
*Maybe it’s something Bannon left behind. He was always the one getting pinched and patted.*
*Probably enjoyed it, too.* He watched through Vree’s eyes as Liene exchanged noisy greetings with half a dozen people, questioned the price of a pound of jasmine tea, and arranged for it to be delivered to the Bardic Hall at the lower price all without breaking stride. *I’m curious about why the Bardic Captain herself came down to meet us.*
Vree glanced up at the stone towers of the Citadel rising from the center of Elbasan like a crown. Although the steepness of the hill made an estimate difficult, it looked like they had some distance to cover and, with the captain’s age slowing them down, they were going to take a while to cover it. *Seems like we’ll have plenty of time to find out.*
*Remember you’ve got to …*
*… make a good impression with the bards.* She sighed. *I know. But I can’t be something I’m not.*
*Be yourself.*
*Yeah. Right.*
The bitterness took him by surprise.
The noise of the market became a background growl as the two women turned onto a narrow avenue and started the long climb up the hill.
“Cotton Street,” Liene explained, following Vree’s gaze to where thick skeins of thread dyed all the colors of the rainbow hung twisting in the breeze between the open shutters of a shopfront. “Use to be West Wharf Street, but about fifteen years ago everyone started calling it Cotton Street and about five years ago the city council finally changed it. They buy bales of the stuff raw off the ships from the South, spin it, dye it, weave it, and sell it all around here. Don’t sell a lot of it, mind, as the price is one unenclosed amount higher than the linen coming locally out of Vidor. The cloth doesn’t last as long either.” Then her voice changed, and it suddenly became impossible not to pay attention to what she had to say. “Lower Dock Street, then Hill Street to the Citadel would’ve been more direct, but at this time of day there’d be people all around and we need to talk without being interrupted. What do you want from us, Vree?”
“Karlene …” Vree began defensively.
The Bardic Captain shoo
k her head. “No. I’ve heard her version, now I want yours.”
“Gyhard …”
“Forget Gyhard,” the older woman commanded. “Or if you can’t forget him, disregard him for the moment. What do you want from us?”
I want everything to be like it was before. Except she didn’t. Not really. Or she’d have let Gyhard disappear into oblivion.
“I want Gyhard to have a body for his own.” Ignoring Gyhard’s soft, *Of his own,* Vree clutched the hilt of her dagger with her left hand, fingers opening and closing convulsively, and added, “But no one can die for it.”
“Why not?”
She saw the face of Edite i’Oceania, a crimson line of death across her throat; Commander Neegan’s face, her father’s face, finding his only possible peace as her blade found his heart; Avor’s face, a friend’s face, as he realized he was going to die; too many faces to remember the names or the reasons. Her own face, reflected in a polished shield.
*What do you think you’re going to see?*
*Who I am.*
*Who I am …*
“Vree?”
She blinked and realized that she’d stopped walking. The captain had moved a few paces ahead, had turned, and was watching her. She couldn’t read the expression on the older woman’s face and had no better idea of the expression on her own. Her arms were folded tightly over her stomach, as though she’d been slashed in the belly and had to hold in her guts. Slowly, she released the white-knuckled embrace she had on each elbow and held out her hands. “There has been enough death. I don’t want to see death when I look at him.”
To her surprise, the Bardic Captain took a step forward and enclosed her fingers in a gentle grip. Vree found herself looking into a dark gaze that reached past all the years of blood and all the training that had come before to find a seven-year-old who was suddenly no longer a child. It hurt more than any wound she’d ever taken. Somehow, she found the strength to drag her eyes away.
Liene released the girl’s icy fingers and began walking toward the Citadel once again, her only outward reaction to the pain she’d seen a spasming of the hand that held her cane. Never good with emotions unconfined by chord and chorus, this was far more than she was capable of dealing with. More, she suspected, than the Healers’ Hall could deal with. Karlene has a greater perception than I gave her credit for. This child is so tied in knots she’s no danger to anyone but herself.
She’d intended to ask a lot of other whys, but they were no longer necessary.
“I don’t want to see death when I look at him.”
It was a love song with enough tragic potential to rip out hearts and tear them into tiny, bleeding pieces. Teeth clenched, Liene wished she’d sent Kovar to the docks so that she could’ve received these first impressions filtered through his recall.
Gyhard felt Vree tremble and silently cursed his inability to hold her, to comfort her. He hated the Bardic Captain for what she’d done and his anger sizzled around the parameters of his existence. If only he had hands….
*Don’t.*
He forced himself to withdraw although he knew at that moment she couldn’t have stopped him from taking control.
The moment passed.
*Are you all right?* he demanded, fighting to suppress the anger for both their sakes.
Don’t leave me.
If he’d still had a body, that quiet plea would’ve left him struggling to breathe. This was the first time, since the initial impulse that had gathered up his kigh, that Vree had shown him her heart. If confronted, she probably wouldn’t admit to the thought but he’d heard it—felt it—and nothing, not hatred, not anger, was worth hanging onto in the face of it. Don’t leave me. Catching hold of them before they could fade, Gyhard gathered the words up and locked them away in his memory. Then he waited.
He felt her chin rise. *I’m fine,* she told him, lengthening her stride to draw even with the Bardic Captain again. Her tone implied she didn’t care if he believed her or not.
“I half expected that you’d be carried off the Fancy on the shoulders of her crew,” Liene observed, stepping aside to allow a tailor’s apprentice, arms loaded with a bolt of sea-green fabric, to pass. It suddenly seemed important she find a subject with a little distance.
Vree shrugged. “They were happy to come home. They made me a hero in the Broken Islands. That was enough.”
“From what Tomas told me, I imagine it must’ve been.” The image of a row of hastily-constructed gallows, filled as quickly as they were built, rose in Liene’s mind. The crowd of dead behind the young assassin grew. “You speak Shkoden very well,” she said, searching for yet a safer topic.
“Gyhard taught me.”
The older woman stifled a sigh. It appeared there were no safer topics. “Well, he did a good job. I assume he translates for you, too?”
“Less now.”
Liene grinned at Vree’s tone. “Don’t like depending on other people, do you? I can appreciate that.” Then she frowned. “Gyhard hears through your ears? Sees through your eyes?”
“Yes.”
“Then we shouldn’t talk about him as though he isn’t here.” She turned that over, examined it from all sides. When she spoke again, they’d moved some distance up the hill. “From what Karlene has told me, I think you and he and your brother have proved that the body is merely meat worn by the kigh and that what we all consider the person, is the kigh. So.” She took a tighter grip on her cane, forcing herself to give credit where credit was due. “Gyhard, thank you. Although a number of the bards speak Imperial, none of the healers do. You’ve made all our lives less complicated.” Sweeping a piece of trash into the gutter, she snorted. “Well, less complicated as regards language, at least.”
*I’m not sure that granting me any kind of individuality is such a good idea.* Gyhard lightly touched the place where he ended and Vree began, felt her recoil, and drew back. *If I’m given a little, I may be tempted to take the rest.*
*You can try.*
*Vree, I’m serious.*
*Then we’ll deal with it ourselves because I’m not going to tell her. It’s obvious she thinks I’m, we’re, unstable. We don’t need to prove her right.* Conscious of Liene’s gaze, Vree added aloud, “He says, you’re welcome.”
The Bardic Captain shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. Didn’t Karlene tell you that you can’t lie to a bard?” With everything filtered through Vree, they’d have no way of telling if Gyhard was lying—a realization that left the captain feeling distinctly less than happy—but they could certainly tell when she was. “Now then, what did he actually say?”
*Okay. That’s it.* Ever since Ghoti, Vree’d had to continually draw lines between herself and the world. Time to draw another one. *How do I tell her that’s none of her slaughtering business?*
*Vree!*
*Never mind.* This woman was the head of all the bards; Vree’d dice with the gods on the odds the Bardic Captain understood Imperial. “That’s none of your slaughtering business,” she repeated aloud, glad to be speaking her own language again and discovering an unexpectedly pleasant freedom in no longer being bound by the rules of rank. A similar response to an Imperial Army Captain would’ve resulted in six lashes and time in the box.
The Bardic Captain understood Imperial. She stopped in the middle of the street. Her cheeks flushed an alarming purple as she spun around and glared into Vree’s face. “If you want our help—” she began.
Vree cut her off. “If you want to study the fifth kigh, we’re going to have to trust you enough to let you poke around in our lives. If you want that kind of trust, you’re going to have to give it in return.”
“Gyhard i’Stevana has removed himself from the Circle!” Liene snapped.
“And we’re asking you to put him back in. Doesn’t that count for anything? All we want is a chance to start over, and if you’re not willing to give us that chance, then we’re on the first boat out of here and you can whistle up information on the fifth kigh without
us.”
It wasn’t a bluff. Liene suspected assassins were unable to bluff. And, it was the truth. All they wanted was a chance to start over. At least, it was all Vree wanted and if it wasn’t what Gyhard wanted, she believed he did. Still standing in the middle of the street, disregarding the audience they’d attracted, the Bardic captain drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, releasing her anger and her suspicion and her fear at the same time.
Then she held out her fist. “Liene. Bardic captain.”
Vree stared at it for a long moment. “Vireyda Magaly. Vree,” she said at last, touching it lightly with her own. “Gyhard i’Stevana.”
“Welcome to Shkoder.”
“Thank you.”
“That Southerner giving you trouble, Bard?” a heavyset woman called from a second-floor window. “You want I should come down there?”
“No need,” Liene replied, her tone suggesting the curious return to what they’d been doing before the shouting started. “But thank you for the offer.” She waited until her champion waved cheerily and withdrew, before turning her attention back to Vree. “Are we all right, you and I and Gyhard?”
“I think so.”
“And what does Gyhard think?”
Muscles still tensed, Vree’s gesture took in the end of the argument. “That starting over’s a good idea.”
We’ll have to play a careful melody here, Liene thought as they continued up the hill, squinting in the late afternoon sun. This child has been tuned so tightly she’s going to start breaking strings. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t let Kovar meet her at the dock, she decided silently to herself. If I don’t stay on top of this, it’s never going to work. Someone’s going to have to remember there’s more involved here than the fifth kigh.
* * * *
“She threatened you?”