Lady of Mercy (The Sundered, Book 3) (19 page)

And suddenly, she had it. Her eyes snapped open; the darkness was gone. The innkeeper’s lined and tired eyes met hers. “Lorie?”

She tried to speak, found no comfort there, and reached out weakly. He said nothing, nothing at all, because he could not clearly see her.

But what he could not see was there nonetheless, pulsing faintly with the signature of her subconscious need: bands of light, strengthening as the minutes passed.

Her hands lacked the strength to maintain a firm grip, but this at least Verdor understood. He tightened his own until the rigid lines of her face seemed to melt into sleep. Even then, she held him invisibly, and the gate of the Dark Heart shut firmly behind them both.

Verdor stood his guard there, ignoring the crick in neck and back. He was a very strong man.

 

The pillar of fire burned brightly an inch away from the planks of the floor. Although he sat a yard away, Darin could feel it twisting in his hands, as if tethered by an invisible leash that was too thin, and too weak, to hold it. He struggled to call forth more power from the gate that he’d envisioned with Trethar’s help, then worked to contain it in the form that he’d decreed.

“Good.” Trethar’s words could barely be gleaned over the snap of the struggling column. “Very good.” Darin was only aware that his teacher had moved when he felt a callused hand touch his shoulder. “You’e done much for the day. Rest.”

Darin’s jaw tensed. It was almost as much work to force the power back through the gate and close it as it was to summon and control it. Still, once the gate was gone, he could relax. He
closed his eyes, picturing absence of red and orange light. In the darkness behind his lids he found the process less arduous.

By degrees the fire died, and Darin slumped backward against the wall.

“Very good,” Trethar repeated. “Soon you’ll be able to call upon the fire, and any other gate that you wish, with ease. You know the way.”

Darin didn’t feel as if he could spare the energy to argue. He barely grimaced as Trethar touched his forehead. Darin hadn’t liked the feeling the first time Trethar had “checked” his progress and only barely endured it now.

“Let your enemies be careful.” Trethar smiled. “What your Lady brings with her sword, you’ll be able to bring with your will.”

Darin forced his eyes open at the words—but not in time to avoid the memory of sword against sword in a dark alley. He could see the flicker of green light against wood and snow and dirt and blood; he could see the odd smile across the lips of someone he loved made strange by carnage. He shuddered, hoping Trethar wouldn’t notice.

Trethar noticed nearly everything. “Darin, this isn’t a game. It’s a war—and you’ve got to wage it with any means at your disposal. Do you expect to be able to fight without killing? Will you face your enemies with the hope of merely subduing them? And if you somehow manage that, do you expect to be able to convert them?”

Darin shook his head, and Trethar caught him by the shoulders. “Look at me, Darin. You’ve never killed before. But on the field-wherever that field happens to be—you will either kill or die.” He let his hands fall away. “I should be more patient with you. I’d like to say that I would be, if I had more time—but I’m not a patient man.

“Aye, boy, you’ve come farther than I expected—but I expect better of you yet.”

Better
. Darin clutched that staff that lay across his legs.
He means more powerful.

Initiate.
Her voice, a whisper, was also a warning.

He thought of Erin, standing silhouetted against the walls of the cold alley.

“Well, what’s this then?”

Darin’s eyes fluttered open, almost in relief. Trethar’s darkened. Neither had heard the metallic click of the doorlatch, or the soft creak of its hinges—but Robert, once revealed, was unsubtle and impossible to miss.

“You aren’t thinking of sleep at a time like this, are you? There’s still light outside, and I’ve finished my scouting for the day. We leave in the three-day, but you’ll have to depend on me to get us all to the drop point.” Robert smiled broadly and swung the door gently shut behind his back. “What do you think of it, Darin?” He lifted the edges of a dark blue coat, one trimmed in gold, with gold-thread buttons and catches.

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met that would go out and buy
another
jacket at a time like this.”

“Thank you. I always think it’s important to look your best—you never know when it might be necessary.” His smile dimmed slightly. “How is the Lady?”

“Sleeping. Doctor’s orders. Verdor says she’s eaten, and sleep’s what she needs most.”

“And so do we,” Trethar said curtly.

Robert graced him with a disdainful side glance and rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, I suppose at your age you do.” He grabbed Darin by the arm and dragged him to his feet. Darin caught Bethany before she clattered to the ground. “But Darin and I shall properly sleep when it’s darker. We’ve a good two hours before the market closes for the week, and I’ve a little funding to ensure that we enjoy ourselves properly. You’ve been to a city market before?”

Darin nodded quietly. “In Malakar, when we had tasks to run for the house.”

“All the better. This one’s similar. Not, perhaps, quite as grand—but it’ll do quite well for our circumstances. I intend to go. Will you come with me and keep me company?”

“No,” Trethar barked.

“Yes,” Darin said, at the same moment. He gave Trethar a guilty glance and then looked away.

“Better and better, then.” Robert smiled. “Come along, Darin. You can be my attendant.”

Darin. walked across the room to where his coat was spread against the floor.

“Darin,” Trethar said, annoyance obvious in his voice. “I prescribed rest, and going anywhere with this one isn’t the way to get it.”

“Nonsense, old man. You’re running the boy ragged with your talk of gloom and doom. There’s not much point to saving one’s life if one doesn’t have a life to begin with. Now do get out of the way and let us be off.”

“Darin, show the sense that he won’t. You’re wanted, boy, and not just by the local city guards.”

Robert snorted.
“They’re
wanted, old man. Trust my experience. No one seeing the two of us together is going to notice a mere slave.” He reached for Darin’s hand. “Now come on, Darin. We’ve hardly any time at all.”

 

Lord Erliss looked up from his seat by the fire and set his glass aside. He hated the northern climate intensely; the cold penetrated his quarters, even when a fire burned in the odd fireplace in the room’s center. He looked out the uncurtained window and frowned; the sky was gray enough that it was hard to judge time quickly.

But an interruption was expected, even welcomed, and he motioned a slave to the door when it came, trying to play Lord of the Manor, and succeeding admirably in his own opinion. The slave rose from his kneeling position and made haste, in complete silence, to follow his master’s command.

Captain Steverson walked into the room, dropped to one knee, and bowed his forehead.

“News?”

“Lord.” The captain raised his head. “Of the three people you set us to watch, one has shown promise.”

“Which one?”

“A metals merchant, caravaned under the crest of House Bordaril.”

“Metals merchant?” Erliss knew that House Vanellon was responsible for all of the metals and precious stone trade for the
eastern coast. Everyone knew it; Vanellon was the strongest merchant house in the Empire, and although it held no Greater Cabal seats, it was still a force to be reckoned with.

“Lord.” The captain nodded. “The only metals merchant this side of the continent.” He waited expectantly, and then added, “House Vanellon has no trade routes to man.”

“Not good news, then.” Erliss rose and shuffled over to the window, trying to be still. “What route does he take?”

“She. And she takes the clear road from Verdann to the capital of Illan. The family that owns the mine concession will not deal with any but her, and as she has dealt fairly and equitably with Bordaril—the most powerful house in Senatare—no one has seen fit to press the point.”

Erliss picked up his drink again. “Are you sure that she’s our most likely target?”

“Of the three named, she is the only one to have been visited since our arrival. The woman and the boy did not appear. We think it unlikely that they will. A slim, short man entered and left her quarters.”

House Bordaril held the high seat of the Lesser Cabal; Erliss knew at least this much. He also knew that they had a small standing army, which they often used in times of difficultly to guard their caravans. The mining concession was the one most dear to them, and they were likely to give a nominal guard—at the very least—to any caravan that traveled between Verdann and Dagothrin.

Wincing as alcohol burned the back of his throat, Lord Erliss stood. He clapped his hands just so, and held out his arms; two slaves were at his side at once, tending to his clothing.

“I will need to travel in haste to the consulate from Vanellon. It is a matter of some import, and I will approach as a humble equal,” he told them. They would make certain his dress was appropriate.

He did not need to choose his garments; he had said enough. “See what you can do to hire mercenaries on short notice,” Erliss said to Lord Vellen’s captain. “I’ll see what I can do to offer terms of concession to the only house that would happily fight Bordaril.”

The captain bowed his head to the edge of his knee and then rose crisply to follow Erliss’ new orders.

For the first time in months, Darin was grateful for the cold. It helped alleviate the effect the press of bodies had, as people huddled in the market square, seeking barter, trade, and warmth. He had thought he would find the market terrifying, for it was in Verdann that he and the last of Culverne’s servitors had been forced to part company.

But without the slave line and the Swords as company, without the watchful and angry eye of Lord Vellen of Damion, beneath a winter sky, rather than the peak of summer blue, the market was a completely different place.

“Quite a crowd here, isn’t there?” Robert said. He had to raise his voice to be heard, but it attracted no attention; everyone else was shouting as well.

Darin nodded silently.

“I want to show you something before we start losing crowns,” Robert said, and caught Darin’s arm.

Darin had enough time to catch the odd flicker in Robert’s eyes before he was dragged through the crowd. He was glad that he had no money or anything of value anywhere on his person—without the protection of house guards, he would have lost it to a thief. He kept the staff of Culverne drawn tightly to his chest and kept his eyes on his feet. Beneath a fine layer of dirty slush, he could see uneven cobblestones that would be unforgiving to the clumsy.

“This way, Darin. Market center!”

Why Robert bothered to tell him where they were going, since he didn’t bother to let go of Darin’s arm, Darin didn’t know. But he nodded anyway, his attention caught by the echoes of shouts and calls, the scent of winter food, and the flashes of colored cloth at banner height.

“Just past this rail, and we’ll be clear of the crowd.” Robert dragged him quickly past the last few people and alongside a black iron railing that nearly hit him in the stomach. “Now,” Robert said. “Look straight ahead.”

But Darin was no longer listening. The wrought-iron fence extended in a small circle, maybe ten feet across. In the center of the circle, on a pedestal no more than a foot high, stood the solitary statue of a woman. Robed in white alabaster, her arms were outstretched, hands up, in either supplication or blessing. Her hair, white as well, fell long, and curled in a hard, cold circle about her shoulders and cheeks. The face that was upturned
to the day’s light wore an expression of such love and peace that Darin took a step forward, into the rails, as if called.

“She’s called the Lady of Mercy,” Robert said softly. He waited a moment, while Darin continued to stare. “Don’t look at her expression, if you can help it. Look at her face.”

But Darin still wasn’t listening.
Lady of Mercy
. He drew a breath that was sharp enough to cut, and for an instant, his lips curved in a whistled tune—one that Stev had taught him in House Damion. His eyes prickled in the sunlight—it had to be the sunlight—as he remembered exactly where he’d seen this statue before. It had stood, gray-robed and flesh-colored, exactly so, its expression no less rapt for the fact that it was alive.