by DAVID B. COE
"We're not sick."
"No," Antal said. "We're not. What was it Kary called it? A white-hair plague? Seems he was right."
She turned to look at the man, raking both hands through her dark hair. "So, you're saying that I should run away?"
"It's all you can do." He said. "You can't help them, but you can save yourself. We'll find-"
Suddenly there were voices nearby. Antal grabbed Lark's arm and pulled her into a narrow byway not far from the tavern entrance. They pressed themselves against the building wall as a pair of uniformed Qirsi walked by.
"There's pestilence in th' city!" one of the men shouted, his voice echoing through the lanes. "Th' gates ha' been closed, an' so has th' market! Stay in yer homes! If'n ye has a fever, light two candles an' leave 'em by yer door! A healer will be along! Stay away from Eandi merchants! If'n ye bought somethin' from one, burn it now! There's pestilence in th' city. Th' gates ha' been closed…"
"How do I leave now?" Lark asked when the men were gone. "You heard them: The gates have been closed."
Antal rubbed a hand over his mouth, his eyes trained on the wall behind her. "They'll have to open them again, eventually. You have no choice but to wait them out."
"Wait them out? Where? I have no place to stay! They'll be looking for our carts! For all we know they've taken them already."
"I doubt that," Antal said. "But I take your point. Let's get back to them and see if we can't find a better place to hide. We can't be the only Eandi left in the city."
They hurried back to the river and, to their profound relief, found the horses and carts just where they'd left them. Unfortunately, while they were still on the small byway where they'd left them, they heard another pair of guards approaching.
Once again, it seemed the gods were smiling on the merchants: the guards turned off the broader avenue before reaching their alleyway. But it was clear to Lark that she couldn't evade the Fal'Borna forever. She didn't know the city well enough, and though Antal did, so long as they remained together, they would be easier to spot.
"Maybe I should just go to them," she said. "Give myself up."
Antal shook his head vehemently. "No. They'll kill you. You've been trading with the Fal'Borna long enough to know their ways. You'd be better off…" He trailed off, gazing toward the water.
"What is it?" she asked, twisting around, trying to see what he was looking at.
"I was going to say that you'd be better off throwing yourself in the river. But maybe that's not such a bad idea after all."
"The river?"
"It's deep here. Too deep to cross. But if we can stay by the river and get to the north end of the city, we might have a chance. It's still deep, but not as."
"How do you know?"
"I used to work the trading boats between here and the Ofirean. I have some knowledge of these waters." He climbed onto his cart and took up the reins. "Follow me," he said. "And try to keep your animal quiet."
Lark nodded and whispered a soothing word to Ashes before climbing into her seat and starting after the man. By this time it was growing dark, and the lanes by the quays were narrow and poorly lit. Again, though, Antal's knowledge of the city served them well. He navigated the alleys and byways confidently, and Lark surrendered all to faith and simply followed. They had no more near encounters with guards, but they could hear shouted warnings in the distance. Occasionally they also heard low conversations coining from the quays or the ships moored there, but whoever was speaking didn't seem to notice the merchants.
After some time Lark asked, "How much farther?," taking such care to keep her voice low that she wasn't even certain Antal had heard her until he swiveled in his seat to look back at her.
Before he could say anything, however, a streak of fire blazed overhead. An instant later, a second beam carved through the darkness at a different angle, and then a third. At the same time, more voices rose from the city. These were nothing like the shouted litany of the Fal'Borna soldiers. People were screaming in terror, crying out in pain.
"What is it?" Lark asked, her voice rising as well.
Antal just shook his head. Shafts of flame continued to arc above them, and a baleful orange glow began to illuminate the low clouds. Fire. The city was burning.
The smell of burning wood reached her and a moment later something else. Flesh. She gagged. She heard a strange moaning sound and then the rending of wood. It seemed that the city was being ripped apart.
"Magic!" she called to Antal. "It's all magic. The fire, the buildings-"
Before she could say more, Ashes reared, kicking out his front legs and neighing in terror. Antal's horse did the same.
"Easy, Ashes!" Lark called to her beast. "Easy!" But the animal continued to rear and kick. They were in yet another narrow lane, and Lark feared that the animal would hurt himself. Antal struggled to control his horse as well.
"Off your carts, dark-eyes!"
Lark twisted around, still struggling with the reins as Ashes continued to buck.
There were six of them, all men, all Fal'Borna from the look of them. Four of them held long blades; the other two were unarmed, although Lark wasn't sure that really mattered with sorcerers.
"I said, get off your carts!"
They weren't soldiers. Most likely they had come from the quays. But Lark felt certain that they had heard the warnings.
Ashes reared again, drawing her gaze once more. "I can't get off until I calm my horse," she said over her shoulder. "If you can calm him, great. Otherwise you'll just have to wait."
Almost immediately the two horses began to calm down.
Lark took a long breath.
"Now," the Qirsi said. "For the last time, get off your carts."
Slowly, Lark and Antal climbed down from their seats and turned to face the men.
"Eandi merchants," the Fal'Borna said grimly. "I don't know what you've done to my city, but we're going to find out."
Chapter 4
The men led Lark and Antal away from the river, up a hill, to the marketplace. Bolts of flame still streaked across the night sky, and smoke drifted among the buildings, stinging Lark's eyes and nose. She could still hear the shattering of wood and glass. Winds whipped through the city streets, seeming to come from every direction at once. Ashes, though calmer than before, remained on edge, his ears laid flat as he shook his head impatiently again and again. In part this was due to the fact that a Fal'Borna had led him through the lanes to this point. He was a fairly docile beast, but he didn't like to be handled by anyone other than Lark. Even so, he was behaving oddly. Whatever magic had been unleashed by the pestilence was still at work. She still heard voices; forlorn cries, moans of despair and pain. Had she not known better, she might have thought that the city was under siege.
Surveying the marketplace, Lark saw that other Eandi merchants had been brought here as well. Antal had been right to think that they weren't alone among the Fal'Borna. It seemed, though, that the others of their race were in similar straits.
"There! That one!" Looking toward the voices, Lark saw a guard pointing at her, leading several others in her direction. His clothes were stained with soot and blood, and he had a gash on his forehead, but as he drew near, she recognized the man who had questioned her earlier this day at the gate.
The man and his comrades stopped a short distance from her, seemingly unwilling to come nearer. It almost struck her as funny that they should be so afraid of her. They were the ones with magic.
"Your baskets did this," the man said, glaring at her. "You know it's true."
"I don't know anything for certain," she said, an admission in the words. "When I saw you this morning, I didn't think any of this would happen. That's the truth."
One of the other guards nodded toward her cart. "Is that one yours?" he asked. His uniform bore markings on the chest; it seemed he was an officer, a captain probably.
"Yes," Lark said.
"Are there more baskets inside?"
Sh
e nodded.
Lark knew immediately what he would do. She nearly opened her mouth to beg him to spare Ashes, but she needn't have bothered. These were Fal'Borna. As merciless as they would be with her and her wares, they would take good care of her horse. They removed the beast's harness and led him a short distance away. A moment later, her cart exploded in flame. Even expecting it, Lark started.
"My gold!" she said, remembering the leather pouch that held her coins. She'd had it with her in the tavern, but had placed it on the seat beside her when she and Antal returned to their carts. She started toward the cart, but Antal caught her around the waist.
"No! It's too late."
"That's everything I have!" She struggled to break free of his grip, but the old man held her fast.
"Please!" she sobbed. "I'll have, nothing!" She looked at the Fal'Borna, desperate now. "Can't you stop it? Just long enough for…"
The captain shook his head, a hard expression on his face. "Fire magic doesn't work that way." He opened both hands, turning slowly and glancing up at the sky, a simple motion that seemed to encompass all that was going on around them: the fires and smoke, the screams of terror. "Don't you think we'd stop these other fires if we could?"
"But my gold," she said weakly.
She saw his jaw muscles bunch.
"You won't need it."
Lark felt her knees buckle. You won't need it. Had it not been for Antal, she would have fallen to the ground.
The Fal'Borna turned to the other merchant. "What's in your cart?"
"No baskets, if that's what you mean?" When the soldier didn't respond, Antal shrugged. "Much the same as her. Blankets, cloth, a few blades, some boxes and other woodwork. But no baskets. I swear it."
The captain looked toward the gate guard, a question in his pale eyes. "She was the only one with baskets," the gate guard said. "At least that I saw."
For several moments, the captain merely stood there, eyeing Antal, as if trying to decide what to do with him.
Lark took a breath, fighting a wave of nausea. You won't need it. She felt herself going numb. But she couldn't allow what she had done to doom Antal as well. The merchant was still holding her, and now she pulled herself from his grasp and straightened. "I only met this man today," she said. "Whatever it is you think I've done, whatever vengeance you plan to exact, that's between the Fal'Borna and me. He had nothing to do with it."
"He's with you now," the captain said, his voice flat. "He did nothing to stop you. He might well have been helping you."
"He did nothing for me. We met today. We chatted, but that was all."
"They were on the river road," said one of the men from the quays. "I'd wager they were trying to get out of the city by crossing at the north end." The captain nodded once. "See to his horse."
"You're making a mistake!" Lark shouted, tears on her face. "He's just a merchant."
The captain ignored her; the other guards quickly unharnessed Antal's nag from his cart.
Lark heard the jangling of coins and, glancing over at Antal, saw that the merchant held his money pouch in his hand. Antal tried to smile, but it looked pained. "At least I have my gold," he said, tears shining in his eyes.
The Qirsi led Antal's horse over to where they had tied Ashes. In mere moments, the merchant's cart was engulfed in bright, angry flames.
"I'm so sorry, Antal," Lark whispered.
The man said nothing.
For several moments all of them just stood there, watching the carts burn. The wood snapped and popped so that glowing embers flew in all directions. Black smoke billowed into the night, buffeted by the winds so that it shifted first one way and then another until finally it mingled with the dark, pungent cloud that now hung over S'Vralna.
Finally the captain looked away from the flames and regarded the two merchants.
"Bring them," he said, turning on his heel and walking out of the marketplace.
Two guards approached Lark and, taking her by each arm, steered her after the captain. Antal walked behind her, also held by two Fal'Borna soldiers.
"Where are you taking us?" Lark called to the captain.
He cast a quick look over his shoulder before facing forward again. "To the a'laq," he said, his words nearly lost amid the wind and the screams and the desperate whinnying of horses coming from a nearby farrier shop.
The a'laq. Would he be the one to execute them? Or would he merely pass judgment and leave the killing to another?
Once out of the marketplace, Lark saw even more evidence of the damage being done by the white-hair plague. Houses were in ruins. A building seemed to tear itself apart in front of them. One moment it was standing dark and silent against the glowing sky; the next it crumbled to the ground as if crushed by some great, unseen fist. Lark heard voices calling out for help within the rubble, but the captain and his men didn't stop to help.
"Aren't you going to do something?" Lark demanded. She tried to halt, but the men holding her arms forced her to keep moving, until they were practically dragging her along the lane. "They need help!" she shouted at the captain's hack.
Finally, the man stopped, turning to stare at her. What she saw on his face silenced her, made her ashamed for having spoken at all. Rage, grief, hatred; tears shone on his cheeks. She half expected him to walk to where she stood and strike her. "If we help them, we'll be sickened as well," he said, the calmness of his voice chilling her. "There's nothing we can do."
They walked on and soon stopped in front of a large, fortified house. A stone wall surrounded the structure, and guardhouses sat at each corner as well as at the front entrance. It seemed a strange home for a Fal'Borna leader until Lark remembered that S'Vralna had been built and ruled by the Eandi long before the Qirsi took it for themselves. In all probability this structure had once housed an Eandi governor or a marshal in the Stelpana army.
"Wait here," the captain said to the guards. He disappeared through the gate, leaving Lark, Antal, and the other soldiers standing in the street.
"I'm sorry, Antal," Lark said again, knowing that she had apologized already, knowing as well that any apology she offered would be inadequate.
"Why baskets?" the man muttered in response. "What kind of evil is it that would put such an illness in baskets and send them out into the world?"
She turned to face him, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I don't know."
"Baskets," he said again, shaking his head. His eyes had a strange, otherworldly look to them, and Lark found herself fearing for the soundness of his mind.
The captain returned a few moments later, pausing at the front gate and beckoning to his men to bring the merchants forward.
"The a'laq will speak with you," the captain said. "You will remain standing while in his presence, and you will answer every question you're asked. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Lark said.
"Good. Follow me."
She remained where she was. "What's the a'laq's name?" she asked.
"You will address him as A'Laq. Now come along."
"What's his name?" she asked again.
The captain pressed his lips thin and glared at her. "P'Crath," he finally said. "Son of P'Rajh."
He turned and started walking again. This time, Lark followed.
After passing through the gate, they followed a narrow stone path to the door of the building. Two more guards stood there, and one of them pulled the door open as they approached. They entered a broad hallway that led them into a large room with a high ceiling. A small man sat in an ornate chair at the center of the room, watching them approach. He had long white hair that hung to his shoulders. In the dim light of candles and oil lamps, his skin looked surprisingly dark and leathery and his large eyes seemed to glow like golden coins. He gripped the arms of his chair, eyeing Lark as she walked toward him. The captain held out a hand, stopping her.
"This is the merchant, A'Laq. The man was with her, but he himself had no baskets."
The a'laq nodded once, never
taking his eyes off of Lark. "What's your name?" he asked.
"I'm called Lark, A'Laq. My full name is Lariqenne Glyse."
"Where did you get these baskets you sold?"
"I bought them from another Eandi merchant, east of here, near the Silverwater."
"What merchant? Give me a name."
Lark straightened and took a breath. "No."
The a'laq didn't appear surprised by her refusal, but the captain shot her an angry look.
"Answer him!" he commanded.
"Or what?" she said. "You'll kill me? You've made it clear that you intend to do that anyway. I won't doom my friends as well." She faced the a'laq again. "I've known the… the person who sold me the baskets for some years now. He didn't know what he was doing any more than I did. He certainly bears no ill will toward the Fal'Borna. Someone has done a terrible thing to your people, A'Laq. I understand your rage, your need for vengeance. But I'm not your enemy. Whoever made this pestilence used me, and they used this other merchant, as well. Killing me or him won't accomplish anything."
The a'laq stared at her for what seemed a long time. Then he nodded again, and turned to the captain. "Cut off the man's hand."
Lark gaped at him. "What!"
"A'Laq?" the captain said, clearly discomfited.
"I don't care which one," P'Crath said, his voice even. "Just do it."
"Wait!" Lark said. "You can't-"
"Be silent!" the a'laq said, his voice echoing through the chamber. Suddenly, she couldn't speak. She couldn't even breathe. It seemed that someone had wrapped a powerful hand around her throat.
"You feel that?" P'Crath demanded. "That's what we call mind-bending magic. I could command you to claw out your own eyes or to gut yourself with that blade you carry. I can command you to tell me what I want to know, but right now, I'd rather see you suffer. I'd rather see your friend here maimed. You say you understand my need for vengeance? You understand nothing! My daughter…" His voice broke on the word and he paused, then swallowed. "My girl was in the marketplace today. She bought nothing, but it seems she encountered one of your baskets. Perhaps you showed it to her. Perhaps it was someone else; someone she knew, someone she trusted. It doesn't matter. She's sick now. She can't eat or drink." He opened his hands and stared at his palms. "Fire pours from her fingers, and she can do nothing to stop it. She's new to her power-it can't be more than two or three turns that she has been wielding any magic at all. Now it will kill her. And you say you understand my need for vengeance?" He looked at the captain again. "Cut off the man's hand."