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Chapter Fifteen



Ahearn calmed his restless dog and craned his neck until he caught the tavern owner’s eye. He gestured to the ten men arrayed against them. “Thanks for the warning, barkeep.”

“Yeh, just my way of thanking ye for bringing that in here.” He glanced at Kaakhag and spat; the gob hit the planks as loudly as a wet palm.

Umkhira put a restraining hand on Kaakhag’s arm and stood. “Human, you will repent that stain on your honor.”

The barkeep laughed. “Eh? On my honor?”

S’ythreni looked sideways at him with narrowed eyes. “She means you took money for the urzh’s drink even as you were laying a trap for him. You betrayed a guest.”

“And who asked you to explain, you sodomizing slut?”

Druadaen started at both the bigotry and ignorance of the slur.

Umkhira’s hand was on the handle of her hatchet. “I await your apology, human,” she repeated slowly as the standing men wrapped fingers around the hilts of their own weapons.

“And I’m waiting for these men to be done with you so’s I can wipe your filthy darger blood off the floor.” He turned his back, grumbling as his last patron hurried out the door. “Mebbe then I’ll have a respectable estab’shment again. The room is yours, Bannef.”

Bannef managed to appear both bored and impatient. “Well, now that there’s no further chance of interruptions, tell me exactly where your book is, and we can avoid any unpleasantness.”

Ahearn pouted. “Well now, the shame of it is that we don’t have his much-vaunted book with us.”

“A shame for you,” Bannef amended. “We know where you’re wont to flop, to hide, to run. So when we’re done with you here, we’ll just find your current lodgings and take it.”

“Strange, but I don’t think you will.”

“And I don’t think you’re leaving here alive if you give me any more lip, you hound-buggering bastard.” The dog stood slowly, growling at Bannef, who pointed at it. “And if your mange-ridden he-bitch comes at us, I’ll gut it myself.”

Ahearn sighed through a genial smile. “Now, I can see how you might be frustrated right now, might even feel the need to fling a few insults at me. But insulting my dog, too? That’s just not right.”

Bannef was confused. “Your dog?”

“Why, yes: my dog. See now, I’m a forgiving type. Sticks and stones and all that. But my dog is a sensitive soul. An insult like yours can make him sad for a week.” Ahearn’s smile became sharklike. “So you’re going to apologize to him. Right now.” And he waited.

It took almost a full second for Bannef to react, by which time, everyone at the table had risen. He raised his hands—a clear prelude to a mantic pass—and his three main bodyguards drew their weapons.

But before those blades cleared their sheaths, Umkhira had leaped toward their wielders, her hatchet whirring round their ducking heads as the lead two backed up, parrying. But the third was stepping past her, moving to get on her flank, sword cocked back.

Druadaen cross-drew his blades and jumped forward.

The bodyguard heard the sounds, spun on a foot toward the new threat, and swung at Druadaen.

Who caught the approaching blade between the quillon and tang of his dagger, snaring it with a quick turn of the wrist. The guard’s eyes were wide upon Druadaen’s ready longsword—

—which was almost knocked out of his grasp as S’ythreni’s passing shoulder struck his elbow. “Oaf,” she muttered as she sprang after the guard.

Who used the moment to pull his own sword out of Druadaen’s loosened control—and just in time to block the gleaming blur of the aeosti’s slashing blades.

Druadaen was about to close in to help when a blow from the other side nearly tumbled him. Kaakhag had leaped over the table to join Umkhira, swinging his chair as he landed an inch too close to Druadaen. The urzh’s mass forced the two guards there to take yet another backward step, giving Umkhira a moment to sweep her left hand down toward her boot and bring it up again, holding a narrow dagger.

Still unengaged, Bannef had raised a hand toward Ahearn, seemed surprised when nothing happened, glanced toward Elweyr. Druadaen, recovering from his near fall, spared a glance in the same direction: the dark man’s hands were held in the shape of a bowl, his eyes focused on some place beyond the limits of the room—or maybe the world.

Ahearn finished rushing around the table and, slipping through the gap left by the urzh’s leap, joined Umkhira and Kaakhag as the center of a rough skirmish line. Together, they forced the two guards back upon Bannef, who ran toward the safety of the other men he had secreted throughout the taproom.

Druadaen reentered the fight against the man whose sword he’d trapped and who was continuing to parry S’ythreni’s relentless flurry of strikes, one of which had opened up a bright red seam on his thigh. Seeing Druadaen approaching again, the guard raised his sword to block the new threat—and as he lifted that arm higher, the aeosti leaped in. The tapering point of her left-hand shortsword took him in the underarm gusset; he fell with a sigh, bleeding heavily.

An instant later, the other two guards were overwhelmed by the stronger, relentless attacks of the two urzhen and Ahearn, whose double feint caught the largest of their opponents off-guard. The soldier of fortune’s blade plunged into the man’s shoulder joint. A howl, a stumble, and then Kaakhag brought what was left of the chair down on the thug’s head, sprawling him. Ahearn’s dog, finally clearing the table, dove for the man’s throat.

The last bodyguard spent a fatal moment trying to decide what to do next—and never got a chance to do anything; as he sidestepped the arc of Umkhira’s hatchet, he walked himself into the sweeping tip of her razor-sharp knife. His windpipe half-severed, he fell backward, gargle-yelling through the rush of blood.

But Bannef was beyond reach, having abandoned whatever mancery he was attempting as he fled behind the advancing gang he’d gathered to the tavern in secret. Druadaen and S’ythreni were already parrying that poorly armed group’s tentative cuts and lunges. Elweyr cursed, unable to track his mantic adversary through the frenetic melee, just as Ahearn and the urzhen swung round to form a line against Bannef’s remaining forces…

—and just as the mancer smiled and made an invocational gesture toward the door.

It crashed open and more men—better armed than the others—began swarming in. The half dozen defenders around Bannef backed up, falling back a few steps toward this new, growing force.

Druadaen assessed the rapidly changing odds. He and his companions were now facing a total of eleven adversaries and more were still coming through the door. Not promising.

Ahearn had apparently made the same estimate. “Elweyr, we need—”

S’ythreni interrupted sharply. “He can protect or attack; can’t do both.”

That made the course of the melee—both leading up to and after this point—much clearer to Druadaen. Elweyr’s and Bannef’s mancery had effectively cancelled each other out. A strategy that had, until now, favored the Dunarran and his companions, who were more capable fighters. But with the influx of Bannef’s new foot soldiers…

Druadaen let his dagger dangle on its lanyard long enough to snatch one of the guards’ swords off the floor. With a hssssttt! he tossed it to Kaakhag.

The urzh, who reached in front of Ahearn to snare it, regarded it as he might an unsavory meal, but resigned, tossed away one of the two chair legs he was now wielding.

Ahearn, at the center of their rough line and with his dog poised to leap at enemies, nodded as the first rank of Bannef’s fresh warriors approached cautiously. “Ready?”

Druadaen shrugged. “One is or one dies.”

Ahearn grinned. “Typical Dunarran. Here they come.”

Several of the enemies in front rank had bucklers: not as good as a full shield but a reasonable defense, and not too awkward for indoor swordplay. Blades raised, they advanced at a measured step, holding a rough line that would be much harder to break. Or survive.

Druadaen let his sword rest back upon his upper arm, fell into that trancelike state where he could see the entire tableau while maintaining focus on his first intended target…

The first rank of attackers took another step forward—and, as one, fell flat on their faces.

Bannef glanced toward Elweyr in panic, then, confused, made gestures toward the men on the ground—without effect.

Behind, Elweyr was muttering curses. Ahearn started forward, shouting, “Now, let’s gut them while—!”

But S’ythreni shouted, “Wait!”

As the word left her lips, the rest of Bannef’s men either staggered to chairs or fell into awkward sitting positions on the floor.

The color drained out of the duplicitous mantic’s face. He sprinted for the still-open door—and drew up short before a figure standing in it:

Shaananca.

Who smiled at the speechless Bannef and nodded slowly at him.

The mancer’s mouth worked silently. His eyes drifted slowly toward the ceiling and he swayed where he stood, but otherwise did not move.

Shaananca stepped around him, avoiding the fighters sprawled in chairs and dazed upon the ground. Three men and a woman, all armed, alert, and chillingly calm, moved into the room and formed up on her, two trailing to either flank.

Ahearn’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “What’s this? Are you—?”

Druadaen cleared his throat. “The four who just came in are Outriders.”

“Dunarrans?” breathed Ahearn.

“They do not look it,” asserted Umkhira.

“That’s the idea,” Druadaen explained.

“And the woman?” Elweyr muttered warily from behind.

“She’s—uh, she’s a librarian.”

“A librarian?”

“Well…she’s an archivist, to be exact.” Even in Druadaen’s ears, the clarification sounded ridiculous. He stepped forward to meet her, sensed the others trailing in his wake. Cautiously. “Shaananca,” he said.

Her eyes opened wide, but her smile was mischievous. “Just my name? Not a ‘thank you’ or a ‘hello’?”

He gestured at the stunned, wounded, and dead around them. “Respects, but…it’s hard to even believe you are here. If it really is you…”

“You require proof?” Her eyes narrowed, but not disapprovingly. “Shall I share the name of the first girl to which you took a fancy when you began school in Tlulanxu? And her reaction when you told her?”

Druadaen felt himself flush as his companions edged closer, eagerly. “That will not be necessary, Shaananca.”

“I thought not,” she replied primly. Disappointed murmurs arose not only from his companions but two of the Outriders.

“Shaananca, I have only one question for you: Why are you here at all? And of all times”—he gestured at the shambles around them—“why now?”

“I’m here because you and your associates had particular want of my presence.”

Druadaen waved away her maddeningly ingenuous answer. “Shaananca, please: enough games. You understand what I am asking. When I left Tlulanxu, I did so by ship that ported here. I immediately boarded another ship to Sanâllea but slipped over the side before she sailed. I even arranged for a friend from my Courier days to pick up the chest I’d brought aboard when the ship reached Caratta.”

Shaananca nodded. “Yes, and you created a second false trail by riding back over the Connæaran border and dropping clues suggesting your ultimate destination was the coast of Teurodn.” She nodded again. “Quite professional, actually. Just enough variation not to be entirely predictable.”

Druadaen could feel, as well as peripherally see, the stares of Ahearn’s band. “And yet, it was all for naught.”

Shaananca stepped closer. “My dear boy,” she murmured, “do you really believe that if powerful people wish to remain apprised of your whereabouts, that they would fail to do so?”

“No, but I am surprised to learn that my ‘whereabouts’ are of such keen interest to people who oversee far more important matters.” The sudden stillness of his companions suggested that they might be considering the worrisome conclusions that could be drawn from his statement, if true.

Shaananca folded her hands. “It often happens that a person whose life is touched by the actions of great powers assumes that it is the result of those powers’ careful deliberation and settled intent.” She smiled. “That is natural enough, since it may change their life quite profoundly. But the fact of the matter is that such a touch is usually a matter of chance, coincidence, or incompetence.”

Druadaen almost smiled. “And you are trying to convince me that is how you came to be here? By chance?”

Her smile dimmed, but only slightly. “I am trying to convince you that I have sworn the same oath of service that you have, and so I may not reveal what I do and do not know. Just as I am prohibited from publicly sharing any of my guesses”—she looked at Ahearn—“or ‘conjectures.’ Which is apparently held to be a favorite word among us Dunarrans.”

Ahearn’s scalp seemed to jump backward on his head.

“Besides, when it comes to following your progress,” she finished, “I hardly need reasons other than my own.”

Even as his heart was warmed by those words, his head became wary. “And what are your reasons?”

Shaananca smiled again. “Druadaen, you are often wiser in the ways of the world than your limited experience of it would lead one to expect. But when you entered this city on your own, you were sure to enter places like this.”

“And what sort of ‘place’ is this?”

“A place where the rough texture of reality was likely to take your idealistic self by surprise, and fray—or even shred—the smooth morality which you have yet to shed.” She frowned. “And perhaps, never will. I cannot tell, anymore. But regardless, here we are.”

He smiled. “Yes, here we are.”

Shaananca looked over his shoulder; her smile returned, but with a wry cast. “And in such proud and estimable company.”

Druadaen shook his head. “They are good folk.”

Shaananca cocked an eyebrow.

He almost grinned. “More or less.”

“Less I suspect,” murmured Shaananca, studying Kaakhag’s heavy, brooding brows before glancing quickly at Ahearn’s ill-shaven and wary face. “Much less, perhaps.”

Druadaen felt torn between trust of her and a quick, natural loyalty toward those along whose sides he had fought. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they had other plans for you.”

“You mean that they meant to give me a scare?”

Shaananca’s smile became brittle and her eyes moved between Ahearn, Elweyr, and S’ythreni. “Oh, they meant far more than that, had things not worked out to their liking. Besides, it was they who spread the word that they would be at this fine establishment today. And timed it so that you would be here when the rival thaumantic arrived at the door, thereby making you a de facto recruit to their side. They had no great concern for your safety, Druadaen. Quite the contrary.”

Ahearn swallowed, and when he spoke, it was in a voice all at once determined and yet as reluctant as a serf contradicting a king. “If you know so much as that, lady magistra, then you must also know we would have drawn no blood unless he sought us to harm us. And we freely admitted as much before this room became so—lively.” He looked away. “As far as the timing of our meeting, I can only say this: we would have seen to his wounds as if he was one of us.”

“If he had lived, that is,” Shaananca added flatly. “Which seemed very much in doubt, from what I could tell.” She studied Ahearn, looked at his two followers. Her expression softened. “So, no less a rogue than your actions suggest—but one equipped with a conscience, it seems.” Then her gaze shifted back to Druadaen. “You realize, of course, that the Propretors might wish to put you in irons for this, my boy.”

Druadaen swallowed, nodded. “My deeds are my deeds. There is no gainsaying them or the Propretors.”

“You could flee.” She looked at the others. “With them.” Ahearn nodded. Eagerly, almost.

Druadaen shook his head. “If the Council determines that my actions today jeopardized the Consentium’s relations with Menara, then I must stand to answer for them. I shall not run.”

“And you shall not need to,” said Shaananca with a rueful smile. “That much can be arranged. But be warned: I will not be able to intercede should there be a repeat of this event. It is not just the Consentium that must be placated when they learn of this.” She looked around the taproom. “The mayor of Menara will have words for our emissary here in the free city, and you may rest assured that his placation will carry a cost.”

“And the militia will be looking to have our guts for garters,” Ahearn said with a long sigh.

Shaananca looked at him. “You, too, are free to go. All of you. But in the case of the officers of the city militia, I can only delay, not prevent, their inquiries. So if you wish to go, you must go immediately.”

Elweyr sighed. “With respect, magistra, we cannot. Since we anticipated Bannef might prove faithless, all my thaumantic references are secreted inside the city.”

Ahearn nodded. “Along with our modest wealth.”

S’ythreni snorted at the word “wealth.”

Shaananca shrugged. “If you return to that place, you could encounter further associates of these brigands”—she gestured at the slowly rousing foes around them—“or the watch, who will certainly have been told of the events here.”

“That’s a risk I will have to take,” Ahearn asserted, before shooting a hard stare at Elweyr and S’ythreni. “By which I mean me. And only me. This was my doing.”

“But I was the one who—” started Elweyr.

“There will be no argument. It was my decision to make, and I agreed. Eagerly.”

Shaananca cocked her stately head. “Why do you feel compelled to do this?”

“Well, it’s just the way of it, yeh? Comes with being the leader, if it’s a true leader that you’d be. Besides, I have…” Ahearn could not help looking away. “I have debts that need paying. Just outside of town. And they are not the kind one may pay with labor or service.”

Shaananca appeared to grow thoughtful.

Druadaen looked at her and shook his head. “Ahearn will leave the city with the others—”

“I will not! I have to—”

“To undertake take a task that would be the end of you? No, none of you can go. But I can because I am not known to travel with you. No one has any reason to follow me, to suspect that I might lead them to your secret cache. Once I have your goods in hand, I shall ride from the city and meet you at a safe place.”

The others stared at him. Ahearn’s face wore an expression that might have been—guilt? “You—you would do this? Think well, lordli—er, young fellow. If you are wrong, you could wind up…well, in a very bad way.”

“Unlikely, and—”

“And unnecessary,” Shaananca interrupted, turning to Druadaen. “Also, the swordsman has no debts.”

“What?” Druadaen and Ahearn asked in unison.

She looked at the soldier of fortune. “You have no debts.”

“With respect, ma’am, I have…”

“You have no debts.” Shaananca emphasized, and smiled. “Not anymore. Those that exist presently shall be seen to. After that, your responsibility is yours to fulfill.”

“But you don’t even know in whose debt I—”

“In fact, I do, now, and I commend your resolve. A visit will still be expected, though.” She turned toward Druadaen. “Better and better I deem your choice of companions. Better and better. And they seem as willing to stand with you as you were to stand with them. That, at the very least, deserves coin.” Which Shaananca extended toward Ahearn on a clean, aristocratic palm.

He slapped it away, his cheeks reddening as the silver clattered across the floor. “Keep your filthy money. We fought as mates.” Only after the words left his mouth did he remember who he was speaking to. The flush fled his face, but the defiance remained.

Shaananca was neither surprised nor angry. Instead, a small smile creased her lips. “Excellent.”

“Excellent?”

“You value your pride above coin.” Shaananca scanned the group’s gear. “And considering your means, that is a luxury you can ill afford. Excellent, indeed.” She turned back to Druadaen. “You may have chosen your companions well enough after all, Druadaen. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But only if we leave quickly.”


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