“Is that why you didn’t fear the sellsword seeing you enter the warehouse?”
Brusus shook his head. “I’m not certain my friend was permitted to share what he knew of the warehouse.”
“Not permitted? Why would one of the Elvraeth share it with you if he wasn’t permitted?”
“That is another of the layers I have yet to peel away.”
“How much do you owe him?” It was only one of the questions he wanted to ask.
The itching in his head continued, and Rsiran turned, pretending to look at the boxes.
“Doesn’t matter. Not if I do this.”
“Brusus—this is one of the Elvraeth!”
Brusus’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened. “I think I understand that better than most. Besides, he’s hired me several times before. Always the jobs have been simple and paid well. The last… let’s just say it didn’t go as he planned. He’s offered me a way out of that debt.” He looked around the warehouse and shook his head. “Probably didn’t intend for me to return and open the crates, but what choice did he give me?” He shook his head again. “He knows I have to do what he asks or he’ll report me to the constables. And my coin won’t get me out of that when one of the Elvraeth does the reporting.”
“Brusus… are you sure you should be doing this? I mean, you are working for one of the Elvraeth but also against the Elvraeth. Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
Brusus clapped a hand on Rsiran’s shoulder. “You have been spending far too much time around Jessa.”
Rsiran felt his face flush.
“That is the same question she asked. I will tell you the same as I told her—I don’t know. There are Elvraeth politics at play here. I suspect even if I hadn’t taken this job I would somehow end up mixed into them. I would rather be in control, if possible.”
Rsiran looked around the warehouse before turning to look at the open crate, the long box still lying on the floor. Something about the dirty floor or possibly the thin light reminded him of the mines and the men sentenced by the Elvraeth council to serve, and he wondered—with the Elvraeth, could one ever really be in control?
Chapter 23
As Brusus tucked the box containing the strange metal cylinder back into the crate, Rsiran looked again and counted the boxes that remained. From what he could tell, there were nearly two dozen, all lined and stacked neatly. He couldn’t help wondering what they were meant for, what purpose had the people that made and shipped them to the Elvraeth intended for the strange items?
Given the space remaining, it would seem other boxes had not been returned to the crate. “What did you do with the others?”
“Others?” Brusus turned and looked at him.
“You said there was one of gold and of silver?”
Brusus shrugged. “Those I’ve kept.”
“Will you try to sell them?” Rsiran imagined one of the Elvraeth learning of something missing. How much more trouble could Brusus get himself into then?
He shrugged. “Not in their current form. Too many questions.” As he led the way away from the small clearing, Brusus waved his hands around and tried to explain. “They’re solid gold, solid silver. I would have to melt them down before I could try to move them.” He shrugged again. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to sell them quite yet. They’re a part of whatever it is that is stored there, and until I know what that thing is, I don’t want to give up any of its parts. And… I will have another source of income soon.”
Rsiran felt some of the pressure coming off of him. If Brusus didn’t need him to create weapons of lorcith, he wouldn’t need to risk Sliding back to the mines.
Brusus turned. “If you ever manage to get that forge working, we can sell those blades of yours. If this job goes wrong…” He forced a smile. “Might need something else to offer.”
Rsiran nodded slowly. How could he not help Brusus? “The forge isn’t the issue.”
“I saw that.”
“After seeing this place, I do wonder if there might be anything here that we could use. Even tools that I wouldn’t have to forge would help.”
“There might be, Rsiran, but seeing how long it takes to open a single crate, searching through them all would take far too much time. Better to simply move forward with your plan.” Brusus took a few more steps, moving away from the lighted part of the warehouse, now where long shadows stretched that reminded Rsiran too much of the mines. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”
“I do,” he answered quickly. Except, after what happened last night, he wasn’t sure that he could go through with it anymore.
When they reached the door, Brusus motioned for him to be silent and pulled it open a crack. Sunlight and fresh air spilled through. Brusus shoved his face up to the door and looked. Once content, he slipped through and ducked along the wall, keeping his head low. Rsiran followed, pulling the door closed behind him. Dust from the stairs stuck to his tongue.
The sun had shifted during the time they were in the warehouse. Now it glinted over the top of the roof, reflecting with a bright light that bounced into his eyes. Muted sounds of water splashing along the shore reminded him again how different Lower Town was from what he was accustomed; the waves were rarely heard well along the rock wall in Upper Town, only the circling gulls and the distant water a reminder of the bay. A single cat yowled nearby and then hissed. Rsiran paused and look for what disturbed it.
Seeing nothing, he started after Brusus, staying close to the warehouse, keeping his head ducked low under the overhanging roof. As they started down the street, a shadow separated from the buildings. A glimmer reflected sunlight.
“Brusus!” he shouted.
Brusus had seen it as well and jumped back. A sellsword—not the same man they’d seen before entering the building—seemed to melt onto the street. One moment there had been no one, the next, his deep red cloak hung limp in the slight breeze blowing between the buildings, his sword half unsheathed as he faced them.
Rsiran’s heart fluttered. Old injuries on his back and neck itched. This man had the same heavily tanned face and steel grey eyes that stared icily at them. He wore dark leather pants with maroon that seemed stamped along the edges. His hand lightly gripped the hilt of his long sword.
Brusus waved his hands. “Just leaving, friend.” His words had a strange inflection, almost a sense of pressure.
The man’s face changed immediately, and he pulled his sword completely from his sheath. “Friend?” The word carried a thick accent, as if spoken from the back of his throat. “Not friend. You come from stores.”
It took Rsiran an extra moment to process what he said. Brusus seemed to recognize immediately.
Surprisingly, Brusus nodded, tilting his head toward the warehouse they had exited. “Needed to inventory. Recent shipment received and had to make sure the captain didn’t try to filch half.” His tone changed, going from soothing to more conversational. Still there was a sense of pressure to the words that Rsiran could not explain.
The sellsword shook his head. “No shipment. Not to that store.”
Brusus turned his head slightly. “I think you are mistaken. Check the logs if you need to.”
The sellsword slid forward a step. Though wide and solid, he moved with a languid grace, only his face showing any evidence of tension. His eyes seemed to shift, darting from Rsiran to Brusus, then back. Eventually, he settled on Brusus, as if dismissing Rsiran. His sword swiveled as he held it, moving like an extension of his hand. “No log,” the sellsword said. “Unauthorized. You come with me.”
Brusus spread his hands, his palms facing out toward the sellsword. “Listen, friend,” Brusus tried, “even though you are mistaken, we were leaving.” This time, there was no mistaking the strange pressure of the words, almost as if he tried to force them upon the sellsword.
The sellsword frowned. “It is you mistaken.” His voice filled with his thick way of speaking. “You Pushing will not make it so.”
Brusus lowe
red his hands and his smile changed, twisting from the friendly grin he had been showing the sellsword to one of acceptance.
The sellsword waited, tilted on his toes as if expecting something different from Brusus.
Then Brusus slipped forward.
The movement was so sudden and unexpected that Rsiran wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first. One moment Brusus had been standing, hands at his sides, and the next he practically flew forward, a slender blade appearing from somewhere beneath his cloak and flickering toward the guard.
The sellsword simply stepped to the side, moving with such speed that Brusus nearly barreled past him. His sword twisted, and there was a clang of metal, sword against sword, and Brusus jumped back.
The sellsword’s eyes had changed. The icy grey seemed to dance, almost excited.
Brusus had changed too. His face no longer drawn and sallow, his greying and thinning hair pulled back behind his head. Now the flesh of his face flattened, drawing tight, making him seem years younger.
Eyes blazed a dark green.
Rsiran froze, unable to look away. How had Brusus’s eyes changed so suddenly?
Brusus darted in and then back, sword tipping and swinging, but the sellsword did not back away. Rsiran knew little of swordsmanship, but it was clear that the sellsword did not fear Brusus.
Then there was a quick movement, and Brusus grunted, jumping back. Blood trickled down his side, staining his cloak and pants. The green of his eyes faded.
The sellsword moved forward, sword flashing toward Brusus again.
Rsiran saw it almost as if time had slowed. Blood drained from Brusus’s chest, and his arm hung limp at his side, unable to even lift his sword. There was no way he would be able to stop the attack.
Rsiran did the only thing he could think of: he Slid.
The Slide took him to Brusus, and he grabbed the man’s hands. One was wet and sticky, and Rsiran squeezed, careful not to let go. The scent of blood reminded him of the time he had been attacked in the dark. That it was not him injured this time did not make it better. The air whistled as the long sword swung.
Rsiran Slid again.
He had never Slid with another person before, never with anything heavier than the lump of lorcith. Had he not rested as long as he had during the day, he didn’t think he would have the energy. As it was, he did not risk a long Slide, deciding in an instant where to emerge.
There was a warmth from the sword nearly striking him, like a hot breath of air against his arm, as they Slid from the alley between the warehouses. As he did, he thought he saw someone else come out of the warehouse.
Chapter 24
Rsiran emerged from the Slide into a familiar room. The fire crackled in the hearth along the wall. The scent of incense and smoke hung in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of Brusus’s blood. The small cot was folded against the wall.
He staggered, more drained than he ever had felt after emerging from a single Slide. The effect of carrying another with him had almost been more than he could manage. He did not want to think what would happen if a Slide failed. Had he a mentor, someone who shared his gift, he might better understand the limitations. Instead, he had to fumble along, learning what he could alone.
Brusus groaned at his feet.
His face had gone pale and his eyes were closed. Blood slowed from the wound on his chest but still flowed. One hand somehow had managed to keep hold of his sword. Quality steel and finely made. Where would Brusus have acquired such a blade?
Brusus groaned again and jerked. Then he went still.
Rsiran prayed to the Great Watcher that the healer was home.
“I will not heal you of your foolishness again.”
Rsiran spun. Della stood in a small doorway, her greying hair wild about her head, a thin blue scarf wrapped around her neck as if she prepared to leave.
“Della—”
She frowned, as if realizing something was off. “Not you?”
He shook his head. “Brusus took me to…”
He trailed off. How much would Brusus want to trust the healer?
Rsiran shook away the question. Already he trusted her with more than he trusted anyone else. Of all the people in Elaeavn, she alone knew nearly everything about him, from his ability to Slide, to the attacks, to his return to the mines to harvest lorcith for Brusus.
He needed her to help Brusus now, do whatever it was that she did for him, to save Brusus.
Della watched his face, and her eyes widened as she saw Brusus lying on the floor. “Brusus?”
The healer hurried over and knelt beside Brusus, running her hands along his sides. With a strong grip, she ripped his shirt away, revealing a deep wound near the center of his chest. The edges had blackened, and dark lines ran out from the wound, twisting like vines.
She touched the flesh and winced. Her jaw tightened, and Rsiran saw her eyes flare a bright green. Then the bleeding slowed.
“What happened?” She did not look up at him.
“A sellsword.”
“Neelish blade?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
She turned and looked up at him. “You were by the warehouse?”
Rsiran was relieved that she already seemed to know. He nodded. “Right outside. The sellsword seemed to appear from the shadows, almost as if he Slid.”
She turned back to Brusus, pushing her finger into the wound. “They are not of Elaeavn, Rsiran. They cannot Slide. That is a gift from the Great Watcher to our people alone.”
Rsiran watched, uncertain what to say to the healer. She continued to insist that his ability was a gift. Without his ability, would he have been sentenced by his father to Ilphaesn? Would his family have turned away from him?
Would Brusus have a chance of survival?
Della’s mouth tightened, and her eyes flared again. Some of the darkness around the wound seemed to fade, slowly turning a shade of pink.
“Can you help him?”
“Neelish blades are tipped in poison. Rare to survive an attack. Most are dead before they see a healer, even if they survive the wound.” She poked her finger into the hole in Brusus’s chest. Drying blood stained her finger. “And this wound is particularly nasty. I am not yet certain what poison was used, but unlike some I have seen recently, I can slow it.” She flicked an accusing gaze at him, as if to remind him of his own wound. “Had you left him by the warehouse, he would be dead already.”
Rsiran swallowed.
Della looked over. Her eyes were moist, and she blinked away the welling tears. “Without your ability, he would have been gone from this world, returned to join the Great Watcher.”
She focused on Brusus, running one hand along the skin of his chest while the other remained plunged in the hole. As Rsiran watched, the skin slowly faded, and the hole gradually seemed to shrink, the edges pulling together. She murmured softly as she worked, one hand moving over his body, the other staying in the wound, as if plugging the flow of blood.
She was a skilled healer, but he had thought she used mostly potions and powders. What she was doing with Brusus was different and much like any other ability. Only he had never seen a healer with abilities given to them by the Great Watcher. After how she had fixed his back, he should have known better, but hadn’t thought to question.
“He has lost much blood already. There remains a chance that he does not awaken.” Her voice became hushed. “And if he does, he will be weakened for quite some time. I do not know what he had planned with that warehouse, only that he was foolish enough to take the job.” She looked down at Brusus with an affectionate expression. “This time he took on too much. Always thinking he can compensate with his abilities.”
Rsiran frowned. Abilities? What did the healer mean? “Della,” he began. “The sellsword seemed upset with Brusus over something. Said he was Pushing him.”
She glanced up at Rsiran and her eyes flared. She seemed to consider how to answer. “We all have our secrets, Rsiran. Each of us is m
ore than we present ourselves to be, and even the most honest still hides something.”
Rsiran recognized the truth in that statement. “What did he mean? What did Brusus do that upset him so much?”
“Brusus did as he always does. He relies on his abilities, thinking they will get him out of every problem. Unfortunately, he found a problem where that didn’t work.” She looked up and saw the confused way Rsiran was looking at her. “Neelish sellswords have a particular type of training that hardens their minds. Once, such training was essential to keep their people and their soldiers safe. Now, it serves simply as tradition. Still, it serves a purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“It makes them valuable around men like Brusus.”
Men like Brusus. Rsiran eyed his friend, wondering what Della meant. “What is Pushing?”
Della ran her hands along Brusus’s chest again, as if smoothing the skin. All traces of the blackened skin were now gone, leaving pale, unmarked flesh. He didn’t move, but his breathing was steady and regular. His face looked slack and waxy, and his hair seemed to have gone a deeper grey in the last hour.
She stood slowly, using her arms to push up from where she knelt beside Brusus. The effort of healing appeared to have weakened her, similar to what he felt after Sliding. Had this been how she had felt after healing him? Was this why she had been unable to fully heal his neck? Was she a Healer rather than simply a healer?
“Pushing is rare. Very few can manage and fewer learn to control it.” She sighed. A debate seemed to rage behind her eyes as she considered her answer. She frowned at Rsiran, the corners of her mouth tightening. “It is where a powerful Reader can influence a thought, making someone do something they didn’t know they wanted to do.”
“But Brusus isn’t powerful…”
She laughed. The sound was weak and thready. She limped to the small wooden chair in front of the fire and slumped down into it. “That is what he chooses to project.”
The Dark Ability: Books 1-4 Page 18