A Parliament of Owls

by Beth Hilgartner

  When Captain Ysmenarr was satisfied that he had the whole tale in reasonable detail and coherence, he locked the prisoner in again, and taking the clerk's account of the session, went in search of Captain Bhenekh.

  ***

  "We're being followed," Lynx told them in a low, matter-of-fact tone. She didn't stop walking. "I've seen four of them; there are probably more. What do you want to do?"

  Ferret cursed. They were on the edges of the Slums, still a good distance from the Temple District, and dusk was rapidly turning to night. "You don't think we can outrun them?"

  "Unlikely if we stay together—especially if they know this district well enough to split up and cut us off."

  "It will be me they're after," Mouse said. "You could give them the slip on your own in the Slums, Ferret."

  "No," the thief said, decisive.

  "You could both go," Marhysse suggested. "Slip into the Slums and get to the Temple Gate another way. Lynx and I could hold them here."

  "That sounds like a sacrifice play," Ferret said, but Lynx shook her head once, sharply.

  "No. It's sense. When you get to the Gate, send the Temple Watch back to reinforce us. Dedemar owes me a favor—and he's on duty."

  Ferret's expression turned wry. "Dedemar must play on credit. Come to think of it, he owes me, too. All right. Let's move into the shadow of the buildings. Mouse and I will slip into the alley ahead and you'll have a narrower place to hold them."

  In the shadows at the alley mouth, Ferret and Mouse edged past the others, then ran lightly down its narrow maw. When the alley came to an end at a block of ramshackle weaving sheds, Ferret led Mouse up onto the rooftops. For a while, their path lay across dilapidated roof tiles and around battered chimney pots. The sky was not completely dark, yet, so they moved quickly and hoped they were not too noticeable, outlined against the deepening blue. Finally, they paused, breathing hard, on the flat roof of an ancient warehouse while Ferret scanned the street below for suspicious movement.

  "Do you know where we are?" Ferret whispered.

  Mouse nodded.

  "When you get to the street, make a dash for the Waiting Wall and the Temple Gate. Don't wait for me—I won't wait for you. One of us has to get through and send Dedemar and his men back to the others."

  "Right," Mouse agreed.

  "Then go. You first."

  Mouse climbed nimbly down. When her feet hit the cobbles, she took off at a dead run. Ferret followed more slowly, watching to see whether anyone moved out of the shadows after her friend. Then she, too, took off running.

  They arrived within moments of each other. Mouse had already blurted out her demand for Dedemar and the foreign Temple Watchman had been summoned. When he saw Ferret and Mouse, his eyebrows rose.

  "A debt coming due, I surmise?"

  Ferret nodded and told him where to find Lynx and Marhysse.

  He nodded, barked a rapid volley of orders, then as his men scrambled to obey, he turned back to the women. "Go to the Windbringer. They'll give you sanctuary. Is it true that Thyzhecci is dead?"

  Ferret's eyes widened. "Yes. How—"

  "No time now. Go to the Windbringer and demand sanctuary." Then, his men armed and assembled, he turned and led them out, moving quickly.

  "Gods and fish," Ferret hissed viciously. "Come on, Mouse."

  "Do you think there will be a Temple war?"

  Ferret shrugged. "If there is, we want to be under someone's protection. Move!"

  ***

  Lyssemarhe and Klarhynne's departure from the Palace caused no comment. In the streets, dusk was deepening to twilight. It made Lysse uneasy: people's faces were indistinct and the shadows at the sides of the broad avenues seemed to loom further into the street with each passing moment. She noticed a red glow and began to hear shouts and the hissing language of fire from an area a couple of streets over.

  "There's a house burning," she said, but Klarhynne only tightened her grip on her arm and urged her onward.

  When they reached the Temple District, Lysse was a little surprised that there were no Temple Watch on duty at the gate, but she had never been there after sunset, so she didn't really know if it was unusual or not. As they moved along the wide avenues, suddenly they heard shouts and cries. A large group of people—mostly women, she thought from the timbre of their voices—was coming purposefully up the avenue toward them. They wore the colors of the Dark Lady's order, carried quarterstaves and drawn swords, and they sounded like a mob on the brink of riot. "Oh Windbringer, help!" Lysse whispered as she pulled Klarhynne out of their way. The two women huddled against the wall of the Dark Lady's complex, knowing they were in full view if the angry women only looked their way. But the crowd surged by without noticing them, their words nearly unintelligible but filled with rage and dismay.

  "I don't like this," Lysse muttered. "Could you understand what they said? I thought I heard someone say the High Priestess is dead."

  "I couldn't tell. Lysse, hurry. He could come back any moment—and then you wouldn't be safe at all. I can never keep him from doing whatever he plans."

  They hurried. Though it seemed longer, it was only a few minutes before the bulk of the Windbringer's Temple towered over them. Lysse looked up. She saw the statue of the Windbringer on the crest of the dome above them, outlined against the deep turquoise of the twilight sky. She had the strangest impression of the statue moving, gesturing them urgently onward. They ran up the steps into the great sanctuary.

  Lysse didn't know what she had expected, but she had not expected to find the hall filled with light, voices and milling priests. A little at a loss, she hesitated, but Klarhynne pulled her forward as she approached the nearest cleric.

  "Please," she said, taking hold of the gray sleeve of a distinguished silver-haired man, "I need help. I need sanctuary. I need the Windbringer's protection."

  The man twitched his sleeve out of her grasp brusquely, then glanced down at her; Lysse could almost see the dismissive words forming on his lips. But then, he started; his eyes widened and he murmured, "As you command, Lady." His face went from impatient to purposeful so fast that Lysse found herself wondering whether she had imagined the impatience. He laid his hands gently on Klarhynne's head and sang a brief phrase of music. Then, he took her arm and gathered Lysse in with a glance. "Come this way, ladies."

  He led them through the sanctuary toward an archway where a beaded curtain hung. As they walked, the people they passed stopped talking and turned to stare at them; by the time they reached the archway, the entire gathering was utterly silent. An acolyte younger than Lysse held the curtain aside for them and bowed as they passed.

  Thoroughly unnerved, Lysse said to the child, "You don't have to bow to us. We're only ladies-in-waiting."

  The boy looked up, his large, brown eyes wide with awe. "You wear the Goddess' aura like a mantle: both of you. Of course I do you honor."

  Lysse shivered.

  "Don't be frightened," the priest said. "The Lady Windbringer will protect you. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Assakh, the High Priest's assistant."

  "Where are you taking us?" Lysse asked.

  "To the High Priest and his Healer."

  "I thought he was ill," Lysse protested. "Unconscious."

  "He woke not half an hour ago."

  "Oh," she said. "I'm glad. But is he really going to want to see us, now?"

  Assakh's smile was oddly wry. "Oh, yes."

  "Are we glowing or something?"

  "Not—not precisely glowing; Lyffath—the acolyte who spoke to you—has Sight Gifts, so he would describe it that way. Let's just say that it's clear that you are under the Lady Windbringer's protection."

  "Is that why the Dark Lady's people didn't bother us?"

  "What do you mean? Did you see some of them?"

  "They passed us on the avenue, a mob of them. They were armed and they sounded angry enough to do violence." Lysse looked up at him, anxious. "When I saw them, I said, 'Oh Windbringer, help.' but I didn't rea
lly expect her to do anything."

  "Why not?" Klarhynne said suddenly, with surprising and inexplicable bitterness. "She must hate the Bone King with every fiber of her immortal being. You invoked her aid. She was probably itching to intervene."

  "Klarhynne," Lysse said uneasily. "Are you…are you all right?"

  Klarhynne's expression softened. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to frighten you. He makes me watch what he does; and I can't help but listen to what he says with my voice. I never asked to be a khacce piece on the gods' board."

  "The Lady Windbringer is unpredictable," Assakh said, "but it is known that she likes children. Perhaps she shielded you, lass, for that reason alone."

  "I'm not a child," Lysse protested. "I'm fourteen."

  "I expect that to an immortal goddess, fourteen seems quite young enough," Assakh replied. He paused at a heavy wooden door—the first such they had come to—and knocked.

  "Enter." The voice was rich and vibrant with life and energy. Assakh pushed the door open and ushered them inside.

  "Well!" the voice said in surprise and welcome. "Will you tell me who you are?"

  The High Priest sat up in bed, a tray of food in his lap. He was striking, with bright, copper hair and vivid green eyes. He was also younger than Lysse had expected him to be. At the bedside, a dark woman in the gray of the Windbringer's order sat watching him eat.

  "I'm Lyssemarhe Ghytteve and this is Klarhynne Dhenykhare. Klarhynne needs your help. She needs—"

  "Ah!" he interrupted. "Hassyth is Bodywalking in Klarhynne Dhenykhare." He fixed his brilliant gaze on the older woman's face. "How did you break free of him?"

  "He—Lyssemarhe woke me. I think he must have cast a spell on me to keep me asleep, but Lysse poured water on me and called my name until I awoke. I don't want him to come back. He makes me do—He uses my body to do terrible things, and I can't stop him. It's worse than a nightmare, because until this afternoon, I was never able to wake from it."

  The High Priest considered, then he nodded to the woman beside him. "You're safe, now, I believe. I can see the Lady Windbringer's protection on you. Razhynde, our Healer, will examine you and see whether there is anything more that we should do to protect you from the Adept, and to help you recover from this ordeal."

  Razhynde rose and came toward them. She smiled briefly at Assakh. "I'll take charge of them, Assakh; I'm sure you're needed elsewhere." As he bowed and departed, the Healer took Klarhynne's hand. "Come. We'll go somewhere quiet, where you can rest and I can work."

  Klarhynne nodded, but as the Healer started to lead her from the room, she looked back at Lyssemarhe. "Don't leave me, Lysse."

  So Lysse, though she had a hundred questions crowding behind her eyes, went with Klarhynne and the Healer, as they were taken deeper into the Windbringer's complex.

  ***

  Lynx and Marhysse waited in the alley mouth as they listened to the retreating footsteps of their friends. When the sounds of Mouse and Ferret's passage had faded, Lynx gestured to Marhysse and the two women put the near wall of the alley at their backs and waited in the shadows for their opponents' next move. It wasn't long in coming.

  One of the hooded figures rounded the alley corner. There was a glint of steel in his hand. From her place in the shadows, Marhysse took careful aim; her throwing knife flew with deadly accuracy and the figure dropped without a sound.

  There was a cry, then, and several others came. They attacked with ferocity, and Lynx and Marhysse were hard pressed to hold them off. The wall at their backs kept them from being attacked from behind, but it also hampered their fighting style.

  "Back to back!" Marhysse cried, and as one, they left the shelter of the wall. The suddenness of the move gave them a momentary advantage, which Lynx seized. She kicked out, hard, catching one attacker in the chest and knocking him into another. The one who had been kicked went down, and while the other fought to keep his balance, Marhysse's second throwing knife took him in the throat.

  But there were more than four of them; time stretched as the two women fought to hold their own against their adversaries. They fought well, together. The many hours of drills and practice gave them something of an advantage, even against greater numbers. But then, Lynx saw something that made her swear in her own language: there was a newcomer to the fray, and he had a sword. Armed only with daggers and throwing knives, an opponent's sword would tip the balance against them.

  "Dedemar better hurry," Marhysse said when she saw, "or he'll have to pay his debt to our kin."

  Their opponents drew back slightly, to let the swordsman in.

  Lynx shifted her weight, then looked back at Marhysse for a heartbeat. "Watch my back."

  "Lynx, you can't! He's got a sword."

  "It is part of the Eschaddan training; we'll see how much ground I've lost. Guard my back—and don't let them throw any of their damned darts."

  Marhysse had to parry an attack, then, so she was not able to watch as Lynx stepped forward into the reach of the swordsman. What followed was confusing and rapid. Each time the swordsman struck, Lynx was not in the path of the blade. Marhysse could not watch, for she had her own troubles parrying the attackers who came at her; but she heard the hiss of steel through the air, the occasional—rare—clash of steel on steel, and the curses. Then, finally, she heard the tramp of booted feet and the rattle of armor and weapons.

  "Temple Watch!" someone shouted, and the knife-fighters fled. Only the swordsman paused long enough to sketch a bow in Lynx's direction before he, too, disappeared into the night.

  By the time Dedemar and his squadron reached them, the two women were alone in the alley mouth with the four dead. The squadron circled them loosely, while a detail began to put the bodies on stretchers.

  Dedemar surveyed the scene as he approached them. When he was close enough to speak without being overheard, he raised one ironic brow and said to Lynx, "You couldn't have just wounded one, so we could question him?"

  "Sorry," Lynx replied. Her breathing was ragged. "If you'd gotten here sooner, you might have had the one I kicked—not to mention sparing me the sword dance."

  "Are you coming back to the District with us?"

  Lynx's head lifted suddenly at a sound in the shadows. "Yes," she replied. "Do you want it to look like we're in custody?"

  He nodded shortly and called commands to his men. They formed up around the two women, and a moment later they were marching back the way they had come.

  Marhysse looked back once. She couldn't be sure, because of the growing darkness, but she thought she saw several hooded figures emerge from hiding to watch them go.

  Chapter Thirty-one—The Pastry Cook

  The Windbringer's Temple was a hive of activity when Mouse and Ferret arrived. Ferret saw Assakh, who was passing out quarterstaves to many of the assembled people. When the High Priest's assistant noticed them, he turned over the weapons distribution to another priest and came over to them.

  "Kerigden's awake," he told them. "I'm sure he'd want to see you both."

  "Good," Ferret said. "But you are arming yourselves. I haven't seen that before. I thought the Windbringer's Order was not a militant one."

  Assakh looked troubled. "There are rumors that Thyzhecci has been murdered, and there are those who are claiming that the Windbringer's Order is responsible. We're not, of course, but I thought it best that we be able to defend ourselves, if we should be offered violence."

  "Does Kerigden know about this?" Mouse asked sharply.

  Assakh's gaze dodged away from them. "I—He's so newly awake that I didn't want to trouble him—"

  "Assakh, you had better trouble him with this," Mouse said. "Even if he were still unconscious, he'd want to know if you were planning to arm the Lady Windbringer's servants."

  "Doubtless you're right, but with everything so uncertain…"

  Ferret's smile was suddenly positively feral. "If my subordinates in the Thieves' Guild were to undertake such a distinct policy change without my knowledge, I
would suspect them of—ambition at best, or even mutiny."

  Assakh looked taken aback. "But I'm not—" Then he spread his hands. "Come. We'll go to Kerigden."

  Scant moments later, Mouse and Ferret watched while Assakh explained himself and his actions to his superior. Kerigden—looking very much himself, if rather thin—listened sitting up in bed. When Assakh had finished, Kerigden nodded slowly.

  "While I cannot in conscience forbid anyone to defend him or herself, if we should be attacked, I want it understood, Assakh, that I do not want the Order to take to the streets—especially not armed. We must do nothing that can be interpreted as even remotely provocative. Ferret, do you know anything about Thyzhecci's murder?"

  "I do," Mouse said. "I was there." She told her tale, clearly and succinctly, while the two men listened. "I don't know, for certain," she ended, "whether it was Hassythe who actually threw the knife, but it would not surprise me in the least."

  "But you were there, and on Talyene's business," Kerigden said. "What is it you say in these situations, Ferret? Gods and fish?"

  "Gods and three-days-dead, stinking fish," Ferret replied with feeling.

  Just then, there was a tentative tap on the door. Assakh, who was closest, opened it and Lyssemarhe came in.

  "Razhynde sent me away. Klarhynne's asleep," she began, but she broke off when she noticed the two women.

  "Klarhynne?" Ferret exclaimed. "Klarhynne Dhenykhare? Kerigden, do you know whom you're harboring."

  "Yes. But Hassyth is not in possession."