Tevvy groaned softly and turned over, pushing himself slowly onto his hands and knees.
“Easy,” Rokwolf whispered, “we’ve both been hit hard.”
“That’s why my head is throbbing,” Tevvy replied. “The old wethi?”
“I don’t know, but I heard breathing from the other side of this bench,” Rokwolf answered, “so he might still be alive.”
“How long have we been out?” Tevvy asked.
Rokwolf tried to shake his head, but the movement hurt. “Ouch,” he said, “no idea, but from the size of the lump,” he went on, carefully checking the back of his head, “quite a while. Have you lost anything?” Rokwolf asked. “I appear to have everything I came in with, so robbery could not have been the motivation.”
Tevvy slowly sat back against the bench next to Rokwolf and then started to check all his pockets; after a few silent moments, he looked back at Rokwolf. “I think I have everything,” he said, and he produced two small vials of the same transparent green liquid, “I even have a couple more of these.” He handed one to Rokwolf; they both pulled the stoppers and drank. They sat silently for a time, looking around the room. “It doesn’t look like they rifled through this room, unless they took something specific and knew where it was.”
Rokwolf got stiffly to his feet. “We better see how Presgrut is,” he noted, walking gingerly around the bench to where the old alchemist lay slumped on the floor. Rokwolf carefully knelt beside the old alchemist to examine the knot on his head, which was not nearly as large as the one on the back of his own head. He stood slowly and saw Tevvy standing, looking his direction. “They did not hit him nearly as hard as they did us,” he noted.
Tevvy frowned at this. “Better wake him so we can find out if they took anything from him,” Tevvy said, beginning to look around.
Rokwolf squatted again and shook the old wethi, gently at first, but when this did not wake him, he shook him with more insistence. “Presgrut, Presgrut! Wake up!” he called, shaking him harder. After a few moments, Rokwolf gave up shaking and calling and grabbed the wooden pail of dark, filthy water, with an oily film on its surface, sitting next to the bench, the water the old alchemist used to cool hot things, and dumped it over his head.
Presgrut jerked himself up, coughing and spitting water. “You son of a flaming kara and Gar the accursed!” he shouted at Rokwolf, wiping water and his now wet and stringy gray hair from his eyes and face. “Why d’yah do that?”
“You refused to wake,” Rokwolf said, “and we thought you would want to figure out what those thieves have taken.”
Presgrut looked puzzled. “What thieves?”
“The ones who hit us all over the heads!” Tevvy shouted back at him.
“They’ve taken something of mine?” Presgrut asked.
“You old fool!” Tevvy exclaimed. “All we know is that they did not take anything from either of us, which leaves only you, and we do not know all the contents of your shop or home, so how in the world would we know what they have taken from you? Otherwise, we would have left you unconscious on the floor!”
“That’s still not justification for waking an old wethi with a bucket of dirty water!” Presgrut exclaimed, getting slowly to his feet and beginning to look over his workbench. “Your sample is gone,” he said after a moment, “although from the ashes, I would say they simply destroyed it rather than stole it.”
“There are spider-like creatures in the Mariskal,” Rokwolf noted, remembering the last thing they had been discussing before someone had knocked them out, “created by Gar, and called the sponsum. There are rumors of a larger version of these creatures, and if the reports are true, the smaller sponsum worship this larger creature. Perhaps this larger creature is the source of the venom.”
Tevvy looked shocked. “You are joking,” he said.
Rokwolf carefully shook his head once. “No, I had one patrol assignment at the Forsaken Outpost, so I have seen for myself the sponsum.”
“But that does not explain what these two compounds would do to someone when mixed together,” Presgrut added, “although I can guess.” He looked at Tevvy. “How much of the barrel did you scrape to get what you brought me?”
“Most of the way around it,” Tevvy replied.
Presgrut nodded. “I thought so,” he said, “so in a mug of ale, the person drinking it would only be ingesting a few tiny crystals of both substances.”
“Which means?” Tevvy asked.
Presgrut did not answer his question. “Did you see or talk to anyone who drank any of the tainted ale?”
Tevvy thought for a moment. “I might have, although at the time, I thought he was upset over what he had witnessed in the swamp.”
“What did he do?” the old wethi asked.
“He got, I don’t know, kind of dreamy,” Tevvy answered, searching for words, “almost lost and . . . ,” he paused and Presgrut spoke.
“Numb?” he suggested. “Distant? Open to suggestion?”
“Yes, actually,” Tevvy went on, “I told him to go to the local green kailu, since he seemed a danger to himself.”
“You still haven’t determined what else they took,” Rokwolf noted.
“You distracted me with your mention of the sponsum,” Presgrut noted, moving to the many shelves surrounding the alchemist’s shop.
Rokwolf shrugged. “When you mentioned the sample, I remembered we were talking about the sponsum of the Mariskal, which was the point where we were knocked unconscious.” Rokwolf looked down at his wrists as his verghrenum warmed suddenly, but instead of one of the symbols glowing along with an image in his mind of who contacted him, he felt a surge of fear, followed by pain and nausea; he swayed where he stood, grabbing the workbench to keep from falling over. Waves of pain and nausea continued, rolling into his mind from his verghrenum, but the intensity of the feelings weakened to the point that he could again stand and look at Tevvy, who was looking at him. The awemi’s face was a confused mix of emotions: surprise, pain, and fear. Just as suddenly, Tevvy’s face cleared.
“What just happened?” Tevvy whispered, moving closer to Rokwolf so the old wethi would not hear him. Presgrut continued going over his shelves, muttering to himself.
“I thought someone contacted me,” Rokwolf whispered back, “but no specific symbol glowed, and I got no image of who, and then I felt almost overcome by feelings of fear, pain, and nausea, but now the feelings have weakened, still there, but not threatening to overwhelm me.”
Tevvy’s brow wrinkled. “Elanor must have showed Sutugno how to work her verghrenum,” he noted.
“Are you saying those feelings came from . . . ?” Rokwolf began but Tevvy’s nod stopped him.
“I showed Elanor how hers worked, and she discovered, almost immediately, that they convey feelings between us,” Tevvy went on, “she tried thinking thoughts that made my face burn without knowing what she was thinking.”
Rokwolf frowned. “She must have tried it while we were unconscious, because of thoughts that appeared while I was struggling to regain consciousness, but now, I fear something terrible has happened.”
Tevvy’s eyes widened suddenly. “This is all a ploy,” he hissed, “Presgrut hasn’t lost anything, but it will take him hours to find out, keeping us away from the school while . . . ,” he let his voice trail off. “Karasun!” he cursed softly, jerking his head toward the door as he turned in that direction. Rokwolf followed, not bothering to say anything to the old wethi.
The inn door that served as one of the fronts for Meekor’s school stood open; Rokwolf and Tevvy were hiding in the shadows of the run-down house across the street. Tevvy pointed next door to the inn where the sign above the door indicated a tavern called the Green Beast, but the door was closed and no light escaped from any window on the street level or from the second level. The hour was very late; they had been unconscious all afternoon and late into the evening, and it had taken them far too long to move from the East Gate quarter of Rykelle and Presgrut’s shop bac
k to the West Harbor home of his father’s school. There had been too many people in the streets Tevvy recognized as members of the local branch of the Thieves’ Guild, and Tevvy believed the Guild responsible for what had happened to them. It took all of their combined skills to get them this far unhindered.
“Let’s go,” Tevvy whispered to Rokwolf, and then he flitted across the street into the shadows next to the open door; a moment later, Rokwolf followed him. The inn’s entry hall appeared to be empty, but the awemi rolled through the doorway and up to the front desk, daggers appearing in both hands, squatting with his back against the desk. He looked toward the next room, silent and unmoving. After several tense moments, he nodded to Rokwolf. The seklesi slipped just inside and next to the door, closing it without a sound and throwing the bolt to secure it. Rokwolf crouched and slid left along the wall, came to the corner and followed the wall, keeping his eyes on the desk for any movement, stopping next to the door into the inn’s parlor. He nodded to Tevvy, and moved around the desk. He found the body of an awema collapsed on the floor, dagger through her throat, a look of surprise frozen on her face. Tevvy checked for a pulse, then looked back to his companion, his bleak look answering Rokwolf’s unspoken question. Tevvy moved back from the desk to the other side of the parlor door, listening for a moment before crouching and darting into the larger room and hiding behind one of the comfortable chairs near the door in view of Rokwolf. He made a sign, then moved from chair to chair throughout the dimly lit room. Rokwolf crouched low next to the doorway to keep an eye on Tevvy; when the awemi quickly moved out of his view, the seklesi moved to the other side of the opening and continued to watch and wait. After a few moments more, Tevvy waved to him as he moved toward the parlor’s only other door. Rokwolf slipped into the parlor, closing and bolting the door after him. He moved quietly to the right, over next to Tevvy.
“Anyone?” Rokwolf whispered.
Tevvy shook his head. “Not unusual at this time of night.”
Tevvy peered into the next room, which had more light coming from it and the sounds of fires burning. Rokwolf moved to the other side of the door and saw a serving kitchen; behind a cart filled with dishes, he saw two more students lying on the floor unmoving. Tevvy moved quickly across the room to his left, going toward the door leading into another room; he paused a moment, then he pulled the door shut and secured it. He moved across the room in the other direction, going to the only other door. He signaled Rokwolf as he listened at the door, then crouched and peered around the edge of the door frame. Rokwolf closed and secured the door to the parlor, then followed the awemi. Tevvy slipped into the main kitchen, sliding along the wall to a door that led into one of the main floor storage rooms, listened, slipped inside, returned, then closed and secured the door. He pointed down the wall to Rokwolf’s right; the seklesi moved past one of the larger stoves to a door in the corner behind the stove, where there was a second storage room, but this door was closed so he threw the bolt. He started to turn away, but stopped when his eye caught odd-looking scratches on the bottom of the door, barely visible. He stooped and ran his fingers over the polished wooden surface, feeling slight indentations and rough scratches, like a dog had scratched at the door, but the scratch marks were too far apart. Perhaps someone with worn hobnail boots had kicked the door; he turned and saw Tevvy move through the doorway that led into a short hallway with stairs leading up and down. He stood and followed.
By the time Rokwolf caught up to the awemi, Tevvy had already been down to the left and bolted the door into the sewers; he was holding a small piece of cloth, colored black.
“I found this caught on the doorframe,” Tevvy whispered, “looks like it came from one of our cloaks: it’s the same cloth.” He looked up the stairs and started to climb, moving lightly up in complete silence. Rokwolf followed, beginning to think that something odd was going on here. He could still feel Sutugno’s pain and nausea through his verghrenum, but Tevvy had not mentioned feeling anything else from Elanor. He followed Tevvy, seeing him turn the corner above, wanting to keep him in view. When he turned the corner, he saw Tevvy reach the top, look around, then signal him. Rokwolf followed as Tevvy moved around the corner and out of his sight. Rokwolf reached the top of the stairs, looked around the corner and saw Tevvy running down the hall past the bodies littering the hallway. One glance down the other hallway and he saw the same thing: more bodies. He ran after Tevvy, fearing what he was going to find.
He turned at the end of the hallway, leaping over more corpses and seeing Tevvy standing still about halfway down, looking into his parent’s apartment. The awemi stood for only a moment before he cried out and flung himself into the room. Rokwolf drew his sword and slowed, looking all around and listening; he halted next to the open door. He could clearly hear Tevvy sobbing, and he felt his own heart wrenched, knowing exactly how the awemi felt at that moment. Rokwolf slipped into the room, sword held ready; Tevvy lay face down on the bed between his parents, one arm over each; Meekor and Varla lay on their backs, faces wide with fear, stiff and cold, a dagger hilt sticking out of each chest, red stain on the white sheet surrounding the hilt. Rokwolf moved past the bed and into the next room, making sure there was no one hidden and waiting to trap either of them. When he was sure the room was empty, he left by the second door and went down the hall to Elanor’s room. He pushed the door open slowly and experienced a moment of cold fear: a figure in green kailu robes lay with her back to him, curled almost into a ball, and motionless. His eyes scanned the room, making sure no one else was there; he quickly moved through the room, searching; a pungent, acidic smell assailed his nose, making his stomach threaten to heave. He knew at once the source of the nausea, and that she had been ill, very ill, if the smell were any indication. Rokwolf carefully pushed open the small wardrobe with the point of his sword and saw, hidden behind the clothes hanging inside, an awemi crouching and shaking with fright; he recognized him as Elanor’s younger brother, Daybor.
“It’s me, Rokwolf,” he whispered, “it’s safe to come out; they’ve all gone.”
Daybor squinted up at him, shielding his eyes. “You’re Tevvy’s seklesi friend,” he stammered after his eyes adjusted to the dim light in Elanor’s room, “the one who she keeps calling,” he went on, pointing to the unmoving figure on the bed. “They did something to her, made her drink something that made her ill. Elanor tried to stop them, but they hit her and she flew into the wall and did not move. Some of them wanted to strip her, and rape her, but whoever was in charge told them no. There was fighting in the hall then, so they dropped the bottle, grabbed my sister, and left.”
“How long ago?” Rokwolf asked.
“I don’t know,” Daybor admitted, “an hour or more.”
“Who was it? Who attacked?” Rokwolf pressed.
“I think it was the Thieves’ Guild, at least that’s what everyone was shouting when the fighting began,” Daybor replied.
“Does the school have a store of healing supplies?” Rokwolf asked.
Daybor nodded. “Mistress Varla always kept it well-stocked.”
“I need you to bring me an assortment of healing and curing potions,” Rokwolf said. “Are they nearby?”
“Yes,” Daybor replied, “are you sure they’ve gone?”
“Tevvy and I have not seen anyone,” Rokwolf answered.
Daybor slid out of the wardrobe. “Where is Tevvy?”
Rokwolf sighed and nodded. “In his parents’ room.”
“Are they . . . ?” Daybor asked without completing the thought.
Rokwolf nodded once; he saw Daybor’s eyes filling with tears. “Please, Daybor,” he implored, “I need those supplies, and I don’t know where to find them.”
Daybor dashed the tears from his eyes; he nodded and left the room.
Rokwolf went to the other side of the bed so he could see Sutugno’s face; her hair had fallen across her face, so he sat down and brushed her hair back. Her face was pale, her jaw clenched. He took the small towel
from the table next to the bed, dipped a corner in the washbowl, then used it to wash her mouth and chin. Her eyes fluttered and opened; her mouth formed his name, and her hands and arms twitched but were too weak to move. A spasm of anger surged through him, but the pain written in the lines on her face quelled it, and he reached out his hand to touch hers; she held his feebly for a moment only. He turned away quickly to hide his face, pouring water from the pitcher into a small cup, then turning back to her and lifting her head to help her drink. She could barely take a swallow, but the few drops were enough to give her back her voice.
“Thanks,” she said in a barely audible whisper. “I feared that you would not come, that you were dead, especially when I could not arouse you with my new bracelets; I thought you’d be so angry with me that you’d come immediately to find me.” She tried to grin, but a wave of pain made her grimace; Rokwolf knew through his verghrenum.
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 90