by JANRAE FRANK
"Get out of our way, old mon. Lord Wrathscar wishes to speak with that Sharani slut."
"Lord Wrathscar has no authority here."
"I'll show you authority, old mon." The soldier drew his blade.
* * * *
"Hello, Terrys," the soft silky voice turned the young mon from her grieving in the garden to which she had retreated.
Terrys sat upon the vine-draped bench in the gathering darkness where once she had trysted with Yahni. She knew he had gone there with Belyla also. She was waiting for Jajinga, yet part of her kept expecting Yahni to appear the way he once had. Even seeing him laying in his casket, it was hard for her mind to accept it, to know he was gone. "Philomea. Go away."
"I don't want to," Philomea said, settling next to Terrys and smoothing her skirts. "You were my sister's best friend. And Yahni's."
"Yahni..." Tears welled again to Terrys' eyes. She wished Philomea would leave. If she were not waiting for Jajinga, she would leave herself.
"You loved him? Even after you broke up? Yet you introduced him to my sister."
"I wanted him to be happy ... he was happy." Terrys regarded Philomea cautiously, wondering where this was going.
"I wanted him. But he loved Belyla. Who could have imagined such a handsome mon would become seriously interested in homely Belyla?"
Terrys' mouth tightened into a line. "He was too good for you. Yahni always saw the soul in people. He was kind and gentle..."
Philomea slid her arm around Terrys. Terrys tensed, pushing at her, but Philomea's arms were like iron, as strong as a man's. "Hold me," Philomea told her. "I grieve also."
Terrys raised her face to Philomea's to protest and fell away into those blue eyes. Philomea sank her fangs into Terrys' throat, carrying her backwards into the little ivy cave behind the bench.
Terrys died where once she had made love to Yahni.
* * * *
Maya ran hard, turning the first corner and came face to face with six Guildsmyn, all armored. It was startling to see Guildsmyn in armor. She held her empty hands wide to her sides so they could see that she was not going for her sword. The first one tilted his visor up.
"Maya? You're our intruder?"
"Yukiah?" She threw herself at him. "There are two Wrathscar soldiers chasing me. Queiggy's holding them off. He told me to run past."
Yukiah gestured with his head for the myn to go on ahead. "Maya, sit on that bench and wait for us." Then he ran on.
* * * *
Takhalme leaned tiredly on his chair in the council chambers. Galee had persuaded him to gather only the injured parties together and it seemed a good suggestion, since Wrathscar's tirades alone were tiring enough, let alone Yukiah's and now adding Derryl's and Lord Taurlys Kjarten de Mistdale's into the mix. It seemed that these days everyone was angry with someone. All the Grand Master wished to do was to sleep and dream, sleep and dream. Solance tended to his every wish in that direction, bringing him larger and larger quantities of fire poppy, pollendine, and other strange drugs whose names he had never heard before. Solance had told him that the drugs were not just for the dying, but also for the dreamer; that they would show him gods and forgotten lands, forgotten wisdom. The visions were strange and lovely beyond imagining. He never wished to leave them. And now he had been dragged from his bed in the early hours of the night by Mohanja insisting so forcefully and persuasively that these matters demanded his immediate personal attention.
"I cannot understand why you are making such an issue out of a simple brawl," Wrathscar screamed. His face was flushed to the point of being florid. He had fed well earlier.
Mohanja watched him, noticing a small black cat near his chair at the same time that Galee did. For some reason her moving toward Twizzle gave him a shiver and he reached him first, snatching the small creature into his arms and cradling him. For an instant Galee's and his cheeks almost touched.
"Too many cats in the palace," she murmured. "We should wring some of their necks."
"I start hearing of dead cats, Galee, we'll start seeing some duels in the training grounds," he whispered back while their faces were still close.
"Over cats?"
"Over any provocation I choose." Mohanja's eyes locked onto hers with fathomless serenity.
"They forced their way into the Guild wing and drew sword on a desk clerk. An old mon. They had no right to be in the wing in the first place," Yukiah shouted at Wrathscar. Queiggy had requested that the armsmaster make his case, since he still refused to leave the wing. The yuwenghau had woven his tree gifts through the wing to keep out all the lesser bloods and other creatures that Galee had used to infiltrate it. As a result of that he could not leave.
"They were only trying to speak with a mon who had no more reason than they did to be in the wing."
"They were trying to drag my niece, my grieving niece, off to your quarters against her wishes! I am sick of your ugly high-handedness!" protested Lord Taurlys.
"I only wished to offer her my condolences."
"Then you should have come to the temple like the others or to our house."
"More reason than your soldiers did." Yukiah snapped. "She begged the clerk's protection. Maya was terrified."
They seemed to be coming at Wrathscar from every direction. It still ate at him the way the entire Great Central Hall had erupted in laughter at the joke Lord Channadar had played on him with the illusion of Maya. People were still laughing. His own daughter had betrayed him with Yahni, running off with the book, which still had not been found. "And a Guild clerk gives a common whore protection?"
"That's enough of that!" Derryl shouted, "Maya is a fine lady. She's Lord Oakwithe's daughter."
"So she's a noble whore."
Derryl lunged out of his chair, but Yukiah clamped onto his shoulder. Lord Taurlys had risen also, stopped only by Yukiah's extended hand.
"Maya is a daughter of the Guild. She has a right to our protection," Yukiah's voice was all steel. "I pity the heir, marrying into the family ruled by a mon like you."
Takhalme's hands tightened on his chair. Silence settled for several heartbeats, allowing Mohanja's gaze to slide across each face and to think. If civil war broke out, the tenets of their faith demanded that the Guild defend the Grand Master or withdraw into the temple to pray for their realm; that Guildsmyn did not make war upon Guildsmyn. But what if what he was seeing here was the plotting of agents of the Hellgod? Then it was the Guild's duty to take out those agents. How did he separate the two? It was clear from his last conversation with Queiggy that his people had lost their faith and trust in him. How did he restore that?
Wrathscar's tone lowered to a sullen softness. "I only wished to speak with her. I intended her no harm. You had no right to interfere."
Galee abruptly growled. "I can order you to allow his people into the wing."
"No, Galee, you cannot." Mohanja's steady, serene voice cut through the room for the first time. "The wing is my domain. Each of the three lieutenants holds absolute sway over their realms, separation of power, equal votes in counsel. The wing, records, history, wisdom, and development are mine. Training is Hanadi's. I hold hers in trust by her wishes. Deployment is yours; however, those who are on leave are entrusted to me; the reserves are mine and can only be activated by a two-thirds vote. These are the safeguards. You were made Guild by fiat and have clearly not studied the charters. Or at least not in depth. There are a series of checks and balances."
"Checks and balances?"
"Hanadi, the Grand Master, and I have let you slide for years so long as you did not make any mistakes. But you have just stepped on my toes."
Mohanja Raam, a mon of few words, had spoken more than they had ever heard him speak at one time. Everyone turned, trying to fathom those indecipherable eyes of liquid chocolate. "My Master, I suggest that we all return to our apartments and consider these things before they spiral out of hand. Lord Wrathscar should no longer seek to harass the young lady during her time of grief. He shou
ld keep his people out of my domain." Mohanja went to Maya, going to one knee before her like a gracious knight and took her hand, pressing his lips to the back. "Gentle lady, I grant you a special dispensation to take refuge from pursuing villains in my domain at any time. I am very sorry about your brother. Very, very sorry that you should have had to suffer further affronts. Be assured that I will do everything to catch these people."
Maya blinked and then blushed, her eyes filling again. If Mohanja had finally been moved to action, then perhaps Yahni had not entirely died in vain. Derryl and her uncle came to her side as Mohanja moved on to take the Grand Master to his rooms.
Wrathscar stormed from the chamber, followed swiftly by Galee.
* * * *
"Terrys?" Jajinga searched the little alcoves of the farthest reaches of the garden. Night was falling and he had been delayed with Yahni's family. She had promised to meet him there to talk about Yahni. They were going to grieve together. He found the ivy-veiled bench and sat down upon it. His boots squished in a small spot of mud pooling around the base of the bench. It seemed an odd color. He dipped his finger in it and brought it up to his nose. It smelled like blood and his heart caught. He leaned over the bench and, dimly seen in the fading light, he saw the edge of the dress Terrys had worn that morning.
"Terrys? Terrys!" Jajinga climbed into the little cave. He pulled a box of lucifers from his pocket and struck one. Adrenaline slammed through him with horror. He had been standing in Terrys' blood. Her body lay with its throat torn out.
"I see you found her." Philomea regarded him dispassionately from the bench.
He had neither seen nor heard her arrive. She blocked his way out. Jajinga scrambled backwards, drawing his knives since he had no room to reach for his sword. His back struck the tree and his knee the boulder to his left as he tried to find some space to fight in.
"You killed her?"
"Of course. She was delicious. So was Yahni." Philomea smiled broadly, flashing her fangs. "My family isn't stupid. You're another member of the little group investigating our father."
"I don't know anything about that. Yahni, Terrys, and I were just friends."
"Tell me something I can believe." Philomea pivoted on the bench, putting her legs on Jajinga's side. "Guildsmyn always work in groups when the game is this dangerous. Did Yahni report to you? Or did you both report to someone else? Queiggy, perhaps? Or Yukiah?"
"We didn't report to anyone, bitch. Yahni fell in love with your sister. That was all. He married her. They were running away together." Was Philomea the one who killed Yahni? And now she had murdered Terrys as well?
"Yahni Kjarten ... married my ugly sister? The handsomest male in Ishladrim Castle? You're lying." Philomea's face flushed the color of blood and her eyes went scarlet.
"By my god, Hadjys, in full view of the Dark Judge, Yahni and Belyla married. Mikkal performed the ceremony." Jajinga searched the small ivy cave as he spoke to her, seeking a way out. If he could go up and over the boulder quick enough that would put him in the open with room to fight her. "Belyla was more beautiful than you will ever be."
Philomea screamed. Jajinga leaped up, flinging himself onto the rock and rolled, tearing the ivy curtain. His shirt ripped and a long scratch was opened along his back. He kept going, came to the end, and fell to earth, gaining his feet quickly. Wrathscar's two younger daughters had been waiting for him in case he tried this. They had thought of everything. Jajinga crouched, waiting for them. He had not been good enough to become one of the Chosen Thirteen no matter how hard he trained. The light dwindled away to nothing, until all he could see was their eyes. He leaped high, slashing, felt his knife strike home, heard one of the daughters scream. The Guildsmon landed running. More eyes in the dark. Jajinga cursed. Why the hell aren't the bloody lamps lit? Where is the guard?
Jajinga blundered into a bush and fell, twisting. More eyes. How many were out there? He staggered to his feet. An impossibly strong hand grabbed his wrist and shoved his own blade into his chest. Jajinga screamed, but no one answered and then they were all over him.
* * * *
Mohanja climbed to the top of the Tower of the Winds, the highest tower of the Palace of the Grand Master, clutching his cloak tightly around him as the gales tore at him. The winds never stilled up here, ceaselessly moving, sweeping off the peaks high above the snow line.
"Hanadi, you are away barely five months and already the realm is pulling itself apart. I fear there may not be anything left for you to return to when your journey year ends next spring. I need to find you." Then the big black mon threw back his head and bellowed like a bull. "HANAAAADDDDIIIII! HAAAAANNNAAAAADDDDIIIII!"
He called her name into the winds, losing himself in the call until he could call no more. Then out in the deepening night, far off and coming closer came a howling. Not the howling of wolves, but the odd ululation of the shadow hounds. Mohanja found that hope rose within him and he had wind and voice to call again, but this time he matched the ululations so that he sounded as if a hound stood on the tower. The calls answered him back, changed in tone and timber. Yes, they were out there, but there were two? Three? There was a pack of shadow hounds beyond the walls and some of them within the walls. Was this what she did? Did she run with the wild packs?
Mohanja gave one last ululation and then raced down the stairs, certain that when the time was right, she or Brundarad would show themselves. Somehow he would find the ways to fight Galee for control of the Guild and the city. Something was wrong with his master and he had to assume the worse, but he also had to move very carefully until he knew whom he could trust. Yahni's death proved that.
* * * *
The three children beat idly at clusters of debris and trash that had collected in a deep hollow in the rutted alley. Three days of rain had washed a great many things down the twisting lanes of Havensword. Most of the children in the neighborhood had given up all thought of the magic book, except for Kamal. Every day he dragged his two younger brothers out to check again, even if it meant digging through the same piles of trash over and over. Kamal felt certain that the book waited for him, and him alone, to find it. It was like a taste in his mouth that he could not release. He would find the book and his mother would be so pleased that he had proven himself a man by winning the gold that would lift them from poverty. They had even ventured into the sewers, but strange monsters were down there and they did not do it again – for they had heard the ghost of Yahni's lover crying in the darkness. That had been the most terrifying thing of all.
Yet he could not rid himself of the intense feeling that the book and the bag of gold waited just for him. The feeling grew especially intense that day as it started to get dark, so Kamal decided to make one last sweep of the alleys. The full moon lent them plenty of light as they drew near to the Black Lady Tavern, jabbing at the litter with their sticks. Kamal carried a broken broom handle he had found months past and liked to pretend it was a fighting staff or sometimes a pole arm. There were several narrow rectangles slanting into the sewers, one not a yard from him and the other a block in front of him. He heard the scrabbling sound that could have meant rats and turned to glance as three dirty, bedraggled cats came from the sewers with a huge book in their teeth, working together to get it up and out. They struggled with the heavy, awkward thing. Children are always more accepting of miracles and magic than adults, and Kamal was no exception. So when he saw the cats, he naturally knew that they would recognize his worth and bring it to him.
"The book! They've brought us the book!" Kamal shouted to his brothers.
The three startled catkin nearly lost the book, looking up in surprise as the three scruffy children descended on them. They hesitated for a moment and that gave Kamal a chance to grab the black bachelor male leading the others. He began to stroke the catkin. "What good cats!"
Twizzle tensed in Kamal's arms. Uncertainty showed in every line of his body at being handled by children who appeared ready to steal the book from him. If he
did not achieve something of importance, or better yet heroism, how could he expect to acquire mates? He was very tired of being a bachelor male.
"Monsters!" shouted Shareef, his littlest brother, pointing to the further sewer hole. All looked, boys and cats, as several Ylesgaire, lesser bloods, crawled out onto the rutted paving of the alley.
"Save the book! Save the cats!"
The catkins, who had been about to unleash a sharp-clawed assault to get free of the children, instantly reconsidered as the boys scooped them up, and raced toward the back kitchen door of the tavern.
Kamal, book under one arm and Twizzle under the other, kicked frantically on Tuhk's door. "Tuhk, anon! Tuhk, anon! For my lord and liege!"
The door was flung open as Tuhk snatched them all inside. "You found it?"
Kamal nodded, dropping Twizzle carefully before extending the book to the tavern master. "Lesser bloods in pursuit."
"We're warded against them. What's this? Cats?" Tuhk squatted to have a look at what the children had brought him. He scratched around Twizzle's ears, gaining a satisfying purr from the small cat.
"They brought us the book. They should be rewarded," Kamal said, knowing that a good leader always remembered his allies.
"We have plenty of fine meat scraps. I served a side of fine venison today." Tuhk extended his hands to Kamal for the book and the boy gave it to him.
The tavern master opened it to the first page. The writing was smeared, but enough of the words remained that he could see the writing was strange, like nothing he had ever seen before, confirming that this was not Creeyan.
Kamal felt a whisper of concern as he asked, "This is the book? I have earned my gold?"
"Yes. This is the book. You have earned your gold, Kamal. But do not brag about it."
"Why not? I have done a great thing."
"Because you do not want Lord Derryl's enemies to come looking for you and yours."
Kamal nodded thoughtfully, pulling at the edge of his mouth as he had seen adults do. "It is the game. We play it."