So here we are then, Rion thought, gazing up at the sign and doing his best to ignore the foreboding feeling rising in him. If the bastard is even awake. Apparently, he wasn’t, for no one answered Alesh’s first knock. Or the second. On the third, Rion heard something from within—he was fairly certain it was a string of curse words that should have been rewarded for originality if nothing else—and what might have been footsteps. Alesh was just raising his hand to knock again when the door was thrown open and a graying old man with blood shot eyes and a mop of hair in wild disarray studied them, frowning. “Well? The fuck you want?”
If Alesh was discomfited by the man’s appearance or by the knife he held in one hand, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave the man a smile. “My friends and I are looking to hire a carriage for traveling outside the city.”
“Yeah?” the other man responded, a slur to his surliness telling Rion he’d spent the night drinking more than he should have. “What of it? I was lookin’ for a full night of sleep, so it seems the gods have decided we’re both to be disappointed.”
Alesh winced. “Sorry, sir. I know it’s late, and I apologize for waking you, but we really must leave the city tonight.”
“That a fact?” the man asked, his scowl deepening. “And just why’s that?” He eyed their small group more critically, his eyes pausing on Darl and narrowing further. He paused on Katherine too, but judging by the way his eyes flashed, Rion was confident it was for a different reason. “Trouble with the guard, is that it? Well, I want no part of it. I’m an honest workin’ man and the last thing I need is to get mixed up with some damned fugitives.”
Alesh started to respond, but the man was already closing the door, would have closed it, had Katherine not put her hand out, stopping it. The old man stared down at her hand and the open door as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d barred it before looking back to her. “Look, you’re a pretty enough whore, I’ll grant you—I imagine one of these fellas paid handsomely for your company.” He paused, giving a grin, “Shit, maybe all of ‘em, who’m I to judge? But if you don’t get your hand off my property this instant, you ain’t gonna have to worry about runnin’ from the guard no more on account of they’ll have you chained up in the dungeon before the night’s out, you follow me?”
“Sir,” Katherine said, keeping her hand where it was but speaking in a kind tone, “we’re not fugitives.” Of course we are, Rion thought. “It’s…it’s my mother, sir. She’s in Valeria. She’s sick, and if we don’t get out of the city soon…” Then we’re all going to die, Rion thought. “Well…I’m sure you understand.”
Some bit of the man’s cold expression thawed at that. “My own ma passed not too long ago. A hard thing, losin’ a mother.” He seemed to consider then, glancing between them. “Alright, alright. You come on in, and we’ll see what we can do about gettin’ you to your ma on time. Just you though, understand? This shop is my house too, and it ain’t big enough to be hostin’ no party in.”
He opened the door, and gestured for Katherine to come inside, but Alesh spoke. “Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to come as well.”
“Oh?” the man asked, frowning again. “And who might you be?”
“I…that is…” Alesh began, faltering, and it was Katherine who finished.
“He’s my husband, sir, if it pleases you.”
The old man grunted. “Alright fine. Come on, the two of you, but no more. Let any of you others come in, you’ll be expectin’ dinner, and I ain’t much for cookin’. We’ll have to wake one of the drivers up, and I don’t expect they’ll be happy about it, but the bastards get more than a fair wage, and they’ll just have to live with it, won’t they?”
A moment later, Rion watched as Katherine and Alesh disappeared through the doorway, and it closed behind them. “Friendly guy, isn’t he?” Marta groused from beside him.
Rion grunted. “Well, all our heads are still attached to our shoulders, so I’d say he’s just about as friendly as we could have expected showing up in the middle of the night.”
“Marta,” Sonya said, her voice nearly breathless with excitement. “Did you hear Katherine? The lie she told? It was amazing!”
Marta sniffed. “It was alright, I suppose. A bit obvious though, wasn’t it? No real creativity, no flair. But I guess even amateurs will get lucky some of the time.”
Darl grinned from where he stood behind the two girls, and it was funny, in a way, but Rion couldn’t bring himself to return the smile. For one, there was clearly something bothering Marta, something she didn’t want to talk about and something having to do with the conversation she’d had with Alcer, and that was troubling. What was more troubling, however, was that Rion still felt that sinking in his gut, the one telling him Javen was in trouble. Dying. Maybe even dead. He wasn’t sure what that meant for him, the god’s Chosen—apart, at least, from the bruises he’d received in his recent falls, a cut thumb, and a knot on his forehead that seemed to keep growing as if another person was getting ready to come out of it. But he had a feeling those things just might be the start of it.
And there was another trouble. For the first time since he could remember, Rion had no desire to play a hand of cards or some dice. The thought of flipping over the cards, of watching the dice as they tumbled across a tabletop, had once engendered a powerful excitement in him, but it did not now. Yet whether he sat down at a table or not, he was gambling, just the same. They all were. Gambling that they would make it out of the city before the Broken arrived, gambling that someone—a traveling merchant, perhaps—might not have traveled to Peralest to sell or buy goods, that he or she might not recognize them as the fugitives who had escaped Tesharna’s justice. Gambling, too, that the surly old man wasn’t even now thinking of running to the city guard the second they left.
And none of that took into account the bishop who was currently their prisoner. It seemed unlikely the gate guards wouldn’t recognize him, if they even made it that far. Rion glanced at him. Although he stood calmly enough, his head slunk and shoulders hunched as if cowed, Rion didn’t miss the way the old priest cast covert glances down the street, as if looking for some help or watching for an opportunity to escape.
Rion stepped closer to him, speaking quietly so the others—currently listening to Marta ramble on about the difference between professional and amateur liars—would not hear. “Thinking about running?”
The older man started as if he hadn’t seen Rion move toward him. He scowled, but said nothing, only shaking his head.
“I think maybe you are,” Rion went on. “In fact, I’m sure of it, and who can blame you? It’s your best chance, after all, isn’t it? Two of us are gone, and the Ferinan is listening to the girl talking—she never stops talking, that one. So that just leaves me, and you couldn’t have missed the way I’ve been tripping all over myself, like I got a new pair of feet and they aren’t broke in yet, right?”
The man said nothing at first, but Rion could see him thinking it over, could see him plotting behind his eyes. Finally, he did speak. “It doesn’t matter. You will never make it past the gate. The guards there know me, will recognize me instantly. The smartest thing you could do,” he continued, giving Rion a small smile, gaining some of his confidence back even as he talked, “is to leave me here. You and your friends may make it out of the city without me, but you definitely won’t if you take me with you. Look, if you let me go, you’ll be doing them a favor. And I promise, if you do, I’ll make sure no harm comes to you. That, at least, I can do. The goddess really wants the other man, anyway, the one called Alesh. She cares nothing for you. Besides,” he went on, his grin widening further as he glanced at Rion’s forehead where the knot from his fall was, “it seems to me you have enough problems of your own, don’t you?”
Rion nodded slowly as if thinking it over. “That makes sense, sure. The guards probably will recognize you. Probably we’ll all die…but if we leave you here,” he said, tapping his finger against his chin thoug
htfully, “then you’ll tell the others where we’ve gone, or at least where we were going to go. Probably better off to kill you first, don’t you think?”
He said it slowly, but the old priest’s eyes snapped open wide. “You would not want to do that. I am Shira’s loyal servant, and she will show no mercy to—”
“From what I’ve seen, Bishop,” Rion interrupted, “Shira’s not real big on mercy.” The man opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to argue his point, but Rion spoke first. “I’m a gambler. Did you know?”
“How would I know that?” the old man said. “Look, I don’t care who you are or what you do. Just let me go, and I promise—”
“A gambler, right,” Rion went on as if the man hadn’t spoken, “and a damned good one. Of course, it’s fair to say I’ve had a bit of help recently but even before my…let’s call it condition, I most always came out ahead. Not every time, you understand,” he went on, leaning in close to the older man as if confiding some great secret, “after all, no one can know for certain how the dice will fall—it’s what makes the whole thing so damned interesting. No, not every time, but most times. More than you could imagine.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything at a—”
“And do you want to know how I did that? You see, it’s not about reading the dice. Not even about the cards you hold—at least, not mostly that. What it’s about, more than anything, is reading people. And that I can do no matter how many times I bump my head.”
An almost desperate look came into the priest’s eyes then, as if he knew well enough where this was going. “Look, I won’t tell anyone, I swear. At least, not at first. I’ll have to tell them eventually, you understand, but it will be some time before Tesharna asks after you and the others. I’ll tell them you escaped just before whoever they sent to get you arrived and—”
“A useful thing,” Rion went on, “being able to read people. A lot of card players—broke ones, mostly—think you have to beat your opponent’s cards to win, but that’s not true, and even if it was, how would a man do that? No, you don’t have to beat the cards, Bishop, you just have to beat the man holding them and to do that you just need to know what he’s thinking. And you can know that, can read his thoughts, sometimes, the way a man might read a book. It’s in the way he taps his fingers on the table or runs a hand through his hair. You can see it—and his cards—in the way his eyes move back to them repeatedly, knowing they were shit the first time and hoping looking at them again and again might change it. But even if it did—and it won’t—it wouldn’t matter. Because you’re not playing the cards. You never were. A very useful skill,” he said again. “It can tell a man when to fold or call, can let him know when a raise would take it. Handy for all kind of situations. Even ones in which a psychotic priest who’s given himself to the Dark promises mercy. This…eh, ‘gift’ sounds too presumptuous. Let’s call it a talent, then. This talent has made me more coin than you can imagine. It’s also saved me from being stabbed in the back a time or two. It’s what tells me your offer of mercy is worth far less than the air you used to give it, and it’s what lets me see that thought in your head—the one you’re trying so hard to hide. The thought of what you will do to us, if given the chance, of the suffering you would so love to bring to us.”
“But, that’s not true,” the bishop protested. “I only did what I did because it was necessary, don’t you understand? As I told you—”
“Thing is, Bishop, anybody can read people. It’s easy, once you get the hang of it. Helps a man tell a lie from the truth, if he hears it. Tell you what, I’ll give you an example. Let’s say I told you that if the guards at the gate stop us—if you try to get help from anyone and risk the lives of me and my friends—I’ll kill you and in the most painful way I can imagine. What would you think of that?”
The older man swallowed hard. “I…I swear I’m being truthful.”
“Let’s take it one step further,” Rion said. “Let’s say that I were to tell you that, should you lie to me again, I will slit your throat right where you stand. You see, Larin might have been a grumpy old bastard, but I liked him anyway, and I wouldn’t mind a bit sticking a blade in you and seeing what comes out. Do you believe me, Bishop?”
The man didn’t speak, but he nodded his head, defeated.
“Good,” Rion said, “that’s good. See? You’re getting the hang of it already. And I’ll tell you this much, Bishop—if we should get stopped, either because of you or not, if we’re to be taken, you have my personal promise that you’ll die first. You’re an ambitious man, Bishop. That, too, I see in your face. Just remember—a dead man has no ambitions.”
The man nodded again, and Rion felt a surge of satisfaction quickly followed by shame. Threatening an old man, promising him death. Never mind that the old bastard had tried to kill them all, never mind that he had given himself to the Dark. Still, Rion believed the man would keep quiet and wouldn’t try to escape or shout for help, not now. After all, he believed Rion. And that was alright—Rion had discovered the easiest way to bluff is to not bluff at all. If the man tried anything, he would kill him, and when he himself died, most likely soon after, he didn’t suspect it would be his number one regret. Shit, he thought, if things keep going the way they’re going, it won’t even be top ten.
He walked over to stand beside Darl, and the Ferinan glanced away from Marta—still talking away like she meant to go on until the end of the world—and raised an eyebrow. “Did you have a nice conversation with the bishop?”
Rion shrugged. “I enjoyed it—I’m not so sure about him.”
“The heart weeps.”
Rion felt his eyes go wide at that. “Darl, did you just make a joke?”
Before the Ferinan had a chance to answer, the door to the shop opened, and Katherine and Alesh reappeared, followed by a now smiling shopkeeper. “You’re sure I can’t get you or your husband some tea?”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Ferden,” Katherine said, “for the gracious offer, but we really must be leaving the city as quickly as possible—I hope that does not cause offense.”
“Oh, no offense taken, miss. And please, let it be Claude, won’t you? My father was Mr. Ferden and, if I’m bein’ honest, a bit of a bastard besides. If it’s the same to you, I’d just as soon be Claude, today at least. Tomorrow, well, I s’pose I’ll go back to bein’ Mr. Ferden and a bit of a bastard myself.”
She smiled. “As you say, Claude, and thank you again.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure, madam, truly,” the older man said. He took her hand, and Rion was stunned to see the old man—who looked like he’d be more at home lying in a ditch somewhere than at any noble banquet or ball—bend over it, giving an impressive courtly bow before standing once more. “And you’re good on where you need to meet the driver then?”
“I believe so, sir,” Katherine said, “your directions were very helpful.”
He nodded, beaming as if she’d just given him the best compliment anyone could ask for. Then he took Alesh’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “I’d watch over that one as close as you can, you don’t mind me sayin’ so, mister. You turn you back for a second, someone’s liable to try to steal her away.” He smiled as if to show he meant no harm.
Rion saw Katherine and Alesh share a look, noticed both of their cheeks turning red in the lantern light and had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I will, sir,” Alesh said. “Thank you.”
“And remember,” the old man said, “the two of you—or any of your friends—ever happen back by this way again, you’re always welcome here.” With that, he turned and disappeared through the doorway, and Rion was left staring, stunned, at Katherine and Alesh. But he and the others might not have been there at all for all that Alesh and Katherine noticed, each of them too busy looking shyly at the other.
Rion cleared his throat. “Well. Just how in the name of the gods did you get that old bastard to warm up to you like that?” he said. “I was beginning to thin
k he was going to give us his coin purse as well.” He glanced at Alesh, “Did you threaten him? That it?”
“No,” Alesh said distractedly, still staring at Katherine. “It was Katherine…she sang. It was…it was amazing.”
She met his eyes then, smiling, and there was a distinct flush to her cheeks. Rion suppressed a groan. “Well, that’s great. Really great. But if it’s all the same to you two, I think we might want to consider getting out of here as quickly as we can. You know, psychotic murderers wanting to kill us and all that.”
Alesh coughed. “Of course. Come—it’s this way.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Sir, the men need rest.”
The Broken stopped jogging long enough to glance behind him. The Redeemers had once looked fine in their armor, with their long crimson cloaks and breastplates the color of darkest midnight. They did not look so now. Those men who had been so proud when he’d first met them, when he had first been given charge of them by Paren, had changed and not for the better. Their faces looked haggard, and they shuffled along with an almost desperate quality to them. Defeated, the Broken thought, and though he rarely felt much of any emotion, those he’d once had being scoured out of him at the sight of his murdered wife and child, the thought came with a hint of disgust. Defeated, yet we have fought no battle.
No battle, but of course they had seen many of their friends, their comrades, die when the castle had exploded, many crushed under debris bigger than a wagon, others cut to shreds by shards of rock and wood. He thought the defeat had begun then. Perhaps, he should have said something in that moment, as their commander, something to answer the pain writ so plainly across their faces. But any words of sympathy he might have uttered would have been disingenuous, empty of any real meaning, and the Broken was not a man who wasted words to no purpose. As for the pain on their faces, well, that was only right, wasn’t it? It was what the world brought, what it was. The men should have known that already, but they were learning it now, had learned it over days spent at the grueling pace he had set for them as they traveled through the desert, searching for any signs of their quarry.
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