Chapter Ten
Rowan!”
“Hand of Annadis, the duchess of Dunfarrie.”
Only a few times in my life had I been at a loss for something to say. The only clue to Aeren’s identity was slipping away from me into the night, and standing in my way was one person who absolutely must not know of my mission. Possible explanations raced through my mind and were discarded just as quickly. Graeme Rowan was not stupid.
The sheriff took my arm firmly and propelled me backward into the shadowed alcove between the outer door, the staircase, and the wide entrance to the common room.
“Release me at once. You’ve no cause to hold me,” I said, in a furious whisper.
“I’ve every right to investigate suspicious behavior. Your presence here strikes me as extremely suspicious.” Rowan spoke quietly also, in tones that brooked no dispute.
“You’ve no jurisdiction here, Sheriff. If I should scream that I’m being brutalized, you’d have no more rights than any other bully.”
The sun lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled a bit. “I disagree. Barnard, the Sheriff of Grenatte District, knows me quite well. He would be quite interested in the activities of known lawbreakers in his town.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Test me. Or would you rather tell me what you’re doing here? I know few things disgust you more than having a word with me, but I really must know what’s brought you here.”
And this, of course, was where I was out of words. I couldn’t think fast enough. The long day’s journey, the terrible doings in the forest, the odd little man running away.
“Can we step outside, Sheriff?”
“As you wish.”
Beggars, carters, and drunkards crowded the torchlit lane, but the stranger was nowhere in sight. Curse the man!
“Have you nothing better to do than bother honest citizens, Sheriff? You should leave me alone and clean up your own district. Take care of murderous highwaymen who prey on travelers.” To my dismay, my voice shook as I recalled the brutal scene in During Forest.
If Rowan had any hesitation to pursue our confrontation, he dismissed it instantly. The pious smudge on his brow glared at me like a third eye.
“Mistress, what do you know of highwaymen?”
Cursing my loose tongue, I folded my arms and looked away.
“Blessed Annadis, give me patience!” he said. “How do you propose I take care of my district if every person in it is so high and mighty as you?”
“Perhaps your district would be better off without a sheriff’s care.”
Though his face flamed, he gritted his teeth and spoke quietly. “Five outlaws were slain in During Forest today. They were no ordinary highwaymen, but the most ruthless that ever plagued this road. They’ve survived twenty years and were cut down in an afternoon. It’s something I must understand. If you refuse to speak what you know, then you’ve no right to demand anything of me. I ask you again, mistress, what do you know of highwaymen?”
I’d never heard so many words from him all at once.
My revulsion for the upright sheriff did not entirely cloud my perceptions. As Jacopo often reminded me, Rowan was neither excessively brutal nor grasping in his day-to-day duties, as were so many of his ilk. And if his unquestioning adherence to his notion of law set him at odds with the ruthless travelers I had seen in the forest, I would not argue. The templars might have nothing to do with Aeren. Perhaps the almond-eyed man’s fear of the three had its origin, as mine did, in their handiwork of the day.
What was pride but another garment to be discarded when you had grown past its use? “You’re right,” I said. “Not about everything, but about this. Yes. Quite by chance, I witnessed what happened in During Forest.”
“And will you tell me of it?”
I glanced about the dark lane. “Can we walk away from here just a little?”
Rowan started to protest, but I interrupted. “I promise, I’ll tell you why.”
Just down the lane two empty crates sat outside a poulterer’s shop. My feet felt as if someone had taken a hammer to them. Making sure I could still see the door of the inn, I sat on one of the crates and propped my heavy boots on the other, leaving Rowan to decide whether to sit on the filthy ground or remain standing, unable to see my face.
He squatted, looking uncomfortable.
“I was on my way to Grenatte on private business,” I began, and without mentioning Paulo, I recounted what I had witnessed that afternoon.
“And these same templars are in the Green Lion?”
“That’s why I was leaving in a hurry,” I said. “Though I don’t believe they saw me in the forest, and though one could say they were entirely in the right in the matter, they unnerved me. How can I explain it?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “The kill was not cleanly done. Yet, as you say, it’s not against the law to be good at defending oneself. But any who can take such men down easily are worth my attention, for rarely are they less dangerous in their turn.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll speak to these templars and see what they’re about.”
“You’ll not tell them who you are!”
“Surely this is no concern for my welfare?” he said.
Graeme Rowan’s welfare was his own concern. “It just occurred to me that a casual encounter might be less risky than telling them you’re a man of the law. In fact”—a scheme began taking shape—“to make things easier, I’d be willing to accompany you while you speak to them. We could say we are cousins.”
He straightened to his full height, peering down at me quizzically. “I see no purpose in deception. They’ve no reason to fear me. But if, for whatever reason, you’d like to be present when I interview them, I’ll not prevent it. I certainly don’t intend for you to leave Grenatte until we can discuss other matters, such as what you are doing here.”
I bridled. “There’s no need to assume that because I answered a few of your questions, I’ll allow you to question me on my private business.”
“Mistress, I would never presume to expect anything from you.”
I did not respond to his goading. I was already planning what to say to the templars.
When Rowan and I entered the inn, the landlord stepped into the dimly lit little foyer and eyed the sheriff suspiciously. “Is the gentleman bothering you, mistress?”
Rowan must not control the situation. “Not at all, Goodman Bartolome. Thank you. This is my cousin, Graeme, come unexpectedly to meet me.”
I ignored the sheriff’s darkening brow. “Can you tell us—there’s a gentleman in your common room who wears the robes of a templar—do you know his name, sir? He looks quite like the templar who wed my sister Catherine to her man, but I’d feel quite foolish asking if it were not the same templar.”
“The fellow’s name slips my mind,” said the landlord, “but the three of them come from a temple school in Valleor. Don’t know aught else.”
Through the doorway to the brightly lit common room, the templars were seated at a center table.
“That could well be the same Pere Franze, don’t you think, Graeme? I believe he’d be interested to know Catherine has produced five healthy boys in five years. His offering of Mana’s blessing was most efficacious!”
Producing the Twins was Mana’s only role in our holy legends, and the First God’s wife was interested only in sons.
The sheriff dragged me toward the shadowed staircase. “I think you should go upstairs immediately,” he said in a tight whisper.
I paid him no more mind than a doorstop. “What think you, landlord? Should I speak to them?”
Bartolome eyed Rowan with disapproval. “They seem right enough fellows. I can’t see as how it would hurt to ask.”
“I can’t imagine they’d have an interest in such trifles,” said the furious sheriff. “You—”
“My cousin always thinks I am too forward.”
“And so you are.” Rowan tugged my arm so forcefully, it was difficult to hold my ground. “You should not bother either the templars or our host with your foolishness.”
Bartolome thoughtfully scratched the greasy bib apron covering his chest. “Well, I always take it fair when someone says I’ve done a decent job, even if I’m not the one as done it.”
“Exactly so!”
I yanked my arm out of Rowan’s grip and marched through the doorway and across the smoky, crowded room. “Excuse me, your honor, sir. Might I have a word?”
When the man I had seen slit two throats and pierce a woman’s heart with skill and relish shifted his attention at me, it took all my resolution not to step away. There could be no soul in him. Neither beauty nor life had ever graced those pale eyes, nor had any human feeling with which I had kinship. I quickly dropped my gaze.
“How may I help you, mistress?” His voice was coolly friendly, not at all like his eyes.
“It’s most likely foolish, sir, but my cousin and I have had a disagreement, and the only way to resolve it is to speak up. I say that you are the very most honored reverend Pere Franze that has wed my sister Catherine and her husband David in Deshiva these five years past, and that it is my duty to tell you of the most efficacious blessing of Mana you performed on that happy occasion, being as Catherine and David have five healthy sons in five years”—I spoke much too fast, trying to bolster my faltering resolve—“but my cousin, who lurks in yonder shadows with our worthy landlord, says I should not bother a weary traveler with such trifles, though to my mind such a blessing that gets five healthy sons is no trifle!”
Though a smile played on the thin lips, it did not warm his emptiness. “Much as I would like to lay claim to such a success, I cannot. I’ve never traveled to Deshiva. Giano is my name.”
“My apologies for disturbing you then, your honor. I was so hoping you might be Pere Franze, for I was thinking of asking Annadis’s warding for our travels back to Deshiva. After what we saw today.” I shuddered.
“And what was that?” Early frost enfolded the summer night.
“Oh, sir, I’d not wish to offend you with the description of it while you’re at table.”
“Travelers should share their wisdom and experience, mistress, so as to ease the road for their fellows,” he said coolly. “I think it imperative. Don’t you agree?”
I wasn’t sure I would have been able to disagree. Though not invited to do so, I drew up an extra chair, sat down, and leaned across their table. To avoid his eyes, I kept my own focused on the gold earring he wore in his right ear. “True enough, sir. Indeed it was the most dreadful sight that ever I hope to see. Five dead persons, one a woman, brutally cut down and left to lie on the road through During Forest. Highwaymen, so I’ve heard, and so better dead, but a fearsome sight nonetheless. I feel quite faint when I think of continuing our journey tomorrow.”
Pere Giano’s slender fingers lay quiet on the table, one hand upon the other, no residue of blood on the pale skin. “We’ve heard of this discovery, also, and are shocked by it. We’ve come to Leire to build a school to teach young warriors the service of Annadis. Such evil doings might hasten us back to our quiet temple life.”
So they were going to lie about it. No surprise.
“It would be a great honor to have a temple school in western Leire.”
“Unfortunately, our plans have been upset,” he said, leaning closer, his words slithering their way into my head. “Thieves are not always found in the forest, but often in the very bosom of one’s family. A faithless servant has absconded with the small endowment with which we were to build.”
And there it was. The connection. Though I dared not allow him to note my satisfaction, my heart quickened its pace.
“Oh, your honor, how dreadful! Have you notified the authorities? Perhaps my cousin should summon Barnard, the local sheriff, so your servant may receive just treatment from the law.” Was their faithless servant the same as the other man’s ‘addled groom’?
“It’s against our custom to bring down the law on our servants, but we’ve seen nothing of him in a fortnight. If we could but find the youth, we could surely persuade him to rethink his wayward behavior.”
What persuasions might be imposed by a man with no soul? Enough to chase a man out of his clothes? Out of his voice? Out of his mind?
“My cousin travels widely in his business, your honor. Why, he’s most likely visited every hostelry and inn in five districts in the past month, as well as having wide acquaintance. Can you describe this fiend who is so wanting in decency as to steal from the Swordsman’s holy servants? Perhaps my cousin has taken note of him.”
“A young man. Tall and light haired, fairly made, but wicked and hasty in temper, and weak in the mind, full of grandiose delusions. I think the gods have sent him this weakness to make him humble, but alas, though we at the temple have nurtured the boy since childhood, our care seems to have gone for naught.”
“A sad story,” I said. He was so smug in his lies. “All too common among those who depend on the charity of holy institutions. I’ll ask my cousin if he’s seen anything likely. I’ve neither seen nor heard of anything myself.”
“Even so.”
The templar picked up his wine cup and leaned back in his chair. He was done with me.
I craved to wheedle something more from him—a name, a province—or whether he knew of his servant’s talent for sorcery. But I had lived enough years to know when I had pushed my luck as far as profitable. “I’ll bid you and your companions a good night, sir. My cousin is known for being sometimes too free in his ingestion of spirits in such a friendly house as this. I wish him to be alert on the morrow!”
The man in black nodded and turned back to his hooded companions. His narrow face expressed impatience, but I couldn’t bear to look at him long enough to be sure.
I left the common room sedately, slipping past the shadowed foyer and up the first flight of stairs. But no sooner had I got out of sight of the common room and bolted for the second landing, than Rowan stepped out in front of me, grim as a headsman. “That was very foolish.”
“But revealing, don’t you think? Did you listen? The poor servants of the Swordsman whose money has been stolen, though they wear gold worth an earldom at their necks. Not a word about the events in the forest.” And such a strange story about their missing servant! “I thought you might have more mettle than to eavesdrop from the stairs like a scullery maid. Quite a man of the world is my cousin Graeme.”
“A little forewarning might have helped.” Was he more annoyed with my interference, or that it was I who did the interfering?
“But I did forewarn you! Did I not play it quite well?”
“I’m surprised you’d think of it as play, having seen what you did in the forest today. Were all your questions answered satisfactorily? Perhaps you’ll condescend to enlighten me as to your purpose in the matter and what else you might know of these people.”
“We should not discuss this in the passageway of an inn.”
“I suppose there’s no question of a cousinly chat in your room or a walk in the evening air?”
“I’m asleep standing, Sheriff. And, of course, I’ve no interest in this matter. I was curious because of what I saw, and willing to help you, because you were right that I should. Good night.”
Rowan bowed stiffly. “I’ll remind you that the conditions of your parole require your obedience to the command of any sheriff, and the nature of your crimes makes me responsible for your actions. We have not finished our business, my lady. You’re not to leave your room, and you’ll have no commerce with anyone until I give you leave. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
The insufferable prig started down the passage, and, to my chagrin, I could not think of hateful enough words to throw back at him. As he disappeared down the stair landing, he called over his shoulder. “And you may tell Paulo that his sneaking about has left his gram half-frantic with worry, and that if he doesn’t get himself wrung out by highwaymen or conspiratorial women, then it will most likely be by me.”
As well he turned a corner just then and that my knife was tucked away under my skirt.
Rowan would have been well satisfied had he been able to read my thoughts in the next hour. As the exhilaration of the evening’s encounter wore away, I started shaking, almost sick as I thought of the slaughter I had witnessed and the empty eyes and pale hands of the one who had worked it. What was I doing? I had no business here. Only after I had made a vow to scoop up Paulo at first light and run as fast as I could back to Dunfarrie was my tired body able to sink into sleep.
Sometime in the hours after midnight, a scraping noise across the dark room brought me abruptly awake. I slipped my knife from the sheath under my pillow and held still until a freckled face rose above the windowsill like a grubby moon.
“Paulo!” I pulled him through the window, and he landed on the floor in a disheveled, ripe-smelling lump. “What are you doing here?”
“Found him!”
“Who?”
“The one we come here for.”
“Yes, I found him, too, but he ran away before I could speak to him.”
“Nope. He’s close. Got his horse from the stable and rode off, but didn’t go far.”
My feet were already in my boots. “Let’s go.”
All terrors were dismissed, all vows forsworn in the prospect of the chase.
The inn was dark and quiet; in the hours between closing and breakfast it lay fallow like a well-managed field. We slipped down the stairs, then sped through deserted streets until we reached the southern outskirts of town. A jumble of squat, dark shanties crowded the dirt lane until it broke free into open country and wound up a shallow rise. Atop the rise, silhouetted against the moonlit sky was a crumbling finger of stone, an abandoned watchtower once used for observing the road and the river.
Paulo pressed a finger to his mouth as we approached a gap in the curved wall. The wooden door had long since rotted away from its rusty hinges, allowing a narrow band of moonlight to penetrate the interior. We stepped inside. From across the circular darkness came the soft whuffle of a horse. Paulo tugged at my arm and pointed to a mound huddled against one of the curved walls. We tiptoed closer, but before we reached the dark form, Paulo lost his balance and fell against a pile of crates that clattered onto the stone floor.
“Who comes?” The voice from the direction of the dark mound quavered a bit.
“Friends,” I said.
“I have no friends here. Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“You ran away before we could be properly introduced.”
“I know nothing of mundane women.”
“Come, sir, let us speak in a civil manner.” Mundane was as good a description of me as I had heard in a while, but how would he know? “You’re searching for a missing horse, and I may know something of it.”
I dragged one of the fallen crates into the path of moonlight from the door and sat. After a moment the slight figure emerged from the shadows to stand in the moonlit rectangle about ten paces from me. Straw clung to his flowing trousers and Kerotean vest, and his high-necked tunic was twisted awkwardly about his neck. He stood up very straight, narrowed his almond-shaped eyes, and stepped toward me.
“Not too close!”
The man and I both nearly shed our skin when Paulo yelled and popped out from behind me with a wrist-thick length of timber raised in warning.
“The messenger boy!” cried the stranger, his eyes darting from Paulo back to me. “You are the one who summoned me; a woman, not a man? Why have you lied? The Count de Mangerit I am, and no one must lie to me.”
I had to smile at his posturing. “As I said, I have news of your horse.”
“Grasping mundane. Think you to extract some reward?”
“Not a reward, but information. If I learn what I want, I may be able to tell you what you want to know.”
“I don’t believe a mundane—a woman mundane—could know anything I want to hear.” Clearly mundane meant something particular to this man.
I had hoped to save my trump card for later. I sighed, pulled a twist of paper from my pocket, and showed the man its contents. While Aeren lay ill, I had trimmed the brambles from his matted blond hair. “Is this lock perhaps from your horse’s mane, Count?”
The stranger sagged to his knees and covered his face with his fists, pretense shed like unwanted clothing.
“All honor to you, Vasrin Shaper, Vasrin Creator,” he whispered, “he has been found.”
After a moment he lowered his folded hands to his breast. He did not yet look up. “Please, woman, tell me that he lives.”
“He lives. And my name is Seri.”
I thought he was going to cry. Whether it was because Aeren was alive or because he’d had the audacity to do it with a mundane woman’s help, I wasn’t sure.
“I want to know who he is and who you are and where you’re from,” I said.
He straightened his head proudly. “I am not permitted to tell you those things. You must take me to him.”
“I’ll take you nowhere near him until you persuade me that you’re his friend. And if you’re not his friend, you’ll not live to harm him.” I drew my dagger and laid it in my lap. Paulo blanched a little, but to the boy’s credit, his stick did not falter.
“You cannot understand, woman,” said the man. “You are a mundane. He is— This is impossible! He is my servant, my groom. He has taken my prize stallion. White. You are required to give him to me, as he has stolen my possession.” Well-rehearsed, but entirely flustered.
“You may leave off your playacting, sir. If you think to impersonate nobility, then you must learn more of their customs. Uncountable clues tell me you have never been to Kerotea, never laid eyes on a Kerotean, and most likely never had a groom. Now, answer my questions or I’ll leave.”
“No, no. You must not go without telling me where he is. Good Vasrin shape thoughts of sense in my head.”
The man began pacing, fingering a tassel dangling from his belt as he mumbled to himself. “I will not say. I cannot say. I am sworn. But I must get to him. Why me? Yes, it happened fast, but Bendal was designated. So what he was wounded? Bendal wounded is worth ten of me. A mundane woman—I am cursed. But he lives, and Djiid are close. The timing is all.”
He stopped his pacing and sat himself cross-legged on the dirt in front of me. “You’ll not take me to him if I do not speak?”
“Correct.”
“And this ferocious boy will bash me senseless if I try to painfully extract answers from you?”
“Absolutely correct.” I worked to keep my face sober.
“So you force me to tell you.”
“Prove to me that you are his friend.”
The small man cocked his head. “Why do you care for him? I can give you a reward, a substantial reward, if you take me to him and ask no questions.”
“It’s a long story. I care nothing for either of you, and even less for your reward.”
“He is well?” He hugged his knees and looked at the ground.
“He had a wicked knife wound in one shoulder, but it’s healed well.”
“But he’s told you nothing? Perhaps you have harmed him.” He glanced up and, for just a moment, his dark eyes were daggers. “Perhaps you lie.”
The moment’s ferocity vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “He would not trust you. He, too, has little experience of women or mundanes. Of anyone, if truth be told.” He shook his head in resignation. “He’s never been easy.”
“It’s not just that. For one thing, he is incapable of speech.”
“Incapable!”
“And for another, I don’t believe he can remember anything to tell me. He doesn’t know who he is. He can’t remember his people, or where is his home, or why the king’s men were pursuing him through my valley. He needs a friend who knows him.”
“Ah, my sorrowing land!” Tears rolled down his cheeks. He dashed them aside unashamedly. “The foul Djiid have done this!”
“Tell me who you are,” I said, more gently this time, hoping not to fluster him into complete incoherence. “And who is your friend? Truly, I wish him no harm.”
“My name is Baglos. And you are correct. I was never meant to wear the dress of nobles.” He wrestled off his brocade vest and threw it into the dirt. “And I was never meant to be the Guide. I was meant to cook: to braise succulent fish, to baste roasting quail, to mix and blend and season. But the one who was designated to be his madrissé, his Guide, was wounded. When it was decided that D’Natheil must make the crossing immediately, the Djiid attacked, and all was chaos. It’s why we became separated, not just that I am inept, though that is true. I thought my duties were ended before they had begun, and that hope was dead because only Baglos was available to guide.”
He sank into a melancholy silence, leaving me at a loss.
“Please. You must explain a little more. I’ve understood none of this except that your name is Baglos and that you’re a cook. Is that right?”
“Unfortunately true.”
“And you have been made Aeren’s guide, because someone else was wounded?”
“Aeren?” His head popped up from where it rested heavily on his fist. “Who is Aeren?”
“Your friend. He heard the cry of the gray falcon that we call an aeren, and he indicated to me that such was his name. Is that not true?”
For the first time, Baglos smiled. “D’Natheil means falcon. D’Natheil is his name. The Djiid have not taken his name. That is good, very good. Thank you for telling me.”
I was glad to hear there was something good about the confusing mess. But the fellow’s enemies had me worried; I’d never heard of Djiid. And there was the matter of sorcery. Was this fellow as ignorant of its consequences as Aeren?
“There was an afternoon when Aeren—D’Natheil—became quite afraid, but he couldn’t tell me why.” I hesitated, then forged ahead. “The light was very odd that day. It smelled wrong. Felt wrong.”
I expected ridicule at this or at least puzzled curiosity. But Baglos jumped to his feet as if stung by a scorpion. “We must go to him. Please. The Seeking of the cursed Djiid is already touching him. And they are here, so close.”
“The three templars—the men you ran away from—they are these Djiid, your enemies.” The murder in the forest, the taste of ash in my mouth, the empty eyes of the three templars searching for an unfaithful servant. It was all connected.
“Djiid are the warriors of Zhev’Na, the enemies of all who breathe, of all who live unfettered. Such danger stalking him, more than you know if they find him too soon. Please, woman. He is our last hope.”
Though I was no closer to understanding his words, I believed Baglos. There was no pretense in his quivering anxiety, no deception in his concern for his friend. With Rowan somehow involved with these Djiid, I shared his urgency.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”