“Yes, Quartermaster.” The soldier saluted and left.
“Gods,” Trin laughed. “I don’t understand that shit, but I love when they do it.”
Jem turned back to her. Taehrn had kept his distance, but this wasn’t the first time Jem had been summoned this week. It was most likely the New Luddahners had sent over terms after Taehrn’s threat, and he needed Jem to summarize and log them, and yet, every moment around the man since Derlin had been torture. Even knowing of Indaht’s death, Taehrn hadn’t confronted him, and that made Jem suspicious. He supposed it didn’t matter though, once the Guard reached them, Jem would kill Taehrn and it would all be over. The Legion would falter, Taehrn’s coup would fail, and even if Jem couldn’t touch them now, the Magistrate and Lissahn would suffer for it. With both Taehrn and the Grand dead, Jem would be one step closer to making certain the right people took control of the Legion.
Jem held the page out for Trin. “I guess I should go then,” he said.
She shook her head. “Keep it. I can’t look at the damned thing anymore. We’ll talk when you get back.”
Jem nodded, placed it in his pocket, put on his boots, and left the tent. The evening sun was bright in the west, bright enough to make him stop and wait with eyes closed after a day spent indoors. He didn’t see the man coming, the courtesan that slammed into him from the right, in such a hurry to be somewhere else that he didn’t stop when Jem stepped into his path.
Jem landed on hard earth, a shooting pain running through his left hip. Still half blind from the sun, Jem clenched his jaw in an effort to suppress the pain as he struggled to regain his bearings.
A mask with green blush around the eyes stared down at him behind an outstretched hand. “I’m sorry, boy, I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”
Jem blinked, still trying to clear the stars from his eyes. The man’s apology didn’t sound wholly genuine, but it was always hard to tell with courtesans. Jem accepted the priest’s hand, nodding as the man helped him back to his feet.
“I’m fine.”
Dark eyes watched him from behind the mask’s wing-shaped lids. “You are certain, child?” the courtesan asked. “The First has sent out the call to arms. I cannot send you off if you are not healthy.”
“He did?” Jem asked. It was time then. The Guard had arrived.
The priest nodded. “Yes. Did you not hear it?”
He hadn’t. Gods, how would he explain this to Trin?
“No matter,” the priest continued. “I must be on my way. Good luck to you, boy.” The priest’s voice lowered to an ominous whisper. “Tell the First hello for me.”
The priest did not resume his course. Instead, he grabbed Jem’s shoulders, pointed him in the direction of Taehrn’s tent, and pushed him onward. Blinking rapidly, Jem looked back at the priest with a questioning glance – how did he know where Jem was going? Could the man be one of Taehrn’s spies? – but the priest had already turned away and retreated back the way he had come.
A horn blared in the distance. It was the call to arms, just as the courtesan had said. Jem forgot his questions and hurried on. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. Taehrn had to die, but gods, he didn’t want to lose Trin. She wouldn’t understand. She hated Taehrn, but she wouldn’t understand. She had said that they remained friends because Jem hadn’t wanted to kill his other victims, but he most certainly wanted to kill Taehrn. What if she never forgave him?
No. No, it didn’t matter. He had to kill Taehrn. Butcher take him. This wasn’t about Trin. This was about the blooding Legion. This was about making it better, about making the priesthood better. If Jem didn’t take action, then no one would. Men like Taehrn and Godahn, villains like Lissahn, they would continue to run amok unless he stopped them. And if he didn’t, if the butchers simply suffered, well then that was okay too.
It was with a heavy heart that Jem entered Taehrn’s tent, but even braced for his worst fears, he wasn’t prepared for what he entered into. Like a ghost from his past, the man awaited him. Not Taehrn, but another, propped beneath a heavy blanket in a chair beside Taehrn’s cot. His face pained and bloodied, beaten and swollen, and his cheeks red, fevered, and marred by burns from a terrible fire, it took Jem a moment to recognize him.
“Acklin?” Jem asked.
The Lanishman’s eyes opened slowly, fluttering beneath their own weight. “Oh,” Acklin moaned hopefully. “The boy. He is here. The boy, Taehrn. The boy.” His accent was not that of the Lanish merchant. It was thick, drawling in a way that gave a nasally emphasis to every vowel.
Taehrn’s head poked up from behind his desk. The First Legionnaire’s face looked panicked. His eyes were wide, their gaze darting in quick strokes; to Jem, to Acklin, to his hands behind the desk, then to the desk itself. His face eased then tensed as his gaze lingered on the desk’s single drawer. Taehrn’s hand found the knob with a yank that pulled the drawer off its slides before the man upturned it and dumped its contents into the bag at his feet.
The black candle sat atop Taehrn’s desk, its blood-red wick curling where the blue and green flame devoured it. The Well was silent, far away and foreign. What had Jem stepped into?
“Welcome, boy,” Taehrn said. “Come in quick. We don’t have much time.”
“What’s wrong?” Jem asked. Taehrn must have pieced everything together. The man must have realized that Jem had never wanted a deaconship, that he only wanted revenge.
Throwing the drawer aside, Taehrn jerked his head to Acklin. “He stumbled in a few hours ago, trembling and feverish. I had one of the whores attend to him, but he is not better. We need your help.”
The explanation was not sufficient. “Why are you packing your things?”
“I’ve just had word from the scouts. Dekahn is lost and the Guard approaches. They will be upon us soon.”
“I told you,” Acklin breathed, his chest rattling with the effort. “I told you to stay in Derlin. It was in my letter.” Beneath heavy lids, Acklin’s eyes rolled to Jem. “But it is okay. You can save me. And then we can go. I can get us away.”
Jem’s gaze shot to Taehrn. “Away?” Jem asked. “What about the call to arms? And why is Acklin here? Shouldn’t he be in Dekahn with the others?”
Taehrn jumped over his bag and crossed to Jem. He seized Jem’s arm and pulled him into the corner opposite Acklin. “He is fevered and delirious, but he is right. I know what you did, Jem. I know what you did to your father. It’s all right, I do not understand why you did not tell me that he was already dead, but I don’t care. Right now, I need your help. We all do.”
Jem gaped at him. “Why is he here?” Jem asked again.
Taehrn’s jaw clenched. “He is the Gelliner the Magistrate hired.” Taehrn’s words were slow, he spoke between his teeth, as though he were trying his best to suppress the hatred clear in his voice. “Acklin has done his job, the Grand is dead, but his success has put us at risk. Her troops have fallen, leaving just our army, and the Guard is almost here. If we do not act quickly, we are dead. You, me, Trin. Everyone. I know you do not trust me. The feeling is mutual, but I know you care for Trin. That is why you have to help. You can save us.”
“What…” Jem paused, trying to think of anything that might buy him some time. Taehrn was right, Jem had put Trin in danger. How had he not seen it before?
Because he’d been angry. That was how.
“What do you want from me?”
“The Gelliner can get us away, but he is too weak. He says that your kind can heal the flesh. He says you can save his life. You have to try.”
“What about everyone else? What about the call to arms?”
“It is too late for them. The Lockish outnumber us. I have sounded the call to buy us some time, but the Guard has numbers I cannot believe. We save who we can. If we stay, we die.”
“But-”
“Jem!” Taehrn roared. “Do not get sentimental. It is a lost cause. If there were something I could do, I would do it, but it is impossible. They have beast
s among them. Atherahnian cultists. Butchers. Mages like yourself and Acklin, but men and women who are not only trained, but bred to kill. Acklin has seen them. He tells me they massacred Lock’s rulers on the night of Dekahn’s fall, went into their Atheist chapels and murdered them in their beds while the Legion marched through the streets, killed the Lockish king as he sat on his throne, and now they hide among the ranks of the Lockish Guard. We have no way to face that, Jem. It is time to flee.”
Jem’s anger nearly got the better of him. His instinct was to shout back at the man. After all, this was supposed to be his moment of triumph, when Taehrn realized that all his plotting and scheming had been undone, but Jem knew he had to keep calm. He’d been angry, and he hadn’t thought this far ahead. Trin was in danger; he had to hear Taehrn out until he had a way to protect her.
Taehrn blinked, glaring at Jem’s arm. “What happened there, boy?”
Jem followed his gaze. There was blood on his right arm, smeared into a red, dripping patina around a small cut. It made little sense. The blood was thick, plentiful enough to wet the hair of his arms and stick it to his flesh, but there was too much for it to have come from the tiny cut.
“I… fell,” Jem said, but the explanation was not convincing enough. Not for that much blood. He smoothed his tabard, feeling underneath for a wound that might explain the excess. There wasn’t one. He was feeling jittery. Excited, but not in the way he should; not in the way of nervous fear that should have come with Taehrn’s news. It was a good feeling… a familiar feeling.
Taehrn nodded, his grip resettling on Jem’s arms, the blood forgotten. “So, can you do it, boy? Can you heal him?”
“What’s happening over there?” Acklin asked. His words ended in a wet cough.
“I…” Jem swallowed. “I don’t know how to do that.”
Taehrn’s lips thinned to a grim line.
“The need will handle it,” the dying man choked. “Mystic guides and Assassin gives. I am theirs, and they will find a way.”
Taehrn’s eyes regarded him. He spoke in a whisper. “If you cannot heal him, then can you get us away?”
“I…” Jem heard the question. He tried to consider it. But there was something about Acklin that caught his eye, something he couldn’t place, but something that called to him. Something that needed Jem to watch, to pay attention and observe. The brittle flesh of Acklin’s cheeks made for a horrific sight, but Jem couldn’t look away. The Well whispered.
“Quickly, boy!” Taehrn shouted, shaking Jem by the shoulders. “I need a decision.”
“I’ve never tried such a thing,” Jem said. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Damn!” Taehrn dropped his arms and turned, pacing back to his desk.
“What is wrong?” Acklin begged. His breathing was hoarse, his eyes foggy. Blood pooled through his heavy blanket, the flesh around his wounds black and scaled.
“The boy is useless,” Taehrn hissed. “He knows nothing!”
Acklin laughed through a hacking cough. “I told you to let me have him. The tallow I could have made…” the cough’s resurgence stole the rest of his words.
Taehrn snarled and pivoted, pacing back to Jem. “You’ve failed me, boy,” he whispered. His face was close, his lips pulled back by rage and fear. “I put my faith in you, I trusted you, and you have damned us. You think I don’t know what you did? You think I don’t know that you stole that letter? We are here because of you! That letter could have saved us… It could have warned us! Why did you do it, boy?”
The slap was quick. Too quick for Jem to stop. It made his cheek sting, a prickling, resounding pain.
“What have I done to earn this!”
It had been a petty choice. Jem saw that now. He had doomed them all for what Taehrn and Lissahn had done to Elyse. The Legion would die here, but so would he, and so would Trin. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had wanted to punish Taehrn, but instead, he’d punished them all.
“I… I wasn’t thinking,” Jem said. But he had been. He had planned this moment. He had hoped for it. Indeed, it was exactly what he’d wanted. Taehrn was vulnerable, his assassin was dying. If Jem killed him now, no one would ever know. They would think the death caused by the Guard.
“Wasn’t thinking?” Taehrn’s grip returned. “You lying little shit, I know what you were thinking. You thought you could kill me and claim your father’s lands for yourself! Doubtless you thought you could kill me and walk away as though you had no role in it. Run off and marry Lissahn’s daughter, get your gold, get your lands, and live without giving me my due! Well, you won’t have it! You think Lissahn will let you marry her daughter, boy?” Taehrn drew his sword from the scabbard at his belt. “You think she’ll let you get anything should I die?”
Jem eyed the blade in Taehrn’s hand. The man’s grip on Jem’s wrist was firm. If it came to a fight, he’d have only one arm to fend off that sword. He had to think of something, had to forestall Taehrn.
“I…” Taehrn wanted a conspirator. He wanted to believe that Jem had betrayed him, that he’d done it all for the power and the wealth. That’s what he would get.
“I’ll have the money anyway,” Jem fumbled. “The foundries, the logging camps, the wealth. The warrant doesn’t stipulate who I have to marry. I don’t need you or Lissahn’s daughter.”
It seemed a stupid thing to say, but it was all Jem could think of. With the candle blocking his magic and Taehrn’s grip already upon him, he was defenseless.
“I knew it! You think you can write me out? You think I’m as useless as your father, that I would allow myself to be outmaneuvered like this? Well, it won’t work. I deserve this, Jem. I deserve your father’s wealth and his lands! I’m the one that maneuvered it in just the right way to see that you would inevitably inherit. Even when you wouldn’t go along, even when you were just a pathetic, whining little child, crying over your uncle’s fate, I did what was needed to make certain you signed that testimony! And what do I get for it? What do I get for it now that you’re grown and ready? Betrayal and deceit, when I’ve personally given you the world! Well, you might think you’ve won, but you haven’t! Godahn has the real warrant. He’s the only one that can sign the properties into your name. Did you even think of that, boy? You’re an amateur playing amongst gods!”
Yanking Jem by the arm, Taehrn pulled him around and shoved him toward Acklin. “Save him, boy, or find another way to prove your worth, because I will not die like this! I will not let my child live without a father! You get me out of here, or you get nothing! I’ll kill you now and leave your corpse for the heathens!”
The shove unbalanced Jem, and as he attempted to regain his footing, he tripped over his own feet, scuffing his newly polished boots. He landed at the assassin’s feet, beneath the pungent smell of sick and poisoned flesh. Taehrn stared down at him with his sword between them, waiting for Jem to perform a miracle. Whatever he hoped Jem would do was impossible. The Well could make fire. It could move objects and dampen sounds. Healing someone was beyond Jem’s knowledge. Sometimes the Well did things on its own, but nothing like that, nothing so grand. What Taehrn wanted was the intervention of a god.
With a stubborn glare, Jem rolled onto his knees and faced Taehrn. “What makes you think I care?” Jem shouted. “They’ll have no way of knowing I had any part in this. Lissahn and Godahn will think you’ve died by your own incompetence. They won’t even think to question me.”
Taehrn’s boot smashed into Jem’s nose. Blood and shock blinded him. The red gore dripped from his nose, pooled in his eyes as he lay on the floor trying to regain his focus.
Acklin shrieked. “What are you doing?” he begged. “We need him, Taehrn!”
“Shut up,” Taehrn spat. Stepping to Jem’s side, Taehrn reached down and grabbed Jem by the collar. He placed the sword to Jem’s throat and lowered his head to stare into Jem’s eyes.
“They already question you, boy. Lissahn and I sent a letter to Godahn the moment I heard the tru
th about your father. They both know you’re a killer! We were going to keep you on our leash just until the marriage had gone through, just until you had the money and the land, and then we were going to have you removed. Just as we would have done with your father. You lost before you even started. Now heal Acklin, or I kill you.”
“I don’t care.” The words came out in a laugh. As Jem sniffed, he sniffed blood, coppery and wet. “I’ve never cared. This isn’t about the money, you butchering asshole! This is about getting rid of you. This is about making sure that people like you, people like Lissahn and Godahn, that none of you can ever hurt anyone else. It’s about what you did to me!”
A sudden silence filled the tent. Taehrn’s eyes narrowed to slits as the knuckles of the hand gripping Jem’s collar went white. “Is that what this was about?” His words were quiet. Calm. “Is that what you wanted? To see us all dead? To see me ambushed in the middle of the rot? To see me dead on a guardsman’s blade? You poor, dumb fool. If I die here, it will be because Acklin has died here. If Acklin dies here, then we all die here, and then your vengeance is finished. There’ll be no going after Lissahn, no going after Godahn or anyone else. You’ll die just another victim of greater men.”
Taehrn dragged Jem to his knees and over to Acklin’s side. “Heal him,” Taehrn said. For a man about to die, he was strangely calm. He sounded almost weary. “I know you don’t care for your own life, but surely you must care for Trin’s. Heal Acklin and I promise I will take her with us. Otherwise, she dies here, too.”
Jem glanced at Taehrn then back at Acklin. “Either way, you’re going to kill me.”
“Yes,” Taehrn said.
Jem nodded. Trin’s life for his. It might be a fair trade. If anything, it was the only hope she had. He placed his hands on the arms of Acklin’s chair, careful to avoid the blood and vomit that soaked the blanket. The smell was vile, and the fevered heat pervasive. Even at this distance he could feel the warmth escaping the man’s flesh. The eyes which regarded him were unfocused, from a face which lolled unsupported on the foul blanket.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 117