by D. H. Aire
Terus was the first to stop playing and begin washing, which left Revit the spokesman. Pointing at the flickering flame, Revit asked, “Aaprin, how do you do that?”
Aaprin lathered up and shrugged, “I have not the faintest idea... But I don’t think I’ll tell that to the Masters.”
Revit and Terus nodded, “That’s…”
“…Probably best.”
“Ugh,” he whispered as he awoke, his head throbbing.
“Stay in that bed, if you know what’s good for you,” Me’oh stated, one hand soothing her mildly distended and pregnant belly, while the other offered him a cup a jo.
He blearily drank the caffeine-based drink, but felt no better for the experience. “Where’s Cle’or?”
“Out, she has enough to do without hanging around the two of us in this little house. She knows we’re safe enough with all the guards Ofran keeps employed as his private helpers and personal army.”
“As Lord Master of the Healer’s Hall he could be a target for kidnapping. Its required by the Empress’s law— although, no one seems interested in researching the reasons for a law almost four centuries old,” he muttered, sounding like Staff in lecture mode.
Me’oh just gave him a dark look, then kissed him profoundly— but sternly, at least she tried. Ruefully smiling, she said, “Please don’t do that again.”
“It wasn’t my first choice, my love,” he replied, struggling to sit up. The headache welled; he grimaced, then muttered, “Aspirin is something I’ve heard Je’orj say is the first thing we should reinvent.”
“His famous headache remedy that we don’t have and likely never will— go back to sleep, and leave me to enjoy my cup of herbal tea.”
“Just watch what you eat and drink in your condition,” he mumbled, settling back down and closing his eyes.
She chuckled, “This is not the first child I have ever bore, love.”
“But she’s still our first child,” he muttered self-consciously.
Me’oh brightened, “A girl? Ah, I shall finally bear a daughter properly to my House.”
He opened his eyes wider “You asked me not to tell you, didn’t you?”
Grinning, the mother-to-be chuckled, “Yes, I did, didn’t I. People are so foolish sometimes...”
The black robed and hooded figure selected a vantage from which to view the section of Festival. Jeo the Merchant’s stall was across the way, amidst tanners, and clothiers. Not the most formidable neighbors to draw business, but Jeo seemed to be doing well enough.
What was of particular concern was the fact that urchins, of all people, had taken an interest; they came by, one or two at a time and begged pennies and bread from passersby— yet she could see them glance sidelong toward Jeo’s stall each time someone exited or entered.
One lad was below, asking two somewhat burly merchant apprentices for pennies. Something about the exchange was disturbing. An apprentice had taken a coin and tossed it into the alley, laughing.
The urchin raced after it and suddenly found himself trapped by the apprentices, who had come in behind. Grinning one caught up to the lad and offered him something in his hand.
Shaking his head, looking for a way out, the lad backed away.
“Come now,” said the other apprentice as they approached their vantage above them. “We borrowed this from our master, who will not likely miss it.”
“I wants it not, ser,” rasped the urchin as the nearest yanked at his arm. The fellow laughed as he came away with tattered rags.
The other offered another coin. “You could buy yourself some real clothes with this.”
“No!” the urchin cried hurriedly, desperately trying to duck into the rubbish filled crate next to him.
“Now, don’t be causing no trouble!”
His companion grabbed the lad’s legs, peeling away at the rags, tossing them aside. The urchin cried for help, but no one in the street could hear his muffled cry. The lad grabbed up a piece of glass, which was quickly struck from his hand. “Hurry! Stick the dust in his face!”
The lad struggled while the dust in the apprentice’s hand was caked into his mouth and nose. He coughed, but could not help but inhale the foul stuff.
Daggers appeared in the right hand of cloaked figure concealed above them. “Let ‘im go!” came the voice of a taller urchin lad, who suddenly appeared at the mouth of the alley.
Whimpering, “Oh, help me!” the disoriented lad felt himself being manhandled only distantly. The drug doing its work.
One of the youths slapped him hard across the face, he moaned. “Gallen.”
The other patted the revealed thigh, “You want come have a go at him, too?” Cruelly, the burly youth stood to his full height, “Else, you asking for the same... Or, hmm, you look lithe enough for our Master’s taste. Perhaps, you will join us after we finish here, eh?”
Gallen waved a jagged knife in front of them, “You want keep your manhood, you’ll leave the lil’ rat and go.”
The apprentice facing him pulled out a curved stiletto, “Now you leave that there and wait for us, say?” He grinned.
Daggers flew, the apprentices gaped as their pants fell about their knees. The ties binding up their pants had been neatly sliced at their thighs, left and right as the second apprentice had risen, wary of the armed urchin.
Gallen’s eyes were round with surprise, then as the two embarrassedly scurried to raise their pants, he shouted, “What do you think you’re doin’? You were working so hard to take them off; I think it best you just leave them here.” He waved his jagged blade, “Leave dem fancy blades here while you’re at it. Or would you prefer to lose your manhood to the next cast from my friend.”
They swallowed nervously, looking all over for the hidden friend. Behind them stuck in the dirt lay two hiltless daggers. The ruffians stepped away from their pants and dropped their knives.
Gallen grinned, then suggested for other ears, “You know, it might be wise to leave your jerkin here, too! The Rats does seem to need new clothes.”
The apprentices, looking chagrined, removed their jerkin and trembled before the slim urchin. “Now go! And remember to leave my pack alone!”
They raced past him. There was abrupt laughter in the street.
Gallen quickly rushed to the other urchin’s side, “You’re fine. I’m here now, lil’ rat.”
Something dropped on the ground beside Gallen, who hurriedly glanced at the strange wooden mark.
“Take it,” said a soft voice somewhere above the urchin lads.
“I asked fir no help.”
“Take it, and the lad, to the Healer’s Hall.”
Gallen’s eyes widened, “Can’t take ‘im there!”
“You’ll be safe enough... The healer who’ll redeem that will do more than you ask of him.”
Picking up the marker, Gallen looked upon and asked, “Why?”
“I’ve my scars, too.”
The urchin shook his head, grabbed up the clothes to blanket the lad, and soon carried him out of the alley. The black cloaked figure leapt to the ground, retrieving her daggers. She left the alley quickly, knowing that urchins had taken her trail. She cursed herself for a fool, then began testing their skills.
Game’s Played
5
The beast had risen quietly on its haunches, while the two disguised merchants, actually Weaver Guild Masters interested in exotic color and techniques of the rugs, examined Jeo’s unusual tapestries. Raising a hind paw to the lock about its neck, the collar was ever so quietly released, then lowered to the ground. Quickly, making sure no one was watching the beast slipped beneath the tent’s nearest flap. Glancing to and fro, the beast found its path clear of observers.
It leapt forward and began to shimmer. Fur and leg blurred into feather and wing. The pale falc with black crest flew upward above the Market, glancing down into the alley from which Cle’or had been watching. The soft cries had pulled at the beast’s sensitive hearing. The bird dropped to a perch d
eep with the alley, watching the apprentices being confronted suddenly by another urchin lad, then Cle’or intervention.
Raven waited until Cle’or left, urchins following in her wake before considering changing back and returning to her post.
‘?’ she sent.
Staff sparkled unnoticed in Jeo the Merchant’s hand as he stretched the tapestry’s edge. :Go play,: came the reply. :Just stay out of trouble, please.:
‘?’ squawk.
The merchant chuckled, seemingly for no reason, then asked the “merchants” whether they were interested in looking at two other tapestries he had picked up at auction. They gaped at him in wonder, gazed down at these ‘rugs’ this merchant spoke about so nonchalantly. “We would be, uh, pleased to,” responded the Guild Senior.
Raven shook her head, breaking the link, taking wing to follow Cle’or. It looked like quite a game.
Cle’or climbed a fence, her urchin watchers showing up ahead of her. They knew these ways well; she grinned before catching sight of the fate idling above her. She waved to it, “Missed you!”
The bird squawked, ‘Missed you!’ Cle’or almost lost her footing hearing that. Would Raven never cease to amaze her?
An urchin had taken to watching her from a vacant doorway. Cle’or crawled up the side of a building and raced across rooftops.
A filthy arm came up over the lip of a roof. A puckish figure rose, struggling behind it. The urchin caught a glimpse of the black robed form as it leapt to another rooftop down the street. “That way!” the urchin gestured wildly with a free hand.
Below him an urchin waved and ran to signal others, without realizing that the rooftop lad was beginning to maintain himself rather precariously. The falc squawked, circled back at the sight and dove to the nearest ledge. Raven shimmered as she backwinged, then her human hands grabbed a clothesline. She plucked off a drying jerkin, hastily covered herself and began nimbly walking along the second story ledge.
The urchin moaned, grasping another hold as he slid slowly and inexorably toward the street below. Welcome hands pulled him up to the safety of the recessed ledge. He hardly dared breathe as he rested safely. Leaning against the wall, he turned to his rescuer, frowning in sudden uncertainty, stared at the black haired and barefoot girl. “Uh, thanks.”
The girl touched his cheek, her fingers coming away bloody. He swayed, feeling faint, quickly touched his cut.
“Not bad,” she reassured, helping him negotiate his way to the ground that he had so effortlessly ascended before he almost fell.
He sat, taking time to really catch his breath. Looking up at the girl quizzically, standing there so silently, he marveled at how she wore nothing but that loose jerkin. The poor kid, the urchin thought. “Someone abandon ya at Festival?” She shook her head.
“Do you have a name, at least?”
“Raven.”
“What are ya’ doin’ out here?”
“Same you.” He just stared back at her. She shrugged, “Playing.”
He looked back up toward the roof, then rose up off the ground. “I wasn’ playin’.”
“She was.”
Frowning, he asked, “Who?”
“The woman you were all chasing.”
He swallowed, “I, uh, was up here to, uh, get a better view of Festival. I ain’t with nobody.”
She shrugged.
“You hungry?” he asked.
She grinned.
“Aw, come on then,” gesturing her to follow. “I’m Juels. A rat likely in for a scoldin’ ’cause I lost it up here and fell behind the game— dat game dat I was nay playin’ wid nobody, o’ course,” he said grinning whimsically.
Raven followed, “Before food, clean cuts neat, yes?”
Juels nodded, “Dems the Rules.”
Raven wondered what the urchin lad meant by that, shrugging as Juels began to tell her the most amazing things about the Tier. She laughed at his stories, chuckled as he ‘purloined’ their lunch and got him clear of a scrape or two he never even noticed.
All in all, Raven had a lot of fun with her new friend.
The healer’s token got Gallen through the Tier gates and up the Concourse until he reached the Healers Hall. The Guards had become most kind at the first gate, insisting they carry the lad in his arms.
“Just show the Marker to the good Captain here,” said a grizzled veteran. “Let us act as escort.” Gallen had frowned in uncertainty, glancing at the token. “The Healers Hall is heeded in all things, lad, the guard captain assured him, ordering two of his men to accompany them.
At Gallen’s anxious reluctance to let the unconscious boy go, the captain promised, “No harm will come to either of you— you both may come and go as you please as long as you hold a Master’s token.”
It made no sense and went against almost everything Gallen had come to believe; yet the urchins were treated with a respect that puzzled only a few until Gallen displayed the token. People nodded, even wished them well.
The guardsman carrying young Clawd muttered, “Well, they should… They may need a token one day.”
At last they came to the Healers Hall. Gallen squared his shoulders and marched right up to the door warden. He held the token up before the warden’s face. The fellow squinted at it, noting whose rune symbol it was. His eyes widened as he recognized exactly who’s as the urchin lad in front of him proclaimed, “My friend needs help. He’s been drugged and hurt.”
The warden muttered a “word,” a sound that Gallen could not rightly hear as other than a noise. “Lord Master Balfour!” the warden shouted. “Summons to Aid by Thyne Token of Practice!”
Out of thin air a voice responded, “Second Ward!”
The warden ushered them inside. Medics immediately came forward and laid Clawd on a healer’s cart. Gallen had to run to keep up as they went down a hall toward the second ward.
Master Balfour hurried across the ward, gesturing them to bring the boy to the nearest vacant pallet. He then did the oddest thing Gallen had ever seen. The healer stood beside the boy and closed his eyes— and never uttered a spell. Yet his hands suddenly glowed with blue light as he slowly touched Clawd’s face, chest, arms and legs. Wherever there had been a visible bruise, it faded beneath the healer’s touch.
Clawd moaned, his body trembling.
The healer opened his eyes as the glow faded from his hands. “I need some falaine here! This lad’s been badly drugged and is beginning to show signs of an adverse reaction.”
One of the human medics rushed across the room and brought back a container of falaine, which Balfour administered by rubbing it on the side of Clawd’s neck. The powder almost immediately passed through his skin and entered his bloodstream. The healer looked up as boy’s tremors faded, noting the staring Gallen. “The rest of you can wait outside now. It was good he was brought here straight away… Adam, please bring this lad, here, some tea and whatever biscuits are left from this morning.” He smiled at Gallen. “You’re welcome to wait here with your friend. He’ll be just fine.” As the guardsmen left, he asked, “Now, tell me how this happened and how you came by my token.”
“It was given to me— I did not steal it!”
“Of course not,” Balfour hastily assured the urchin.
Swallowing hard, Gallen decided to tell him the briefest true tale possible. He had the distinct feeling; it would be very difficult to lie to this elfblood— this healer who used no spells to heal.
Donnialt sat behind his desk the Book of Apprentices open before him. His inked pen hung in the space beside the name that gave him pause.
A bead of ink dropped from it, which he hastily blotted, then sat back and sighed. With a shake of his head he closed the book. Placing it firmly under his arm, he left his chamber for the first time since the Testing.
Journeymen hastened to get out of his path. His visage was frighteningly grim. He found Stenh just returning to his chamber, “Master, I would speak with you.”
Stenh’s hand visibly trembl
ed in the act of opening his door. He straightened and turned to face his Master of Apprentices. “Come in, Donnialt. I would have summoned you, soon, in any case.”
Donnialt nodded and without another word entered. Stenh muttered the key to the ward as he closed the door firmly behind them. The ward cast a bright shadow to Donnialt’s mage sight as he took a seat opposite Stenh’s oaken desk. “I’ve come to discuss Aaprin’s status in the hall— and recommendation for placement.”
Stenh laughed darkly, “Oh, I fear that is out of our hands now.”
“So do I. Has Grendel spoken to you, also?”
“Oh? Grendel would interfere now,” Stenh muttered bitterly, then he came to himself and shook his head, “Donnialt, Aaprin’s to have a more peculiar life than any scheme Grendel may have in mind for him.”
Frowning grimly, Donnialt said, “Master, I personally see little choice. Grendel recommended sending him ‘North.’“
Stenh nodded with a gentle moan, “Of course, he did...But as I said it’s out of our hands now. He’s being assigned to one of the Candidates.”
Donnialt sat bolt upright, “You cannot do such a thing! Lord Senason would never accept an apprentice with Aaprin’s gift!”
Stenh shrugged, “It’s done... I also do not recall saying that Senason was the Candidate in question, either.”
“But other than the Chancellor, no one other than Grendel has ascended to Candidacy,” Donnialt almost stammered.
“No longer,” Stenh replied, forlorn.
“Who then, Master? Surely not yourself?!”
“No, not I... I have little doubt that we will be meeting him soon enough.” With a sigh, Stenh commanded, “Aaprin will be announced as being assigned Out-Hall, which should temper Grendel for a time. Add the same injunction to that of the lads Revit and Terus, the time has come to do something with them, as well, before the scandal of Aaprin’s gift becomes common knowledge.”