The Questing Game f-2

by James Galloway

  She wanted him to hurt, and she would hurt him every way she could think of before she finally put him out of his misery.

  The idea of letting him live to suffer had started feeling more and more repugnant every day. Part of her liked the idea of him spending a long life in howling fury, but a more primitive part of her wanted him to suffer, then to die. She truly did not know what she would do when the time came to decide her father's fate, and fortunately that was something that she wouldn't have to decide for quite a while. No matter what she did to him in the end, before that end she wanted him to hurt, and hurt, and hurt some more, and he had to be alive to endure that. After she couldn't possibly think of another way to hurt him, then the time would come to judge his fate.

  At least in that respect, Keritanima was a pure-blooded Eram. She had a vindictive streak in her about ten miles wide. She was quite willing to tear the kingdom apart if it would bring her father the agony she felt he deserved.

  But to do that, she had to get close to her father, at least once. She had to see him up close, see him out of his robe. That would usually mean a private audience, but Damon Eram would not bring Keritanima into his presence without a few hundred witnesses around him. The alternative was easy enough to arrange. With her mind weaves and her powers of Illusion, there was nowhere in the Palace she couldn't go. All it took was sneaking in while he was in session with what few advisors he had left. In those more intimate surroundings, her father didn't wear the heavy Royal robe and crown. In those private surroundings, the stress was clearly showing on him. His fur was thinning, stress-induced shedding, and his eyes were milky and somewhat blurry. He sighed a great deal, and moved as if he weighed twice as much as he really did. Seeing him in that degenerated state didn't move her at all. To her, he didn't look bad enough. But she saw all of him she needed to see.

  Between the Royal seal she owned, her ability to mimic her father's handwriting, and her ability to create Illusions of her father, she had everything she needed to make everyone think he was going crazy.

  The morning after seeing her father was stormy. A savage line of thunderstorms had moved in from the west, dunking Wikuna under a heavy curtain of pounding rain. The skies were dark and gloomy, illuminated only by the occasional flash of lightning. It was a perfect morning to just lay in bed and listen to the thunder and the rain pattering against the glass of her window. Keritanima had always rather liked thunderstorms, finding the droning sound of the rain lulling, only to be shocked to a thrilling state of heightened awareness by the unpredictable flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder. It was a wonderful time to drift in a half-doze, where her mind could drift and ponder, then have her mind brought to reality by a flash of lightning or a peal of thunder, when her musings were bathed in the pure waters of her logical reasoning. It allowed her to think creatively, yet find the merits or flaws of those creative ideas with an ease that escaped her most of the rest of the time.

  It was one of the few times she would let down her guard. Keritanima almost always existed in a wary state of tension, and only a very few things could make her completely relax. Being in the presence of her brother and sister was one. Her apartment was another at any other time, when Binter and Sisska protected her and Miranda from the world. But with the very high stakes in the current game she played and the spies looking in from time to time, she couldn't completely relax in her rooms anymore. Only times like that time, with the soothing sounds of the thunderstorm inviting her to take a brief respite from her troubles, allowed her to completely relax and indulge a bit in life's simpler pleasures.

  She mused about Rallix. To pay off Ulfan, she had had to go see Rallix. He was all business with her, as usual, but there was something different about him now. He wasn't dealing with Lizelle, he was dealing with Keritanima, and that had a good bit to do with it, she reasoned. But there was something else, something more, something she couldn't quite put a finger on. It teased her, taunted her, nearly mocked her, but no matter how hard she thought about it, she couldn't find anything in his words or his actions to tip her to what it was. Her eidectic memory allowed her to replay the conversation over and over in her head, and she searched her memory of the conversation for any hint at what seemed to nibble at her awareness.

  It could have been the setting. For the first time, Keritanima had visited him at home. His modest brownstone was a reflection of his personality, orderly, practially furnished, immaculately clean, and decorated with an understated elegance that told the viewer of the complexity of the man who lived there. Rallix lived in that four story brownstone in the more affluent part of the city alone, without even servants, keeping his house clean on his own. He had brought her back into his parlor after she knocked on the door, giving her a chance to look around as he went to get some wine for her. He had been reading a book called Multipantheonic Theology in the Technological Age. A strange book for a merchant, a book so selective and technical that he had to have a wider educational background than she first thought. Few would read it. Fewer still would understand anything in it. She had no idea what it was about, and that was why a copy of it was sitting on her nightstand the next morning. It had been an exceptionally deep book debating the role of the gods in a world where man and Wikuni both developed machines that would lessen the world's need for magic and for the aid of the gods. It was a stunningly deep book, and its conclusions were quite thought-provoking.

  After he returned, she tried to be brief. She asked him to deliver up the other forty thousand in trade bars to Ulfan, through a front that would act as a go-between. She had arranged that before going to see him. But Rallix seemed reluctant to stick firmly to business, asking her about her time in Sennadar, about the Tower, and about her experiences there. She had been suspicious about his motives-Keritanima didn't trust anyone well enough to answer questions like that-but she kept realizing that it was Rallix who was asking. He already knew enough secrets to bury her.

  "Why would you want to know that?" she had demanded of him after he asked.

  "Because you've changed a great deal since you left, Highness," he had told her in that calm voice of his and those steady eyes. "Most of it was for the better, if you don't mind my saying so."

  She had thought about it for a moment before replying. "To put it shortly, I learned about Sorcery, I found good friends, and I did my best to keep from coming back here."

  "I read somewhere that the Sorcerers have a patron goddess. Is that true?" he had asked.

  "Of course it is," she told him.

  "Nobody knows her name," he had remarked to her.

  "And nobody will," she had replied immediately. "The name of the Goddess is known only by people who learn about Sorcery, and we're not allowed to tell."

  "What's to stop you?"

  "We had to swear an oath," she told him bluntly. "Part of it was not to reveal the name of the Goddess."

  "From what I remember of Lizelle and what I know of Keritanima, she wouldn't be very sincere about that oath," Rallix had said. "You don't hold much candle for the gods. You've told me so yourself."

  And that had been what was really annoying her about the entire conversation. Why would he choose that topic? And what had possibly motivated her response? "Well, the old Keritanima didn't, but I do," she had replied to him after a moment. It had been a statement right from the heart, tumbling from her lips of its own accord.

  It had been something of an epiphany for her, something that she hadn't realized until that morning.

  She wasn't as agnostic as she thought she was.

  She had known in her heart that the Goddess had been communicating with her, but she wouldn't admit to it to herself. It had been the Goddess that had sent her the dream, the dream that told her that Tarrin was going to be alright. She knew it was a divine visitation, but she had tried to convince herself otherwise. Always before, Keritanima had been angry at the gods-all of them-because of the horrid conditions of her own life, and the very frightening world in which she lived
. She figured that they didn't care about the world if they allowed young girls to get killed over nothing more than friendship. But then things changed. She had seen evidence of a caring god when Tarrin got help from the Goddess. She had tried to discount that, but it had wormed its way into her mind and heart. And then she had the dream, a direct act by the Goddess that did nothing more than soothe her frenzied fear for her brother. She had no real reason to do that, no ulterior motives. The Goddess had calmed her worries for no reason other than to make her feel better.

  For the first time, Keritanima realized that a god cared about her.

  The tiny seed that had been inside her had bloomed at that simple revelation. It wasn't the undying devotion that priests held for their gods, or the gentle love and willing sense of duty that Tarrin had for the Goddess. It was more of a softening of her heart for the goddess of the Sorcerers, an invitation to be wooed into a more formal relationship. She acknowledged the Goddess now, acknowledged her as the only god that Keritanima would come close to worshipping or following. A god that Keritanima could get to know better.

  Keritanima needed the drifting lull of the storm to help her sort out all her chaotic thoughts and feelings. In just a couple of days, she had set Wikuna on its ear, had been dumbfounded by Rallix, and had had a theological revelation. Intense curiosity over Rallix had started to mingle with stray thoughts about her new relationship with the Goddess, whose symbol Keritanima wore around her neck. Those thoughts were interrupted by plans for the future, plans that were dark and rather nasty, and not at all suitable to share space with the gentler thoughts of Rallix and the Goddess.

  Rallix. What a mystery that thin badger was! Her thoughts of him had only grown more intense after their meeting at his house. He was so much more than she first thought him to be. Smart, clever, well educated, urbane, well-mannered, and he was also witty and had a subtle sense of humor. For the first time in her entire life, she had started entertaining slightly unwholesome thoughts about a man. And that man was Rallix. She had never allowed herself to think about things like that before, mainly because she would never allow herself to get into a position where a man could have any power over her. Her life was just too precarious to allow any weakness.

  It was the mystery. He wasn't the man she thought he was, and because he had kept her secret for so long, it allowed her to develop enough trust in him to see him as something other than a potential enemy, spy, or snitch. That had to be it. She finally had found a man that had enough foundation in her mind to allow her to think about him in the ways young girls thought about men. The fact that he was cute had no bearing on that. Not one bit. Not even an inkling of a bit.

  Well, maybe a little.

  She found that she wanted to know more about him. He was a mystery, and her mind adored mysteries. The idea of discovering the real man beneath the shadowy image she had created of him in her mind piqued her interest. She only knew that he was about thirty, he was unmarried, and had never really talked about women or girlfriends. Then again, Lizelle didn't brook such superfluous chitchat when she was there to conduct business. The difference in their ages didn't really bother her; actually, since she was so much more mature than other women her age, an older man was more suited for her. Rallix himself was very mature for his age, possessing a business sense that was almost unnatural in one so young. They were well matched, she noticed with just a little bit of a smile. Being an intelligent woman, she wanted the same quality in a man, someone that could speak to her on her own level, challenge her mind, keep her from getting bored. Rallix seemed to be up to the task. Just the pleasure of uncovering his mystery would keep her greatly entertained.

  It was all so new to her. She had Wikuna thrashing about at the end of her leash, she discovered feelings for a god, and now she found she was starting to notice a man. And not just any man, the only man in Wikuna that was the right combination of the right things to make her notice him.

  The powerful attraction she had discovered for the man worried her. He was so, so distracting. She couldn't afford any distractions at the moment, because what she was doing was very delicate and very dangerous. The idea was to distract her father, not herself! But thoughts of Rallix just wouldn't go away. They just seemed to get worse. It seemed almost embarassing that someone with a mind as highly trained as hers would have trouble screening out thoughts about men!

  It couldn't help but make her laugh ruefully. She was doing to herself what nobody in Wikuna could do to her. Take her attention away from her plan.

  "What's got you so cheeful this morning?" Miranda asked from the other side of the bed. She too hadn't bothered to get up yet, which was normal. Court's hours were very late, starting after noon and ending around sunset, but the parties and balls that took place afterwards sometimes went until dawn. Keritanima was a late riser by some people's standards, but she was an early riser compared to the rest of the nobility.

  "Nothing, Miranda," she replied, looking up at the canopy. "I guess we should get up."

  " You get up," Miranda snorted, rolling over. "I'm going back to sleep."

  "I'll brook no impertinence from my maid," Keritanima said playfully.

  "Stick it in your tail and sit on it, Kerri," Miranda grunted, throwing the covers over her shoulders.

  "Well, I'm hungry, so I'm going to get something to eat," she announced, throwing the covers aside. "You want anything?"

  "To sleep," she said grumpily, pulling the covers over her head.

  "What's got you so cranky? You usually wake me up."

  "I had a long night."

  "You were in here."

  "You think I was in here."

  "Miranda!" Keritanima snapped. "You being in here is for your own protection!"

  "I had Binter and Zak with me," she yawned. "We left after you went to bed."

  "What were you doing?"

  "Following up on some leads," she replied. "I needed to talk to some servants in House Zalan."

  That Miranda had managed to get out of bed without waking her up was something. Usually she woke up if Miranda so much as rolled over. Had she really been that tired? "What did they say?"

  "Only that Sheba wants to keelhaul you for sticking her on the house throne," she replied. "Go eat and let me sleep, Kerri. We'll talk about it later."

  Keritanima dressed in a simple robe and slippers and left the apartments. She nodded to the guards and wandered towards the kitchens, scrubbing at her unkempt hair and shaking some burrs out of her tail. The hallways were populated only with servants, going about the morning chores, and they bowed or curtsied to her as she passed them. She received another round of bowing in the kitchen, just before a fat hippo Wikuni who was one of the kitchen's better cooks set a loaf of fresh bread in front of her. "Just out of the oven, your Highness," the large, obese Wikuni smiled. He had gray skin and no fur, with that wide, cheeky face and those large tusks coming out of his mouth. Though he was big, he had a delicate touch, and he was trained by the best chefs in Shace.

  "Thank you, Kindle," she yawned. "Could I have some boiled eggs, some scrambled eggs, bacon, rolls, some oatmeal, a bottle of chilled milk, and a few slabs of meat for Binter?" Vendari preferred their meat raw, though they could eat it if it was cooked. The thought of him gnawing at raw meat never ceased to make her a bit queasy.

  "A full breakfast," he smiled. "I was working on it before you got here, your Highness. It'll be ready in a minute."

  "Am I getting that predictable, Kindle?"

  "The menu, yes. The time you come to fetch it, no," he told her with a roguish grin as he waddled back over to the wood stove.

  Keritanima cut the heel off the loaf and set it aside, then cut a slice for herself and brought it up to her nose. Though she didn't cook the meals, she personally picked them up and delivered them because her sensitive nose could detect any foul play involved in the food. She had extensively studied the myriad poisons in use by assassins, and could detect a vast majority of them by their scents. Outside of
her inner circle, nobody knew she had the sense of smell of a fox as well as the looks. It was a secret she kept very close to her, because her ability to scent intruders, sniff out poisons, and find out by scent just where who had been and what they touched had been unbelievably useful to her. It was an advantage she really preferred not to lose. She ignored her sense of smell most of the time, so as not to act on what she was smelling and tip her hand. It had taken a long time to train herself to be able to smile and chat with a man who absolutely reeked to her nose and show no sign that his pungent odor was affecting her more than a normal Wikuni. Having animal senses was uncommon in Wikuni society, but not completely unheard of. Those who did were alot like Keritanima, keeping it quiet.

  The bread was safe. She bit off a good chunk of it and savored its warmth, waiting for Kindle to finish the meal. But the servants around her suddenly wilted away, and that was when Sheba's scent touched her nose. She looked to the side to see her, and she nearly laughed.

  Sheba was dressed in a black gown that blended with her fur well enough to make it hard to find the garment's borders. It had a string of pearl buttons up the front of the bodice, the pearls hinting that the neckline started low enough to display a goodly amount of Sheba's fur-clad cleavage. Unlike many ladies, Sheba wore a long dagger at her belt, an obvious weapon. Most ladies had small utilitarian knives or daggers, and hid their real weapons somewhere about their person. Sheba's face was screwed up in a very unpleasant expression, marring her usual beauty, and her tail writhed behind her like a dying snake. Keritanima had no real fear of Sheba, only a residual dislike for what she had done to her friends, her occupation, and her general attitude.