by A. C. Ellas
Rak cocked his head, “You gave him this book?”
“I smuggled that tome into Koilatha.”
“Ylion, I am not sure what to say. If not for our friendship—you must know that book is hideously inaccurate?”
Forael indicated a shelf on one of his bookcases. “See those? These are the official books that my predecessor codified as the official teaching on the House of Night.” He got up and plucked one from the shelf. Its cover was much worse than the one Jisten had. “Now this is inaccurate. I thought the book I smuggled in was more accurate. It isn’t?”
Rak winced at the picture of Zotien and Katzrevia intertwined in a compromising position. “Oh, sweet night. Why not place them in a brothel? Did your predecessor not know that they are divorced?”
Forael chuckled. “Oh, you want the brothel picture? Here.” He handed Rak another book from the shelf. Even worse, this picture was clearly of coitus between the two deities.
“The book you, ah...” Rak stared at the latest book. “Oh, my...”
“I have been systematically eradicating both of these horrors from the libraries and chapels. But as they are official, I have to keep copies.”
“I would be honored if you would allow me to provide you some books to copy. The kanon, for starters and the book of rites.”
“Hmmm, I would prefer to write my own, using your references. More palatable, I would think, for my poor sun worshippers.” Forael looked off into space. “I’ll call it The Complete Guide to the House of Night.”
“To the Lord of Night... I will try to get you information on the other deities. Each service is different. You worship differently than the priestesses of Revma on their river islets, yes?” Rak set the brothel book down. “The book you gave to Jisten is an atrocious attempt to combine the dark rites and chaos magic into one, purposefully equating them together to hide the teachings of the chaos rites.”
“The book is that bad? I thought that I was being so clever by stealing that book from Xaethien.”
“You were being clever if you either wanted to become a chaos mage or if you wanted to deny the book to Xaethien, but as theology, it is worth less than wyrm dung...”
“I bet the old sadist just set me up. Bastard. Oh, forgive my language, Lord of Light,” Forael said the last part as a well-worn cliché.
“No, the book was valuable to him. It ought to be burned.”
“I’ll retrieve it from the good captain and do so. Tell him to give it to me?”
“I do not think that he will do as I ask. He thinks I did this.”
Forael’s blond eyebrows arched. “Truly?”
“The victim was a friend of his.” Rak sighed.
“Who? Nobody ever tells me anything interesting,” Forael complained.
“Kazia, Lord Maziel’s lady. She was vapid and annoying, but her family supported me. Why would I kill her? Really?”
Forael’s entire body language transformed into depression, and he looked much, much older. “Please don’t mistake my grief for assuming your guilt.”
“I do not,” Rak assured him. “I am frustrated, with the situation, and with my orders, which prevent me from just leaving like I wish I could.”
Forael stood up and took the books that he had given Rak and flung them into the fireplace in his office. The flames roared up and turned a variety of colors, none normal. Forael said, “Ah... your opinion, Thezomeh?”
Rak watched this with interest. “Very interesting. Those are not the colors I would expect.”
“Either someone is happy with me or very unhappy with me. I suppose I shall have to pray over this,” Forael said, his wry humor returning in part. “But I shall bury those ashes.”
“That depends on the Deity in question...” Rak shook his head. “Drown them. She has an affinity for earth, not water.”
“Much wiser.” Forael nodded. “Don’t lose heart, cousin, I shall speak to the good captain, and to those of the council who will listen to a windy old sun priest.”
“Windy?” Rak chuckled. “Sunny, perhaps, but windy? Ah, I suppose it is better than crazy, which my sect is usually labeled with.”
“Apparently, sermons that are longer than fifteen minutes are considered too ponderous.”
“Ah. Thanks for the warning.” Rak must have looked as mystified as he felt.
“Oh, Thezomeh, surely I have heard right that the House of Night rituals can go on for hours?” Forael asked with a small smile.
“Of course they do,” said Rak stoutly. He didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t like that. “In fact, they are supposed to go on from dusk until dawn.”
“If I could figure out how to do it, I would sit down my most recalcitrant members of the flock and make them experience it. Then, I wouldn’t be criticized for my sermons,” Forael said.
Chapter Fourteen: Nearly Friends
Rak slipped into a small room in the infirmary. Jisten had followed him silently from Forael’s office to the infirmary but again stopped outside the door to the room Rak entered.
Ketrin was sprawled on the small bed and appeared to be sleeping. Even the small bed didn’t make the child appear larger. Rak slipped up to his side and brushed his forehead with the back of his hand. They boy was warm, no longer clammy-cold, and his skin felt dry.
That quick touch was enough to bring the boy awake. Ketrin gasped and tried to scoot back on the bed but ran into the wall.
Settling himself on a stool, Rak said, “Be at ease, young man. I mean you no harm. I am come on your father’s behalf. He is worried about you.”
Ketrin’s mouth worked fish-like for a time before he found his tongue, “But yer... yer... evil. My pa not never be associatin’ with yer kind.”
The dark priest raised an eyebrow, cutting off a sarcastic response. This, from the son of a mercenary-turned-bandit? But, then, children always see the best of their parents. Instead of speaking his mind, he said, “I am no more evil than a sun priest is. It is just that I serve the God who rules when the sun is not in the sky. And your father knows that I brought you here to be healed. You nearly died, Ketrin.”
The boy’s eyes grew even wider. Rak hadn’t thought that was possible, and he wondered if those large grey eyes were going to roll out of their sockets. For a moment, he waited, but they didn’t comply with his errant thought. The boy squeaked, “Pa be knowin’ ye?”
“Yes,” Rak stated in calm agreement, a slight smile twitching one side of his mouth. “Betrin knows me. Now that we have established all of that, tell me, how do you feel this night?”
Ketrin blinked at him, expression slack. Rak blinked back, mentally reviewing his words. Was his language too advanced for the boy? He had spoken in Koilathan, hadn’t he? Now that was something he wasn’t certain of. If he’d spoken in Okyran, that would explain the look on the boy’s face.
But he had spoken in Koilathan, for a moment before he could repeat himself, Ketrin said, “I be feelin’ somewhat better, m’lord.”
“So, Thezomeh,” drawled a familiar voice from the doorway. “I hear that you are planning mayhem here in the Temple.”
Rak turned his head to regard the senior healer, Pennick, the man who had replaced Dethrian and was already something of a friend. “Yes, Iatrion. I am, as usual, up to no good... at least, your juniors remain firmly convinced of this.”
Pennick came the rest of the way into the room. “Brother Jaesper is young in his faith and very devout. He swallowed the indoctrination of childhood completely and is just now reaching a point where he can look at the grey complexities of reality calmly and logically.”
With a knowing look, Rak replied, “It is such a shock to the young ones to be forced to recognize that there are no easy answers in life. Day and Night, black and white, good and evil... such a pity that life refuses to fit into such simplistic categories.”
Ketrin made a small, surprised noise in the back of his throat. Pennick turned to the boy and said, “Ah, my apologies, young man. It was rude of us to c
onverse as if you are not here. But our differing gods ensure that we have little time to exchange pleasantries, so this does tend to happen whenever we do run across one another.”
“Don’t worry about that none, Father. I be just surprised that ye not be fightin’... do ye not be mortal enemies?”
Pennick smiled kindly. “Nay, lad. We are not enemies. We are very nearly friends.”
Ketrin’s brow furrowed. “Father, someone either be yer friend or not. How can ye be nearly friends?”
Rak barked a laugh. Pennick leaned in close to Ketrin and whispered loudly, “I’ll tell you a secret, my son. The high priest and I are friends. But because we serve opposite gods, it is more politic for us to say that we are only nearly friends.”
Eyes alight with newfound conspiratorial knowledge, Ketrin replied, “I see. Yer secrets be safe with me, Father, m’word on it.”
“Excellent,” applauded Pennick. “Now, to business. You are well enough to go. But we are already halfway through first watch, so I don’t feel comfortable just releasing you to the streets. I would like to impose upon the high priest to see you home.”
“It is no imposition,” murmured Rak.
“I not be havin’ a problem with walkin’ home. I do be knowin’ the way. And it prolly be safer fer me to not be seen with a demon, a’beggin’ yer pardon, a’course.”
“It’s not safe, my son, and the high priest is willing.” Pennick gave Rak a droll look as he said, “I do have some spare clothes you can borrow that will let you blend in with the townsfolk. Your clothing is obviously outland in addition to being very black.”
Rak’s brow drew down in consternation. “Sun colors? Me?”
Pennick regarded him with a sober expression. “I think you’d look quite striking in cream and gold...”
Rak’s eyes widened in alarm. He cannot be serious... can he? But the now-twitching corner of the Iatrion’s mouth betrayed him.
As Rak relaxed, Pennick continued, “But no, I wouldn’t dare to dress you in the colors of the Sun Lord. The clothes I am thinking of are, at best, nondescript. And they are clean.”
A short while later, Rak walked out of the Temple of Light with Ketrin holding his hand. The loaned clothes fit well enough, but he found them uncomfortable. Made of sturdy brown linen, they were well worn, and the few patches were discreet and of the same type of cloth. But they didn’t have slits for his wings, and the linen felt harsh and scratchy against skin used to silk and cotton.
Being armed with only a single short sword and the paired boot daggers made Rak uneasy. More would attract attention, first from the watch in this middle-class area, and later, in the poorer areas, from young bravos who would assume that he was trying to move in on their hard-won territory.
He was careful to choose an exit away from Vyld and Morth. Neither of them would be fooled by his change of clothing, and both would insist on following him if they saw him. With Pennick’s assistance, he’d even given Jisten the slip, though he’d doubtless have to pay for that later.
Ketrin glanced up at him as they walked. “Why do ye care if I be gettin’ home?”
“I promised your father that I would bring you home, Ketrin. I take my promises seriously.”
Ketrin asked, “How be it, that my pa be knowin’ ye?”
“Your father and I met a couple of long moons ago. Since then, he has been in my employ.”
For a time, the boy was silent. Then he said, as if working it out, “That be why we be havin’ coins? We be flat broke one night and then everythin’ be changin’...”
“Yes,” Rak agreed. Then he added, tone serious, “If you love your pa, tell no one about this. He could be in danger if he were even thought to be in my employ.”
Ketrin swallowed but nodded, “Yes, m’lord. I not be tellin’ no one, no way.”
They made it to Betrin’s small house without incident, for no one saw any reason to harass them. Rak had to admit that Pennick had been right, changing his clothes allowed him to blend in to the Koilathan crowd. That wasn’t something he’d have necessarily thought of on his own, because he was more used to the direct approach. Subtlety was optional for one who could command dragons. He left the sneaking about to those for whom it came naturally, like his Kephi husband, Tyll.
He let go of Ketrin’s hand once they were in sight of the house. The boy leaped forward like an arrow from a bow, vanishing into the hut a moment later. Rak chuckled to himself. For all of Ketrin’s brave face, the boy remained wary, even frightened of him. Betrin came out of the hut a minute after Ketrin had gone in, and his eyebrows shot up at the sight of Rak’s disguise.
Rak offered a shrug, answering the unspoken question. “The sun priests insisted. If it were just me, I would not have bothered, but I do not wish to see Ketrin attacked for having been seen associating with a dark servant.”
“Aye, that be makin’ sense. Thank ye, sir.”
“You are welcome.” Rak paused, head cocked. “I was wondering. The watch commander told me that the murder had to have been committed by an outlander. Do you have any idea why he would think this?”
Betrin started to shrug but stopped and said, “She be cut. I hear there be lots of blood. Blood brings them evil flies. No local be stupid enough to be attractin’ the flies. Local murders be with stranglin’ or clubbin’. Not cuttin’.”
“Thank you, Betrin. Go; spend time with your son. The boy is no doubt eager to talk to you.”
“Ye sound like ye be speakin’ from experience.”
“Yes, I am. I have five children back at home. My eldest is slightly older than yours, I think. Eleven.”
After a few more pleasantries and Rak was free to retrace his steps to the Temple of Light. He thought about what he’d learned, and what he hadn’t learned, since the murder, and was distracted enough that he failed to notice the gang of young toughs until they’d surrounded him. He stopped and leveled a glare at the gang’s leader.
That worthy walked up with a swagger. “Ye be in our territory, fella. Ye be payin’ our toll before ye be goin’ any further.”
Rak snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. His wings cramped in protest at their inability to mantle. “Oh, I think not. I think you had best get out of my way, unless you wish to die painfully, bleeding out all over the street.”
The gang leader stared at him like he’d never been challenged before. Well, perhaps he has not. Rak followed his words with a less subtle threat, drawing eighteen inches of fine, razor-sharp steel.
The gang leader took a step back, eyes on the short sword. “Be ye mad? Blood will be bringin’ them flies.”
Rak swept the gang with his gaze, noticing that they weren’t armed with blades but with truncheons, clubs and knuckles. “Of course I am mad. The flies do not bother me. They would not dare.” He took a step forward. “Shall we dance?”
The gang leader took a step back, face pale. Rak stepped forward again, sweeping the sword up into a basic guard position. The gang leader turned and ran, his friends taking off a moment after he did. Rak snorted at the clear street. He sheathed the sword and continued on his way.
He made it back to the Temple of Light without further incident. He slipped into the small room Pennick had loaned to him and changed out of the disguise. He stretched out his cramping wings as he neatly and compulsively folded the loaner garments. It was a relief to put his black silks back on.
Then, he went back into the infirmary, where Jisten was having hard words with the senior healer. “I am back,” Rak announced. “And I swear, I did not kill anyone.”
Jisten scowled. “For your sake, I hope not!”
“I am done here, Captain.” Rak strode out of the infirmary, down the corridor then out the Temple entirely. Vyld hadn’t wandered far and was playing with the water of the fountain, trying to bite the upward-arcing jets. The avtappi was soaking wet from his efforts but clearly enjoying himself. Vyld pranced in place as his head snaked out again, fanged mouth gaping open as he tried to cho
mp the water.
Rak chuckled at the sight. Then, he wondered where Morth had gone, for the hound was nowhere in sight.
The priest closed half the distance between the Temple steps and Vyld. Morth lunged out of the center of the fountain, howling in delight. Rak went down under the weight of the soggy hound, laughing as he tried to fend off the huge, slobbering tongue seeking to bathe his face. Morth leaped off him, and as Rak clambered to his feet, the hound shook himself, spraying Rak with canine-scented water.
He wiped the water from his face as he walked to the fountain. Vyld paused, ears cocked toward his rider. Rak reached out, redirecting one of the jets. A stream of water shot toward Morth. The hound lunged at it, snapping his formidable jaws much as Vyld had been doing. Rak turned his hands, and the stream now barreled at the avtappi. Vyld squealed in delight as he attacked it. Rak alternated between shooting the water at Morth and Vyld until all three were thoroughly soaked. Only then, still chuckling, did Rak leave off the play and mount his steed. They set off, dripping wet.
Jisten and Orste had politely kept their distance, allowing the priest to play with his beasts, though both seemed to have some trouble keeping a straight face. Their avtappi, and their uniforms, were completely dry of course.
The palace gate guard’s eyes widened at the sight of them all. “Your eminence,” the man ventured, “did you fall into the river?”
Rak shook his head, offering a cheerful grin. “No, my steed decided to play with the fountain in the plaza before the Temple of Light.”
The guard blinked, nonplussed. “Very well, your eminence.”
Rak rode through the gate, trying to stifle outright laughter. The guard probably thought that he had lost his wits.
Chapter Fifteen: Back at the Palace
Rak groomed Vyld thoroughly to get the excess water out of the beast’s hide. Nursing an ill avtappi was not a pleasant experience, so he did everything he could to prevent that. Next, he checked the water barrel and was pleased to find that it was full of clean water. He added some extra grain to the feed already on offer, gave Vyld an affectionate pat and returned to his suite, Morth trotting at his side. The hound had dried on the trip back to the palace so was now merely damp rather than soaked. He still smelled like wet dog, though.