by JANRAE FRANK
The Guild kept more records on death, its means and types, its occurrences, than even the sa'necari of Waejontor. They observed it. Now he could start with the subject of poison or mysterious deaths in Creeya or unsolved murders. Very few murders in Creeya went unsolved. The Guildsmyn always caught their mon.
Queiggy set his lamp on one of the central tables. Smaller desks punctuated the ends of the isles of bound volumes and little alcoves made sheltered private recesses for study throughout the floor. The Holy Assassins of Hadjys knew their business. That was what had fascinated Queiggy and caused him to pull up his roots and leave his garden to enlist with them. Hadjys had laughed at him. Oh yes, how long and hard had Hadjys laughed. But the god had accepted him. Queiggy's old bones ached and he leaned heavily on his cane. He needed to return to his garden again to renew himself, but that would have to wait until the dangers were past. The Guild needed him.
He ran his hand along the shelves and found the book listing deaths by poison from thirty years ago. Taking down the volume, which listed only those deaths in Havensword itself, Queiggy tucked it under his arm and carried it to the central table. He turned to the index at the back. There were seven unexplained deaths. Just seven that the poison experts could not identify. Queiggy opened his pack, which he had set beside the table, taking out pen, ink, and paper to make notes and then he turned to the first one.
The floor was deathly quiet. His ears ached and hummed with the silence. Single puncture yet shaped like fang wound or single claw/nail insertion. As if someone took kitty's finger and shoved it in.
Initial paralytic reaction. Hmmmn. Queiggy wrote that down. Arsenic like reaction, nasal bleeding. Odd. Reader says stomach pains. Convulsions. Clotting failure. Massive internal bleeding throughout the body. Respiratory failure. Doesn't sound like a Lemyari. Queiggy continued to write. He turned to the next one. Initially the symptoms were the same. Neuro-toxic reaction. Lungs locking up. Hallucinations. Coma. Lemyari! The third and the fourth case were the same. "We've got you, damn it!"
Queiggy heard a rustling in the stacks and the stealthy creeping – he was not alone. He closed the book, slipped it into his pack, and clicked a button on his cane. Then he gave the band a twist and slid the blade of the sword out. The old Guildsman had barely time to pull it before the three lesser bloods rushed him. He saw more coming out of the stacks.
* * * *
Yukiah, Jimi, and Alora came looking for Queiggy and found Yahni at the desk with his friends. The hour was very early and they had not really hoped to find him here yet. They would probably have to go to Queiggy's rooms and dig him out. They had hoped he might have chosen to arrive before dawn as he sometimes did, so that they would not have to wake him up. Queiggy always got crotchety when woken.
"Yahni, you're pulling a late one." Yukiah said. "You been here since midnight?"
"Queiggy doesn't want the desk left empty these days," Yahni replied. "Even before the main door opens."
Yukiah laughed. "Getting paranoid in his old age?"
Yahni Kjarten glanced at the two students. "Can't say, orders are up drawbridge. We'll be relieved in another hour."
Yukiah frowned. Up drawbridge? What had Queiggy discovered that he would decide to close the wing? "Where can we find him? I have information he asked us to bring him posthaste."
"Records. I don't know which floor."
"Thanks."
Yukiah could see the concern in Alora and Jimi's eyes as they went to the first floor of records. They were far enough into their training to know what it meant. As Yukiah lit a lamp, the sounds of struggle reached them. "Queiggy!"
They rushed down the stairs with their blades in hand. Jimi had his short sword in one hand and his bolas in the other. Queiggy had backed into a corner, one hand pressed to his bleeding chest, his sword drooping in his hand. Two lesser bloods faced him and four lay unmoving on the floor. Jimi's bolas whirled and a lesser blood went spinning across the aisle, its feet entangled. It slammed into a bookcase. Books showered it. It grabbed at the case to keep its balance, but only succeeded in toppling the entire thing on itself. Alora charged in, stabbing through the chaos. Black blood and ichors exploded over the precious books; the creature stopped moving. Yukiah shouted dark words of rage, demanding the second hell spawn turn. It did. The armsmaster ended its existence with a single skilled thrust.
Queiggy regarded them, his eyes heavy lidded as he slipped to the floor. "They got the book," he whispered, and then coughed, bringing up blood. "The vampire ... he's Lemyari."
Alora cradled his head and shoulders, crying. "We'll get you to the healers."
"Can't help me. Yukiah, carry me to the garden quickly. Somewhere ... somewhere no one can see me."
"Queiggy..."
"Quickly... Please."
Yukiah lifted the dying old mon in his arms and carried him out, dismayed at how light he was. Yahni and his friends straightened when they saw them. Yukiah shook his head at them. "He was attacked. I'll explain later. We've got spooks."
As Yukiah carried Queiggy, he could feel the way he grew weaker. "Alora, talk to him. Keep him talking." They exited the wing through a postern door, emerging into the gardens as the first orange of dawn lit the sky.
"Queiggy, remember the books? The ones you used to read me?"
"Alora, the ... red books?" His eyes fluttered open, his voice had grown so faint she had to strain to hear it.
"Red gryphon."
"Big gryphon." A fresh fit of coughing took hold of Queiggy and more blood came up.
"Blue gryphon." Alora fought down an urge to weep as the blood became a trickle from the corner of the old mon's mouth and Jimi slipped an arm around her.
"Smart gryphon."
"White gryphon."
"Sweet gryphon."
Yukiah strode into the Stalking Grounds beside the gardens where the woods were wild and dense. If Queiggy did not want anyone to see him die, this was the place. Yukiah knelt, easing Queiggy onto the ground.
Queiggy sighed deeply, gazing up at the clear sky streaked with the first colors of dawn, drawing in the air. His fingers pressed into the earth and his voice strengthened from the contact.
"Move back, all of you. I need space," Queiggy told them.
Yukiah looked concerned. "We cannot simply leave you to die alone."
Queiggy smiled then and it was a pure sweet smile. "I am giving you my secret, now move back and give me space, for I am not going to die. You have saved my life, bringing me here in time."
Yukiah blinked and moved back.
Queiggy's fingers grew long, sinking into the soil, becoming roots. His hair became leaves. His clothing tore as his body changed. Because of his prone position the tree grew sidewise. Queiggy managed to control it enough to retain his face. "Please, have someone camp with me for a few days to guard me until I can heal."
The stunned Guildsmyn did not immediately respond. "Certainly, Queiggy. Who and what are you exactly?" Yukiah asked.
"I am Queig, son of Teakamon, a yuwenghau of modest talents. I watched the first Old Man of the Mountains build Ishladrim Castle and joined the Guild. When I grow old, I become a tree for twenty years and restore my youth. It is an odd life for a yuwenghau. We are a peculiar breed. This is the longest I have spent in my human form. But I have been so very concerned about the vampire. I am so sorry I lost the book. I cannot prove what he is. I have been geising Guildsmyn to watch the desk. Up drawbridge."
Yukiah laughed. "You're doing your job, Queiggy. Better than most."
"Thank you. I'll need about three days and then I'll be back at my desk."
"There are other records, Queiggy. I'll have Sha check the healers' accounts."
"Tell her to be careful. Solance makes me nervous."
Alora bent and kissed him. "I'm so glad you're not dying, Queiggy."
The tree laughed. "Be careful. When all this is over, I'm going to get young again and come looking for you."
"Dirty old tree." She slapped him and gi
ggled.
Yukiah hoped that Queiggy was not the mysterious yuwenghau that Eshraf had referred to. They needed someone with serious firepower like that battlemage, someone who could blow things up with spells like conflagration, throw some fireballs around, singe some whiskers. Someone who could stand toe to toe with this Lemyari – otherwise they were all going to die and the Guild with them. They needed someone out of the legends like Josiah Abelard or Lokynen Willidar. Hell, he'd even take this mage's namesake Dynarien Willodarusson, that scoundrel brother of the God of Cussedness.
* * * *
Belyla lay with Yahni in Alysinjin's bed, staring out the window at the sunrise, wondering how to tell him, wondering if he would reject her for it. She was so young and so relatively inexperienced compared to him. He was ten years older than she. Her hands ran along her belly. What would he say? Would he accuse her of doing it deliberately to trap him? She was afraid. She remembered what happened to her older sisters who became pregnant by their father. How could she tell Yahni? How could she tell anyone? He promised to run away with her. Would he change his mind when he found out she was pregnant?
"Yahni..." She stroked his sleeping head, too lightly to awaken him. "Yahni..."
Yahni stirred as the sun fell across his eyes, blinked for a moment, and then reached for her. Belyla stiffened under his touch and he frowned his concern. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing ... maybe everything... I don't know."
He sat up, the blankets sliding down around him. "Belyla, I love you. You can tell me."
Fear of rejection filled her eyes with tears. "Yahni, I'm pregnant."
To Belyla's relief, he smiled and his entire face brightened. "Is that all? How long have you known?"
"A week. I didn't know where to get the stuff you were talking about, so I couldn't prevent it."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Belyla glanced away and then back to his face. "I was afraid..."
Yahni kissed her hands. "Haven't you believed a word I have been saying? I love you. I intend to marry you."
But it could have been lies. You could have changed your mind. Denied you fathered it. Belyla fought down an urge to say those things. She had overheard too many lies spoken by her father, had them spoken to her by others. "Yahni."
"With a child on the way, Belyla, Mikkal cannot refuse to marry us. Have you forgotten we're speaking with him today?"
Belyla swallowed and then smiled hesitantly. "It's just that. No ... no it's not you, Yahni. It's me. I kept doubting that you really meant to go through with it. I'm not trying to trap you with a child."
Yahni ran his hands over her belly and then lifted her face. "I was caught the first day I met you, Belyla. And you'll like Shaurone. It's a good place to raise children. I was already so certain that Mikkal would allow the marriage that I had arranged for Jajinga, Osterbridge and Terrys to meet us there today as witnesses."
Belyla's eyes widened. "You had?"
"Yes." Yahni kissed her.
* * * *
Galee sat at the table in her apartments, feeling more irritable than normal. Her journal lay open and beside it a copy of Shaheeramaat's records of her examination of Talons two days ago. It took expert creativity, but Talons never missed a dose. Solance had broken into Shaheeramaat's cabinet and copied them. Talons' companions were careful to prevent Solance from being the one to examine her. Normally it should be the healer on call or the healer the family had selected – which was Solance. Wrathscar and the Grand Master, who had specified that Bryndel, as her betrothed, had the right to choose, had chosen Solance. However, her ever-present companions simply went and fetched Shaheeramaat. Galee would find a way to fix that even if it meant killing Shaheeramaat and every other healer in Ishladrim Castle.
Dynarien. Every single time Talons had a bad episode the healers recorded the presence of Dynarien and that he had administered herbs. He was that Willodarian mage who had humiliated Ambrose. Could he be the yuwenghau she was looking for? There was a yuwenghau named Dynarien, one of an obnoxious pair of divine twins. It was a fairly common sylvan name. She knew of at least three other minor yuwenghau named Dynarien. There was also Dynarien Fire-heart the Battle-Master, a Badonthian. The possibility of having that one on her doorstep made her blood run cold. Why the hell did some names have to become so popular?
She finished her notations and threw the copies of Shaheeramaat's records into the fire, stirring them around until she was certain they were well and fully destroyed, then she closed her journal and went to her cabinet. Her alchemists had prepared the new formulation of the drug to her direction. The medicine was ready for distribution to her pawns who would administer it. She also needed to turn the wheels of the rumor mill, demonize the Sharani. Galee swept from the room and along the corridors. She spied Wrathscar across the room in the southwest hall of the southernmost spine of the palace star. Something appeared to be going on and she paused to listen.
Wrathscar occupied a corner nook, jabbing a table with his thick finger for emphasis as he held forth to Lords Chakri and Anhgee, and to Lord Derryl in particular. "I barely consider Talons a fit woman to marry my son. If she weren't the heir and Takhalme had not made me a very fine offer, I would never have considered it."
Derryl met Wrathscar's savage gaze evenly and coolly, with absolute presence of mind and a twist of savoir-faire, very much aware of his audience. "Whyever not? She's the finest Guildsmon we've had in a generation."
Chakri and Anhgee both nodded to that, they had Guild in their families.
Wrathscar snarled. "She is coarse and unnatural."
"How so? She's noble, kind. Good with children. My wife likes her." Derryl's voice went abruptly hard, striking like the thrust of a rapier in a sudden lunge. "She's also pregnant by your son, who treats her as shamefully as you treat your women. It is well known that you like to break your women. I see either of you doing that to the heir and I'll break you both."
The three most powerful lords in Creeya were Wrathscar, Derryl Tormuth, and Channadar – although Channadar had lost his council seat as a result of his skirmish with Galee three years ago.
"I'll call you out for that, Derryl. I'll call you out."
"Do so, Wrathscar. I look forward to it. Better myn than you have called me out. They're dead." Derryl turned to Chakri and Anhgee, smiling pleasantly as Wrathscar continued to scream threats. "My lords, it was so very nice to see both of you. I enjoyed it so much. We must have lunch again. Truly." He bowed elegantly and left.
Chakri and Anhgee looked at each other for a moment and then at Wrathscar before retreating from the table. When they were a safe distance away, they stepped into an alcove and laughed until they had to hold their sides. They could still hear Wrathscar screaming.
Galee listened until she could not stand it and then grabbed his arm. He knocked her loose and she hissed at him. "Wrathscar, shut up! You're making a spectacle of yourself. Everyone is staring at you."
Wrathscar quieted, glancing around the room. "I'll get him."
"No, you will not. After this demonstration the Guild will know you did it and come after you. Derryl is a total loss. There are still others to be persuaded to our side. Come along. Talons and Bryndel are going to the Music Chamber for lunch."
* * * *
Edouina always put her own clothing in the guest bedroom because Talons had so much stuff packed into her closet and wardrobes that there was no space left. Yukiah insisted she come each day and continue to get in some practice, so she planned to change and head for the training grounds. Edouina went to the closet and jerked the door open. Huddled in a corner was Arruth. The youth wore three scarves swathing her neck and a tunic that was far too warm and enveloping for the pleasant summer weather.
"Arruth?" Edouina asked.
The girl dropped her head and looked away from Edouina, muttering something Edouina could not make out.
Edouina squatted, reaching out to touch her and Arruth flinched away. "Arruth, honey, what hap
pened?"
"Don't touch me." Arruth moved farther from her, shoving her feet against the floor to push herself into a corner.
"Okay, I won't." Edouina held her palms upwards, fingers spread. "If you don't feel good, wouldn't you be happier in bed?"
"Don't make me leave."
"All right, honey, I won't make you leave. But, you can talk to me. You know that?" Edouina tried to keep her tone even, slightly coaxing.
Arruth nodded and huddled deeper into the corner. "Just let me stay here."
"You mean in the closet?" Edouina frowned. "Are you sure? It doesn't look very comfortable."
Arruth nodded.
"Well, if the closet gets uncomfortable, you can sleep on the bed there. No one's using it."
Arruth shook her head.
"Just the closet?"
Arruth nodded.
Edouina could see that someone had either frightened or hurt Arruth, but the girl wouldn't tell her. Maybe if she was patient, then when Arruth felt more secure the girl would say who it was. So Edouina left it at that, taking down her practice clothing. Then she shut the door and left to change in her room.
* * * *
Maya changed into a blue gown that matched her eyes and sat down at her dressing table to run her brush through her hair one more time. She wore her dresses in subtle split skirts to allow more movement and never entirely gave up her weapons. Compromises. Always compromises. Derryl did not mind. Nor did Leslie. In fact, had she decided to wear a Guildsmon's leather work harness over it with full gear they would probably have laughed delightedly and gone off to the music recital in happy accord just to see how many appalled glances they could collect.