by Emma Bull
Shame like a goad—the hunter's code
Forsaken.
Saltigos Road is cold and dim
Crossbow strung, caution flung
To the air.
Three times she's missed her chance at him.
Defeat has stung, schemes have run
To despair.
But dream a dream of changes,
Chance meetings in the square.
Spin the wheel another time;
Perhaps the gods are fair.
The gods of vengeance grant new hope.
The circle turns, the fire burns
In Brajii's eye.
He's made the noose and set the rope.
Before he learns what softness earns
She'll see him die.
•
Resh faced the map without seeing it and wondered if Dashif had outlived his usefulness. Dashif had been growing gradually less dependable for some time, but this business with the wench, Jolesha, was too much. When Dashif had said, "It is taken care of," that should have been the end of it.
Jolesha was alive, and either in Liavek or on her way, according to the reports that sat on the Regent's desk. The White Priests were still determined to get that thrice-damned artifact to the Levar. Then the Levar would be able to speak to his deceased predecessor, and she would learn what her Regent had done, and that would be the end of a fine career.
"It's your own fault," he told himself. "You learned long ago that you could never count on anyone but yourself. He was a useful tool, so you depended on him too much, and now you may have to pay for it. "
He rubbed his eyebrows. The worst aspect of this mess was that it was taking his attention away from his real duty—the safety of his city. It was clear that the Zhir wanted to incite a trade war between Liavek and Tichen, and it was clear that trade war today meant shooting war tomorrow. That was where his attention ought to be.
He sighed. No, he would give the Count another chance with that artifact; otherwise, it would take too much of his attention. A calculated gamble, and if Dashif survived it … well, he would see then.
He focused once more on the map and blinked. If he could find a way to get fish to the inland cities along the Blackmud before said fish spoiled, it would go a long way toward undercutting the Zhir tariff …
•
He was the first customer of the morning: dark, black-bearded, and definitely not Zhir. Jolesha stared at him through her old-woman disguise and bade him sit down. The tent door flapped shut. He did not sit. Instead he said, in a deep rasping voice, "I have not come for a consultation with departed ancestors, Jolesha."
She froze at the use of her real name, and her thoughts went back to the time Dashif had walked into her tent, on the Saltigos Road outside of Liavek, and come within a hair's breadth of killing her. She tried to keep her face expressionless.
He said, "You needn't fear me. I do not come from His Scarlet Eminence."
She licked her lips and wondered if there was any point in trying to deny what he said. His eyes were deep and hard. He continued, "I am from the Levar."
"The Levar?" she said, realizing that she had resumed her natural voice.
"Yes. She offers her protection."
"Protection? What would she protect me from?"
"She knows there are factions within our government who would harm you. She will defend you against them. I am the means. This is the proof." And he handed her the Levar's signet.
Jolesha held the seal, studying the profile etched in it before handing it back. "What does she want of me?"
"The artifact, of course. And she would prefer to have you with it."
"Yes, of course." She paused, looking for something to say. "This is rather sudden."
"I understand. You needn't fear. I can give you a little time to decide. If you say no, then no harm will come to you—at least, not from us. If you flee, I'll take that as your answer, and there the matter will end where I'm concerned. But you must know there are others looking for you, in other places. And of course, I won't be on hand to protect you from His Scarlet Eminence or his creatures." He paused, looked at her curiously. "But maybe one of my competitors would suit you better."
She shuddered as she thought of Dashif, then shook her head. "What is your name?"
"Arenride." He looked around the tent. "You don't seem to be very settled in Ka Zhir. Could it be that you've wondered if you'd be returning to your home?"
She allowed herself a smile. ''This city is rather gray for someone acquainted with the colors of Liavek. How long may I have?"
"Not long. I'd give you a day to decide, but that would give any others that same day. The Levar's acted, and Resh certainly has heard of it by now. I can give you only a few hours."
"Then I never really could run away, could I?"
He smiled commiseratively as he withdrew, leaving her alone in the tent.
After giving him a few minutes to be gone, she removed the leather pouch from around her neck, and the gold-filigreed cylinder from within the pouch. She held it tightly and spoke softly. "Klefti, Urgelian."
She felt their presence almost at once. "Dear Jolesha," said Klefti. "What is it?"
"I've had a visit, from an agent of the Levar. The Levar wants me to return with the artifact. She'll keep it. I don't know what to do, Klefti."
"Make sure it's safe," interjected Urgelian, predictably.
"Oh, I know, yes, but how? It's so strange. How can she protect me against His Scarlet Eminence, which means she knows he's her enemy, and yet she keeps him next to her? I have to think—that seems so crazy."
"Politics is strange," said Klefti.
"Be careful," urged Urgelian.
"I will." She sensed his frustration. How unfair it was to ask them when they were powerless to assist her. This wasn't right. "I have to go," she said.
Jolesha put The Gate—as she had come to call the artifact—back into its pouch, and pondered until the next customer arrived.
At noon, Arenride returned. Jolesha indicated he should sit. "Well, Jolesha?" he asked. "Have you decided, or have you more questions to ask me?"
"I've given it much thought."
"And?"
"I'm frightened," she said honestly. "I need to know that I'll be protected from the Red Faith."
His features clouded with anger for a moment, then he said, "There's nothing to fear from them. It's Resh himself, not his church. With the Levar on your side, you'll be safe. He won't dare harm you once you've reached her. And I'm sworn to see that you reach her."
She nodded and thought of the bargain she had made with Dashif. Would that make any difference now? Arenride had found her, it seemed, with ease. She had never had a plan beyond reaching Ka Zhir, and to flee them all now she would have to lose herself in further deception, another identity to replace the fortune-teller. And if Ka Zhir proved to be too close, then where was there to venture to? Tichen? Where would they not find her? Then once the Levar had the artifact, no one would care what happened to Jolesha. She wondered, though, if she could part with it now. To give it away would be to bid farewell to her friends, this time forever. To bid farewell or, it seemed, to join them.
Arenride said, "We ought not to delay."
There would come a point where she would have to bargain with the Levar; and hadn't someone told her once that the Levar was mad? A mad girl or a mad priest; they waited for her like pillars of destiny that she must walk between. She had run away, escaped fate for a year; but the pillars and the path remained and would still be there to face a year from now or ten years from now. "All right," she said, but she did not know if she meant it. "All right, then. I'll go with you."
"You've chosen well. We sail this evening, on The Pardoner. The ship won't wait for either of us, and if I'm not there, you must board it all the same."
"But—"
"No, listen to me. Someone will meet you on the other side. He'll know you're coming."
"How can anyone know before t
he ship arrives?"
"Because I'm sending word on a boat that departs within the hour. That's why I couldn't wait any longer. I made you promises, and I'll see them kept one way or another, but that may mean I have to stay behind and ensure that no one boards who doesn't belong." When she started to protest, he stopped her. "It's my honor, what's called my 'standard.' I don't do this for a pouch of Worrynot, understand?
"Now here is the Levar's seal. It's proof of who you are, and you may have to prove that before you're secure." He took her hands between his for a moment, enclosing the gold seal in the center. "Sometime, I hope I'll have the chance to see what lies beneath that veil and the crags you've drawn on your face."
She looked down. What did lie beneath her fortune-teller disguise? What was she, other than what she'd been forced to be in order to survive? "A thief is all," she said, and realized that she'd said it aloud.
"What else is there for you to steal?" he asked enigmatically, then turned away in a hasty retreat. Jolesha allowed herself to exhale only after the tapestries had settled.
2 THE STAGE
"You are Brajii?"
"What if I am? Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter. I am a servant of the Levar. No, no, that won't be necessary. See, I'm making no effort to defend myself, much less attack you."
"What do you want?"
"To give you what you want."
"What makes you think you know what I want?"
"You want a chance to kill Dashif."
"Yes!"
"I can tell you where to be, and when to be there."
"How did you find me?"
"Dashif has been looking for you for most of a year. Not all of his agents are exclusively loyal to him. You were seen around here by one who wasn't."
"What do you get out of this?"
"The safe arrival of a package."
"Tell me more."
"Very well."
•
Jolesha arrived at the quay late in the afternoon. Her shadow stretched across the dock and onto the side of the ship. Despite what she'd told Arenride, she was having second thoughts. She decided to go at least as far as watching the ship on which she was scheduled to leave. On a group of kegs she perched as an old woman basking in the last of the sun's heat, as if there only to enjoy the smell of the sea, the cries of gulls blending with the cries of hawkers peddling cuttlecrab and squid and monkfish; as if the ship before her was of no interest at all.
It did not take Jolesha long to spot the captain with her distinctively-shaved head. The woman shouted orders to two men on the docks, who got to their feet lethargically, grabbed the crate they'd been sitting on by the ropes around it, and hoisted it up the gangplank, muttering all the while. They were dock crew, not shipmates; most of their kind were drunks or men without luck. They were the scum of the docks, and they were paid by the hour. Efficient ship's captains irritated them, forcing them to work quickly and take less pay. The captain of The Pardoner was not among their favorites, and that was a good sign for Jolesha.
Everything about the ship looked orderly. No one hung about as if waiting to pounce on an old fortune-teller; but neither did Arenride appear. By sunset, with the ship ready to sail, he had not shown up, and Jolesha agonized over what to do. If what he had implied were true, then to stay would most likely mean death. They might be searching for her even now. To go meant putting herself into unknown and untested hands, and she had long since learned to trust no one but herself and the dead.
Finally someone on board The Pardoner blew a shrill whistle and she knew that she must decide. Perhaps Arenride was dead, but either way—
She ran back along the dock, still trying to move like an old woman. She came to the stall where she had placed her satchel, handed the peddler a gold piece and pressed both hands to her forehead to show him how grateful she was, then turned and went back to the ship.
At the top of the gangplank, the captain stood with an armed mate. The mate did not draw his saw-handled snaphance, but his hand hung near it, and he kept a few paces back in order to have time to draw it if necessary.
Jolesha went straight up to the captain and pressed the gold seal into her palm. The captain had pale brown eyes that almost glowed against her dark skin. She said, "I've been expecting you."
"Can I come aboard? I feel like a target perched here."
"Yes, come ahead." She waved the armed mate away. "It wouldn't matter if they shot you from the quay," she said. "That is, it would matter to you, but your gift would still reach the Levar."
"So you know about that."
The captain smiled. "Nope," she said cheerfully. "I don't know a thing."
Jolesha smiled back. "What about my friend?"
"Arenride?"
"Yes."
"I'd be careful about calling him a friend."
"You mean he can't be trusted?"
"Oh, quite the contrary. But his friends often find themselves in the thick of it." She addressed another seaman. "Take our passenger back and show her where she's sleeping tonight."
The man bowed and led her along. He did not smile; no one smiled except the captain. They would, most of them, not know why she was important, but they would know that her presence on board presented a special danger. Nevertheless, she thought on her way across the deck, she had at least chosen the right path.
•
Dashif stood in the Levar's Park and tried very hard to keep his mind on business, instead of straying to the delightful conversation he'd had with Kaloo after the strange play they'd seen. It had been appropriate, too—all about families … No, dammit, he had to think about what he was doing now. This was vital to his career, perhaps to his life; why was it so hard to concentrate on it? Why did his thoughts keep straying to the daughter he was teaching, training, trying to raise?
He shook his head impatiently.
"My Lord?" said the wizened little man with a face like a prune and almost no hair on his head.
"Yes," said Dashif. "Go on."
"It is called The Pardoner, the captain is—"
"I know the captain. Who has taken responsibility for her safety?"
''The ship's?"
"No, idiot. The fortune-teller's."
"Someone named Arenride. He is one of the Levar's personal—"
"I know him," said Dashif. Damn. Arenride was good. This might take a while, which would keep him away from Kaloo. Her lessons were progressing well, though. She'd be a fine sorcerer someday if she could master her impatience, or, better yet, make it work for her. Perhaps the drill with the broken bottle would be—
He shook his head once more. "When will The Pardoner arrive?"
"Midday tomorrow, my Lord."
"Very well. That's all." He handed the little man some gold, careless of the amount, and went to visit a dancer at Cheeky's who also worked as one of his agents and had good connections in Wizard's Row. There was one obvious way to deal with this. Dashif would have preferred to give this one to The Magician, but he knew that particular wizard wouldn't consent to such a task. There were few others good enough to pull off the thing he had in mind, which meant it probably wouldn't work, but it was worth the attempt. And he had a man aboard The Pardoner, too, if his memory served, who would be able to answer some questions, and who would be no loss if the ship went down. It would be better if the problem were solved before he had to go up against Arenride—if the ship never made it to port.
•
"You came in awfully late last night, missy." T'Nar's eyes pinned Kaloo where she stood.
"And you're drinking awfully early." She copied his disapproving tone, went on wiping tables.
"Don't get snippy with me, girl! Where'd he take you?"
"How could it possibly concern you?"
She was baiting him. She enjoyed it, in a painful way. I thought of him as my father, she reminded herself as she met his wordless glare. You. With your grizzled beard and shaven head, with your waterfront ways and your net-scarred hands. I b
elieved there wasn't a ship you couldn't steer or a crew you couldn't command. Then along comes Dashif and points to your child and says, "She's mine." And you let go, not just of your daughter but of everything. Drinking in the mornings, falling asleep with your head on the table by mid-afternoon, and Daril tries to pretend it's just age creeping up on you.
"Don't look at me that way, girl!" T'Nar growled, and Kaloo almost jumped, wondering how much he knew of her thoughts. Once he had known everything about her, more than she knew herself. Now she treated him as she did Dashif, telling him no more of herself than she could help. But despite her guard, she always had the uneasy feeling that he still knew too much about her. "Come over here," he continued. "I want to talk to you."
"I'm busy."
"Count Dashif's uppity daughter is busy wiping greasy tables in a second-rate waterfront tavern."
Her eyes suddenly blazed. "The Mug and Anchor …" she began hotly.
"Isn't a second-rate tavern," he finished for her. "Any more than you're Dashif's daughter." He belched loudly after the second part of his sentence, while Kaloo flinched, glad there was no one else in the tavern to hear his indiscreet words. His tone changed abruptly, startling her. "Come here, my little Kookaloo nestling. Come here, and find out who you really are."
Forgotten, the rag fell from her hands. She came a few steps closer, drawn by his words as if by a magnet. Closer. And those shrewd eyes weren't drunk at all; he had been watching her half the morning, pretending to be nearly stuporous, and thinking … What?
"Sit." He kicked out a chair for her, and she sat. He straightened himself on his chair, then hooked his heel on the rung and leaned forward, one elbow propped on his raised knee. She felt herself drawing back from him, forced herself to sit still. Who was he that she should fear his look? A captain too old to sail, just an old sailor helping out around a tavern, setting out mugs and telling lies to his friends and …
"I had a little girl once," he said, and his words stopped her thoughts. "Slim as a willow wand, hair black as tar, growing up all knees and legs, like a wave-wader bird. I had a little girl I loved dear as life—and it wasn't you, Kaloo. No. Not then."
He paused, his eyes growing distant. "We lived on Minnow Island, and she was my father's daughter, my little half-sister. Younger than me in more than years, and in some ways, smarter. But not all. No. She wasn't careful where she loved, or how much. And it killed her."