"Bless you, noble creature."
"The name is Phytos, old sir. And thou art welcome." The centaur's voice lost its gentleness. "Just thou keepest that embezzling kender away from me."
Tarscenian nodded and moved on, again leaning on Kifflewit Burrthistle, who was beginning to wobble beneath the weight. None of the guards paid them any attention; in these times, one more limping beggar was nothing of note. And High Priest Dahos had ensnared the bystanders' attention by haranguing the unfortunate Throtl woman.
"Your holy offering contained nothing but a bit of granite, hag!" the high priest shouted. "Is this evidence of your devotion-to hold back from the religion that sustains you? This, you think, will gain you everlasting life? A worthless offering? Perhaps an extended visit with the slave traders would improve your generosity. Perhaps the materbill…"
The woman, pale with fear, was stammering, "B-but I p-paid a g-g-great amount… t-to your own agent… it c-could n-not have b-been worthless… I Hooked ins-"
"Alms!" Tarscenian shouted, interrupting. "Alms! Alms for the poor!" He lurched toward Dahos, and blankets suddenly were gathered up, sleeping places vacated. The crowd edged away.
Dahos stared at the old, bent figure leaning on-of all things-a perspiring kender. "You dare interrupt me, old man?"
Tarscenian invested his voice with all the misery he could muster. "Holy man of Solace, I am destitute! Have you something for an old, crippled man, a devout Seeker all these many years? I have need of you, brother of the new faith! I reach out to you!" He stretched forth a hand.
Dahos looked at the quivering limb with undisguised distaste. "Have you tithed? Have you provided the church with its due portion of your money all these years, old man? And have you proof of this? Only then may we consider your case."
"But how could I tithe when I never had money, my lord?" Tarscenian maintained a plaintive tone, though he felt a bolt of anger surge through his body.
Dahos sneered. "The truly devout find a way. Now leave me and find yourself employment. Your laziness deprives the church and angers the gods."
With great difficulty, Tarscenian controlled his desire to slide his sword from beneath his cloak and rearrange the man's entrails. "Your blessing, at least," he whined instead. "To protect me on my way, Your Worship." He knelt, dragging Kifflewit down with him. Dahos unwillingly proffered his ring. Tarscenian kissed the air over the death's-head, murmured something appropriately pious, then motioned Kifflewit Burrthistle forward. "Look, my little friend," he whispered. "The magical ring."
Kifflewit reached forth, pointed ears atwitch and brown eyes glistening. At that moment, Dahos jerked his hand back. "Seekers give no blessings to kender!" he roared. "What blasphemy do you ask of me, old man?" The high priest launched a foot into Kifflewit Burrthistle's face, knocking the air from the kender as he fell over backward. Dahos shouted for the guards.
Tarscenian rose to his full height and tossed two temple guards behind him like discarded rags. "Leave the kender be, coward!" he yelled. His hood fell back from his face as he drew his sword, and in a mere moment, temple guards and goblins were swarming toward Tarscenian and Kiffle-wit Burrthistle-with more on the way.
The kender protested noisily despite the blood that oozed from the corner of his mouth. Kifflewit swung his hoopak and slammed one of the goblins flat in the mid-section. The toothy creature, barely taller than a kender but thrice its weight, went down heavily.
"Guards! The man from the courtyard!" Dahos bellowed. "Guards!" He turned to scream commands at the handful of refugees who remained standing about. "I order the faithful to assist in this man's capture. Failure constitutes blasphemy!"
The Throtl woman was first to throw in her lot with the guards. Another dozen people soon gathered in a threatening knot. Tarscenian, sword in hand, stood within the thickening circle of enemies with the furiously cursing, hoopak-swinging kender at his back.
Clearly, Kifflewit was having a marvelous time. Kender knew no fear.
There was no sign of Mynx. There was also, Tarscenian saw with satisfaction, no sign of the high priest's ring on his left hand. Dahos, however, was so preoccupied with capturing them that he had noticed nothing amiss.
Suddenly a rope dropped out of a tree, dangling above Tarscenian. A whistle pierced through the tumult. "Burr-thistle! Up here!" It was a woman's voice. In an eyeblink, the nimble kender was up the rope and out of sight.
Tarscenian parried a thrust from the nearest guard and wound his left hand around the rope. He was not as agile as the kender, and fumbled his attempt to pull himself up. His attackers were on the verge of overwhelming him.
Then Tarscenian's feet left the ground. And not through his own doing.
He glanced upward. Far above him in the shadows, he dimly perceived a woman pulling at the rope, which she'd wisely slipped over a vallenwood branch before letting it drop down.
Meanwhile, Kifflewit had materialized in a new position near the bottom of the stairs. Blood smeared his childlike face, but he was grinning happily and his hoopak was poised for mayhem. Any guards who thought to storm the upper walkway and grab Mynx would have to battle their way through him first. Not to worry-their foes appeared sorely confused by prey that rose through the air like a soap bubble.
Then a goblin broke the trance, roaring as he charged, mace whirling. The goblin managed to snag the rope, and dumped Tarscenian to the ground. In a moment, Tarscen-ian was up and moving, but his attackers were close behind.
Three goblins stood between him and the way to the treetop walkways. Kifflewit, behind them, rained hoopak blows upon their heads and shoulders, but the blows glanced like raindrops off the foul creatures' thick leather armor.
Tarscenian wheeled.
A dozen temple guards, flanking Dahos, stood before him. "And so do heretics come to their end," the high priest said with a smile.
"Take me to Hederick, High Priest," Tarscenian demanded.
"Of course," Dahos said. "I would not deprive His Worship of the joy of dispatching you himself. He's wanted your head for years, Tarscenian."
"You know something of me, then?" Tarscenian asked, slipping his sword back into his scabbard. In the same motion, he surreptitiously retrieved a pinch of herbs from one pouch and, beneath the cover of his cloak, began to
weave his fingers in a discreet spell. His eyes swept the scene and noted a large puddle of stagnant water near Dahos.
"Of course, Tarscenian," Dahos said with mock politeness. "You were the priest who brought Hederick into the Seekers, years ago. I know, too, that you betrayed him and the New Gods by deserting the Seekers for the lust of a woman."
"Ah," Tarscenian said. "And do you know who that woman was?"
"Some whore, long dead now, I suppose," the Plainsman said offhandedly.
"It was Hederick's sister, Ancilla, the mage who accompanied me in the courtyard today."
Dahos appeared startled. "Hederick, brother of a mage?" he murmured. Then the high priest recovered his composure. "Lies! Had I not promised Hederick otherwise, I'd slay you myself this instant for your blasphemy."
"Ask Hederick about her, High Priest. Unless you fear the response."
"I would not bother…"
"Fait recoblock!" Tarscenian shouted. "Jerientom benjin-charl"
Before the guards and Dahos could catch on, Tarscenian leaped high into the air. He bent in midair and dove straight into the pool of stagnant water at Dahos's feet.
And disappeared.
An instant later, high above Dahos and the rest, Tarscenian leaned over the railing and watched the confusion below. Though too exhausted to speak, he gave Mynx a wink. Kifflewit Burrthistle raced up the steps, barely winded.
"That was great, Tarscenian!" the kender burbled.
"How did you do that? Dive into that puddle, I mean. And you're not even wet! Sweating a lot, of course-but not wet. Could you teach me? Or is it more magic? Not that I couldn't learn a simple little puddle spell!"
"Not real magic. It
's pure illusion," Tarscenian corrected. "I never disappeared because I wasn't trapped by Dahos in the first place. I never left this staircase." "But I saw you!"
"Be still, little one, lest you bring all the guards upon us," Tarscenian cautioned. "They're not on to us yet. From all appearances, they're going to spend quite a lot of time staring into that puddle." "What a trick! Can you…"
"Ahem." Tarscenian narrowed stern gray eyes at Kiffle-wit. "The ring, little friend." "Mmm?"
"Dahos's death's-head ring. The one you placed in your red pouch, right there on your belt, after you 'borrowed' it from the high priest."
The kender's face fell. "Oh. That." He rallied. "What a good thing I picked it up! He might have lost it. I might have…"
"The ring, Kifflewit."
The kender produced the jewelry reluctantly, and Tarscenian handed it gravely to Mynx. "Present that to your chief as a token of my sincerity. Now it's time for us to talk, Mynx. I want you to take me to meet your fellow thieves."
Her dark eyebrows rose. "How did you know I…?" He laughed, shortly. "Oh," he said, winking at the kender, "I've known a few thieves in my time."
"I've known some, too!" chimed in Kifflewit, not wanting to be left out.
With somber brown eyes, Mynx regarded the balding, gray-bearded stranger. Then she nodded, her long, lone earring tangling in her unkempt brown hair. She gestured for him to follow her.
She didn't know what Gaveley, the head of the thieves' ring, had in mind for Tarscenian. The tall stranger seemed a decent enough sort, but appearances were nothing to count on these days. Her own role in the scheme was simple: She was to carry out Gaveley's orders, and Gaveley would pay her accordingly. It had gone off almost too easily, she mused.
What a piece of luck, she thought, that the selfsame Tarscenian who was seeking a ring of thieves was, himself, being sought by just such a group.
Chapter 12
For some time, the three traveled southwest on the wooden walk-ways, making as little noise as possible as they passed dark dwelling after dark dwelling. The tumult from the refugee part of town receded behind them. They passed the Inn of the Last Home, a tavern that-before Heder-ick's installation-would have rung with song and drink even this late at night, but now the Inn was still.
Even the kender managed to stay mostly silent. Single file, they wound down a circular vallenwood stairway to reach the ground, and there they paused. The forest stood thick around them.
"We meet just outside Solace," Mynx explained.
"Odd place for a thieves' ring," Tarscenian commented.
She snorted. "Everything's odd, now that Hederick's in charge. Gaveley thought we'd be safer out here. The temple is north of Solace. This place is as far southwest as you can be and still find quick access into the city. Gaveley wanted to keep out of Hederick's way, I guess. My chief is not one to offer explanations, and it's a wise thief that doesn't look for them."
"This Gaveley, he's the leader?"
Mynx nodded. Then she stopped and addressed Kiffle-wit. "You needn't attend us any longer, kender. Go back to your family, wherever they are."
"But…"
Mynx cut him short. "Gaveley's ring of thieves has no use for another kender. Go away."
Another kender? Tarscenian thought. Mynx's kender friend had been a member of the ring?
Kifflewit protested loudly. "But we're a team! Didn't you notice how we were working together back there? Could Tarscenian have pulled it off without me? Could he?"
"It won't seem so wonderful when Hederick's guards find you," Mynx snapped.
"Mynx had a kender friend who died because of the High Theocrat," Tarscenian told the kender.
Mynx swung on him angrily. "He was killed, Tarscenian. Executed by one of Hederick's bowmen. I was an arm's length away when it happened."
"All the same, my dear, I doubt you'll be able to lose a kender who doesn't want to be lost," Tarscenian said.
"Ha. You just wait."
A footstep sounded before them in the trees, and the three darted into the shadows. This time, Tarscenian's was the hand firmly planted over Kifflewit's mouth. There were more footsteps, then muted voices, and finally a pair of figures hove into view. Mynx relaxed. "Gaveley," she mouthed soundlessly to Tarscenian.
A half-elf of medium height, his arm slung casually across the shoulder of an equally well-dressed human, strolled past without any sign that he'd noticed them-if indeed he had. He was speaking so softly to his companion that the three in the shadows couldn't make out a word.
After he had passed, Mynx let out a sigh. "Lesson one: Never interrupt Gaveley while he's on a job," she whispered to Tarscenian. "Lesson two: Never admit to knowing him outside the den." She turned toward the kender. "And lesson three: Keep kender away from him. Far away." She pointed south. "Out, Kifflewit Burrthistle. Our paths part now."
At that, the little creature shrugged his shoulders and skipped off without so much as a protest or backward glance.
Odd, Tarscenian thought. He could see that Mynx, too, was surprised by such unaccustomed obedience from a kender. But after Kifflewit Burrthistle was out of sight, she too shrugged and led Tarscenian away.
Soon they stopped, and she left him waiting before a huge boulder while she disappeared into the underbrush. Tarscenian heard a click; the boulder shifted aside. Mynx returned, leaned over the rock, and triggered a mechanism behind it. She put her shoulder to the granite chunk and easily pushed it aside.
"Gaveley's invention," she muttered. She disappeared into a hole; Tarscenian felt her grasp his hand and tow him behind her. He felt something else slip past him in the dark but, guessing what it was, said nothing.
There was the scrape of the boulder returning to its place. Light flared from an oil lamp.
"Gaveley won't be back for a while," Mynx said as she adjusted the wick. "We may as well make ourselves comfortable while we…" She spotted the kender, and her jaw dropped. Tarscenian, stifling a laugh, tried to look disapproving.
"This is terrific!" Kifflewit burst out. "What a superb locking mechanism! A three-way Ergoli trip with a sideways catch-I've never seen one of those. And look at this place! All the jewels! Are they real? What…"
Mynx collared the talkative creature. "Out, kender!" she repeated vehemently. "Gaveley would kill you for intruding. You're lucky I have a soft spot." Still holding Kifflewit by his skinny neck, she reached toward a shelf and moved a bejeweled statue of a harpist a few inches to the left. Just in time-Kifflewit grabbed at air. Then there was the sound of something sliding aside. Mynx tossed the kender up the entryway and into the night.
"Ouch! But…!" Kifflewit protested.
"Be gone by the time Gaveley returns, or kiss your topknot good-bye," Mynx growled. "And don't let me hear you try fiddling with the lock, either."
The slamming of the door drowned out the kender's reply.
Mynx turned toward Tarscenian again. "Gaveley himself designed this place," she said calmly, as though she were used to ejecting kender from the den. Perhaps she was, he thought.
Tarscenian gazed around. The half-elf certainly had a taste for the ornate, he thought. He examined the thick, imported rug with its border of pegasi and unicorns. Tapestries hung all around. He drew his sword and went around the room, lifting the panels. Nothing lurked behind them but plastered rock. Mynx, still holding the lamp, stood watching with a faint smile. "Nobody here but us, stranger," she said. "But it gives me hope for you."
Mynx placed the oil lamp behind a thin slab of translucent peach-colored quartz, studded with rubies. With her movement, the room's light went from yellow to pale pink. She proceeded around the room, in succession lighting three other such lamps, and the illumination in the den deepened to rose. She halted before the last quartz-shaded lamp. The slab of rock held three rubies-and one empty setting.
"I know there were four jewels when we got here," she muttered.
"I suspect the fourth ruby is traveling through the woods with Kifflewit Burrthistle
right now," Tarscenian commented.
Mynx grimaced, then directed Tarscenian to a seat on a green brocade divan, handing him a crystal goblet filled with sweet elven wine.
"Where are the rest of the thieves?" he asked.
"Some are working. Others are sleeping elsewhere. This is a meeting place, not a boarding house." She regarded him with direct brown eyes. "Gaveley's unlikely to be back for some time. In the meantime, there are things I'd like to know."
"Such as?"
"The high priest said you were a Seeker priest once."
"True."
"Yet no longer."
"Also true. I follow the Old Gods now."
Mynx's expression revealed what she thought of fools who followed any gods at all. "You know much of Heder-ick," she said. "Tell me about him."
"Why?"
"I want to know everything I can about the High Theo-crat."
"Again, why?"
"It may help me kill him."
Tarscenian ventured a guess. "Because of your friend?"
"He was only a kender, I know, but honor is honor."
Interesting to hear a thief talk about honor, Tarscenian thought as he watched her, but he held his tongue. He had promised Ancilla not to slay Hederick himself, but he'd never pledged to stop anyone else from doing so. Still…
"We have at least an hour," Mynx said, urging him to tell her more.
"Not now," he said. "I prefer to rest while we wait for this Gaveley." He drained the rest of his wine, leaned against the back of the settee, and pretended to close his eyes. He watched Mynx through slitted lids.
Mynx frowned, but made no further effort to coerce him. She ranged around the room for a while, sipping her wine and studying Gaveley's collections of statues, jewels, and tapestries. Then she sank onto a stool, drained her goblet, and leaned over a table. Her chin on her hands, she stared into one of the rubies in the pink quartz lamp screen.
Tarscenian closed his eyes. He could tell her plenty about Hederick, but not right away. No point giving anything away to a thief for free.
Hederick the Theocrat v-4 Page 13