Taehrn motioned to the next letter. “Keep reading.”
Lifting the second letter, Jem noticed that it too had been opened and resealed. He read it silently. Tight, but elegant, it was written in the same hand:
Cyleste has deceived you. Dellings’ forces were prepared to march for Dekahn the moment we arrived at Derlin Keep. The talk is that the order had come from the top, that the Grand had contacted Dellings beforehand, and told him to be waiting. I overheard her speaking with Dellings before our departure. They spoke of a man named Twil, a courtesan whose purpose is to turn the Vandu. I’ll find him if I can, but if he is the same man I saw in Lane, then he knows the same tricks as me and might be anywhere. This worries me. If they have their own mage, they might have hired him from anywhere. He is not of the Assassin’s cult, nor even a Gelliner, I am certain of that, but he might be trouble. I have never faced the savage Atherahnians, but the legends of the Rightful Priests are strong in our order… There is bad blood between our founders and theirs, and they are more numerous. Such a meeting would not go in my favor.
Jem felt nauseous. “Why am I reading this?” Blood cults? Atherahnians? Gelliner assassins. Gods, one misstep and he’d be dead before he even realized his mistake.
Handing Jem the third letter, Taehrn only shook his head. The smile on Taehrn’s lips unsettled him.
Found the courtesan, Twil, with the Vandu at New Luddahn. He calls himself a priest and gives sermons to the savages. The man seems an obvious spy, but strangely, the consul has ignored him thus far. Thought that odd, until I saw him speak with a Lockish mage. Didn’t hear much of what they said, but heard him call her Entaras, so he knows she’s a mage. Can’t claim he sensed her, because I can’t sense him, but something’s going on there.
After the mage, he met with the New Guard’s commander. First the Grand, then the Lockish mage, and now their commander? If he’s the Grand’s spy, there’s more than foul play going on here. Is your Magistrate Godahn certain about this? Are you certain that this war is your chance to be rid of your rivals, for it is beginning to look as if it is their conspiracy to be rid of you. I can’t tell what game Cyleste’s playing at, but I’ll keep my watch on her.
This last letter gave Jem some hope. If he could find this courtesan, he might be able to convince the priest that he was an ally to their cause… Of course, there was no telling whether the Grand and her allies were better people than Taehrn and the Magistrate. He might simply be trading one set of villains for another.
Jem did not bother questioning Taehrn a third time. Instead, he lifted the fourth letter and read:
We passed Luddahn this morning. There are whispers that Bell and Skibs will become Cyleste’s personal guard, but she and Bell have not spoken since the night we left. Are you certain he is oblivious? He and the Gableman whisper often. You know that your Cleric was the one to send him. You and Godahn seem to think him harmless, but in Gellin we call your Cleric the ‘god of the Godswall.’ So many are his faces, so many are his lies, so many are his tricks… Know that he has killed many of our assassins in the last fifty years, enough that we no longer accept contracts against him. Do not be so certain that Bell is your decoy instead of his.
Setting down the letter, Jem met Taehrn’s eyes. Bell was Taehrn’s decoy. And apparently oblivious to the fact. But a decoy for what?
“Why are you showing me these?” Jem asked.
“Well, Jem, after our conversation the other day, I assumed that we had reached an understanding… but I wanted to be certain.”
Jem’s heart beat faster in his chest. “Have I given you reason to doubt me?” Jem asked. Surely the man could not know that Jem was planning to thwart him.
“No, of course not. I simply wanted to remind you that you and I are in this together, just as we have always been. You see, I’m a bit… ashamed of some of the words we shared during our last meeting. While it is most certainly the truth, I should not have implied that I would harm you if you do not go along with our plans, at least not without first giving you a chance to prove yourself my ally. You see, your father and I have not always been the closest of people. Indeed, we quite hate each other. I am certain that your father must have told you as much. In fact, I had almost resolved myself to ride up to Vale and murder your father when I saw that he had hired Trin to bring you to me. Imagine my shock when I realized he had sent my once fiancée to introduce his son back onto the scene. He must be laughing even now, the butchering scoundrel.”
Jem frowned. Taehrn had mentioned this once before, the idea that Jem’s father had hired Trin. It wasn’t the truth, their meeting had been entirely by chance, but what else could Taehrn think? If Jem hadn’t lived the events leading up to their arrival at Lane, Jem would have thought his arrival at Trin’s side too large a coincidence as well.
“But…” Taehrn continued. “I have come to a realization. Why should my relationship with Indaht come between our relationship? You are not your father, no? So why should I treat you as if you are responsible for his slights against me? Indeed, it seems to me that, given your past, that you and I should be quite in agreement about Deacon Indaht Trask. After all, I have seen the scars on your arms and legs. I know where those come from. Surely, you must hate the man as much as I do.”
He had to think fast. Given Indaht’s nature, and Taehrn’s own, Taehrn probably thought Jem as adept in the art of manipulation as himself. He probably believed that Jem had been taught to lie and cheat from an early age. Jem hadn’t. Indaht’s methods had always been far more crude.
Jem forced a smile to his lips. “And what exactly are you offering me?” Jem asked. The man had to believe that Jem was completely invested in this… If he didn’t, then Jem would be cast aside as a liability… Gods, if this wedding ever happens, what will they do afterward? Surely their true reason for wedding him to the Deacon Lissahn’s daughter specifically, was so the inheritance would pass to Lissahn if Jem did not behave. Gods, he wasn’t entirely certain they wouldn’t kill him no matter how well he behaved.
Taehrn grinned. “I am offering you freedom from your father, Jem. Right now, you must realize that even though you shall eventually hold the title of Deacon of the North, that once our plans come into fruition and your father returns onto the grander stage, that it will be he that controls your strings. He is your connection to Lissahn and Magistrate Godahn, and thus, even if you sought to be your own man, the moment you stood against him, the other two would turn against you. What I offer is a new connection to Lissahn and Godahn. A better connection to Lissahn and Godahn. Me. Unlike Lissahn and Indaht, I have no desire for the North or its resources. Through the Cavahl family, I have plenty of wealth, and once this is done, I shall have the authority of the Legion itself.
“What I lack, however, is a way to write your father out of the equation. But you… you are the deacon’s son. You are the son of the Hero of the Riots. The South will be as eager to rally around you as they are to rally around your father, and better yet, you are also a victim of the events at Liv. Through you, we can rally both the North and the South. No need for Deacon Indaht Trask, no need for his rough brutality.”
The man had to be joking. From what Jem remembered, Taehrn was as brutal a man as Indaht. It had been Taehrn after all, that had forced Jem to sign the testimony which had fated Jem’s uncle to be Indaht’s scapegoat.
“And what would be my role… aside from what you’ve already stated. What would be my role in removing my father?”
“Do not be silly,” Taehrn said. “You would do nothing against your father directly. We have the Gelliner assassin for that, and others like him, but… your role in things could be much larger, if you wished. Not only in disposing of your father, but in the events that follow. Unlike your father, unlike myself, unlike Godahn, you have something of value that might see you outstrip all of us in the days to come. You have ‘the Well,’ as you call it. The magic of the Gelliner and our others. With it, you might rival the Cleric himself one day. T
hink of it, Jem, Deacon of the North, with no Indaht watching over you, and when Lissahn passes, so too shall her land be yours. This alliance will be one to last a lifetime, Jem. An alliance unrivaled by any other.”
If Jem were the type of person to seriously consider such an offer, he might have pointed out that Indaht had already been removed from the equation, if only to see what better terms Taehrn might offer him. Of course, Jem had no interest in Taehrn’s bargains, though they made the murder he contemplated much more palatable. If it hadn’t been settled before, it was settled now; men like Taehrn did not deserve to live.
“So,” Taehrn said. “Are we agreed?”
“What of Trin?”
“Trin?” Taehrn pressed his teeth to his bottom lip. “What of her?”
“How will she factor into this?”
“She… will not be a part of our plans. She is not like her sister Lila. She would never go for it.”
“Yes, but what will become of her?”
“She will be fine. She will live her life as she always has.”
“And Bell?”
“They are my closest friends. I love them both. Bell will be fine.”
“But is he involved?” Jem swallowed his pride and spoke like he would expect one of ‘them’ to speak. “If you want me to work with you, then I must know who I can rely upon.”
Taehrn sighed. “Bell is… too clean for our undertakings. Despite our friendship, he would not support us if he knew. His skills are better suited to roles in which… he is not aware of what he does or why.”
Jem nodded. So, Bell was innocent. Taehrn was putting one of his closest friends at risk to serve his own ends, and without telling Bell the circumstance.
“I… accept your terms,” Jem managed. He had to put the man at ease somehow, at least for now.
“Wonderful!” Taehrn fished another letter from his pocket and handed it to Jem. The seal was unbroken. “I have not read it yet,” Taehrn said. “To commemorate our newfound alliance, I want you to do the honors.”
Jem frowned. “For what reason?”
“To prove that I trust you,” Taehrn explained. “Should it contain information that compromises me, then it is now information that compromises us. I expect you to guard it as closely as I would.”
Frowning, Jem pried open the letter and read.
We’ve arrived at Dekahn. The Grand means to test your man Bell tonight, but I don’t think she suspects Kenneth and Perval. If Bell fails to gain her trust, then I’ll figure something out. At worst, he’ll put her on edge and that’s all the better. She’ll be looking at him instead of me and I can figure a way to get close to her myself.
I’m just waiting for your order.
With its cryptic message, the note meant little to Jem, but Taehrn spoke as though it should.
“We are bound together now, Jem. Whatever I plan, it is now your plan too. And vice versa. Should you need anything from me, simply ask, and I will do the same.” He held out his hand for the letter. Jem glanced at the page and its meaningless words one last time before handing it back. Lifting a pen from his desk, Taehrn scanned it briefly, then leaned over and scrawled something on the page. Taehrn made no effort to bar Jem from reading it.
At your discretion, the note read.
Folding the letter, Taehrn glanced to Jem. “That is all, my friend. I am glad to have you at my side.”
Uncertain, Jem nodded and left the tent. It is the best course, he told himself. I do not know what Taehrn plans, surely what he has told me is but a fraction of the reality, but… he needed more time. More time to plan, more time to decide who was guilty and who was good. At least he knew he could trust Bell. When it became necessary to begin culling the Legion’s ranks, at least Jem knew that someone decent would be there to take over for Taehrn.
Funny though. He’d never thought that Taehrn and Trin would agree on something. Ironic that it should be Bell.
“Hey, Jem!”
Jem turned to find Trin by her wagon. She leaned over something in the bed, one hand holding up a sheet of canvas. With the other, she waved Jem over. The tailor, Gin, sat on the bench grinning.
“What’re you smiling for?” Trin asked Gin. “You don’t drink.”
“If I’m the brewer, I do.”
“You know how to brew?”
“Of course, I do, Miss Trin. How do you think I got the name Gin?” A large copper cylinder lay in the bed, hidden beneath the flap of canvas.
“What is it?” Jem asked.
“It’s a still, of course,” Trin said. “Acklin sent it with a messenger from Derlin. I do believe that man wants to sleep with me.”
Shaking his head, Jem turned to walk away. He had too much on his mind and he wasn’t all that interested in her schemes right now. He needed to think. Alone.
Trin’s voice trailed away as he headed for the tent. “Funny thing is, he could’ve tried asking first. I never understood that whole proving yourself before knowing where you stand thing. If I’m going to seduce a man, I want to know where I stand first, you know what I…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Priest!”
A woman’s scream punctuated the shout before it was swallowed by trotting hooves. Wilt turned his head and saw the empty horse behind him, and then the crowd of women that slowed and turned, some already leaping off their horses. Wilt reined in his mount, confused and troubled, the riderless horse nearly colliding with his own. A handful of riders, still ahorse, paled at the figure lying in the dirt. A few of the women rode to Wilt instead of the figure, then clustered around, Wither at the head.
“Drought,” Wither whispered. Her hair whipped in the wind, its wildness unmatched by the dispassionate look in her eyes. Her face was red and wind burnt. “She took your arrow then lost her mount. She has been crushed by hooves.”
This was the third attempt. With the city walls within sight, he was unsurprised that Snail had tried one last time to kill him. Wilt spurred his horse to a gallop and the crowd parted for him. He did not know Drought, and his cares were not for her death, but for perception. Dismounting, he handed his reins to some faceless woman. A man crouched over Drought’s now deformed shape, his face stiff, but his breathing frantic. A hood had been drawn over the corpse’s face, and aside from the odd posture and blood pooling on her woolen leggings, she looked natural. The man’s mouth gaped, no words upon his lips or tears on his cheeks.
Sorrow flared in the man’s eyes when they fell on Wilt. “She took your arrow, Priest. She took your arrow.”
The crowd was somber, looking on in silence, their heads bowed in deference. Every man had an arrow, the one that would take him to his pyre. Wilt stared at this woman he didn’t know, and felt nothing. He knew the god – either Just or the Mother – would forestall his own death, but he had not expected this to be the method. It did not surprise him. Just’s ruthlessness was without bounds, and the Mother’s aim was to make him Death.
“Why did you not protect her?” the man continued. His voice was on the verge of breaking, but his face was stone. “Where are your gods to bring back my wife?”
The crowd shuffled, voices grunting and murmuring. They were not yet comfortable in the religion that Wilt promised. Faith was something they sought, but resisted because of all they had ever been taught.
Wilt glanced at the husband, then back to the corpse. Was this Just’s hand, or her own stupidity? She had given her life for the words of another. It was foolish and damned pathetic. How could she know that Wilt was honest? She had saved his life because of a promise he hadn’t made.
Wilt looked to the husband, uncertain of what he could say that would satisfy the man. Whether out of faith or Just’s actions, his wife had died because she was a fool. The gods were cruel and apathetic when it came to mortals. No intelligent person would choose to serve them willingly.
Wither pushed her way to the front of the crowd, the riders in the back row reclosing the circle. “It was not he who shot the arrow,”
she said. Her voice was fiery and defensive, her eyes burning hot. “Look to the assassins who have tried to take his life.”
Wilt praised her for the time she’d given him to think.
The man looked ready to shout Wither down, but Wilt jumped in. “I beg you, please. Take your wife’s final act to heart. One does not take another’s arrow without reason. She believed not in me, but in my teachings. If we turn on each other, it will only besmirch her charity.”
Many in the crowd nodded, even one of the men. The husband looked as though he might yell, and then his face emptied as if his mind had done the same. His eyes turned to take in the crowd and then up to meet Wilt’s.
“What do we do, Priest Twil?”
And that was how simple it was. He could take a man’s anger with only a few words, and turn it into loyalty. It was pleasing, but a hard reality to face. If he could control others with such ease, then he had no hope in challenging Just, for the god could use far more than words. At least, not yet. He couldn’t challenge him yet.
Wilt’s face cringed behind his mask, but he forced a sympathetic tone.
“First, we must collect your wife’s horse, so that she may ride to her pyre. Upon reaching Dekahn, we will prepare the funeral and praise Lock-”
“Praise be to Lock,” the Vandu chanted.
“-for granting her the freedom of the life that she enjoyed. Then, once she has been given the Warrior’s Rights,” – the women gasped and a few men scoffed; women were not warriors, and thus not afforded the Rights. – “Hold,” Wilt commanded. “Do not deny her this; she has died a warrior has she not? There is no more noble a death than in another’s place.”
The crowd quieted. There is no more stupid a death than in another’s place, Wilt thought. And he should know, considering the god he was meant to be.
“Now,” Wilt continued. “I wish it were not true, but Wither is correct. Someone fears my words and has tried to silence me.” He paused to let the thought settle. His people were not yet ready to turn against the consul, so Wilt let them assume the culprit. “Return to your horses. We must behave as Lock would, with wisdom and caution.”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 43