9780981988238

by Leona Wisoker

  “We're here about Kera,” the village master said sharply, bringing her attention back to him.

  “What about her?” the girl said, mouth still twisted unpleasantly. “She isn't here.”

  “She's dead,” Scratha said. “Murdered.”

  The haughty look faded into pale shock. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “You've been talking to Kera behind Lashnar's back,” the village master said, ignoring her protest. “What did she tell you about Karic?”

  The girl hesitated, then shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Seshya,” the village master said, voice flat.

  “All right,” the tavern girl said. “He was after her. He wanted her, and she couldn't figure how to tell him to get lost.”

  “Try again,” Scratha said, voice hard. “Truth this time.”

  Idisio stared at Scratha in astonishment; the girl had been telling the truth. How could he not hear the honesty in Seshya's voice? The man certainly wasn't showing any signs of the famed desert lord nose for veracity.

  “That is truth,” the barmaid flared, straightening. “You think she was a whore, just because she talked to me? She didn't like him. He kept following her, trapping her in odd places when her father wasn't around, trying to get a kiss and a feel. She came by here crying about it more than once, asking how to fend him off without having her father involved.”

  “Why wouldn't she go to her father?” Scratha asked.

  She made a scornful, impatient noise, and leaned against the doorframe again. “Karic would just say she threw herself at him and he turned her away.”

  “Lashnar would believe Karic over his own daughter?”

  “You've met the man; what do you think?” She shook her head. “Karic knows how to play Lashnar. Kera's a woman. Under Lashnar's damn Church beliefs—oh, don't wince, master, you've cursed the s'iopes yourself—Kera wouldn't have had a chance.”

  The village master avoided their eyes. “Too many cups,” he muttered defensively. “Nothing more.”

  Scratha shook his head, seeming mildly amused for a moment, and said, “The merchant is grieving honestly enough.”

  “For the loss of his chances to marry into status and save his precious business,” Seshya sneered. “That's all.”

  “So she wasn't a whore,” Idisio said. “Was she a thief?”

  “No,” Seshya said, looking surprised. “Never that. She'd badger me about returning an accurate count of a drunk customer's change.” She blushed and avoided their eyes.

  “Is Karic a thief?” Idisio asked, frowning.

  Seshya shrugged. “He's too clumsy to pick pockets, but he's more than happy to pick up something left unattended. Why are you asking about Karic?”

  “He was supposed to be watching Lashnar's mare last night,” the village master said. “He slipped away in a bad mood after midnight, and Kera was killed sometime after that.”

  Seshya didn't hesitate. “He was here. He needed someone to . . . talk to.” She shrugged at their combined looks of disbelief. “Baylor's better with animals than Karic is, but Karic's better at keeping to Lashnar's good side, so they team up to get jobs out of the man. Then Baylor does the work and Karic does as he pleases. Sometimes he comes to talk to me, when I don't have anything better to do.” She smirked.

  If she was lying, she was better at it than Baylor. Not at all unlikely, but still. . . .

  “If he's better with animals, how could he let the stables get in such a state?” Scratha demanded, scowling.

  Seshya shrugged. “I don't know. I've never been particularly close to Baylor.” She smirked again.

  “When did Karic leave you?” Idisio cut in before Scratha or the village master could deliver the retorts visibly forming in their mouths.

  “Just before dawn.”

  “So he couldn't have—Damn.” Idisio spun on his heel and ran for the stables.

  Idisio sank onto a partially breached bale of hay and stared at the empty stall, cursing quietly under his breath, until Scratha, the village master, and Seshya hurried into the stables a few moments later.

  “Gone,” Idisio said, pointing to where his horse had been. “Long gone. Probably ran as soon as we rounded the corner.”

  “Karic took her out to the swamp,” Scratha said, staring at the empty stall, “willing or unwilling, depending who you believe; fought with her, because I don't believe Baylor could have delivered that punch. Left her unconscious on the ground, and then Baylor came looking and was so upset over what he saw as her choosing Karic that he killed her—with one of my daggers? No. None of that makes sense. We're missing something.” He glowered, brooding and shaking his head.

  A labored grunting caught everyone's attention, and Scratha moved to look into another stall.

  “Lashnar's mare is foaling,” he said. “Looks like she's in trouble. Do you have anyone else skilled with horses in the village?”

  “Some,” the village master said, “but not a one would touch this mare. Lashnar's got an evil temper when things go wrong, and he's already strung tight. I won't even ask. Karic and Baylor were the only ones that man trusted with his precious horses.”

  Scratha stared at the village master with an expression that made the man back up a step. “You'd let this mare die for the sake of a man's temper?”

  “Lashnar's misfortunes are sent by the gods,” the village master said. “Who are we to argue that or prevent his just punishment?”

  Seshya snorted and rolled her eyes; the village master shot her a stern glare and added, “I may not like the s'iopes, but there's truth in the holy word they preach.”

  “It's not a punishment,” Scratha said sharply, “it's a mare struggling with labor. Lashnar's misfortunes are his own; do you really think the gods would inflict trouble on a dumb beast to punish a man?”

  The village master shook his head without answering and walked out of the stables, face set.

  Scratha made a hissing noise, as if restraining himself from a vile curse. “Get out. Not you,” he added as Idisio started to stand. “You stay here. I'll need help.”

  Seshya left without protest. Scratha blew out a hard breath as he studied the struggling mare.

  “If we ride now,” he said, “we could catch the boy, I think.” He sighed, cursed again almost absently, and went into the stall. “We'll catch up with him on the road, sooner or later,” he added over his shoulder.

  “At least the mare will foal in a clean stall,” Idisio said.

  His master shot him a sour look and said nothing.

  “I still don't understand why,” Idisio said, hours later. “What could have made Baylor kill her—if he did, and not Karic? Why did he steal those knives? Did he plant that snake in our room? Did she? Why? How was Karic involved? Is he coming back?” He threw his arms wide in a gesture of frustration. “I could go on forever!”

  Scratha, face almost grey and lined with exhaustion, dipped a cloth in the trough and slowly scrubbed the blood and mucus from his hands.

  “Some things never get solved,” he said finally. “We're clear of the charge, and that's all I care about. If we come across the boys on the road, I'll have some hard questions for them to answer, but we've no real authority unless we can get them in front of a village judge.” He dropped the cloth on the ground and stretched, putting his hands into the small of his back and arching backwards with a grunt before straightening again. “At least we saved the foal and mare.”

  “It doesn't seem fair,” Idisio said. “Not knowing why, I mean.”

  His master's mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Fair? From a streetthief who tricked his way into my service after trying to steal my purse?”

  Idisio shrugged, too tired to be embarrassed by the barb. “That was survival. I hate not knowing the answers when I have questions.”

  Scratha's smile faded. He looked to the south, brooding, and said under his breath, “So do I.”

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  The foll
owing night, Deiq again called Alyea to sit by him but offered little conversation until their plates were being cleared away. Then he said, lazily, “You'll be in Water's End tomorrow, Lady Alyea.”

  She nodded, wary at his ostentatiously casual manner. “Where will you go from there, I wonder?” he murmured, gaze fixed on her face, a faint smile on his own lips.

  Hopefully away from you, she thought but didn't say; he seemed to read the words in her carefully expressionless gaze and laughed.

  “I'm hurt, my lady,” he said. “I get the feeling you'll be relieved to be out of my presence.”

  She dropped her gaze to the table, unable to think of a reply that might turn that too-bright, intent gaze away.

  “Come,” Deiq said abruptly, standing. “Walk with me.”

  She rose at the urging of his hand on her wrist; while he didn't grip tightly enough to hurt, the contact felt as unbreakable as a steel cuff.

  “S'e,” she said, “I'm afraid I need to retire for the evening.” She cast a rapid glance towards the side table where Chac sat. He rose and moved towards them.

  Deiq turned his gaze to the old man and smiled. His grip didn't loosen. “Your advisor is welcome to trail along behind us. I want to show you something, and mean you no harm.”

  “Let go of my wrist, then, s'e,” Alyea said in a quiet, level tone.

  Deiq looked at his hand on her arm as if surprised, and let go.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” he said as Chac reached them. “I forget the strength of my grip at times.”

  Alyea stepped back a pace.

  “My apologies for alarming you, Chacerly,” Deiq said to the old man before Chac could speak. “I only wished to take the lady for a walk to see the moon rise over the Kingsea. It's a spectacular sight in the Horn. Would you come with us? I think the lady has heard some of the unfounded, evil tales about me. Your presence would ease her fears.”

  His gaze, bright and predatory, stayed on the old man's face as if studying each line for a weakness.

  Chac looked at Alyea, questioning; she nodded, seeing no politic alternative to going for the walk.

  “I think it more proper,” the old man said at last, “for Lady Alyea's maid to attend her. I will send the woman to you, my lady. S'e.” He gave a short, stiff bow and turned away.

  “Ah, he's so devoted to proper courtesies,” Deiq said, and laid gentle fingertips against Alyea's shoulder. “Let's move outside to wait for your servant, shall we?”

  He used a light touch rather than an iron grip, but it carried the same sense of undeniable force. She allowed him to urge her from the room and took a seat on a wide bench just outside the dining hall. The tall man gracefully stepped aside, standing more than an arm's length away. In the flickering torchlight, his smile seemed a mocking thing of shadow and smoke, and he stayed silent until Halla appeared. The woman looked severely flustered, her face pale and her greeting too bright.

  “S'a Halla,” Deiq said, sounding grave and concerned. His smile disappeared. “You seem distraught. Is something the matter?”

  “Not at all,” Halla said too quickly.

  Deiq moved closer to the nervous woman, until she had to tilt her head to stare up at him. “Was the meal unsatisfactory?”

  “No,” Halla said, “no, it was very good.” She backed away a step, dropping her gaze.

  “You're not pleased to see me?” Deiq said, not moving. “You were quite friendly the last couple of days, s'a. Is something different?”

  Oh, gods, Alyea thought, please tell me she hasn't gone to bed with him, please, oh gods, what a disaster that would be. . . .

  “I've offered you proper courtesy,” Halla said, her back stiffening and her jaw firming. “Don't you make it sound as if I've done more!”

  Deiq stared at her for a moment, then laughed, the tension along his shoulders relaxing.

  “My apologies. I didn't mean to make any such implication. I seem to be growing careless tonight. The wine must have been more potent than I expected.”

  That would have held more weight, Alyea reflected sourly, if she'd seen him call for anything but water at dinner. But Halla, ignorant of the lie, seemed warily relieved.

  Deiq turned and held out a hand to Alyea. “My lady. Shall we walk?”

  She rose without accepting the offered help, motioning Halla to walk behind her, and followed as Deiq strode across the cleared courtyard. He started along a narrow path at the far end.

  “Where are we going, s'e Deiq?” Alyea asked.

  “There is an excellent and very quiet spot not far from here,” he said over his shoulder, “with a lovely view.”

  Alyea glanced back over her shoulder, reassuring herself that Halla followed close; she didn't like the sound of this at all. Deiq had made it plain, in his advance on Halla, that he could easily master the plump woman if he chose, whatever her bravery at the last moment.

  “Don't worry so much,” Deiq said, stopping and turning to look Alyea squarely in the face. “Your maidservant is not the only one watching us at the moment. Your safety and honor is beyond any question, my lady.” He grinned and started off again.

  Alyea took a deep breath and followed, her heart hammering.

  “My lady,” Halla whispered from behind, “do you think we ought to go back?”

  “But why should we?” Deiq said without turning his head. “A simple walk to see a beautiful sight; where's the harm?”

  He stopped and faced them again, his dark eyes glittering as he stared at the northern woman. “From the way you're acting, s'a, one might think you'd heard some of the false and wicked stories about me that have also frightened Lady Alyea. One might wonder about the words Lady Alyea's advisor has been putting against my name.”

  Alyea motioned Halla to silence and moved to block the northern woman from that intense stare. Deiq's gaze shifted to her face, and a smile spread across his features.

  “You protect your servants,” he said. “That's a generous way, and one little seen in Bright Bay of late.”

  She returned glare for stare, and he finally shrugged and turned around again. His pace increased; the two women scrambled to keep up.

  The narrow path opened abruptly to a wide bare space. The ground softened underfoot: not quite sand, nor the clay of the lower Horn. A line of trees and scrub lay behind them, their branches looming, feathery shapes in the darkness. Overhead, thousands of stars lit the infinity of sky. Ahead of them, perhaps sixty paces, the ground dropped abruptly into a series of harsh chasms and gullies that seemed to descend forever, a rocky slope that rolled down and down and down. The rising moon, even at just past half full, dropped stark shadows to bring that rocky turmoil into sharp relief. Far below and farther east, water glinted, a shifting of light patterns at the edge of a larger, steadier net of lights: a port city.

  Alyea stood silent, staring out at the vast sight.

  “That's the Kingsea,” Deiq said in her ear. He'd moved to stand beside her. “And the port of Stass.”

  “Incredible,” Alyea said with complete honesty. “I've never seen anything like this.”

  “Few are brave enough to leave the King's Road to see sights like this,” Deiq said.

  She glanced sideways at that, suspecting malice; but his face, in the moonlight, held amusement. He was teasing her.

  “Did you know,” he said, his gaze returning to the view, “that the word king actually comes from a very old southern dialect, from before the Split?”

  “Yes. I know. Kaen, meaning leader.”

  “Ah, your tutors gave you heretic knowledge?” He grinned at her.

  “No, my nurse—” She stopped short. “Never mind.”

  He studied her with sharp understanding. “And one day your nurse, who told you heretic stories, went away and never came back,” he said softly. “I'm sorry.”

  She shut her eyes against sudden tears and bit her tongue to keep from answering.

  After a moment, Deiq let out a small sigh. “I know a number of spots like
this along the road I'll be taking tomorrow,” he said, his tone resuming its dry detachment. “There's a side trail that leads from here to Port Stass; not a safe road for horses and guards and advisors. Chacerly has never taken it. He knows better than to try. He won't follow you down that trail, if you come with me.”

  Reasonably steady now, she opened her eyes and studied his dimly lit profile. His gaze rested on the port city far below, and his expression seemed merely thoughtful.

  “I'll offer my company again,” he went on. “Please, come travel with me. I'll get you to Scratha safely. Your advisors aren't men to trust.”