King's Man and Thief (17 page)

"This isn't about money, you whore," hissed Marrika. She knotted the rope with a savage jerk, and Lorinda gasped as the rope cinched painfully about her slim waist. Expertly Marrika tossed the grappling hook upward. It caught on the first try. Marrika tugged, assured that the grip was good, and motioned for them to lift the girl upward. As Khem and the others began to slowly draw her up toward the surface, Lorinda's hands automatically flew to the rope to steady herself.

Marrika watched as she was borne upward, breathing heavily with the force of her hatred. The bitch'd cry soon enough, all right. She waited while her compatriots untied the girl, then dropped the rope down again. Quickly, with the sinuous grace of a cat, Marrika grasped the rope herself and, using her hands and feet, propelled herself up its length. She accepted Khem's strong hand and scrambled out, scooting backward.

Clia, the Sparrow, was in charge of watching Lorinda while Marrika and Freylis emerged from the tunnels. Her dagger was perfectly functional despite its ornaments, and Clia's beringed fingers had a solid grip on the girl.

"Councilman's daughter, hey, Raven?" A white grin flashed. "Gold and silver a-flowing. A better haul than Bear pulled off!" She laughed softly.

Marrika didn't bother to contradict the fortune-teller. Clia would find out soon enough what they really planned to do with Lorinda. And then the garish-garbed Sparrow would either be with them— or dead.

Freylis now emerged, grunting as he pulled his mammoth bulk up hand over hand. He plopped himself on the street surface with all the finesse of a whale beaching itself. Marrika's red lips curled with disgust. If all went well tonight, she might never have to endure that sweaty body moving over and in her again.

She listened with half an ear as the thieves heaved the grate back in place. They were very close to the temple now. She could see it across the flat cobblestone center of town. Candles burned, and even as she watched, she saw a black-robed shadow scurry across the square. It stopped at the Godstower, as it had a few nights ago, but did not ring the bell. Instead, the shape waited, pacing nervously.

"There he is," hissed Marrika. "Let's go."

Clia prodded Lorinda's throat with the tip of her dagger. A small bead of blood appeared. "Come on, little rich sister," smiled Sparrow. The thieves and their prisoner hurried across the square to where the Blesser of Vengeance waited.

"Did you—do you—" he asked breathlessly.

Marrika nodded her dark head. "Indeed we do," she replied, nodding her head in Lorinda's direction. "I keep my promises to my god and my friends, Kannil. Are you prepared for us?" The little man closed his eyes briefly in a shudder of ecstatic anticipation, then licked his lips and replied, "All are assembled, ready to honor the god, Lady Marrika."

"Lady?" scoffed Freylis. Marrika didn't even bother giving him an angry glare. Like the tide, Freylis's importance to her was ebbing, its ultimate demise inevitable. He had already almost outlived his usefulness to her. And if things went the way they should tonight, well, his time might already have run. It pleased Marrika that he had no idea how fragile was the thread by which he hung.

All was in readiness when they reached the temple of Vengeance. The stone building, not large to begin with, seemed much smaller than it had the last time Marrika had been there; but then again, there were many more people gathered than there had been on that fateful night. And this time, all the torches and candles had been lit. The circle of bone powder was drawn, with one part of it left open for the main attraction of the night to enter. Within the circle sat and stood the thieves who had chosen to ally with Marrika and Freylis. She felt her heart lift at the sight of their tense, wary faces. So many. So many, who did not want to be milk-and-bread wholesome under the leadership of Deveren Larath. So many like her, who could never forget that crime could not be reigned in, that theft went hand in hand with murder, that life in the shadows could never, ever, be anything other than dark.

"What do you want?" A cry, shattering the still, tense moment. It was Lorinda, of course, her calm demeanor broken by the same faces that so heartened her captor. Marrika turned to regard the prisoner. Lorinda's face had gone white. She, more than most, knew what kind of a deity Vengeance was. The girl must, in some part of her soul, be guessing what was about to transpire, even as she fought to reject the dreadful knowledge. "My father will pay-"

"There is no money that can buy what your blood will buy, child," interrupted the Blesser. He reached with one thin hand to touch Lorinda's soft cheek. With a soft little cry, like the mewl of a barnyard kitten, Lorinda cringed from that caress.

"What?" came Clia's voice, startled. "Wolf, what's going on here?"

It was the moment Marrika had been waiting for, the moment she felt she'd been leading up to her whole life.

"Be quiet, Sparrow, or we'll silence your chirping for you," said Marrika. "Don't ask Freylis." Oh, the words were sweet. "Ask
me"

Stunned silence greeted her words, then chatter broke out.
Now or never,
thought Marrika. She seized the moment and spontaneously leaped onto the blood-encrusted altar. Gasps came, and the Blesser rushed forward, anger on his face. She stopped him with one commanding hand.

"Who brings you your desire, Blesser?" cried Marrika. Her heart hammered in her chest and the blood in her veins sang. "Who has made this possible? Thieves of Braedon, rally with me tonight, and you work hand in hand with Vengeance himself! We will take what we want, and who's to stop us?" She pointed at Lorinda, who stared back enraptured, her eyes enormous. "This girl is Vandaris's daughter. Sparrow and others think only of money. I think of power—power to get whatever we want! Who among us has not been wronged? Who doesn't, deep in his heart, desire vengeance upon another? Well, now's your chance. Follow me—and drink deep!

Her passion was like fire; and the thieves who beheld her, like dried timber. Their expressions changed, and they all crowded around her, helped her down off the altar. Freylis alone hung back, visibly deflated. Bully and tyrant he might be, but he knew he couldn't stand against one who seemed in such accord with the dark god.

Kannil was beside himself. "Yes!" he squealed. He seized Lorinda, yanking her out of the grip of the startled Clia and propelling her into the center of the thieves. Lorinda cried out as hands reached to touch her. They were not hurtful, not yet; they merely wished to touch the living covenant between themselves and Vengeance before the deed was done.

Marrika watched, pleasure burning deep within her, as Lorinda was roped to the altar. The wooden platform had never been designed to accommodate a human sacrifice. Lorinda was forced to kneel in front of it. Rough hands grabbed her arms, pulled, secured her to the blood-covered table. Now she fought, now that it was too late, her lithe body thrashing and twisting, but to no avail.

Marrika's palms were wet with anticipation. Clearly restraining himself with difficulty, the Blesser moved to close the circle, murmuring the ritual words in a voice that trembled, and sprinkling more white powder on the earth. Marrika shivered as the temperature dropped, smiling at the discomfiture of some of "her" thieves who were experiencing this for the first time.

Now Kannil moved toward Lorinda. There was a flash of reflected light from the ceremonial dagger he withdrew. Inspiration struck Marrika.

"No, wait!" she cried. Kannil stared up at her, torn between carrying out the murder at once and listening to what Marrika had to say. "We are all in this together," she said, moving up beside the Blesser and extending a hand for the blade. "Let us all leave our marks on the girl."

Joy flooded the man's pale face. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes. Slowly." He handed her the knife, and placed one hand on Lorinda's back. "You may go first, O favored one."

Marrika crouched down and gazed levelly into Lorinda's eyes. They were wet, but did not look away.

"Why?" Lorinda asked. "Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?" Marrika fingered the blade. It was sharp, honed to a keen edge. "One word: Pedric." The younger woman frowned. "Pedric? But... I don't understand."

"He was mine, but he threw me away." The words hurt her to utter them, and she hissed them, softly, for Lorinda's ears alone. "And I want him to suffer for that. I want
you
to suffer for that!" Without another word, she swiped the hungry blade across the beautiful face. Lorinda cried out as the knife laid her cheek open. "Your beauty dies first!" And Marrika spat into the girl's disfigured visage before yielding the knife to another.

She spared a glance for Kannil. His eyes were closed in ecstasy. He opened them, and gave her a smile. Marrika's breath caught.

The bastard was using his mind magic, linking himself to Lorinda, savoring her pain from two vantage points— his, witnessing the torture, and hers, experiencing it. Marrika hid her shudder of revulsion and turned away, holding out the knife. "Who will be next? Who will be next to inflict a blow for his freedom?"

"Me," said Freylis, shouldering his way through the crowd in an effort to reclaim the dignity he had lost. Without pausing he snatched up the knife and impaled it into Lorinda's right hand. The girl convulsed, her fingers splaying in reactionary agony but affixed firmly to the altar by both blade and bonds.

"Please," she whimpered.

"That's right, girl," crowed Marrika, "beg!"

The bloodlust spread through the crowd. The thought that they could so hurt another human being, with utter freedom and no reprisal, had a dark allure. The thieves were working past their initial revulsion, were starting to embrace Lorinda's fear and suffering. The girl sensed it, and her face reflected her horror.

Marrika drank it in like wine.

One by one they came to torture the innocent maiden, while Lorinda gasped and tried to twist away from them. Khem removed an ear. Clia stabbed her shoulder. Others inflicted different wounds. With each injury, the Blesser seemed to reach new heights of delight. But then something strange happened.

Lorinda managed to lift her head slightly, searching out Marrika. Her beauty was gone now, past any Healer's ability to salvage. Pedric, with his love for pretty things, would no doubt turn away in revulsion from her. But something shone in her eyes, a quiet integrity that unsettled Marrika. The girl's words distressed her even more.

"I served the goddess Love," rasped Lorinda. Jeers met this statement, but she continued, though the effort clearly was costing her. "Love teaches us ... to be kind ... to forgive."

"No," murmured the Blesser, a frown shadowing his face. "Don't spoil it..."

Lorinda swallowed blood, then pressed on. "For you to ... to hurt me like this, to ... to kill me ... you must be in much torment, worse than any you could inflict on me. I... I pity you—all of you."

A snarl began in the back of Marrika's throat. Only dimly realizing what she was going to do, she surged forward and grasped the knife from someone's grasp. Springing at Lorinda, she struck. Blood fountained onto her hand.

At that precise instant, Kannil grabbed Marrika's free hand. The thief's vision shattered into a thousand pieces and she realized that Kannil, with his touch, had linked her to Lorinda. Images flashed through Marrika's mind even as agony trembled through her nerves.

Pedric, looking at her with love and fear of rejection; Pedric's face achingly dear, beloved, beautiful. Marrika's own visage, cruel and unforgiving. Images of women and men she had never seen, but loved; Vandaris, gentle father; Love's temple; and the pain, the pain, the not understanding
—
why, why? What have I done? Gods, gods, please stop, stop
—

—
and the knife, above all, the knife, in the throat. . . cold... cold.. . dark ...

The Blesser pushed her away just in time. Marrika stumbled backward, gasping, her hand going to throat and not truly believing it to be whole. Lungs heaving for air, shuddering with what she had just seen, a wave of remorse lifted Marrika for just an instant.
What have I done?
The girl's dying question, now her own. She moved toward the girl, half-formed thoughts of somehow halting the dreadful forces that she had set in motion flitting about her brain.

Lorinda spasmed once, then was still. It was too late.

At once sanity rushed back. The girl had been the price for the power Marrika had tasted, and a tool for revenge. Surely, that brief flash of regret had been the lingering traces of Lorinda's presence in her mind, nothing more. Marrika shot the Blesser a look of mingled disgust and horror. His face was flushed, his eyes dewy and radiant. What she had found disturbing was his delight. His tongue crept out to moisten his lips. She knew he would want more, having tasted this.

And Marrika would see to it that he got it.

"Vengeance is placated," said Kannil, his voice trembling. "He has blessed this mission, this woman. Let us calm ourselves and then break bread together, sealing the pact that we have made!"

Those assembled bowed their heads, forcing their breathing to slow, their pulses to calm. Kannil opened the circle and brought out bread and wine, which was gleefully accepted. No one gave a second thought to the body of the councilman's daughter who lay across the bloody altar.

"Lady Raven," said Khem, seating himself next to her as Marrika finished her first glass of wine, "you have called great power here tonight."

Her eyes narrowed. "Aye," she agreed. "And what is your point, Hound?"

He glanced about quickly, then spoke in low tones. "Your ally is a god, but sometimes, one needs human allies as well. Would you like an ally, Lady Raven—one of the most powerful men in all of Verold?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Go on."

The King's word is law.
—traditional motto of Mhar