by J. C.
"Stop it!" she snapped at him in frustration, sloshing out of the river. She grabbed up the weapon. Bending over made her head spin with dizziness again. She paused to steady herself. "Stop doing these things."
Chap let out a whining grunt, and cocked his head as he watched her.
There was still a dark stain on the blade. With a glare at the dog, she went to the forest's edge and wiped the blade off in the grass. As she finished, someone came out of the forest clearing and stumbled across the river's rocky shore. Leesil.
He looked back and forth. Spotting Magiere, he rushed down the shoreline, tripping twice, but never quite falling on his face. Chap ran up to him, circling the slender man with his tail whipping back and forth.
"I heard… and you were gone," Leesil spit out between pants of breath. "What's going on? Why are you… ?" He looked at Magiere's messed up clothes, grass and leaves caught in her hair, then down at Chap, and saw the blood-stained fur. His eyes widened. Leesil quickly inspected the dog, and when he found no life-threatening wounds, he looked back at Magiere. "What happened?" he asked more clearly.
Magiere looked away from his bloodshot eyes. The sun was somewhere just below the horizon, and the clouds were tinged with red. The day had not really begun yet, but her entire life had shifted course. If she were a superstitious peasant, she would have called it an omen.
"I'm done, Leesil," she said. "All of it is over with."
Leesil's white-blond eyebrows furrowed together over his wide eyes, a mix of surprise, bewilderment, and anger.
"What's wrong?" he yelled. "We were going to talk about this."
Magiere's gaze drifted toward the water. The corpse had submerged, but the river might change that. She thought of the lifeless body being dragged along beneath the surface, unable to resist the power of the current.
"I'm leaving for Miiska," she said. "Are you coming?"
* * * *
In the small coastal town of Miiska, a waterfront warehouse bustled with activity, even though dawn had not yet arrived. The huge main floor between the unfinished plank walls was stocked with ale casks, wheat bundles, and wool on the import side, and dried fish and a few crafted goods on the export side. Crates, barrels, and twined bundles were carried in and out, noted by clerks. Even with the doors open, the warehouse had the jumbled odor of oil-treated rope, weathered wood and metal, sweat from livestock and workers, and whatever had washed up on the shoreline in the last day or two. A small waif of a boy in an oversize faded green shirt, with a mop of dun-colored hair on his head, continually swept the wooden planks under everyone's feet, trying to control the constant buildup of dust and dirt. Workers were busy preparing cargo for a barge leaving at dawn. In spite of the busy fury, few people spoke to each other.
To the right of the dockside doors, which were wide enough for a wagon to enter, stood a tall man watching over the work with careful detachment. He gave no orders and rarely checked on anything, as if knowing all would be carried out to his satisfaction. His daunting physical height made it appear he was accustomed to looking down at others, even those not shorter than himself. Long muscular arms, inside a deep green tunic, were crossed over his chest, but his arrogant bearing suggested he hadn't built those arms by lifting crates himself. Close-cropped hair the color of blackened corn silk looked even darker around his pale features. Crystalline blue eyes, nearly transparent, watched everything at once.
"No, Jaqua," a voice said from behind. "I ordered twenty casks of wine and thirty-two of ale. You've confused the figures."
His gaze shifted to the back of the cavernous room. A brown-haired young woman, only two-thirds his height, scolded the head receiving clerk.
"Miss Teesha, I'm sure you—" Jaqua began.
"I know what I ordered," she said calmly. "We can't possibly sell all this wine right now. Send twelve casks back. And if the barge captain tries to charge us a shipping cost, tell him we can find someone else to do business with."
The tall overseer left his place by the door, moving toward the argument.
"Is there a problem?" he asked evenly.
"No, sir." The clerk, Jaqua, drew back. His face became flat without expression, but his fingernails whitened as he gripped his scribe's board tight with both hands.
Teesha smiled with tiny white teeth. She looked up without concern at her towering partner.
"No, Rashed. Just a mistake in the wine order. It'll be taken care of."
Rashed nodded, but didn't move, and Jaqua scuttled off to correct his error.
"He's confused several orders lately," Teesha said. "Perhaps he's been sampling the wine himself a little too often."
Rashed was incapable of returning her smile, but this did not seem to bother her. Few would call her beautiful, but she possessed a brightness in her doll-like face that caused men who met her to think of marriage one breath later. Rashed knew her exterior was only a sweet garment covering the truth, but still her appearance was as pleasing to him as it was to anyone—perhaps more so. Her company itself pleased him as well.
"If you don't like Jaqua," he said, "replace him."
"Oh, don't be so harsh. I don't want him replaced. I just want…" She stopped in mid-sentence, staring at him.
Rashed stared at the north wall of the warehouse, clutching his throat tightly with one hand. He felt a cold numbness rush downward through his body. Years had passed since he'd felt pain, and its return amazed him. His thoughts clouded, fading away before they could completely form in his mind.
He stepped closer to the wall, and turned around to lean back against one of its timbers for support. The cold line across his throat ran all the way through to the back of his neck.
Teesha grabbed his arm, first gently, then her slender fingers squeezed.
"Rashed… what's wrong?"
"Teesha," he managed to whisper.
Her childlike hands grabbed his tunic firmly, steadying him. When he began to slump, he felt her arms shove him back up to his feet again. She was as strong… stronger than any man in the warehouse, though no one else knew this. She put an arm around his waist, supporting him, and hurried him out a side door away from suspicious eyes. Outside, he struggled to help her by remaining on his feet. He felt her hands touch his face, and he looked down into her worry-filled eyes.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
Sorrow washed over him in a wave, and then anger. A white face with sunken eyes and cheeks glowed in the dark of his mind's eye. Then it snuffed out and vanished. He found himself staring out over the tops of buildings to the forest and skyline in the northeast.
"Parko's dead," he said in a hissing whisper, too shocked to speak loudly, too angered to voice it clearly.
Teesha's smooth brow wrinkled in confusion. "But how do you know this?"
He shook his head slightly."Perhaps because he was once my brother."
"You've never felt such a strong connection to him, even before he left us for the Feral Path."
Rashed lowered his eyes to hers, anger taking hold above all other sensations.
"I felt it. Someone cut his head off and… something wet… running water."
She stared at him, frozen in the moment, and through her hands he could feel the shudder run through her small frame. She quickly pulled her hands from his face, as if repulsed by what he'd described, then leaned her forehead against his chest.
"No. Oh, Rashed, I'm sorry."
His eyes lifted again toward the northeastern skyline, and a chill like cold water over living flesh washed through him again. It was unsettling in a forgotten way, as it had been decades since he'd felt anything akin to cold.
"We have to find out who did this. Where is Edwan?"
"He's nearby." Teesha closed her eyes for a moment. "My husband says he is sorry, too."
Rashed ignored the sympathies.
"Send him out. Tell him to find whoever did this and bring me a name. Tell him to look northeast." He raised his gaze inland again. "Tell him to hurry."
>
A soft glimmer wavered in the air near the two, almost nothing more than the light cast from a lantern's cracked shutter. Teesha's face turned in its direction and her lips moved as if speaking, but not a word was heard. The light vanished.
Chapter Three
"We'll have to stop soon," Magiere said tiredly, running a hand across her face. "It's getting dark."
The sun was setting over the ocean off the coastal road of Belaski, illuminating the land with a dusky orange glow that made it appear less gloomy and hopeless than in full daylight. Leesil always liked dusk, and he stopped for a moment to watch the fading light over the water. The coastal road they followed south from Bela, the country's capital city, was reasonably fast and clear, much easier traveling than the five days' trek west out of Stravina.
It had been twelve days since the death of the mad villager, and Leesil had yet to ask any hard questions about what had really taken place that night on the shore of the Vudrask River. Magiere had provided scant details about what had happened to her and Chap. There still remained the puzzles of why Chap had attacked without orders, and why Magiere appeared so enraged and shaken. It was something beyond the killing of the villager. Neither of them broached the subject, even when they stopped at a village to purchase a donkey and cart to carry Chap—which should have raised questions about the reason for the dog's injuries. His wounds appeared mostly healed by then, but Magiere insisted he needed rest.
"Let's make camp," Magiere said.
Leesil nodded and strolled off the road. He watched Magiere run her hand across her forehead again, trying to push a few strands of hair dulled with road dust off her face. He knew she hated being dirty.
"Maybe we should slip down to the shore," he said. "Seawater's not the best bath in the world, but it'll do in a pinch. Though it's no good for washing out clothes, unless you like wearing salt crust."
She turned a suspicious glare on him. "Since when did you care about clean clothes?"
"Since always."
"Stop trying to humor me." She let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "I know what you want, and you'd better forget about it. We're not going to swindle even one more village. I'm through." She started to follow him off the road, then paused and looked back.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm not sure." She shook her head. "Since dusk, I've had an odd feeling that someone is…" She trailed off.
"Someone is what?"
"Nothing. I'm just tired." She shrugged.. "Don't put us too far from the road. It's too hard to get the cart through the brush."
Leesil's own cloak was beginning to feel thin in the rapidly cooling air, and he quickly chose a clearing in the trees. Magiere unpacked a dented cooking pot, loose tea, dried meat, and apples, while he cleared a space of ground and got a small fire going.
Despite his outer calm, his thoughts were still troubled. Once again, they had fallen into simple routine, going through daily motions without really talking, and there were several subjects beyond tonight's dinner that he wished to discuss.
"Do you need help getting Chap?" Magiere asked suddenly.
"No, he can walk on his own."
Leesil went to the cart and wrapped his slender, tan arms around the dog's neck. "Hey, there. Time to wake up and eat something."
"How is he?" Magiere called.
Chap's eyes opened instantly, and he whined before lifting his silver-gray muzzle to lick Leesil's face. He pulled free of Leesil's arms and hopped out of the cart, heading toward the cooking fire.
"See for yourself," Leesil answered. "And I think he's about as bored as he could get with riding in the cart."
Leesil always found her attitude toward Chap a bit odd. She never petted the dog and rarely spoke to him, but always made sure he ate and was well cared for with what little comforts could be offered. Leesil, on the other hand, enjoyed the dog's companionship immensely. But in the days before Magiere, Chap had often hunted up his own supper because his master simply forgot.
Leesil unhooked the donkey and tied it in an area with sufficient grass, then returned to the fire.
"We passed a side road half a league back," he said absently, taking a waterskin off the ground and pouring water into the cooking pot for tea. "Might lead off to a village."
"If you wanted to stop, you should have said something," Magiere answered just as casually.
"I didn't want to…" Finally angered by his partner's polite front, he snapped, "You know exactly what I mean! Maybe this isn't Stravina, but the nights are just as dark in peasant villages here. We're passing profit by for no reason other than you don't feel like working. You want to buy a tavern? Fine, but I don't see why we have to leave the game nearly coinless."
"I'm not coinless," Magiere reminded him.
"Well, I am!" Her serene attitude infuriated him. "I've only a share from one village, and you didn't give me any warning. If I'd known we were backing out, I would have made some plans."
"No, you wouldn't have," she said, not looking at him, her voice still calm. "D'areeling red wine is expensive, or if it wasn't wine, you would have found a card game somewhere or a pretty tavern girl with a sad story. Telling you earlier wouldn't have changed anything."
Sighing, Leesil searched his mind for a way to convince her. He knew she was thinking a great deal more than she said. They'd been working together a long time, but she always kept an invisible wall up between herself and everyone else. Most of the time he was comfortable with that, even appreciated it. He had his own secrets to keep.
"Why not one more?" he asked finally. "There's bound to be other villages along—"
"No, I can't do it anymore." She closed her eyes as if to shut out the world. "Pushing that mad villager's body into the river… I'm too tired."
"All right. Fine." He turned away. "Tell me about the tavern then."
The enthusiasm in her voice picked up.
"Well, Miiska is a small fishing community that's doing good business on the coastal sea route. There will be plenty of workers and a few sailors looking to drink and gamble after a hard day. The tavern has two floors, with the living quarters upstairs. I haven't thought of a name yet. You're better at things like that. You could even paint a sign for the door."
"And you want me running the games, even though you know I lose half the time?" he asked.
"I said running the games, not playing them. That's why the house wins, and you always end up with an empty purse. Just run an honest faro table, and we'll go on being partners just like always. Things aren't changing as much as you think."
He got up and put some more wood on the fire, not knowing why he was being so difficult. Magiere's offer was generous, and she'd always been straight with him. Well, as straight as she could be with such a tight lip. No one else in his life had ever included him in their every plan. Perhaps he just didn't like the unknown risks that might be hiding in so much change.
"How far is this Musky place?" he asked.
"Miiska." Magiere sighed heavily. "It's called Miiska, and it's about four more leagues south. If we make good time, we might make it there by late tomorrow."
Leesil pulled the wineskin from his pack as Chap circled the camp, sniffing about. His mind began to truly consider Magiere's plans for the tavern, and the possibilities gnawed at him softly. A bit of quiet and peace might put an end to his nightmares as well, but he doubted it.
"I may have a few ideas for a sign" he said finally.
Magiere's mouth curled up slightly, and she handed him an apple. "Tell me."
* * * *
At the edge of the camp, a soft glimmer hung in the forest. Most would have taken it for the fading light of dusk, except where it moved through the shadows of trees. It moved closer, pausing each time the armored woman or fair-haired half-breed spoke, as if listening to every word. It stopped behind an oak at the edge of the fire's reaching light and settled there.
* * * *
Rashed paced inside the back room of his warehouse. Tonight, he
didn't wish to go outside and observe the giant glowing moon, as was his custom. Nervous tension lined his pale face as his booted feet clomped across the wooden floor. Personal appearance was important to him and, even in crisis, he'd taken the time to don black breeches and a freshly laundered burgundy tunic.
"Pacing like a cat won't make him return any faster," said a soft voice beside him.
He glanced down at Teesha in mild annoyance. She sat on a hardwood bench cushioned with paisley pillows, sewing impossibly tiny stitches into a piece of tan muslin.
Her work-in-progress was beginning to depict a sunset over the ocean. He never understood how she could create such pictures with only thread and scraps of material.
"Then where is he?" Rashed demanded. "It's been over twelve days since Parko's death. Edwan is not fettered by physical distance. It could not possibly take him this long to gather information."
"He has a different sense of time than we do. You know that," she responded, breaking off a piece of blue thread with her teeth. "And you didn't exactly give him much to work with. It could take time just to find and confirm whomever or whatever he might be looking for."
Holding the needlework with delicate hands, she examined her stitches as if this were just another night—although usually she could be found absorbed in some ancient text after sundown. In one of the lower rooms, her shelves were filled with books and scrolls they'd paid good coin to acquire. Rashed did not fully understand why words on parchment were so important to her.
He wished her calm could infect him, so he sat down next to her. Candlelight reflected off her chocolate-brown hair. The beauty of those long, silk curls held his attention for only a short time. Then he was up and pacing again.
"Where could he be?" he asked no one in particular.
"Well, I'm getting sick of waiting," a third voice hissed from the corner shadow. "And I'm hungry. And it's dark now. And I want out of this wooden box you call our home!"
A thin figure emerged from the corner of the room, the final member of the strange trio living in the warehouse. He appeared to be about seventeen years old, though perhaps small for his age.