“The others noticed me, and seeing as how I rode in with Lodell they charged up the stairs. I grabbed as much gear as I could and jumped out the window. Lucky for me the horses were close by, because I broke my ankle when I landed. I mounted mine, took the reins of Lodell’s, and got the hell out of there.”
Arwin leaned over in his chair, brought up a small package wrapped in a violet scarf, and set it on the table. He pushed the bundle over to Peck, who in turn slid it to Caleen, who picked it up and placed it gently in front of Niel.
Niel looked at the bundle. The cloth shimmered with a familiar incandescence.
“His spell book,” he whispered.
“As a token of the camaraderie I spoke of, I offer you this. Study this. Learn. Because it’s what we need of you, and what you need for yourself.”
Niel felt ashamed. Embarrassment urged him to refuse the gift, but he knew the deep insult it would be to Arwin.
That, and it was a spell book.
He rested his fingers on the smooth fabric and smiled at the familiar, comforting warmth he doubted any at the table had noticed as they passed the book around.
“I thank you,” he said as he looked around. “Most humbly and sincerely. Thank you, all.”
Caleen offered a small smile and a nod. Jharal grunted his approval, though she had to elbow him to do so.
***
What The Ragged Rascal had been only on the outside, The Funny Gus was through and through: shabby, unkempt, uninviting. The Gus was far smaller than the Rascal as well, dimly lit by random candles mounted to beams and unfinished walls. Nonetheless, a surprising number of people crowded the noisy little tavern. The place smelled of spilled whiskey, charred meat, and sweat.
Arwin and Niel entered first and claimed a table in the corner apparently just vacated, given the scrap-laden pewter plates and tankards stacked to one side. Cally emerged at the doorway, shoving a groping reveler into the wall much to the raucous delight of his drinking companions. Jharal arrived soon after. No one paid him direct mind, yet the crowd instinctively parted to allow him plenty of room. Peck simply appeared next to Niel following the distracting clatter of a tray falling somewhere on the other side of the room.
“Nice place, huh?” he asked as he slipped into a chair.
A man ran for the door, gurgling a loud retch as he cleared the threshold. Several watching his flight cheered.
“Colorful,” Niel replied, earning chuckles from his companions.
A husky blonde barmaid in a frilly, soiled blouse strode up to the table and cleaned away the dishes. Her sweat-damp hair had been hurriedly pushed back from her flushed face except for a short, stray ringlet stuck to her forehead.
“Well, hello there, Inda-my-lovely,” Peck crooned.
“Bite my boil-ridden ass,” she said, placing a fresh candle in the red glass globe at the table’s center. “What’ll you have?”
“Same as always,” Arwin said. “Ales all around—”
“—except for big, mean Jhar,” Inda finished with a lilt in her voice, a quirk of her mouth and a meaningful wink. “He wants a dark bitter.”
Jharal rolled his eyes and looked elsewhere.
“Ale for you, too, dear?” Inda asked Niel.
“Yes, please,” he replied.
“Well, manners,” she said with a smile. “We’re short tonight, so one of you will have to go get your order when it’s ready.”
“I’ll do it,” Peck volunteered, “if for no other reason than to be close to you once more.”
“The day you die,” Inda retorted as she walked away, “is the day there will again be joy in my life.”
He smiled. “Gods, but I love that woman.”
“You know her, I take it?” Niel asked.
Peck’s face went blank. “Know who?”
“Lively tonight,” Cally noted as she looked about. “Hope it doesn’t turn out like last time.”
“I hope it’s better than last time,” Peck said with a leer.
“Last time?” Niel asked, at once curious and concerned.
“Found ourselves in a bit of a ruckus when we were here last,” Arwin explained. “Rather unpleasant.”
“And Jhar’s got the scars to prove it,” Peck said. “Give the lad a peep.”
With a sigh, Jharal pulled up his left sleeve. Across his dark skin, amidst the brambles of course black hair, lay a series of short, deep marks each the shape of a crescent. One, though, formed an appreciable crater.
Niel’s eyes widened. “Those look like bite marks?”
“That’s because they are,” Jharal replied.
“Someone took a bite out of you?”
Jharal rolled down his sleeve again.
“Lucky for us they spit him out,” Cally said.
Peck frowned. “Can’t imagine him tasting very good.”
Jharal balled a head-sized fist at him. “Keep it up, friend, you’ll be finding out.”
Peck held up his hands. “Easy there, big, mean Jhar. If the fair Inda sees what a brute you are you’ll never get into her stall again. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask—after your little tryst, did you have to sleep standing up as well?” He punctuated the question with a whinny.
Both Arwin and Cally laughed out loud.
Jharal snarled as he stood and stalked around the table. By the time he got to the other side, though, Peck was already several steps away.
“Come, Lord Elder,” Peck called, beckoning to Niel. “Let’s see if our drinks are ready.”
Niel glanced at Arwin, who nodded reassurance. “And bring back some bread or something while you’re up.”
“Instantly, sire,” Niel replied.
The bar sat a short distance from their table, but Niel had to wrestle the crowd for every step. Peck slinked ahead to an open barstool and waited for him to arrive.
“Comfortable?” Niel asked.
“Yep, but I was saving this for you. The drinks’ll be up in a minute. Thought I’d go harass Inda a little more. I think she missed me.”
By the time Niel opened his mouth to protest, Peck had disappeared. So, he hoisted himself onto the low-backed stool, figuring he’d better before someone else took the spot.
The gathering seemed rowdier from the bar. Even the bartender—a long-haired man with a dark, greasy mustache and beard, sporting myriad bluish tattoos on his neck, shoulders, and arms, and a large ivory stud through his nose—scowled and barked his way from customer to customer as he took and filled orders.
A tide of elbows and arms pushed and receded against Niel’s back. Not wanting to risk another scene like he’d had with Jharal, he swayed along as best he could.
“S’pose he’ll want wine again?” a gruff voice asked off to his left.
“Doubt they serve his vintage here,” replied another. “He looks all dainty and refined.”
“Maybe Inda could breast-feed him,” commented a third, followed by loud guffaws.
“Scrawny as he is, I could breast feed him,” answered the first voice, earning even larger laughter from the others.
Niel peered over his shoulder. There sat the same three men that had been at the Rascal the night before. The first wore an eye patch, the second lacked several front teeth, and the third had an unevenly shaped head apparently shaven with a dull, rusty blade given the number of scabs that crisscrossed his scalp.
“You have something to say, Sweetness?” No-Eye asked with a jut of his chin.
Niel shook his head and offered his friendliest smile. “Nothing at all.”
“What, we not fit to talk to?” Toothless demanded as he and his comrades stepped from their own stools and trudged over.
Niel sighed and hung his head in disbelief.
Toothless gripped Niel’s shoulder and spun him around, his breath oppressive with garlic and alcohol. “I said, you got a problem with talkin’ to us? You too important for us?”
Those immediately about dropped away from their own conversations. No-Eye and Baldy snickered
their approval.
Niel flicked his eyes to where he knew Arwin and the others sat. Through the thickening wall of patrons, he couldn’t see the table. He sighed again. “Look, I didn’t mean—”
Toothless clutched Niel by the throat with rough, dirty fingers. “No, you look—”
A slim hand appeared from behind Toothless and tapped his shoulder. He and his friends turned to reveal Peck, arms clasped behind his back, smiling congenially as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Problem, gentlemen?”
“Get lost,” No-Eye growled. “This is between us and Sweetness, here.”
“Well, I can certainly understand why you’d find Sweetness irritating,” Peck replied, “but the truth is I really need him in one piece when the morning comes. Sorry.”
“Sorry fer you,” Baldy slurred, “’cause we gonna mess him up real bad.”
Peck frowned. “I see.” Then his face brightened. “Tell you what—what if we settle this in a way that’s mutually beneficial?”
The three exchanged confused looks.
“In a way that’s good for all of us,” Peck said.
“And how’s that?” Toothless asked, suspicious.
Peck tilted his head toward the left. “There’s a knife board over there on the wall. How about we throw for it? If we lose, then you can take Sweetness and stomp him into goo—”
Niel tried to shake his head, but Toothless’s hand around his throat held him fast.
“—and if you lose, we’ll buy your next round of drinks. Either way, you come out ahead. How’s that sound?”
No-Eye, Toothless, and Baldy clearly distrusted Peck, but the lure of free drinks just as clearly proved a temptation.
“If we win,” No-Eye said, “we stomp him and you buy.”
Peck shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“All right,” Toothless said, “we’ll throw for it. But he throws, not you.”
He yanked Niel down from his stool, finally letting go of his neck. Blood rushed back to his head, making him dizzy.
Peck began clearing a narrow path between the bar and the knife board when Niel noticed Cally and Arwin in the crowd nearby but keeping their distance. Niel started toward them, but Arwin held up a finger and gave a subtle shake of his head.
Peck marched back up the aisle made by the crowd, and with a flick of his hand produced three small throwing knives. “Here you go.”
“Peck!” Niel whispered. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t throw these things! I’m more liable to hit someone in the crowd than I am the wall.”
Peck put a finger to his mouth and thought for a moment.
“No,” he said. “I’d recommend against that.”
Toothless pushed Niel aside. “I’ll go first.”
He reached for the bar, took a large swig from a mug that wasn’t his, then in rapid succession hurled his three knives into a tight grouping near the center of the painted cross section of tree stump.
An approving round of shouts and whistles erupted as Toothless held up his arms in triumph.
“Pretty,” Peck said, clapping as well. “Very pretty indeed.”
No-Eye shoved Niel hard from behind. “Now you, Sweetness.”
Niel looked pleadingly at Peck, who smiled.
“Remember what I taught you,” he said as he crouched down, hands on knees. “Just take your time and concentrate.”
Niel had no idea what he was talking about. Figuring he’d better do something, he held the first of the three knives by its tip and brought it up just beneath his eye in a shaky aim.
“On the count of three,” Peck said. “Ready?”
He wasn’t. But he nodded.
“All right, then. One…”
Niel concentrated on the board with all his might.
“Two…”
Niel raised the dagger high, readied for the throw…
And Peck whirled around in a blur, punching Toothless square in the face.
Stunned, Niel watched as Toothless reeled backward into the crowd, where a couple of women avoided a collision by shoving him into two other patrons. Those two men, taking exception to Toothless being thrown at them, flung his limp form aside and launched themselves at the women.
In the space of a heartbeat, The Funny Gus exploded into a frenzy of fists, broken glass, and animalistic howls of delight.
No-Eye turned to help his remaining companion as Peck delivered a merciless whip-kick to the side of Baldy’s head. Cally then felled No-Eye with a blow to his face with her tankard followed by a nasty upper-cut.
Niel stood isolated in the eye of the storm that had burst around him, not believing he was suddenly in the middle of a bar fight. Jharal finally loomed into view in the background, bellowing in horrible glee as he leapt upon a clump of customers who could do nothing but hold their arms up in front of them and cry out in terror.
A hand reached up and pulled Niel to the floor.
“So, what do you think of Trelheim so far?” Arwin asked on his hands and knees.
Niel shouted over the scuffling mob. “I think you and everyone else in this town are insane!”
Arwin shrugged and turned to lead the way.
Niel hung his head in exasperation then crawled after him.
The lone figure who’d watched them the entire time from his dark corner made his way outside as well, then disappeared into the night.
14
Denuis had donned his nightclothes by the time Ennalen arrived at his chambers. She found him in his study, in one of two oversized lounging chairs facing the fireplace. He poked absently at the fire with a long dowel, looking cheerless in the orange glow. On the stone floor, at the chair’s leg, sat a half-empty glass alongside a near-empty bottle.
Ennalen spoke from the doorway. “Making an early night of it, I see.”
The Lord Magistrate nodded without looking up. “Been tired as of late. Come in.”
She glanced about the room, then seated herself in the chair beside his. She folded her robes over her legs and placed her hands in her lap. “If you’re unwell, I could summon your physician.”
Denuis cocked an eyebrow and cast a sideways glance. “How do you expect to become the next Lord Magistrate when you fret so over the current one?”
“You assume I’m interested in being your successor.”
Denuis sighed. “Of course.”
Ennalen heard the familiar twinge of impatience in his tone, which meant it was time for her to come to the point of her visit.
“The truth is,” she said, “I’ve noticed as of late a general… reservation, let’s say, on your part. Is there anything we need to discuss?”
Denuis gave the fire a final, indifferent jab then rested the near end of the thin staff on his shoulder. “I’ve been giving a great deal of thought to the implications of the Lord Elder’s interest in the Apostate.”
“What do you mean by implications?”
“I take it you’ve not read the Lord Elder’s notes.”
On impulse, Ennalen lied. “Not yet.”
Denuis’s glare held more than a hint of disapproval. “In that case, I’ll put it this way: Has it ever occurred to you that if the Apostate is real, then so too might be the Heart of the Sisters? The actual Heart?”
Despite herself, Ennalen leaned away.
Clearly the stone hidden in her workshop, in and of itself, was an artifact of monumental importance. Quite likely it and others like it had long ago inspired the lore surrounding the Dragon Sisters. But did she think the black gem she possessed came from the heart of an ancient deity?
Absolutely not. One storybook character mucking things up for her was plenty. No need to go prodding about for more.
“I had no idea you were the religious sort,” she answered, hoping she sounded more entertained than uncomfortable.
Denuis’s chuckle was bleak. “That’s as good a way to put it as any, I suppose. And in keepin
g with your choice of words, your Lord Magistrate is having what I suppose could be considered a crisis of faith.”
Ennalen stared into the fire.
Through the sharp heat pressing like broken glass against her face she concentrated on quieting the emotions goading her toward outburst. Ironically, nearly the very same discussion had played out inside her own head when she realized where the clues she discovered in the Main Library might very well be leading. But her belief in what she had been taught, and in herself, had put that uncertainty to rest.
“Denuis,” she asked, hearing irritation in her voice despite her intention otherwise, “are you actually entertaining the notion that the gods might really be out there, waiting for humankind to find them again?”
“As a Magistrate, you better than anyone should know not to dismiss the ludicrous without careful consideration—”
“—because, all things being equal, even the ludicrous can be true,” she finished. “I did read one or two of the books you put in front of me, you know.”
“It’s a thought, is all.”
“It’s foolishness,” she scolded. “The gods were concocted by people living in caves so they could stop pissing themselves every time it thundered. Thaucian is a very old man, and his choice of the Apostate as his hobby of the moment hardly justifies throwing reason out the window.”
“I think, though, I’ve become weary of reason, Ennalen. Sometimes I can’t escape the notion that we here have become detached from something important, something larger than all of this.”
“Larger and more important than what?” she chided. “Than the College?”
“No,” Denuis sighed. “Larger than this facade we purport to be the College.”
Ennalen pushed herself up in disgust. The chair legs squawked across the floor.
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