Mareen waved her words off as if of no import. “See to it. Merek and I will give you all the gold you need. Well,” Mareen said after a slight pause. “I guess that’s it.” She clapped her hands together. “The clock is ticking. We’ve only a handful of weeks until winter is over. The Shades are already coming out of hibernation. We can’t afford to let the perfect distraction pass us by. By the way, thank you for that idea Aeryn. Using the Voice’s own God against them? Positively devilish.”
Sensing a dismissal, Aeryn rose and headed toward the door alongside Merek, wondering how she could have ever despised Lady Mareen.
“Asher,” Mareen said, “you stay. If you haven’t forgotten, we have some things to discuss.” Aeryn looked back to see Asher begin to balk. He was cut off as if by a sword from a withering look from his mother.
Yes, Aeryn thought, grinning inwardly at the sight of Asher melting back into the chair, Mareen is definitely my favorite Lady.
Mareen became even more likeable over the next few weeks. First, there was the subtitle increase in “drivers”, “porters”, and hulking male “servants.” All that had short swords and knives stored or strapped somewhere inconspicuous.
Then there were the swelling number of social calls by the Lords Cedric and Piebald and their Ladies. Those were just the nobles that Aeryn knew by name. Many others that she knew only by sight came and went to Mareen’s mansion. Mareen was half Queen of rumor and gossip, half spymistress.
Aeryn’s favorite part had been visiting The Gilded Lady. Not on behalf of herself of course, but on behalf of a dirty-minded old Lord Cedric. At first, the rent girls had been skeptical, but a flash of silk, a glimpse of gold, and a few carefully worded phrases had them practically running to the Lord’s arms. Escorting Marlyn through the Lord’s Gate to Lord Cedric’s estate was the best part of all; the buxom girl had complained bitterly about her normal clients the entire way. Aeryn had gleefully imagined the heartbreak it would have caused Jins to hear Marilyn calling him a “tiny, limp-noodled oaf.”
Finally, and hitting closest to home for Aeyrn, Mareen, true to her word, used her contacts to find Aeryn a dedicated baker. A baker that supplied only to Aeryn, and sold, for a copper a loaf, only to the street urchins that visited. The coppers were far from enough to pay for the raw ingredients, much less the baker’s services, but Aeryn did not use them for that. Instead, they went to the Bigs to stand at the door and keep everyone orderly and in line. Mareen’s coin went to pay the baker. That and an additional hefty fee for “full exclusivity.”
The Bigs also prevented opportunists from lining their pockets with bread, making suspiciously many visits, or taking advantage of the Littles. Most surprisingly, Katelyn, always wrapped in Aeryn’s shawl, had showed up with one of the dead Shades’ daggers tucked into the folds of her threadbare clothes. She had and promptly set to using her shrill voice to keep the other urchins in line. Often Katelyn could be heard a full block away, berating a would-be thief for exploiting “Lady Aeryn’s kindness and generosity.”
The vast majority of those called down by Katelyn hung their heads in shame and behaved from then on out. As for the others, well, the Bigs took care of them. Aeryn even heard on occasion of Katelyn whipping out the plain steel dagger and brandishing it as though she knew how to use it.
The only problem Aeryn encountered on her end was the ever-increasing presence of Shades prowling the streets, always surrounded by a tight knot of soldiers, there to “keep the will of Nameless.”
Aeryn could not do much when they strode beneath the sun. Not without carelessly risking everything. She could however, do something about those that lurked about beneath the moon. Could and did. Jynx, Merek, and even Asher, helped in no small part. They fought when they could, and ran and misdirected attention when fighting was out of the question.
Arriving a few weeks later, longbow strapped to his back, massive knife hanging from his belt, and as always, a solid, no-nonsense attitude stamped onto his face, Gerald was a wild and rough force of nature. When he was not buying rounds of drink for various sellswords in one tavern after another, or stirring up tales of heroes and false gods, he was a one-man army, able to quell a fight—or start, then promptly finish it—with one look. Aeryn actually began to think of him as half strong-armed bear, half stalking wolf.
It was early in the spring, the day before Nameless’ anniversary gala, that the clock finally ran out. Aeryn had been in Mareen’s sitting room staring into her wine cup, wishing to be elsewhere while trying not to pay attention to the frivolous conversation of a dozen well-endowed, silk-garbed Ladies when a shriek jerked her head up.
“My rug! My favorite rug!” Mareen’s voice thrummed.
A messenger hastily backed away from the overturned cup as three serving girls swooped in to clean up the mess. Belittling her size, Mareen jumped to her feet to avoid the seeping liquid that stained everything in its path beyond repair. Mareen knocked the table stand in the process sending a pitcher of wine and a platter of bread and cheese flying in every direction.
Like clucking hens realizing a wolf had just entered their barn, the other Ladies hopped to their feet, clutching the hems of their dresses. One even vaulted onto her chair in a very unladylike manner while another looked at her soiled dress, tears brimming in her eyes.
“You,” Mareen said, outstretched arm pointing squarely at Aeryn’s chest. “This is all your fault.”
“What?” Aeryn said, confused. “How is this my fault?” She had not even been part of their boring conversation, let alone anywhere near Mareen’s goblet.
“If you had not distracted me with your complete and utter lack of respect, none of this would have happened.” The other Ladies in the room began awkward attempts at a stealthy retreat. Mareen was practically quivering with rage. “That was my favorite rug. Now it is ruined. Ruined!” She made it sound akin to torture.
“What the bloody hell are you flapping your fat lips about?” Aeryn shouted back. She did not know what had snapped inside Mareen’s head, but she did know one thing: she would not be the woman’s scapegoat. Especially when Aeryn was laying her neck on the block for the woman. And they had been getting alone so smoothly as of late too. “I did nothing. Just because your fingers are too fat to hold your wine cup doesn’t mean you have the right to blame me.” Aeryn saw no few of the other Lady’s faces flash red and avert their eyes, desperate for a way out.
“Out. All of you,” Mareen said. She swept the room with her eyes, encompassing the Ladies as well as the servants still bustling around with rags and soapy water. “Now.” They were all too happy to oblige and scurried away in a heartbeat.
“What is wrong with you?” Aeryn demanded.
Mareen responded at the top of her lungs. “My favorite rug. My favorite dress. My favorite everything! It’s all ruined. All of it!” Aeryn felt as if she was watching a street artist perform the way Mareen waved her hands this way and that.
“What—“ Aeryn began to repeat.
With the click of the door, Mareen was all self-control and narrowed eyes. She raised her fat fingers to her lips. “Be quiet and listen. We haven’t much time.”
Aeryn felt her head spin. What was going on? She asked as much.
“This was the only way I could get you alone at such short notice without drawing too much suspicion. That messenger that came in a minute ago brought word that they are onto us. We have to move. Now.”
“What?” Aeryn’s mind was still reeling at the sudden change that had overcome Mareen.
“They,” Mareen jabbed a finger in the rough direction of the Protector’s Gate, beyond which the Shades and Voices lived, “are onto us. We have to move. Now. Today. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“What?” Aeryn felt like a broken music box, repeating that single word over and over again. Her mind began to catch up and she shook her head. “No, no, no. We can’t move tomorrow. The anniversary celebration only starts tomorrow.” The plan was to wait until the end of the month-lon
g celebration of Nameless’ thousand year rule when everyone was nice and pliable after a month of ale-soaked revel-making.
Mareen shook her head in turn. “That letter was from Asher. Delivered directly to my doorstep. Do you know what that means?”
Aeryn’s stomach sank. “It means the Voices are on to him.” This was bad news indeed. If the Voices were onto him, it would only be a matter of days, hours perhaps, before they decided to ‘investigate’ his mother. Merek, as Asher’s one-time father-in-law, would be next on the list. If they did not move now, they would never be able to. “I need to get word to Merek,” Aeryn said and turned to leave. The sooner the better.
“Aeryn,” Mareen said.
Aeryn turned back. “What?”
“This is going to hurt.”
“Hurt? What are you talk—“
An open palm whistled through the air, landing on Aeryn’s cheek with an explosive crack that nearly unhinged her jaw.
“Now get out of my house!” Mareen bellowed.
Aeryn understood the slap had been to make their argument convincing, but did the woman have to put her entire body weight behind it? Rubbing her cheek, Aeryn opened the door to leave. Like little girls, no fewer than half the Ladies were standing in the hall outside the door. One actually had her ear pressed to the door and nearly fell into the room as it vanished. At least they had the decency to look mortified when they saw Aeryn. Or more likely, when they saw the stormcloud that was Mareen, hands on her hips and glaring at the gaggle of hens.
Aeryn sighed. Apparently the force had been necessary. The Ladies would see through anything less. At least it gave her a good excuse to run all the way back to Merek’s instead of waiting for her driver to hitch horses to her carriage.
“Gods! What happened to your face?” Merek asked as Aeryn burst into his study.
“You can’t just barge in here,” Reeve said from his position beside the desk.
Aeryn faced the chamberlain. “Get. Out.”
Reeve must have seen something in her eyes, for he did not even pause to double check with Merek before hurrying from the study.
She turned back to Merek. “We have to move. Now”
“What?” Merek asked, setting his quill down.
Aeryn actually laughed aloud, earning a disapproving frown from Merek. Here she was, a street urchin, standing at the precipice of a thousand year old cliff preparing to jump off of her own volition.
“What?” Merek demanded.
“Asher has been discovered.”
Aeryn began laughing even harder as Merek jumped to his feet, overturning his writing table to and send ink splashing to the floor just like Mareen had only minutes before.
The laughter became loud enough that Aeryn had trouble breathing. Gods, what the bloody hell were they doing?
21
Nameless Speaks
The carriage rumbled to a stop beneath the just-rising sun. Aeryn’s hands began to sweat. Rubbing them off on her plain white robe, she went through the calming exercises Gerald had taught her some months ago. His words, whispered to her while they had watched a giant grizzly bear forage for food not ten paces away, fluttered back.
“Control over yourself is the only constant. That bear may charge, or it may not. Either way, control is the key. If it charges and you are not in control of your fears, you will turn and run and the bear will run you down and kill you. If it doesn’t charge but you are not in control of your body, your breathing, scent, and subtle movements alert it to your presence. Without control, you may as well serve yourself up on a flat rock, for you certainly do not have the fleet speed of a deer, the quiet stealth of a cougar, the farsighted soaring of an eagle, or,” he gestured to the bear as it gutted a fallen dear with one paw, “the crushing strength of a bear.”
Control. That was what she needed now. The driver opened the door. Both Aeryn and Merek stepped out to examine the “broken” axle.
A wren warbled in the distance.
Merek watched as the knot of soldiers bore down on them, and steadily grew larger. In its center walked three faded grey outlines at triangle points about an empty space.
Aeryn stared at that empty space, wanting to Drift, but knowing that would only make things worse. Drifting at this time of day was like walking around blindfolded—which was exactly why Voices were always surrounded by successive layers of Shades and soldiers when the sun was overhead—it would also give away their most previous advantage: surprise.
“Where is that blasted woman?” Merek muttered under his breath. Even as he spoke, another carriage rolled into view, gaining fast on the knot of soldiers. A score of laden porters, hunched double under the weight of thick chests hefted between them, followed a few paces behind.
Aeryn and Merek stepped forward from their carriage, which was blocking the path of the soldiers, Shades, and Voice.
“Ho,” Merek said with an upraised hand. “Our axle has snapped. Might you gentlemen help lift our carriage? It’ll only take a second and would be mighty helpful while we await the wheelwright.”
“Step aside,” said the closest soldier, obviously an officer by the knots of rank adorning his shoulder. “You’re holding up a Voice and his Shades.” Behind him, the other carriage rolled up, effectively penning them in place.
Merek squinted. “A Voice you say? I don’t see any Voice. I suppose those three gray mists could be Shades. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. How do I know you aren’t playing a trick on an old Lord?”
“If he won’t move, Captain,” said a disembodied voice, “make him move.”
“You heard the Voice,” said the Captain. He and half his men drew swords and stepped forward.
Merek raised his hand and pointed at the Captain. “One,” he said loudly. The officer stopped, obviously confused. Merek moved his hand to point at the soldier at his side. With one less knot on his shoulder, he was likely a Lieutenant. “Two.”
The officers looked at each other in confusion. Wide-eyed surprise took its place an instant later as a broad-fletched pilehead arrow drove through each of their necks. Armor clanking as they collapsed to the ground, neither had uttered so much as a gasp in shock.
Before the rest of the company had registered that their commanders were dead, another pair of arrows hit home, and dropped two more armored soldiers. Swords hissed from the remaining sheaths as two more fell. Their hesitation to look around for the concealed archers cost their company two more.
The shouts began. The Voice, fully Drifted and blind as a bat in the daylight, demanded an explanation from the Shades, who themselves desperately struggled to reassert order amid the now leaderless company.
Merek drew his sword and stepped forward. Aeryn followed at his side with a shorter, lighter version she had had Ty forge for her. Having emerged from the second carriage opposite, Asher was already hacking his way forward. It was over in seconds.
“Hurry,” Merek said. “We haven’t much time.”
The porters dropped their chests to the ground, kicked half of them open, and then ripped off their servant’s garb to expose leather armor glinting with steel rings. Helmets, swords, maces, and knifes came out of the chests, to supplement the ones pulled from the dead and dying.
Aeryn sprinted back to the carriage and grabbed a cloth sack from under her seat. Inside, she pulled out an incredibly simple, worked metal cone that widened from the size of her fist at one end to a full foot across at the other. She threw it to Asher.
Before the sun had travelled half a hand through the sky, a new knot of soldiers walked through the Lord’s Gate and into the square beyond. The only difference was that this knot contained Aeryn, Merek, and Asher; the former disguised as Shades, the latter as none other than Nameless himself.
“Quite an audience,” Merek whispered.
“The more the better, right?” Aeryn said, drawing in a breath as she saw the crowd array before her. From street urchins and merchants to nobles, shopkeepers and bare-chested sailors, it seemed
the entire city had turned out.
“Quiet,” Asher hissed, giving Aeryn and Merek a withering glare. “Or you’ll ruin everything.” Fully Drifted into the Etheric Plane, no one could have seen the motion but another Shade or Voice. And of course Aeryn and Merek, who were partially Drifted as well.
Flanking Asher, the now day-blind former-Shade, Merek and Aeryn led him up and onto the raised dais at the fore of the crowd.
The soldiers—who Merek, Mareen and a dozen other Lords and Ladies’ gold had commissioned—deposited the remaining four chests at the leading edge of the dais, far enough forward that a good kick would send their massively heavy contents toppling over. They then retired to the edges of the platform where they stood at rigid attention, their eyes continually scanning the gathered crowd.
Merek stepped up to the front. The crowd hushed, thinking him a Shade. “We gather here today in celebration of the one thousandth—“
The crowd roared to life. Men pumped their fists into the air while women and children screamed at the top of their lungs. Merek waited for it to die down just enough that his voice would carry over all present.
“. . .one thousandth anniversary of Nameless’ glorious reign. May he live forever.”
“May he live forever,” the crowd intoned back.
“As it was then, so it is today,” Merek continued. “In return for his protection and shelter from the Shadows of the world, all Nameless asks is that you support his disciples and obey their guidance without reservation. In this. . .”
Aeryn glanced nervously over her shoulder towards the Lord’s Gate. How long did they have before word reached the real Shades and Voices of what had happened? A minute? An hour?
She tried to calculate how long it would take her to run from the pile of bodies to the Protector’s Gate and back, then subtracted the time it had taken them to get to the stage. The answer was far closer to the short end of things. But they could not go faster than they were already. If they went through the ritual rites too fast or skipped a section, the crowd would grow suspicious. If they went too slow. . .
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