Healer (Brotherhood of the Throne Book 2) (24 page)

“It looks like you slept in it, which is what we need.” Kane stooped down and dug his hand into the dirt. “Here.” When he rubbed his hand across her face she smelled the rich earthy scent of the dirt. “Much better - you look like it’s been a week since you had a decent wash.”

“Good.” Brenna threw her pack over her shoulder and recited the spell so that only it was invisible. “I’ll meet up with you at the Dog,” she said. She reached up and quickly kissed Kane before she headed off through the trees. She would take a longer route into town and come past the Collegium. For all the time she’d spent at the library, she knew only a few people from there - she doubted anyone would recognize her in that part of town.

Kane watched Brenna’s retreating form.

“Time for Master Arlott to return home,” he said. He mounted Runner, nodded to Gaskain and then edged his horse out into the road. Gaskain would wait an hour before following him into town. They’d meet at the Crooked Dog later.

Kingsreach had changed, Kane thought as he rode through the quiet streets towards Thieves Quarter. It had only been a few months since his last visit and it had been winter, but the streets had been busier than they were today. The odd merchant cart sat along the street but the people rushed past them, hurrying to finish their business, all while looking over their shoulders. 

He kept his hat pulled low on his head and his cloak wrapped tight around him. He couldn’t hide his sword completely, nor did he want it out of reach, so he compromised by draping his cloak over it. Most of the people he passed were too intent on their own business to pay him much attention anyway.

He had just crossed from the more prosperous merchant area into Thieves Quarter when he saw the priest. Dressed in long dark robes, his shaved head bare, the man led a procession of muttering townspeople in his direction. The streets cleared in front of the procession and Kane pulled Runner off to the side. He sighed in relief when they passed. Once the group rounded a corner and were out of sight, he nudged Runner forward. He didn’t know what was going on but the angry faces of those following the priest meant trouble for someone.

A quarter of an hour later he dismounted and tugged Runner down a dirty laneway to the stables behind the Crooked Dog - relieved to see Yowan, Madelay and Dasid’s horses already tucked into the stalls. He unsaddled Runner, brushed him down and fed him before entering the inn through the kitchen.

Kane nodded to the cook and followed the hushed sounds of voices to the same small room Eryl had always used. He knocked and the door was quickly opened by one of Eryl’s men, who quickly stepped aside so Kane could enter.

Brenna concentrated on walking slowly, keeping her head down, as someone of her position in society would do when in the wealthy part of town. She’d entered Kingsreach through the gate opposite to the one Kane would use and had followed the main road to the market square.

The street leading to the square was well-traveled but still Brenna took care to walk behind a wagon carrying fresh fruit and vegetables destined for the market stalls. She tried to stay close enough to the wagon that she looked like she belonged with it while staying far enough away that the driver wouldn’t worry she’d try to steal from him.

When the wagon stopped beside a vegetable stall Brenna walked slowly towards the center of the square. She ducked and weaved between stalls, shoppers and merchants before heading to one side of the square. She smiled when she turned off into a smaller street and away from the market. Her sense of direction, tested while she’d been outside of Kingsreach, had returned and she knew she was heading toward the part of town that housed the Collegium.

A few blocks from the market Brenna started to feel uneasy. The crowds she’d had to weave through in the square had disappeared and a quick look around showed that she was the only one on the street. She picked up her pace and with her head down, she tried to look like she was on important business for her master or mistress. In truth, she had an unsettled feeling and wished it was night, or that her disguise better fit her surroundings. She ducked down an alley and continued moving west, back towards the Collegium. She eased her head around the corner of a cross street and stopped.

A mob had gathered in the center of the street, an angry mob with a priest at the centre of it. She edged back, wondering if she should return the way she came or wait, knowing that attracting the attention of the mob was the last thing she wanted. She looked back down the alley and felt a wave of recognition flow over her.

She knew this alley - she’d seen it or been down it sometime in the past, although this wasn’t a part of town she’d spent much time in. She looked at the signs painted over the doors that looked out on the alley. Tradesmen marks - a chandler, a seamstress, a cobbler, and weaver. Brenna stopped. Of course. She checked for old steel and closed her eyes in relief when she found what she sought.

She slowly backed up a few steps, her eyes still on the opening to the cross street. She could hear the mob moving closer. Quickening her pace, Brenna reached the door to the weaver’s shop, pushed it open and squeezed through, closing the door behind her just as she heard the sounds of the mob getting louder. Leaning against the door she heard the mob move past the shop and down the alley. It took her a few minutes for her heart to quiet. Then she turned to find a knife pointed at her throat.

Old steel. Brenna reached out and let the blade glow just enough to illuminate the face of the person holding it.

“Jemma,” she whispered. “I am very glad to see you.”

“Brenna, is that really you?” Jemma tugged her to a darkened back room and then hugged her.

“I thought the worst when I heard the witch hunters outside and you came in.” Brenna heard the sound of flint striking and then a candle was alight, illuminating Jemma’s pale face. “I thought they were coming in after you.”

“No, they didn’t see me,” Brenna said. “I felt it better if they never did.” She looked at her friend. Jemma had grown even more serious since she’d last seen her. Her face was pinched with worry and her eyes were somber. “Witch hunters?” Brenna asked.

“The church calls them salvation marches but they’re witch hunters, all the same,” Jemma said. “It’s not safe to be on the streets day or night when they’re around - even for those who follow the One-God.” Jemma hugged her again. “I can’t believe you’re here. Come, I’ll make some tea.” Brenna followed Jemma out into a hallway and then up a narrow flight of stairs. The rooms at the top were also dark, with heavy cloth draped across the windows. When Brenna gestured to Jemma, she shrugged.

“It’s better not to come to anyone’s attention, even if it’s only for reading at night. Any suspicions make their way to the witch hunters.” She filled a pot with water from a bucket. “I’m lucky,” she said when she caught Brenna looking at the bucket. “The shop has a pump so I can always get water. Others …” Jemma shivered. “The chandler’s wife said she heard that a tailor was out getting water when the witch hunters showed up. He was accused of tainting the well and taken off to be converted by the High Bishop. He hasn’t been seen since. That was two weeks ago.”

It was Brenna’s turn to shiver.

“He’ll likely not be seen again,” she said softly. “I know what the High Bishop does.” She looked into Jemma’s eyes. “Feiren Rowse was sent to him for conversion.”

“Feiren Rowse.” Jemma nodded, her mouth tightening. “I heard he was missing fingers and toes when he was buried.”

Brenna nodded grimly and she continued. “He didn’t deserve to die that way. And I won’t believe he was poisoning the king.”

“He was though,” Brenna said and Jemma looked up at her, startled. “But it was also an antidote to counter a poison he’d been receiving for years.” She looked at the younger girl. “I knew the king was being poisoned and gave Feiren the antidote. I also made sure Feiren didn’t suffer even more at the hands of the High Bishop.”

“Is that why you’re here? To fix things?”

Brenna paused before answering. Jemma’s face had been so defeated and now there was hope, if only a little. Brenna didn’t want to disappoint her. “Yes,” she said. “But it will take some time and things will get worse before they get better. Right now, I’m trying to unite allies behind me.”

“Like the Brotherhood?” Jemma asked.

“Yes, among others.”

Jemma added tea to the now boiled water and filled two mugs. Brenna took the chipped mug offered to her, cradling the warmth to her chest. It would take some time but she would make things better for Jemma and all the other hardworking folk out there like Jemma, or she would die trying.

Brenna kept Jemma talking for most of the afternoon. It was well past her meeting time at the Dog but she wasn’t going to venture outside until dark. She knew Kingsreach at night better than most people knew their own homes - that was when she was going to travel. In late afternoon she contacted Kane through his sword, letting him know her change of plans. She told him she was safe with a trusted Brother and she would get there as soon as it was safe. 

Jemma’s father had been caught outside of the city when the edict came. He’d sent a message saying he was well and asking her to join him in Silverdale, but Jemma was hesitant to leave.

“Is it because of Beldyn?” Brenna asked.

“How do you know?” Jemma asked, her face white. “I’ve only seen him a few times.”

“I had a Seeing, a vision, where you two met.” Brenna said. “It turns out that I
am
a witch.” Jemma’s face clouded with confusion. “I spent a good part of the past year in Aruntun learning to use my powers.” She touched a hand to her knife, letting it flare briefly. “My teacher believed my abilities with old steel are partly because I’m a witch.” She smiled at Jemma. “I think the rest is because I’m the Caller.”

Jemma relaxed a little.

“I’m not sure if Beldyn told you,” Brenna continued. “But we’re related. We grew up together, although he was only ten when I left.”

“No he never mentioned.” Jemma looked surprised. “He said he knew someone named Brenna a long time ago, but that’s all. You grew up together?”

“At Duke Thorold’s estate in Comack. My mother was the household healer and my father was the duke’s oldest son.”

“The one who died? Beldyn mentioned him,” Jemma said.

“Did he? It happened before either of us were born.” Brenna was surprised Beldyn even thought about Alistair.

“He said he wished his brother had lived so
he
could be king.” Jemma looked at Brenna. “He doesn’t want it, you know - the crown.”

Brenna leaned back in her chair. That was interesting. The only one who wanted Beldyn to be king was Duke Thorold. “I can’t blame him,” she said. “Especially not with Thorold watching every move.”

“He’s afraid of him.” Jemma stared at the floor. “The last time he visited me he was terrified. I knew even though he tried to hide it. The duke had shown him something to
teach him a lesson
, he said. He wouldn’t tell me exactly what but he did say he wouldn’t end up like Neal.” Jemma raised her eyes to Brenna. “Who’s Neal?”

“He’s seen Neal?” Brenna leaned across the table. “Jemma, did Beldyn say Neal was alive?” Jemma nodded and Brenna took a deep breath. “How long ago was this?”

“Three days. Beldyn was here three days ago and he’d just seen him. Who’s Neal?”

“Neal Ravershaw, Duchess Avery’s militia captain.” Neal had been alive three days ago! That gave her more hope than she’d believed possible. She had to let Kane know. “Remember I told you I was looking for allies? Neal and Duchess Avery are two of them. I’m here to free them and get them back to Aruntun where they can rally the duchy against Thorold and the High Bishop.” She leaned over and hugged Jemma. “Thank you. We weren’t even sure Neal was still alive. Whatever shape he’s in, as long as he’s alive, we need him on our side.” She straightened up and placed her mug on the table. She unsheathed her knife and put it gently down beside it, the hilt facing Jemma. “I need to contact Kane and I’d like you to join in and tell him what you’ve just told me. We need to touch both our weapons, together.” Jemma took her knife from her belt and placed it on the table. Brenna reached one hand to Jemma’s knife and one to her own. She nodded at Jemma and the younger woman did the same. Brenna took a deep breath and
reached
for Kane.

Kane’s sword tingled - Brenna was contacting him. Was she in trouble? He put his hand on his sword hilt – he didn’t sense any fear from her, but there was urgency.

He rose and backed away from the table, letting the conversation of the others eddy around him. The table was littered with a few jugs of ale and  the remains of a surprisingly good stew - Madelay had insisted Eryl take her to meet with the innkeep and the cook before they ate and Kane was confident she’d had a great deal to do with the quality of their meal. Kane sat on a bench close to the door and drew his sword partway from its scabbard so he could hear Brenna clearly.

“
Kane
?” Her voice sounded in his head. “
I’ve news of Neal
.”

Startled, Kane held his hand up - eventually his companions fell silent, watching him.

“
I’m at the Dog – we all are
,” he replied. “
What news of Neal
.”