Commandment

by Daryl Chestney

  Lakif now had a clear view of the assailant. It was the Kulthean! It all came back to her in a stroke. The Kulthean had tracked her down! Lakif tried rolling to the side, but a stout knee fell squarely on her chest, pinning her to the slick cobblestone.

  “Easy! You won’t squirm away this time!” The voice was commanding yet nonthreatening.

  Lakif gasped for breath, for the knee was pressed squarely in her solar plexus. Her captor pulled back slightly, allowing the prisoner a fresh breath.

  “Who are you? I have no quarrel with…” Lakif stalled. Some element of the Kulthean’s face elicited a spark within the labyrinth of her mind. A distinct form materialized in the forgotten halls that stretched into the dimmest, most remote reaches of her consciousness.

  Lakif’s pupils dilated with disbelief.

  “Bael?” she called out. It was more of a shriek than a genuine question.

  The High-man flashed a wide grin. Even the gloom couldn’t conceal his pearly teeth.

  “Bael!” Lakif shouted again, almost before she was entirely certain of the other’s identity. The word was choked, and Lakif realized that she had accumulated saliva along the corner of her mouth. With that single word, the horror of her surroundings vanished in a flash.

  “On your feet, Acaanan!” The Kulthean stood and extended a hand to the fallen. His grip was solid, and with a tug, Lakif was hoisted up. No sooner had she regained her balance than the Kulthean descended on her with a hug. The hold, although inspired by affection, was ursine, forcing Lakif to gasp.

  “Are you a ghost?” Lakif reeled, dumbstruck.

  “Not yet.” The Kulthean pulled back to get a good look at his elusive prey. “Unlike your dream friends, cursed with a name I am, as well as flesh and blood. Didn’t you hear me call out to you?”

  Lakif shook her head. Apparently the Kulthean had tried reassuring her, but in her panic all his words were garbled.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Lakif squealed.

  Bael held a finger before his lips.

  “We must not speak of such things among the angry dead. They will surely try to thwart us.” He then looked over to the mutilated corpse that still twitched with animated life. “Judging from his end, the ghost would be furious indeed.”

  Lakif couldn’t focus on the mutilated carrion.

  “I knew him…I mean, I met him, several days back. He was a traveler from Clothorai. And the actor…No!” Lakif looked beyond the Kulthean. In the offing, she saw the adumbration of yet a third form suspended in the court. It hung perfectly still, weighted down by the lodestone of death.

  Bael turned to investigate the third victim. As he was about to step away, he paused.

  “Stay!” he ordered, as if commanding a dog.

  As the Kulthean perused the third body, Lakif quaked with dread. She didn’t have to see the newest victim’s face, for she somehow already knew the identity. She looked down, hoping she wasn’t standing on one of the Sidhe’s crawling fingers. A wave of alarm swept over her when she realized that a stray finger may have scurried into her cloak while she was lying down. She shook out her garments, half expecting to see a bloody digit fall out.

  “These are no gallows,” Lakif commented when the Kulthean returned. Bael’s complexion was pallid, as if he had beheld a gruesome sight. Anything that could blanch a Kulthean must be heinous indeed.

  “No, it’s far too removed from the public eye. And such mutilation…” Bael’s voice trailed off.

  “They were patrons at the Goblin Knight.” The chilling turn of events numbed Lakif. Try as she might, the Acaanan couldn’t beat down the memories that bubbled up. Images of the actor, the charitable youth who had extended the olive branch of kindness to a distraught Acaanan. Images of the Sidhe, a restless wanderer in search of truth. She hadn’t personally met the Istani but suspected he was of equal caliber. What an egregious end to such gentle men.

  A strong hand gripped her elbow, and she was suddenly reminded of the Kulthean’s presence.

  “To the inn.” Bael’s calm demeanor eased the Acaanan. “The gallows are for the dead and forgotten. Nothing of hope ever comes from a corpse.”

  As they retreated across the courtyard, Lakif repeatedly looked back toward the grisly gallows to assure herself they weren’t being followed.

  “Rest assured,” Bael commented, pointing out all the puddles coiling around the flagstones. “The dead can’t cross over water.”

  Lakif followed the Kulthean back up to the Goblin Knight. She was all too eager to leave the slaughterhouse behind. Fortunately, Vesper hadn’t sounded, and they were allowed free passage into the inn.

  As the two cleared the inner gate, Bael tapped her on the shoulder, “I’ll snare a room and stow my gear.” In anticipation of Lakif’s forthcoming question, he added, “I wasn’t sure if I would need one.”

  “I’ll accompany you. I don’t have quarters myself.”

  Lakif went to rescue her sack and learned that a waiter had stored it behind the bar.

  The Kulthean retrieved his own belongings, which consisted of a long canvas duffle bag. It was left unattended while he had pursued his skittish quarry out into the dusk. Lakif studied the Kulthean with a fine eye as he retrieved his gear. Bael’s attire was of fair quality but distinctly weathered, suggestive of a seasoned traveler. A gray cape, finely peppered with dust, draped from his broad shoulders to flirt with the floor. A russet vest, faded to light brown in spots, camouflaged a broad chest beneath. The battered leather of the high boots betrayed a man who had painstakingly scoured the city. His bag was as long as the Acaanan, but the Kulthean effortlessly hoisted it over his shoulder. More than a few patrons paused to mark his passage.

  “I can’t believe it was you looking for me!” Lakif greeted him back. She had been so shocked by the trinity of corpses that only now were the events preceding the mishap beginning to dawn on her. She felt embarrassed at the foolish contretemps that landed her in the gallows in the first place. She blushed, if such a complexion could be discernable through her tinted skin.

  “You wouldn’t believe what thoughts were racing through my head.” Lakif sighed with unrestrained relief.

  “I imagined you had pegged me as an irate bill collector.” Bael signaled for two keys. “Tracking you down was like snaring a shadow. I’m only glad you decided to return here.”

  Lakif nodded, well aware of how close she had come to choosing another inn for the night.

  The chamber master returned with the two keys. Lakif always fretted that with a late check-in, she would be denied a room. But the fear was baseless. There was nary a situation where even half the quarters of the mammoth inn were occupied.

  “Is that all you have?” Bael asked of Lakif’s modest sack.

  The Acaanan nodded.

  “I’ll meet you back here, but I need to change first,” Bael informed her. “In the interim, secure us a table and a bottle of wine.” Bael shouldered his formidable duffle bag and marched off.

  Just as the Kulthean disappeared from sight, Lakif leapt into action. She bolted toward the corner—the crack where she met with Lucretia. Her interest was not the unsightly facade, but the slender stairs nearby. She had never taken the dusty route before. She thundered up the stairs, pausing only briefly at the top to make sure her companion wasn’t within sight. She knew enough of the inn’s layout to find her new chamber without much of a fuss.

  Her room was easy enough to locate and she raced to the wash basin. She cringed at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was in cataclysmic disarray. Windblown locks were frozen stiff and dotted with smashed bugs. She lamented that this image was Bael’s first impression of her in ages. She hastily groomed herself. In fact, her entire motive for using the surreptitious stairs to the quarters was pure vanity. She knew she was a sorry sight but didn’t want to cast the impression that she was so distressed over her appearance as to require a stated grooming. With mercurial speed she combed matted moths and scrunched spiders out of
her hair and slicked it back with water. Hopefully, her companion wouldn’t interpret the aesthetic touches as a strained metamorphosis but as a considerate attention to personal detail.

  Lakif hastened back to the common room. The long day of walking wore heavily on her. Although her bones ached like those of an old woman, she found herself bubbling with youthful glee as she skipped down the steps. She arrived well before her old friend.

  She scanned the hall for a table. Normally, she would have chosen an inconspicuous spot, but because she was going to have a Kulthean for company, she elected for a highly visible venue. To her delight, she was able to appropriate one of the tables underneath the great oak. The only other patrons around were of Human stock. This mildly surprised the Acaanan, given the eclectic turnout the night she had met Lucretia. Why had that night been so special? Probably the diverse mix of customers stemmed from the fact that it had been a local holiday. This night’s gathering reeked of boredom. She commandeered the preeminent site and flagged down a harlequin for a bottle of liquor.

  The harlequin returned, armed with an authentic bottle just as Vesper tolled. Lakif felt secure that the gates would protect her, at least for another night.

  After settling up with the house, she momentarily thought about Bael’s reaction to her sack. Indeed, she didn’t claim much to her name. But all that really mattered wasn’t in that sack, but in her pocket.

  She produced the Rare Earth Stone. Its grassy light bathed her face as it slid free from the folds of her robe.

  Curiously the harlequin had brought a bottle of rum. The sight of it reminded her of Torkoth, although this was a different brand. The swordsman was nowhere to be seen. She felt the guard had split the moment he found out he was stiffed. Although she had hoped to settle up with him, she now doubted that was a possibility.

  Lakif wondered what had become of her accomplice. Her downpayment wouldn’t have covered several nights at the Goblin Knight, especially after the Half-man had spent part of it outfitting himself as a fighter. She felt not a little ashamed at her stealthy early morning exodus. It was a dastardly act. She consoled herself by the thought that the Half-man was properly armed and was not thrust out into the cruel city defenseless.

  But a soft voice began whispering into her pointed ear. It suggested that perhaps it was a boon she hadn’t run into the fighter. Torkoth and Capalos were acquainted. Apparently the actor had given Torkoth the fine tunic. But Torkoth had acquired other gifts as well. Could those two presents be from the Sidhe and the Istani? If so, was it a coincidence that all of these well-wishers were now rotting slabs of meat in the sub-court? Had Torkoth a hand in the carnage? Perhaps he had financed his nights in the Goblin Knight with coin wrenched from the bloodied pouches of the three isolated travelers. In light of the psychiatrist’s diagnosis, Lakif was now more than ever convinced that the Half-man was hiding something. Was his amnesia a charade to veil some dastardly past? If so, he was the very mayor of Potemkin village.

  As she tossed the Stone up and down, she took a long swig of the liquor. Perhaps it was a gaffe to open the bottle before Bael returned, but the Acaanan needed a stiff drink to dampen her sparking nerves.

  “Meanstaff!” Lakif snapped out of a daze to find the Kulthean standing by, his hand jostling her limp shoulder. Lakif marveled at the Kulthean’s imposing height, which was all the more augmented by the Acaanan’s seated position. Bael had referred to her by her old nickname.

  “You wear the crown of abstention?” The Kulthean smirked. “It’s ill-fitting.”

  “Pardon?” Lakif felt saliva dripping down her chin, which she cleared with a sleeve.

  “You didn’t order anything?” Bael clarified.

  Lakif looked to the table, but the bottle was gone! Her eyes pulsed with surprise. Did someone steal the bottle when she wasn’t looking? Then she noticed that her lap was damp. In fact, her entire crotch was sodden, like she had urinated in her pants. Lakif hailed a passing harlequin.

  “I ordered a bottle of rum!” she commanded. She hoped this wasn’t the same waiter who had apparently serviced her before. As the waiters were all but indistinguishable, it was a definite likelihood.

  Bael momentarily looked askew at the Acaanan and took a seat opposite. As he did so, Lakif noticed several patrons watching them with mild interest. Indeed, an Acaanan and a Kulthean so amiably disposed would present a rare sight.

  “It can’t be a coincidence that you stumbled on me here!” Lakif was quick to realign the topic of conversation. Although she was delighted to reunite with her old friend, it was obvious their meeting wasn’t adventitious.

  “What is?” Bael shook his head. “Actually, I’ve been searching for you for some time now.”

  “Why?” Lakif’s interest ripened with each word from her old friend.

  The Kulthean leaned forward and in a low voice continued. “It concerns your newfangled prize.”

  Lakif blanched at the Kulthean’s assertion.

  “Pardon?” she stammered.

  “The Rare Earth Stone,” Bael whispered.

  Lakif struggled to maintain eye contact with the Kulthean, fearing that to divert her gaze would incriminate her. How could Bael have possibly known she possessed a Rare Earth Stone? Lakif herself had scarcely become accustomed to its presence! It had only been a few days, one of which she had spent cloistered away in the Cauldrons and three others immured in her Goblin Knight quarters. Had the Kulthean followed them to Ebon Myre?

  “Why would you say…” Lakif fumbled with words. Again, she cursed her lack of an improvisational tongue.

  “I would love to claim some keen insight. But because you are in custody of a Stone, you have obviously feasted enough on lies. The truth is, as always, far more ordinary.” The High-man pointed toward the table. “I know because your Stone lies at your feet for the whole world to marvel.”

  Lakif leaned over to get a good look under the table. She was astounded to see her beloved novelty idling in a pool of spilt rum. As usual, its shimmering display tickled her eye. Lying nearby was the bottle of rum! They must have fallen from her grasp while she was absent-mindedly reflecting on Torkoth.

  A feeling of utter foolishness washed over her, and she silently cursed her carelessness. After all her work to secure the icon, to have dropped it in such an ignominious spot! And worse, to have it pointed out by her friend! The blunder humbled the Acaanan. It could have rolled off to any corner, or any passerby could have pocketed it. It was fair to say she was drowning in self-disgust.

  She realized she must be blushing, the second time since making acquaintance with Bael. Perhaps that was the natural reaction when faced with such an imposing figure.

  With casual nonchalance, Lakif rescued her prize from the puddle. As she wiped it dry, she looked doubtfully at her friend. How could Bael have appreciated the Stone’s true nature? The green light speckled his refined cheeks.

  It was then she realized the Stone’s sparkling drama was not performed for her alone. The Kulthean enjoyed its radiance as well! How she arrived at this conclusion escaped her. Nothing in his behavior betrayed such secret knowledge. But she inwardly knew. Just because ordinary people couldn’t see the imprisoned light didn’t mean that the other children of Rhoan Oak were so blinded. Those tremendous few all shared one unifying element. They all possessed the talent to yield Arcanum. As such, any of them could be lured by a Rare Earth Stone. And Bael was chief among them all.

  But now Bael knew she possessed a Stone! Lakif had mixed feelings about this. The Stone had been her own private secret. The scaffolding of her mind had elevated the treasure to untold heights. Like any secret that leaks out, the treasure’s value seemed now debased, its luster dimmed in her eye. But at the same time, she was relieved at the revelation. The High-man’s testimony supported the Acaanan’s dream. It proved that the Stone was real, and not a figment of her wild imagination. It also confirmed that Bael wasn’t intent on stealing the rock for himself. If he desired to do so, he had squande
red his golden opportunity.

  “You know…” Lakif began, placing the Stone back into her pouch. “You are right…as you always are.”

  “This changes much,” the High-man mused.

  “This knowledge is an accidental finding,” Lakif continued, her curiosity more primed than ever. “Why did you really come here?”

  “There is a lengthy preamble to my tale, best shared over a bottle of the Goblin Knight’s finest. One that hasn’t kissed the floor, I might add. Such is befitting this auspicious reunion.” He looked around at the other tables, “Let us fly to a secret place, one far from prying ears.”

  Bael threw her a gentle wink and a smile curved the corners of his lips. To Lakif, that slight action was pregnant with importance. She enthusiastically nodded in agreement.

  XV

  The Prince

  “I FEARED YOU HAD FLED FROM THE GOBLIN KNIGHT AND DISAPPEARED INTO Grimpkin,” Bael was hammering home how difficult it was to track her down.

  The two were nestled in the quiet comfort of Lakif’s chamber. She was impressed with the chamber’s unusual shape, which resembled the letter L. She had seen a few of the chambers within the inn, and all had been refreshingly distinct—one of the facets that colored the place.

  They had just tackled a splendid bottle of liquor. Bael had assumed responsibility for ordering and transporting the vessel, lest it disappear in Lakif’s custody. Polished goblets shimmered with the reflected candlelight. Alongside them beaconed a platter piled with bread, olives, and cheese.

  “What is this?” Lakif admired the flagon. The vessel was of faceted glass containing a green liquid.

  “Absinthe.” Bael sipped from his own goblet.

  “From Mordakai?” Lakif was of the mind that the choicest liquors hailed from her home.

  “It is distilled from the wormwood plant.”

  “Wormwood?” Lakif recalled that Lucretia had used that word.

  “It is a barbed plant that only grows in the slimy trail of serpents.”

  “It has a sapid flavor.” Lakif nodded her approval.