“Hello, darling,” Sharlee said, and gave Hector a quick kiss on the cheek. He always smelled good. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was—a bit of smoke, a bit of sweet wine, a bit of … him—but it made her happy, and that was all that mattered.
“I’m glad you’re home, love.” He pressed her hand with the wide smile that still gave her a kick of happiness after years of seeing it. “You look ravishing, even in that awful disguise. I hate it when you wander around that filthy slave market.”
“You’re sweet, darling.” She brushed imaginary lint off his soft shirt and let her touch linger. If Irwin hadn’t been there, she would have whirled him around with excitement over what she had learned. But instead they had to deal with the dwarf problem. Good news and bad news at the same time. It wasn’t fair. She suppressed an urge to smack Irwin on the head with a hammer and lowered her voice instead. “We need to talk, Hector. Very important stuff.”
“Every word you say is important to me, my sweet.” He kissed her hand. “But I do have to deal with this first, if you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other. “Perhaps we can do both at once.”
Hector saw her agitation—he knew her perfectly well. “Why not? It’ll be like pears and cheese together.”
“My favorite, darling!”
He turned back to Irwin. Sweat ran down the drab man’s face. Sharlee’s gaze swept the goblets, and instantly she worked out what was coming next. It surprised her that Irwin hadn’t. Poor man. Well, he deserved it.
“One of the nine goblets is poisoned, friend,” Hector said. “If you can get through four of them, everything will be forgiven. The odds are in your favor. Just.”
Irwin licked his lips. Sharlee automatically noticed the bad stitching on his clothing, the scuff marks on his worn shoes, the placement of the calluses on his right hand. This was a man who was spending a lot of time losing money at the dice tables. No wonder the dwarfs had left. If there was one thing dwarfs couldn’t stomach, it was someone who couldn’t handle money.
“If I don’t drink?” Irwin asked.
Hector snapped his fingers. The golem reached for Irwin, who backed away. “No! No, I’ll … I’m in. Thank you, my lord.”
He reached for one of the goblets with a trembling hand, changed his mind, and picked up the one next to it.
“I really should discuss this with you, my dear,” Sharlee said, letting some impatience show.
“Of course, of course.” Hector folded his hands in front of him. “Tell! I’m dying to hear.”
“I’ve had a breakthrough with Aisa and Danr.” She couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “I finally persuaded her to have a drink with me. A little of Tikk’s tincture in her cup at the right moment, and everything came spilling out.”
Hector’s face lit up, reminding her of the young man she had met so many years ago, and her impatience abated. “Darling—genius!” He kissed her again. “You were absolutely right, as usual—volunteering in the slave pens was the perfect idea. Tell me everything, and then tell me again.”
Irwin drained his goblet, waited a moment, then gulped hard and reached for a second. The golem watched through impassive azure eyes.
With relish, Sharlee related the essence of her conversation with Aisa. Hector listened with an intensity that told her she was the only person in the universe, so she told it again, and still he listened. He had a way of doing that which made her feel special, completely unlike her father, who had treated her with … well, less than specialness. People who said girls married their fathers were idiots. When she finished speaking, Hector drummed his fingers on the table with the abstract look on his face Sharlee associated with deep thought.
“So,” he said, “you believe the key to controlling Aisa is her fear of that troll boy. I like the way you think.”
“I believe we need to hurry,” Sharlee countered. “Three problems are bothering Aisa, you see. The first is that her life will be difficult if she marries a half-blood. A famous half-blood. This fear is utterly groundless, and she knows it. She’s using it to cover up the second problem.”
“The battle nightmares,” Hector said.
“Absolutely. I’ve seen it before, usually in men who return from war. They bring the battles home with them, and it tears at them. Sometimes they recover, sometimes they don’t. Aisa saw Danr as a battle monster. She knows he had no choice and she hated the people he killed, but she nonetheless saw him mow down a lot of people, and this tears her in two directions. We need to act quickly. She is on the edge of telling him about this.”
“What makes you say that, darling?”
“Now that she had said these things aloud to me, she will be willing to tell Danr. The moment she does, she will become useless to us.”
Irwin picked up a third goblet. His hands were shaking now, and the sweat shone on his face. What little sympathy Sharlee felt for him was rapidly vanishing. He was putting it off for too long. Best to do what was necessary and get it over with. Only a fool drew it out.
“What are your thoughts?” Hector asked. “Sharp as knives, I’m sure they are.”
“We need to ensure that Danr thinks the first problem, the famous half-blood problem, is the real one,” Sharlee said. “Because the solution to that problem is—”
“The power of the shape!” Hector put out a hand, and a slave hurried up with a separate goblet of wine. Sharlee held out her own hand and received one as well.
“The power of the shape?” said Irwin timorously. “That’s just a legend. Only a few people have even heard of it.”
Sharlee pursed her lips. So close. Irwin was sporting some spine by daring to insert himself into their conversation and showing he might know something useful. For a tiny, tiny moment, Sharlee could have seen him spinning his meager knowledge into a second chance. Then he had thrown it away by contradicting what she and Hector clearly already knew—that the power of the shape was more than legend. Involuntarily, she glanced at the shelves. Every book, every scroll, contained at least a scrap of information about the power of the shape. It was the most extensive library on the topic in the world. And every book they kept here meant the knowledge stayed a secret from someone out there. Sharlee didn’t worry about the slaves or golems—they couldn’t read—and in a few minutes, Irwin wouldn’t be able to, either.
“You have wine to finish,” Hector said shortly, as Sharlee knew he would. “In silence.”
Irwin raised his third cup with lowered eyes and a shaky hand. No doubt it was mostly vinegar—no point in wasting the good stuff on someone in his position. Sharlee tried her own. Sweet and light.
“I see it now,” Hector said, sipping again. “Danr will want to find the power of the shape to solve Aisa’s problem.”
“And his own,” Sharlee said. “He’s still uncomfortable being a half-blood.”
“You know all this from just spying on him?” Hector asked.
Sharlee drew herself up, wounded. “Darling!”
“Apologies.” Hector brandished the cup. “This wine is stronger than I thought. No one manipulates like you, my love.”
Mollified, Sharlee raised her own cup while Irwin shakily contemplated his next choice. “And no one makes the long plan like you, my dear.”
“Then how do we manipulate him into going after the power of the shape?” Hector asked.
“For that we’ll use Aisa’s third problem.” Sharlee revealed her nugget of information like a magician pulling a dove from his sleeve. “She seeks the merfolk.”
Hector’s reaction did not disappoint. “I knew it!” he crowed. He took Sharlee by both hands and danced about with her for a moment. “I saw it from the beginning! This is wonderful news! That last venture into the Iron Sea was worth every lost sailor.”
“Especially since we didn’t pay them,” Sharlee put in. “You’re a genius, darling.”
“So are you, my love. The merfolk know the loca
tion of the Key, and that means we’ll get everything we want. Our families …” Hector rubbed his hands. Sharlee waited with a wife’s patience.
“Do you know how much this means to us?” he said.
“Of course, darling.”
Hector went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. He was heading into a tirade, and Sharlee, recognizing the signs after years of marriage, held out her goblet for more wine. The slave obliged.
“We were powerful, Sharlee,” he said. “Your family and mine. Kings begged to lay their broken crowns at our ancestors’ feet. Now all we have is money. Money! As if money meant real power to anyone!”
“Any child can earn money on a street corner,” Sharlee said, giving the reply she knew he wanted. “But only the right people can wield the power of the shape.”
“And we will become the right people. All we need to do is get everyone in the right place at the right time.” Hector looked thoughtfully at Irwin’s selection of goblets. “Danr is attending the prince’s reception tomorrow evening, and that will allow me to set everything into motion. Can you get our heroes of the Iron Axe into proper position?”
“No.” Sharlee set her wine down as Irwin snatched up a fourth goblet
Hector raised his eyebrows. “No?”
“It’ll have to be you.”
“Oh.” Hector thought again. “A little man-to-man talk. Can I handle that?”
Irwin downed the fourth goblet in one desperate gulp. Sharlee laughed and put a hand on Hector’s arm. “You absolutely can’t, darling, but don’t worry—I’ll tell you what to say.”
Hector heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s why I keep you around, my dear.”
“Only that?” she asked archly.
He put his arms around her and kissed her. She tasted wine on his lips, and her body molded warm against his. “Some other reasons leap to mind,” he whispered in her ear.
“M-my lord?” quavered Irwin.
Hector looked over Sharlee’s shoulder in annoyance. “Oh. Four goblets. Yes, you may go, Irwin. I should run, if I were you. We still need to figure out what to do about the lost dwarfs.”
“And we need a mermaid,” added Sharlee. “No small detail.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Irwin rushed for the door. After four steps, his knees buckled and he went down. He choked and gasped and convulsed. His face turned reddish purple, and his tongue protruded from between his teeth. Then he gave one final breath and died.
Sharlee laughingly boxed Irwin on the shoulder. “I knew it! You poisoned all of them, didn’t you?”
“Never leave your opponent a choice.” Hector kissed her again.
“A fine philosophy,” said a nonvoice.
Sharlee jerked away from Hector as a tall man in blue and white stepped over Irwin’s body, but she relaxed when she saw who it was. “Really, Will! Can’t you knock?”
“I let myself in,” the man said, “and I see poor Irwin has paid for the traffic I encountered on my way here. I’m afraid he wasn’t truly responsible for the loss of the dwarfs. That was me.”
“Well, obviously.” Sharlee put her hands on her hips. “No one else would have the money to pay them. What in Vik’s name do you mean by leaving us with a single dwarf?”
“You need to think bigger, my dear,” said the man. “I have a deal for you.”
“A deal?” echoed Hector. “One that will give us something better than an army of dwarfs that can make golems? We want them back, Will. Now.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing what you said about the girl Aisa,” the man said, ignoring Hector’s demand. “I’ve noticed her as well, you know. Eyes and ears all over the slave market. And speaking of slaves, I have the final thing you need to make her get the power of the shape. Let me keep the dwarfs, and I’ll give it to you.”
“What’s the final thing I need?” Hector asked.
“Stop by the slave market on your way to see Danr,” the man said, “and I’ll show you.”
• • •
“You ready to talk?” Talfi asked for the third time since Aisa had left.
“No.” Danr thumped his horn down. He’d never been fully drunk in his life—as a thrall he hadn’t been able to afford it, and as a truth-teller he’d always avoided it—but maybe now was the time to try it. This was the proper place: a dark tavern next door to Mrs. Farley’s rooming house. It had fresh rushes on the floor and women who brought drinks and a smoky fire in the fireplace. Danr wore a voluminous cloak and kept the hood pulled so no one would recognize him—he hoped. He gulped from the horn again. The ale was new in the barrel, and cheap—more than a little sour and tasting too strongly of yeast. Perfect if you wanted to get drunk with little money.
“Why is being in love so hard?” he asked the table morosely.
“You’re asking us for advice about women?” Talfi said wryly. Ranadar was sitting next to him, holding his hand under the table. Balsia was live-and-let-live in a lot of ways—Vik, there was an actual troll sitting in the corner of this very tavern—but regi men attracted mixed attention. The priests of Olar, who held sway farther north where Danr had grown up, taught that such men were an abomination, but Grick, his lady wife, was a little more accepting. The ocean goddess Bosha, powerful in Balsia, was happy to accept men and women who loved their own sex into her temple. The war gods Fell and Belinna did as well, but they required celibacy of such people. It was all very confusing.
Sometimes, though, Danr was sure the Nine meant all relationships, regi and not, to be confusing.
“It does seem fitting that Fell and Belinna are gods of both love and war,” Ranadar said, unconsciously echoing his thoughts.
“I’m wondering if it would be all right to ask what she told you,” Talfi put in. Danr understood what he was doing. It was a trick Talfi had worked out over the past few months to make both his and Danr’s lives easier. Last year, Danr had visited three powerful giants, and they had told him that everyone, Stane, Fae, and Kin, had small splinters of wood or stone in their eyes that clouded their vision just enough to keep them from seeing the truth. Then they had knocked the splinters out of Danr’s left eye. It let him see the truth about people and places, but it had also removed Danr’s ability to tell even a small lie, and he had to answer any question put to him with utter, complete truth, even if the listener didn’t want to hear it. Talfi was asking a question without actually asking a question, which left Danr the freedom to refuse an answer. This put him in a better mood.
“Yeah,” he said. “We can talk about it.”
“So you talked about … stuff,” Talfi said.
“Why do women have to be Vik-all difficult?” Danr burst out. “It’s been a year. I didn’t mean for it to take so long to get here, and now she’s mad at me.”
“Woman trouble, eh?” said a new voice, and a man in an expensive-looking red tunic sat at the table, uninvited. Danr tensed. The man looked to be something over forty, still fit and relatively handsome, despite silver in his black hair and lines webbing his face. “I can recognize it a league away.”
“This is a private conversation,” Ranadar said in his prince voice. “You may leave now.”
In answer, the man waved the barmaid over and tossed a gold coin on her tray. “A real round for my friends here. None of that thin piss. And some of that roast, with the apples, and the bread.”
“Who—?” Talfi said.
“My name is Hector,” he said with a wide grin. “And I’m something of an admirer of yours, if you’re all who I think you are.”
“And that would be?” Ranadar said.
The man Hector lowered his voice. “You’re the ones from the Battle of the Twist. You stopped an entire war. Vik, you’re Danr the Hero, and you wielded the Iron Axe itself. Isn’t that right?”
Danr didn’t want to answer, but Hector had asked him a direct question, and a reply pushed at the back of his throat. The words piled up like water behind a dam and finally spilled out of him. “I did, and a lot of people died for
it, so keep it to yourself. We don’t want a lot of—”
“Attention, I know. Don’t blame you. I just want to buy you a round or two and say thank you.”
That surprised him. “Thank you?”
“For stopping the slaughter. I have family in northern Balsia, and if that war had begun … well, in my book you’re the biggest heroes since Bal himself.” Here, Hector looked a little sheepish. “I just wanted to give you something back.”
Huh. Usually, people wanted something from Danr. The gratitude made him feel … warm. Appreciated. It was nice. Maybe an unexpected stranger wasn’t so bad. The barmaid arrived with her heavy tray. She laid out bread, meat, and two pitchers of ale. The food was plentiful—Danr was almost always hungry—and the new ale flowed like liquid gold. The food and the man’s kind words made Danr feel a little better, though he was still a bit put off by the man’s forwardness.
“How did you recognize us?” Talfi asked. “We’re kind of hiding right now.”
“I told you—I have family in northern Balsia.” Hector sipped from his horn. “And everyone’s heard of the half troll, the elven sorcerer, and the boy who can’t die. But isn’t there an orc swordswoman?”
The much stronger ale warmed Danr’s stomach and he didn’t bother trying to fight the question. “Kalessa’s at a leather worker’s, seeing to her armor,” he said.
“So it’s just us men, and you’re having some woman trouble, eh?” Hector tore into the bread with strong white teeth.
This was more a statement than a question, but Danr responded anyway. “How did you know that?”
“Danr,” Talfi said, “maybe—”
“Not hard to spot.” Hector raised his horn to Danr, who obligingly toasted with him and drained most of it. Drinking the smooth ale was like drinking sunlight. “Your lady isn’t here and you look sad. And I overheard the last part of your conversation.”
This last struck Danr as funny, and he laughed. “Well, you’re right, and these two”—he waved his horn at Ranadar and Talfi, who ducked—“aren’t much help.”
Blood Storm: The Books of Blood and Iron Page 6