The Blighted City (The Fractured Tapestry)

by Scott Kaelen

  Oriken scoffed. “Revenge?”

  Lewin shrugged. “Who are we to judge the actions of the gods?”

  The woman beside Dagra leaned forward. “Maybe the light was a form of fae-fire.”

  “Or perhaps…”

  Oriken glanced back along the table to the speaker, two seats beyond Gorven. The learned voice quietly commanded the attention of the dinner guests, and the academic but strong-looking man raised an eyebrow a fraction. “Rather than gods or fae, it could have been ball lightning.”

  Oriken smirked, then quickly hid it behind his fist and looking innocently at Jalis.

  “I heard of a similar manifestation,” Jalis said, “albeit on a considerably larger scale. It occurred in Midhallow. Allegedly, a large globe of light struck the tip of the Needle and travelled its length, but dissipated before reaching the citadel beneath.”

  Blank glances crossed the table among the guests.

  “Forgive us, lady,” Ellidar said. “Our knowledge of the free city is benighted at best.”

  “Let us change the subject,” Gorven said, his tone polite as ever. “As you can see, the philosophies of Lachyla differ far and wide. Good Lewin is an acolyte of Valsana and the elder gods, extended in the monastery’s beliefs to include the Mother. The fearless Ellidar is the city’s singular guard commander and knight-paladin.” He gestured to the woman beside Dagra. “Tamria is a mythologian and antiquarian, much like myself.” Gorven inclined his head to the man two seats from him. “And our esteemed Cleve was a metallurgist before the blight, and quite the acclaimed academic. We’re a mixed bunch, but the desire for wanton violence is thankfully all but extinguished; the events of the day are passed, along with any phenomena that occurred.”

  “I’m amazed at how you’re all taking this so casual,” Oriken said. “You’ve got a nearby village – populated with your descendants, by the way – that’s probably got as many people living in it as the population of Lachyla. And they’re pissed. You think they’ll just take what happened today on the chin?” He looked across to Gorven. “What did you do with the prisoners, by the way?”

  “The old fellow has agreed to stay, though not by force,” Gorven said. “He is currently being cared for along with the worst casualties of the city, including many of Ellidar’s valiant knights. The gentleman of rotund persuasion – the one found hiding in Amaran and Alamar’s loft – was allowed to return home, and with him he took the other two.”

  Dagra shifted for the first time during the meal. “But won’t leaving here mean that they’ll… Ah, I mean wouldn’t they…”

  Gorven quirked an eyebrow. “Die? Yes, they most certainly will.”

  Dagra’s expression was pensive. “So, they chose to go.”

  Gorven gave a slight shrug. “The woman insisted upon it. The man, well, to tell the truth I think he would have stayed, but his desire for life was less strong than his love for the woman, and so he returned with her.”

  “Not going to be an epic tale, that one,” Krea muttered.

  “How long will they have?” Dagra asked.

  It was Sabrian who replied, eyeing Dagra levelly. “In the woman’s case, she’ll be lucky to last two days. Her wounds were grievous.”

  “Hmph.” Krea tossed her head in indignation. “I only stabbed the wench once. I would have done it when I first saw her, if there weren’t more pressing matters to attend.”

  “Someone beat you to it,” Sabrian said with a sideways glance to his right, where an elegant elderly woman and an attractive younger woman returned his look with innocent expressions.

  “It’s true.” Gorven leaned in to his daughter. “She was dead and risen before you reached her, Krea. None of us noticed with all else that was transpiring.”

  Dagra grunted. “So… you’re saying that when she shot me…”

  “Yes, my friend.” Gorven gave a perfunctory nod. “She had turned before her arrow scratched your heart and completed your own turning, but her actions did not cause you to turn, just as Krea’s actions did not cause Eriqwyn to turn.”

  A thought occurred to Oriken as he swallowed the last mouthful of his meal. “Wait a minute. If those two were dead – the woman and her man-friend – and since some of you cityfolk were with them before letting them leave, you could’ve pulled that trick you do with Dag; you know, had a look into their minds to see if they knew about the jewel.” He glanced at Krea. “Ah, I mean, your family’s burial stone.”

  Gorven gave a tight smile. “We did. But there was no need. The stone was in Eriqwyn’s possession and she offered it freely. It is now safe in our home”—he glanced at Krea—“awaiting its return to Cunaxa’s tomb.”

  Oriken nodded. The Chiddari jewel had slipped through their fingers after all. No matter, he thought, sharing a look with Dagra. The reward meant nothing now, and they had no choice but to renege on the contract – something every freeblade strived hard not to do. It was an unfortunate mark against the guild, but the only thing that mattered now was Dagra, whose sombre expression told Oriken much.

  “They came to return the stone to its rightful place,” Tamria muttered. “But at what a high cost.”

  Jalis pushed her fork around the remains of her meal. “That was only one of two reasons,” she said. “The other was to kill three so-called outlanders, just like they did with Sabrian’s friends before they even had a chance to enter the graveyard, let alone have a look around for treasures.”

  Gorven gave a closed-mouthed sigh. “It was an unfortunate by-product, born of generations of ingrained self-preservation and distrust of the unknown world beyond their home.”

  “No disrespect intended,” Jalis said, “but that sounds not too dissimilar from a certain city I could mention.”

  “There is a marked difference,” Krea said brusquely, not bothering to lift her gaze from her food to Jalis. “We have never sought to kill anyone, even for apparently justified reasons.” And then she did look to Jalis, her expression serious. “Today I ran that woman through to save you, girl, because I know how much you mean to Oriken. Luck had it that Ellidar also had your preservation in mind.”

  Jalis blanched. “Er… thank you. I hadn’t…”

  “I know you hadn’t.”

  “Krea speaks the truth,” Ellidar said, placing his cutlery neatly upon his empty plate. “In terms of preservation, ours works both ways. If knowledge of our existence were to spread throughout Himaera, can you imagine the influx of pilgrimages to the city, by folk in search of the font of immortality?”

  Gorven nodded. “As grandiose as it may sound, our secrecy exists to maintain the integrity of humanity, something which we ourselves have transcended.”

  “I don’t know much about any of that,” Oriken muttered.

  “You don’t know much of anything,” a guest from further down the table said. “You outlanders brought this trouble upon us, strutting into the graveyard, casually taking that which does not belong to you, leaving the gate open – which we keep closed precisely to prevent anyone entering – and flaunting your prize to the locals. Without you luring them here, the Litchgate would never have been raised. And without your presence in our city, our beloved king would still be alive.”

  Oriken half-rose from his seat. “Now listen here—”

  “Calm yourself, Josaius,” Ellidar said. “Our liege is where he has wanted to be for a very long time. His torment is over.”

  As Oriken lowered himself to the seat, a young-looking man beside Lewin spoke. “It’s true. These changes that were forced upon us can only benefit Lachyla. The denizens will be cleansed once and for all this night, and the city is no longer under the rule of a silent monarch.”

  “Be careful, Simri.” Ellidar’s tone was all warning. “I am still and ever King Mallak’s bondsman, and will not hear his name slighted so publicly.”

  Simri nodded to the knight in acquiescence, then leaned in to the little monk beside him. “Too soon?”

  Lewin nodded. “There is no grief gre
ater than that for the dead heart. Your tact and timing are disgraceful, Simri, but Valsana still loves you, as does the Mother.”

  “Our liege was thankfully the only fatality today,” Ellidar said slowly. “And, yes, he was the engineer of his own passing. There were, however, many injuries which, were we merely human, would instead have been deaths by the dozens. Five in particular – two citizens and three of my knights, including my second, Heilin – may yet decide after they’re fully healed to relinquish their lives.”

  “Why?” Jalis asked.

  “The onslaught of the denizens was brutal in its relentlessness,” the knight said. “And those five men and women in particular suffered horrendous injuries. The details, I fear, are a touch too gruesome for the dinner table, but suffice it to say that our ability to heal, especially under such extreme circumstances, does not always yield perfect results.”

  Oriken ran a hand across his stubble, sighing inwardly as the conversation simmered down around him. Taking a sip of water from his cup, he flinched as a soft touch trailed up his shin and turned a hooded glance at Krea. Her full lips wore an almost imperceptible smile, her sky-blue eyes glinting with amusement as her foot crept around onto his calf muscle and she curled a toe into the crook of his knee.

  “What of you, Dagra?” Gorven asked. “Have you made a decision?”

  Dagra cast him a resigned look. “You ask me questions, when the answers could be easily plucked from my mind.”

  “We acquiesce to your wishes of privacy, my friend, as is the custom within Lachyla.”

  “You say that, but I can still feel you in here.” He tapped a finger against the side of his head.

  “Our presence, yes, but not our intrusion. You have not yet learned to partition yourself, and so your emotions are drifting through the city like wisps. It will come, with time.”

  “You won’t be the only new arrival,” Tamria said to Dagra. “There’s the fellow named Lingrey…”

  “And my dear niece has finally joined us. Isn’t it delightful?” The elderly woman several seats along from Sabrian beamed a smile that encompassed everyone, then turned to the dark-haired woman beside her. “Aren’t you happy, dear?”

  “I am, Aunt Elimae,” the woman replied, her tone languid and sensual.

  “It is a pleasure to welcome the latest member of the Galialos family fully into the Mother’s chosen few,” Josaius said.

  Sycophantic sod, Oriken thought. “No disrespect,” he said to the table in general, “but the Mother doesn’t seem to give a gutter rat’s rectum who she turns into a vessel, least not these days. And what do you mean by ‘fully’? From what I’ve been told, you’re out until you’re in, and then it’s either death or Lachyla. Or did I miss something?”

  “You missed nothing that wasn’t imparted to you,” Cleve’s rich voice rumbled through the dining hall. “The Galialos ladies have ever been the eyes and ears of Minnow’s Beck, since the turning and subsequent founding of the village.”

  “What?” Jalis’s eyes were hard as she looked from Cleve to Gorven. “So you knew they were bringing the stone? You knew they were coming to kill us?”

  Gorven shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. Shade, up until returning here today, was unturned and therefore incapable of sending her thoughts to us. She was, however, partially turned from frequent but short visits to her family.”

  Sabrian sucked air through his teeth, and Oriken caught his icy expression. The man was clearly ill at ease about something. Oriken glanced to the one called Shade. Her beguiling features were etched in wry amusement as she shared a look with her aunt. “Hold on a moment,” he said, scratching at his stubble.

  “Your rescue,” Jalis said to Sabrian, her voice low enough to reach him but not to travel the length of the table. “You told us your torment didn’t end there until Gorven intervened. This family…” Her eyes flicked to the two women at the far end of the table. Sabrian fixed her with a stern look and gave a slight shake of his head, as if telling her to leave it alone.

  “One of the beautiful things about being turned,” Shade said, smiling down the table at Jalis, “is the impeccable hearing.”

  “My family,” her aunt said, a shadow crossing her face, “has been an invaluable asset to this city since time immemorial. Once in a while it is unavoidable for that help to be seen as something less.” Her narrow-eyed glance to Sabrian lasted but a second. “You can please many, but you can’t please everyone.”

  While Sabrian remained silent, Gorven cleared his throat. “You have indeed been an asset, Elimae, which is why the rest of us have turned a blind eye to your… indiscretions over the years, much as we left the denizens to roam the Gardens. But with the unfolding of today’s events, it seems your family’s duality in Lachyla and Minnow’s Beck may no longer be required.”

  “No matter,” Elimae said tightly. “My niece was unable to be with child, and so has left no legacy to continue our tradition. The secrecy of the two places has dissolved, and we believe the stability of the village is about to be tested.”

  Others will come to Lachyla,” Shade purred. “In time. And our family will yet find new members.” Her brown eyes caught Oriken’s scrutiny and her lips parted a fraction. She traced a fingertip over her breastbone, bringing his gaze down to see how visible everything was through the gauzy strips of material that served as her frock.

  “Gah!” Oriken gasped as pain shot up his shin and turned a scowl on Krea, who raised an innocent eyebrow.

  “Something troubling you, friend?” Gorven inquired.

  “Just, ah, just my shoulder giving me jip.” He caught a glance from Jalis before she returned her attention to the glass of water in her hand.

  Krea’s foot rubbed gently against his tender shin, then she traced it up to the inside of his thigh. He turned a tight glance up and down the table in an attempt to feign casual interest in the dinner guests. Krea’s toes trailed even further, and he puffed his cheeks, raising his eyebrows nonchalantly as he caught Sabrian looking his way.

  “Ah, Oriken!” Sabrian called. “Would you mind ever so much if you and I had a… private chat, out on the courtyard?”

  “Er, sure. Of course.” Appreciating the tactful interruption, Oriken grabbed his cup and pushed his chair back. As he rose to his feet, he caught Krea’s azure glare and turned away, striding past Jalis to the end of the table. Sabrian joined him, carrying a lit candle, and placed a companionable arm around Oriken’s shoulders to lead him from the hall. As they stepped out into the courtyard, Oriken breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you,” he said in earnest. “It was getting a bit stifling in there.”

  Sabrian chuckled. “No problem. Anything to aid a fellow in distress. Besides, I was needing a breather myself.”

  “Yeah, what was all that about?”

  Sabrian shrugged. “When I fled from the villagers who killed my friends, it was my luck to fall into a hole which led to a cave that just happened to join onto the Galialos family tombs. In short, I was held captive by Elimae and her women for three years. My introduction to dying and becoming alive again was a thousand days and nights of a nightmare paradise, where Elimae’s harem sang their exquisite songs of pain and dark laments of desire.”

  “Wow.”

  “Indeed.” A shadow crossed Sabrian’s face, and he suppressed a shudder. “Now, on to more important matters, my friend,” he said, holding up the candle.

  With a nod, Oriken plunged a hand into his pocket and pulled out a thin brass case, popped the latch with a flick of his thumb and drew out a roll of tobah. “Jalis told me,” he said, passing it to Sabrian who passed the cylinder beneath his nose and inhaled deeply.

  “Ahh, now there’s a scent I’ve missed.”

  Oriken tapped a roll out for himself. He held it between his lips as Sabrian lifted the candle for him to light it. He took a long pull, and blew the smoke out in a dissipating spume. Sabrian lit his own, then coughed and spluttered, taking a few short gasps to c
atch his breath. “Oh, my,” he said, setting the candle down and taking a long drink from Oriken’s cup. “And that’s the part I didn’t miss.” He took another draw on the tobah, and this time managed it with scarcely a cough.

  The two enjoyed the moment in silence, looking out across the serene courtyard. Oriken regarded the ugly statue of Valsana that decorated the centre of the open space, with its deep-set eyes, engorged breasts, and ridiculously oversized cleft below her belly. “Unsightly beast,” he muttered, bringing the tobah to his lips.

  Sabrian raised an eyebrow. “Hm? Oh, the statue? Yes, not entirely pleasing to the eye, is she? Mind you, some – like, perhaps, little Lewin in there – would say she’s the definition of womanliness; fertility, at least.”

  “Well, she’s not to my taste; not as a goddess and certainly not as a woman.”

  “Each to their own though, right?” Sabrian sucked smoke into his mouth and cast Oriken a shrewd glance.

  “Yeah,” Oriken replied carefully. “Each to his own.”

  “Tell me”—Sabrian leaned his elbows upon the short wall before them and looked out into the courtyard—“what do you really think of what’s going on here in Lachyla? Not what happened today, I mean just generally.”

  Oriken adopted Sabrian’s casual pose, and shrugged. “This morning I would have told you I find the whole situation deplorable, untrustworthy, violating, and bordering on evil incarnate. Now?” He sniffed. “I guess there’s good and bad in everything.”

  “Evil is largely subjective,” Sabrian mused. “What is evil to one is morally justified to another. But we’re speaking in human terms. There is no thought behind the roots of what Lachyla has become.”

  “But you all share each other’s thoughts. Because of that thing… that Mother down beneath the castle. Doesn’t it all come from there? Or from the other one the king mentioned, out under the ocean? Mallak claimed that those creatures don’t think, that they don’t mean to do what they’ve done to you.”

  “The king was correct, in that if not in much else. Oh, there’s impulse, but no forethought, no planning. The Mother doesn’t twirl her moustache or wring her hands, cackling in glee over her sinister schemes. She merely is. The fish merely are; they swim around and eat and shit and fuck, but beyond that?” Sabrian shook his head.