by Glenda Larke
It hurt him to ask that, Jasper thought. He so hates having to rely on another… “Yes, it is true,” he said. “Are you accusing Lord Gold of lying?”
“Of course I’m not. Although he could be mistaken.”
Jasper shifted his gaze back to Basalt. “He’s a little disdainful of your abilities, isn’t he, my lord?”
Taquar stood up, saying, “I will not create clouds in order to have you squander them on the Gibber!”
Laisa slipped down from her seat at the window and came to stand beside him. She ate the last piece of the orange and dumped the peel in a heap on his desk. “Dear me, both of you, this is not worth an argument. Jasper, be a little conciliatory.”
Jasper gave a shrug of acquiescence and addressed Taquar. “No one in Scarcleft will ever die of thirst, I promise. Other than that, you are just going to have to let me be the judge of where water goes and where it doesn’t. That is my job as stormlord, and Granthon and Nealrith tutored me well.”
“Lord Gold,” Laisa said, at her most charming, “I think it’s time we took our leave. These men have things to discuss.” Without waiting for any reaction from Taquar, she took Basalt firmly by the arm and headed for the door.
After the two had left, Jasper remarked, heavily sarcastic, “Laisa, being tactful and pressing for cooperation. What did you say to her?”
“I don’t like your attitude,” Taquar snapped. “You need to show respect for your elders.”
“Perhaps I would, if my elders respected me. Still, Laisa is right. We need to work together. She has spoken of little else since I arrived. And I am willing to make this more of a cooperative venture, if you are.”
“You will follow my directives, Jasper.”
“Or what? You’ll keep me prisoner somewhere?”
“It’s an idea.”
“Not one you’d have any success with, I feel. Firstly, I could kill any guard you sent against me with my water-powers. Secondly, you need my cooperation to keep your city supplied. Thirdly, you will need my help if the Council of Rainlords makes you the administrative Cloudmaster. Without my cooperation, it won’t happen. We have to work together. You know it—accept it.”
There was a long silence while they stared at each other.
Taquar spoke first. “I’m guessing you have some conditions in mind.”
Jasper flung himself down in the chair next to the table. “Let’s start with my concessions. I am willing to tell you where I am sending the storms and why. I will listen to whatever reasons you have for disagreeing. Scarcleft will be the last to suffer real water deprivation. I shall try to be reasonable in my demands, if you do likewise. I won’t go anywhere without the guards you assign. I will marry Senya eventually, if she wants. When she is more… mature. Otherwise I will marry the girl you brought back from the Gibber, the one Nealrith said was going to be a rainlord. She’s being trained in Pediment, I think.”
He forced down the lump in his throat. I’m sorry, Terelle. I’m so, so sorry. “Those are my concessions.”
“And your conditions?” Taquar asked.
Jasper reached out, picked up a piece of orange peel and started to make patterns on it with his fingernail without looking at the highlord. “I want to meet the teachers. The men from Scarcleft Academy who sent me the lessons when I was locked in the mother cistern. I want to continue my learning.”
“Very well. Anything else?”
“I want to go to a snuggery.”
“What?” Taquar stared at him, astonishment jerking him out of his anger.
“I want to visit a snuggery. I’m a man, yet I’ve never lain with a woman. There is no way Senya is ready for marriage yet; at least not to me. She has a great deal more growing up to do. But I have needs.”
“What in all the dry dust do Senya’s feelings matter? We must have more stormlords! Blighted eyes, Jasper, how long do you think I can keep this up? You’ve been here a bare fifteen days and already I am exhausted. I have no idea how long it will be before you are able to create water vapor from the sea without my aid. I am already looking at years of this horror, and you want to add to it by postponing a marriage that might produce another stormlord?”
Hearing the man’s desperation, Jasper was torn between irritation and amusement. “If Senya hates the sight of me, we are not likely to achieve the aim of having stormlord heirs. She needs time. Oh, and by the way—” He sought and held Taquar’s gaze. “You have considerable gall to require me to remedy a situation you yourself are responsible for. If you hadn’t killed all the other potential stormlords of your generation, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
Taquar stared at him, his gaze as hard as flint. “I do not know what you are referring to.”
“Yes, you do.” Jasper met the rainlord’s look calmly. “You seem to think you can lie to me, Taquar. You can’t. Not anymore. You killed young rainlords you thought were going to be stormlords and thus a threat to your dreams of power.”
“Who told you that?”
“No one.” When Taquar was silent, he added, “Sandblighted hells, you told me about those young men and women yourself—and you blamed Nealrith for their deaths! Nealrith? Once I had met the man, how could I possibly think that was true? How could I possibly believe even you thought it true? A kinder, gentler man never lived than Nealrith Almandine, and you must have known that. But I can believe you guilty of murder. Oh, I can believe it so easily.”
“And on the basis of that you intend to accuse me? Just whose deaths are you accusing me of, by the way? Those who died in accidents? Or of illness? The one who committed suicide? The two friends of mine who perished in the desert at the same time I almost died?”
“Oh, I doubt you were in any danger. I reckon you killed at least four people, Taquar. Five if you include Iani’s Lyneth. Iani certainly believed it once I gave him her bracelet. The one you so carelessly left in the mother cistern.”
Taquar stilled, his usual bland expression swamped by one of shock. Finally he asked, “And just what is your purpose in telling me this?”
“To let you know you have very little chance of being credible outside of Scarcleft ever again unless I am at your side, supporting you. Otherwise, this is it, all the power you’ll ever have. Me and Scarcleft. And without me, you will have nothing. I don’t like it anymore than you do. I am assuming that at the moment you are biding your time. Waiting for Davim and the Reduners to withdraw before you move to assert your claim to be Cloudmaster.”
“I could always leave instead. Live across the Giving Sea.”
“If you want to risk the unknown. In the Gibber they say, ‘Better the scorpion whose sting you know than the spindevil who twists in ways unknown.’ ” Jasper threw the orange peel back on the desk. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast, but he ignored that. “We were talking about me visiting a snuggery.”
There was another pause before Taquar answered. “If you want a girl, I’ll have one brought here for you.”
“I prefer to choose my own.”
“Then I’ll have several brought here.”
“Taquar, I am going to visit a snuggery. I am giving you advance warning so you can tell your sandblasted enforcers to allow me to do so. If they try to stop me, I will take action—and they will have to decide whether they want to die in your service or kill the nation’s only stormlord. If they can.” He frowned, as if that was an interesting puzzle. “I wonder what they would do?”
Taquar eyed him as if he had suddenly realized he had a viper by the tail. It was not a look that reassured Jasper. A shiver of fear crept up his spine.
Suddenly Taquar smiled, relaxed and said pleasantly, “All right, if you must. The guards will go with you.”
The salted bastard. Damned if his charm is not scarier than his anger! Aloud, he asked, “Is that necessary?”
“That’s more for your safety. The city streets are dangerous. The less water available, the more dangerous they get and any rainlord is likely to be a focus of disc
ontent.”
Jasper capitulated. “Doubtless you are right.” He rose to his feet. “As long as you remember not to treat me as a prisoner, I am sure we shall deal together tolerably well. Like it or not we are stuck with each other, at least until my powers develop more. Ironic, isn’t it? Never mind, I work better when I am more content, so this will work in your favor, too. There will come a time when I will be able to raise clouds by myself, and you can confine yourself to ruling.”
It was a lie, and he knew it. But I dare not tell him I am not getting any better. He needed Taquar even more than Taquar needed him.
As if he sensed Jasper’s fear, Taquar said, “Don’t push me too far. You think you have the upper hand here. You don’t. You see, you care about whether the people die of thirst. I don’t.”
That sick, clenching feeling in his stomach… Damn the man.
Because he couldn’t trust himself to speak, Jasper left the room without excusing himself or even uttering a farewell. Outside the door, he felt his knees buckle, and had to turn it into a clumsy misstep. One of the guards caught his elbow and steadied him. “Thank you, Dibble,” he said. “Clumsy of me. We can’t have the nation’s only stormlord breaking his neck, can we?” He patted the man on the back in a friendly fashion and then walked ahead.
He’d come to know Dibble Hornblend better since they’d been training together, and he liked the man. He was becoming a—no, not quite a friend. Not yet. A comrade, that was it. Fortunately, the man’s social ineptitude was not reflected in his fighting skills. He could make a sword or a scimitar dance, he could wield and throw a pike or a lance with deadly accuracy and, in spite of his youth, he was a good teacher.
That weeping bastard Taquar, he thought as he continued on his way. He’s right. He as good as has my water in his hand, to save or throw away as he chooses. If he ever realizes that I will never be any better at cloudmaking, he’ll be gone across the Giving Sea… What the salted damn am I going to do?
In his room, Taquar continued to sit at his desk, staring into space. He remembered a child, a boy, insecure, almost obliterated by grief. He remembered a boy who believed all he was told. A skinny child, unprepossessing, who never wanted to look him in the eye. How had that child grown up to be this man? Jasper was still slim, but he was as tall as Taquar. His brown eyes were steady, seemingly without fear. He spoke with an adult’s assurance, not a prisoner’s uncertainty. He treated Taquar as though he, Jasper, had the upper hand. As though Taquar amused him…
Taquar jumped to his feet and paced across the room. Watergiver damn the dirty Gibber grubber, it wasn’t so long since he had been a prisoner in the mother cistern! Waterless skies above, how had the brat grown up so fast—and become so strong?
He slammed his hand down on the desk, furious with himself. He had left the lad too long in Breccia and this was the result.
“You’ll hurt yourself.”
He looked up to find Laisa had come back. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, her head tilted and her eyes narrowed as she watched him. “The boy has grown,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “He’s clever. We need to have our wits about us. I’ve been chatting to him every day, trying to bring home the realization he has to cooperate, but he’s not a fool. He knows I have a vested interest. He doesn’t trust me.”
He snorted. “You can hardly blame him. Why didn’t you tell me he found out Lyneth had been a prisoner in the mother cistern and then told the Breccian rainlords?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That was true, then? It doesn’t matter, Taquar. Everyone he told is dead! Nealrith, Kaneth, Ryka, Granthon, Iani, Ethelva. Your secret is safe.” She came across the room toward him. “Did you kill the other students as well?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“The thought is—intriguing. A multiple murderer. That lad who supposedly threw himself off the balcony after a love affair gone wrong? Did he get some assistance from you that night?”
His impassive expression did not shift.
“How did you ever get admitted to his room?”
“A man has ways. He thought I cared about him.”
She came up to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You started killing very young.”
“Irrelevant, surely. What you should be worried about is whether I have finished.” He placed a hand over her throat and ran his thumb up to her chin.
Her lips parted and she bit her bottom lip. “Hmm,” she said. “I always did like the scent of danger. And I think I know you—murder for a purpose only. Not pleasure.” She ran a hand up the side of his face, to tangle it in his black hair and loosen the leather tie at the back of his neck.
“Oh? Believe me, my dear, revenge can be very sweet.”
He took her on the desk, his hand clasped across her mouth to stifle her squeals when his roughness hurt her.
Afterward, as she lay next to him on the desk top and tried to draw the tattered remains of her gown over her nakedness, he asked, “Laisa, if you wanted to gain ascendancy over an enemy too strong to be defeated in battle, how would you do it?”
She turned her head to look at him. So cat-like, he thought. Bruised but sated.
“That’s easy,” she said. “Take hostage what he loves most in the world: his lover, his child, his land, his wealth, his power, whatever. The trick is to find out what he values most. Then you will have your enemy in the palm of your hand.”
A slow smile lifted his lips as her words seeded the beginnings of an idea. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“The problem will be to find what he values.”
“No, that’s no problem. I already know him well enough to know exactly the sort of thing he values.” He sat up, reaching for his trousers. That Gibber grubber is going to understand that trying to thwart me is distinctly unwise… “Laisa, ask Senya to join us for dinner tonight, would you? I gather she is not happy with the idea of our marriage and I think it’s time I got to know her better.”
Laisa blinked in surprise, obviously wondering what the connection was. “As you wish. As for our wedding on Sun Day, I thought after the normal service?”
“Perfect,” he said, and hid his enjoyment of her astonishment at his abnormal amiability.
The snuggery welcomed the stormlord, of course. It was an honor—unexpected, but an honor. Madam Opal, the owner, blossomed as she considered the opportunities that might arise if the lord was pleased with what he found. She soon had the establishment’s most expensive imported wine, tastiest food and prettiest girls on display.
It was a pity the main recipient of all the fuss seemed unmoved. Jasper refused the wine, declined the food and looked at the women as if they were pedes going to the auction block. He asked each one her name and where she was from, but when several approached him to take his outer robe, to make him feel more comfortable, he waved them away. Seemingly at random, he pointed to one of the girls and said, “I’ll take that one.”
Opal gestured, the other girls, pouting, turned their attentions to his guards, and the girl he had selected led Jasper upstairs to the best room.
As she shut the door behind him, she pushed the latch across to secure it. Then she stood leaning up against the door as if reluctant to move. She was dark, beautiful and frightened. Viviandra of the Gibber. Terelle had always called her Vivie.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Who are you?” she whispered. “Opal said you were a rich merchant from Level Three. But no mere merchant has enforcers among his guards…”
“I’m Jasper Bloodstone. The stormlord.”
She shrank back against the door.
“Why are you so frightened?” he asked, puzzled. “Did Terelle ever tell you about me? I know she wrote to you sometimes.”
She appeared confused; fear pooled in her eyes like an animal in a slaughter yard. “Did the highlord send you?” she asked, still whispering.
“No, of course not.
Why would you think so? Oh—I’m sorry! You would know me as Shale Flint, of course.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re Shale? Shale Flint is the stormlord? Jasper Bloodstone?”
He nodded.
“Oh! You don’t really want to bed me, then.”
He smiled. “Is it that obvious?” he asked. “I’m sorry. That must sound rude, I suppose. I’m not looking for—” He waved vaguely at the bed on the other side of the room. “I wanted to talk about your sister.”
She didn’t reply and kept her eyes downcast.
“Viviandra, why are you so frightened?”
“We—we don’t get rainlords and such in here. They go to the uplevel snuggeries. Except when Taquar came—and—and he chose me, too.”
“Oh! I didn’t know that.” In shock, he assessed the implications. Perhaps he had endangered Viviandra. Like Amethyst. Nausea rose in his gullet. “What did he want? When was that?”
“He wanted to talk about Terelle. Twice. The first time was before the earthquake, maybe, oh, thirty days before. The second time was just after it. That time he had me taken up to Scarcleft Hall and—and the seneschal questioned me there. Is Terelle all right? Do you know if she’s safe?”
“I don’t know.” He searched her face, trying to find something of Terelle there; but there was nothing. Viviandra was wholly Gibber: short and slight, brown eyes, brown skin, dark hair. A beauty, although there were tell-tale smudges around her eyes that spoke of a lifestyle taking its toll. It was easy to believe she and Terelle were not related; that Russet had been speaking the truth when he said Terelle was entirely something else. Watergiver, whatever that meant.
He said, “Tell me what Taquar wanted.”
She shook her head. “He would kill me. I—I heard what he did to that dancer, up on the tenth level. And I know those are Taquar’s guards and the seneschal’s enforcers downstairs.”
Inwardly Shale winced. Amethyst had died because he’d sought her help, just as he was seeking Viviandra’s.
He undid his money belt, grateful Taquar had never bothered to take it away, perhaps because he had not realized how many tokens Highlord Nealrith had given to him before his escape from Breccia City. Sometimes, he reflected wryly, Taquar’s inability to think of the mundane was an advantage. He counted out five gold water tokens, each worth a year’s supply of dayjars. Viviandra’s eyes widened as he gave them to her. “Take these, and leave this house. Buy your way free. Don’t tell anyone where you are going. Leave the city. There are caravans going to Pediment or Portfillik.”