by J. L. Doty
He was browsing through the stalls at the center of the square, thinking he might find some little trinket for Annaline with the few pennies he had. He stopped at one stall to look close at some small amulets. He could sense the stall’s owner hovering nearby in anticipation of a sale. He looked into the man’s face to ask his prices, and was suddenly struck by terror, for he was looking at a face that would always make Rat’s heart jump, a man whom he remembered as the cruelest of the vendors, with a sharp throwing rock always at hand.
Rat back-stepped quickly, eyes wide, looking for the safety of a nearby shadow.
“Is something wrong, your lordship?” the man asked.
Rat, still back-stepping, stumbled over someone. They both fell to the ground in a tangled heap. Rat stood, ready to run, but found instead poor Mathal sprawled at his feet.
She looked up fearfully. “Forgive me, you worship. I didn’t see you coming. Stupid me! Stupid me!” Then she began picking up the fruit he’d knocked from her hands.
“Out of his lordship’s way, old hag,” the man shouted. “You made him stumble. Be gone.”
The vendor lifted a hand to strike her, and in that instant something crawled up the back of Morgin’s spine, something alive and deadly. “Hold,” Morgin shouted angrily, feeling the power of magic sparking among his fingertips as he raised his own hand high.
The vendor froze into a fearful stillness. “It was I who made her stumble,” Morgin said. He looked into the man’s eyes. “And if you strike her—” He borrowed an expression from the first time he’d ever seen Roland in these same streets. “—then you’ll face my wrath.”
The man bowed meekly. “Yes, your lordship,” he said, then disappeared into the crowd.
Morgin was stunned by how quickly he’d been obeyed, without argument, and how, at the sound of a clansman speaking in anger, all nearby activity had ceased. He and Mathal were at the center of a sphere of silence and fear, with everyone waiting for him to make the next move. Mathal stood like a statue, half way through the motion of picking up a piece of fruit.
With an effort he suppressed his magic, crouched down beside her to help her. “Forgive me for knocking you down, Mathal. Is any of the fruit damaged?”
The incident was over. The crowd returned to its business and Mathal returned to picking up fruit. “No, your worship. It’s just fine, sir. It wasn’t that good to begin with.”
And it wasn’t. What Mathal had been hawking was, at best, the day-old stuff from another vendor. Clearly, her fortunes had declined. Not knowing what else to do, Morgin bought all her fruit. She seemed thankful for the few pennies he had. To her it was probably a small fortune.
On their way back to the Elhiyne compound he gave the fruit away to some beggars they passed. JohnEngine teased him unmercifully for wasting his money on groceries, and rather poor quality groceries at that. MichaelOff said nothing. He just looked at Morgin queerly, as if he understood there was something more to Morgin’s actions than he and JohnEngine knew.
~~~
“She was kind to you, was she?” AnnaRail asked.
“Oh yes,” Morgin said. “She always let me steal fruit. She pretended not to see but I know she did.”
“And now you say she has fallen on hard times?”
“It must be that,” Morgin said. “She’s a walking vendor with no stall, selling in the center of the square. That’s the worst that can happen to a vendor. The others look down on the walkers and treat them badly. Can’t we do something for her?”
AnnaRail, busy with some preparation for Annaline’s wedding, looked up from her work thoughtfully. “She was kind to one of my sons when he was in need. Therefore, I must be the same with her. Let this be a lesson to you. The obligations of a single clansman are the obligations of the entire clan. If she is willing to enter into our service, I’m sure we can find something for her to do. And if she works hard, and proves herself trustworthy, she will prosper.”
“Oh thank you, mother,” Morgin said. “But she must never know that I was once Rat. Never.”
“Very well, son. Now run along. I have work to do.”
The next morning Morgin found a pouch containing a considerable sum of money attached to one of the posts of his bed. There was also a note that read:
Son:
Your mother says you gave your money in a kindness. Here is some to replace it. It may seem a great deal, but it must last you while we are in Anistigh. I’m proud of you. But remember, there is such a thing as too much kindness.
Roland.
Morgin found far more money in the pouch than he’d spent on Mathal’s fruit. He tucked it away and felt proud, but he quickly learned he wouldn’t have an opportunity to spend any of it. Avis appeared with a message from Olivia. He was to dress in his best and attend her immediately.
It was a group interview with Brandon, DaNoel, JohnEngine, NickoLot, and himself. MichaelOff was too old for such, and Annaline was too busy preparing for her wedding, but the rest had to endure a morning-long quizzing in the details of inter-clan relationships.
Olivia’s interest centered primarily on the four tribes of the Lesser Council: the first, fourth, eighth, and ninth tribes of the Shahot, ruled respectively by the Houses Tosk, Penda, Elhiyne, and Inetka. Each tribe was autonomous in internal matters, but turned to the council to arbitrate intertribal disputes. Historically, House Elhiyne had led the Lesser Council and continued to do so by consent of the Lesser Clans, as well as by virtue of Olivia’s power.
Annaline’s future husband, SandoFall, was an Inetka, as had been Marjinell. There were strong bonds between Elhiyne and Inetka, and both tribes would use the wedding as an opportunity for celebration, so attendance would be heavy. But since it was not a wedding of great importance, Houses Tosk and Penda would only be lightly represented.
Of the Greater Council only a single representative would be present: Valso, a prince of House Decouix, heir to the throne of King Illalla of the third tribe. Valso, of course, traveled with a retinue of twelve twelves, and for protection had brought along as many Kullish armsmen. The Kulls were known for their loyalty to House Decouix, their fighting ability, and their cruelty.
The Greater Council was composed of three tribes: the third, eleventh, and twelfth tribes of the Shahot, ruled by Houses Decouix, Rastanna, and Vodah. Unlike the autonomous tribes of the Lesser Council, those of the Greater were under the singular rule of House Decouix, which was, in turn, ruled by Illalla. Some said it was this unity that had made theirs the Greater Council.
It was well known that the Greater Council would like nothing more than to see the Lesser abolished. But by virtue of the distances involved the Lesser was able to maintain a partial independence in its rule. However, tithe was paid yearly to the Greater Council, a tithe of gold in lieu of blood.
The capital city of the Greater Council was Durin. Unlike Anistigh, Durin was a walled city, with castle Decouix at its heart, and capable of withstanding a long siege. The Greater Council liked to believe that Durin had not the slums nor poor of Anistigh, but those who had seen both said they were quite similar. Unlike the Lesser Council, the Greater had been known to rule its territories with a mailed fist, crushing any opposition that might arise. And it was often a Lesser Clan, bold enough to stand forward openly, upon whom the mailed fist fell.
All of this Morgin had learned long ago, then forgotten as quickly as possible. Olivia’s morning-long grilling had served its purpose, reminding the children of the facts of inter-clan relationships, and emphasizing that now they would need to put that knowledge to use.
At the end of the interview Olivia dismissed everyone but Morgin. She demanded he attend her at luncheon, where he met several guests from Clan Inetka, among them SandoFall and the clan’s leader Wylow, a large, boisterous, bearded man whom Morgin rather liked. Olivia chose to call Morgin by his family name, AethonLaw, and used every opportunity to brag of its possible import. The whole affair bored Morgin terribly, and he had trouble staying awake.
When it was over he learned he was not yet free to enjoy the sights of the city. There was a banquet that evening at the Inetka compound, and all family members were required to attend. And after he met the Pendas and Tosks he had to be content with JohnEngine’s account of his afternoon adventures.
The next morning he awoke early, hoping to be gone before Olivia found something to detain him. But alas, Avis met him with a message to attend Malka, and once the message had been delivered he could not deny receiving it. They spent the morning with BlakeDown, High Lord of Clan Penda, and between BlakeDown and Olivia, Morgin sensed a subtle but constant sparring, as if they were ever at odds in some way. Morgin was dismissed from their conference quickly though, and had to spend the morning entertaining BlakeDown’s youngest daughter, a girl about his own age who was quite pretty, but had a tendency to giggle and twitter. And then one of Olivia’s interviews filled the rest of the afternoon, and another banquet filled the evening. Again Morgin had to be content with JohnEngine’s stories.
The third day saw another morning-long quizzing by Olivia, and the afternoon filled by a meeting with Valso et Decouix. The Decouix prince was a young man, only a few years older than MichaelOff. He was handsome, with dark, almost delicate features, though Morgin noted that his tunic did not lack muscle to fill it, and his eyes were as hard as the edge of a sword. But oddly, for the first time, Olivia chose to call Morgin “Morgin,” with no mention or bragging of the name AethonLaw. And once introduced, he was almost wholly ignored.
He returned to the family compound that evening and learned there was another banquet scheduled. After further inquiry he found it would be attended exclusively by the elders and him, with none of his brothers or cousins present. He spoke with Avis and learned that his time for the next two days was fully occupied, with all arrangements made by Olivia, and he began to suspect a conspiracy.
He sought out Olivia. He was feeling the first touches of anger, though he was determined that it would not show. Expecting to gain nothing, but curious to hear her response, he asked if he might be excused from the banquet that evening.
“I’m sorry, child,” she said. “But that’s impossible. PaulStaff, leader of the Tosks, wishes to meet you.”
“PaulStaff met me two days ago,” Morgin said flatly.
She wasn’t ready for that. “So he did. So he did. But I wish you to be there. The younger generation of House Elhiyne must be properly represented.”
It sounded hollow and Morgin recognized it for the lie it was. “But it’s someone else’s turn tonight.”
She put on a show of tolerant displeasure. “But I require you, and not someone else.”
“But you’ve required me day and night for three days now. It’s not fair.”
“Of course it’s not fair. What does fairness have to do with this? I require your presence. You will be there.”
“But I want some time of my own. I want to see the city.”
She leaned forward menacingly, staring at him without blinking. “And why would you wish to see the city? It is a city, nothing more.”
“But you’re wrong,” he pleaded. “There are a hundred things to see and do, a thousand. Everyone else gets to. And you’re not being honest with me.”
She rose angrily from her seat, and he realized then that he’d gone too far. “How dare you?” she cried. “You accuse me of lying when you no doubt have nothing on your mind but gesh.”
Morgin started. “Gesh?” he asked, trying to understand what that had to do with their argument. “Gesh?” he asked again, and then comprehension struck him like a fist. He wanted no gesh. He needed no gesh. He screamed the word at her. “Gesh!”
Suddenly he understood it all. Suddenly he realized that there could never be any trust for Rat the bastard whoreson, and with that realization came a flood of hot anger. “You think I want gesh? You think I’ll head straight for the gesh? You have so little faith in me? Why . . . I haven’t thought about gesh in . . . in I don’t know how many years. And you think I’ll lie and deceive to get it now?”
For the first time in his memory her face showed indecision, and in the instant of silence that followed his words he turned his back on her, turned without another word and stormed out of the room.
“Come back here,” she shouted after him. “You haven’t been dismissed.”
He continued walking, refusing to be cowered, though he could hear her calling after him, “Come back here. I command it.” But the twists and turns of the hallways in the Elhiyne compound quickly muffled her anger.
Chapter 7: In the Company of Rogues
Morgin marched straight for the room he shared with JohnEngine, grabbed his pouch of money and turned to leave. But as he did so he caught sight of himself in a mirror, dressed in the finery of a highborn clansman. Quickly he changed into something more suitable for the streets: loose fitting breeches tucked into knee-high boots, a course, gray, linen shirt beneath a sleeveless leather jerkin. He tied the pouch to his belt, then headed for the street, allowing his anger to guide him, and caring nothing for the direction it chose.
It was early evening when he left the compound, but by the time he stopped to think what he was doing it was well after dark. He’d spent the time storming through the streets surrounding the market square, seeing nothing because of his blind rage, and remembering anew those memories long forgotten.
There was no desire for gesh, just anger at the damn witches. His rage was gone, burned off by hours of walking, but the anger was still there, and would remain for a long time to come, fueled by the realization that he would always be Rat the whoreson, one not to be trusted.
As the rage dissipated he took stock of his situation. He was on an unpaved street, with a continuous line of low stone buildings on either side. The only illumination was a quarter moon and an occasional crack of light from beneath a closed door, but that was sufficient to see small objects in the street, and to make visible each alley as a dark, dim entrance to nothingness.
From a past life he could vaguely remember this street, or at least he remembered the direction to the market square, and it was not the one he was now walking. He stopped in the middle of the street, turned about to return to the compound. But his eye caught a shadow disappearing into the darkened recess of a closed doorway. He looked carefully, and in the moonlight he saw several dark shapes freeze into stillness. One of them was no more than a few paces from him.
He began backing slowly up the street, watching the shadows to see which were more than just shadows. His heart pounded in his throat, and in the space of ten heart beats ten shadows stepped purposefully into the street. They were all about him.
There was a noise, the sound of steel sliding clear of a sheath, and for the first time he realized he was unarmed. He hadn’t thought to take a sword when he’d left the compound in the light of day, and now, because of his thoughtlessness, he would be found tomorrow laying in some alley with his throat cut.
Two more blades slid clear of their sheaths, the links of a chain rattled and the shadows advanced.
Morgin back-stepped. His mind raced as he muttered a spell of confidence, then followed it quickly with one to banish fear, but then an eleventh shadow stepped out unexpectedly behind the others. The eleventh shadow drew a blade. There came a hiss as steel sliced through the air, and a painful cry as one of the ten shadows collapsed in the street. And then the street erupted in pandemonium as the eleventh shadow danced death among the ten. Four of the ten were down and sprawled on the street when the newcomer broke from the pack and ran past Morgin. “Follow me, boy,” the stranger shouted, “fer yer life.”
Morgin followed the man without hesitation as they both ran haphazardly through the streets and alleys of the city. Morgin knew the game well: cut through an alley and out into the street beyond, down the street a ways, then through another alley. It was Rat’s game the stranger played, and Morgin followed obediently, but as they cut into the next alley Morgin realized suddenly
with Rat’s memories that it was a mistake. “No,” he cried too late. “It’s a blind alley.”
They both dug in their heels desperately and spun about. But they were too late, for their pursuers had already blocked the entrance to the alley and were advancing toward them. They were trapped.
“Damn!” the stranger swore. “We’ll have to fight. You got a blade, boy?”
But when Morgin gave no answer the stranger looked about suddenly and discovered that Morgin was gone. “Damn coward,” he muttered, then turned to face the oncoming enemy alone.
But he wasn’t alone. Morgin had reached for his greatest weapon: the nearest shadow, melting into it with ease. Suddenly he was at home, floating from shadow to shadow as it seemed the gods had intended for him.
The stranger backed down the alley as the six dark shapes advanced. Morgin waited while they moved past him, then stepped out behind them, waving his arms silently so the stranger would know he was there.
The stranger moved first, cutting high with his sword at their faces. Morgin launched himself at the backs of their knees in a full body block, sprawled in a tumble of angry men. In the press of bodies he found the hilt of a blade that someone had dropped, curled his fingers about it then rolled out of the chaos just as a chain hissed past his face. He disappeared again into shadow.
It was not a good blade, not for Morgin. Its balance was wrong. It was too short to be a sword, too long to be a knife, but it was a weapon, and any weapon was better than none.
Two more shadows went down. Not dead, because he could hear one groaning and see the other trying to crawl away. There were four remaining and the stranger fought among them with the grace of a dancer.
Another went down with a cry, clutching his crotch where a moment earlier the stranger’s boot had found a target. The three remaining tried to surround the fellow, but as one moved past Morgin’s shadow he stepped out and his training took over. He knocked the man’s weapon aside and drove home the blade with all the force he could muster.