Medalon (28 page)

R’shiel followed Khira inside and sat down on a small stool near the cluttered counter while Khira fussed with jars and powders and a small set of scales, carefully measuring out the ingredients for the potion that cured her mistress’ “heads”. Brak disappeared into the back room and emerged a few moments later with a steaming cup of tea. R’shiel sipped it, looking about the small shop with interest. It was full of jars and dried plants and reminded her of Gwenell’s apothecary at the Citadel. She loved visiting Khira,
just to sit in the shop and take in the smell. She wondered if the woman was a pagan, like Brak.

Brak placed another steaming cup near Khira. “I hear Loclon beat up a
court’esa
again,” he told the physic as she worked.

Khira looked up and frowned. “Someone should do something about that man.”

“It was Sunny, but she won’t report him,” R’shiel explained as she sipped her tea. “She’s afraid if she gets him into trouble, he’ll just get worse.” Footsteps sounded on the verandah outside and she tensed at the sound. Strictly speaking, she was not allowed to stop and chat while on her errands. A figure appeared in the doorway and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thought I saw you heading this way. Hiding from the dragon lady?” Dace asked. R’shiel wasn’t even sure where Dace lived, but he was always around; tolerated by everyone with the same kind of affection one might show to a lovable stray puppy. R’shiel was well aware of the debt she owed the boy. If not for him her sentence would have been intolerable. However, Dace’s greatest talent was not his easygoing nature or his natural charm, it was the fact that he seemed to know everyone in the Grimfield and everything that happened, frequently before it actually did.

“Heard the news?”

“What news?” Brak asked.

“There’s gonna be trouble.”

“How do you know?” Khira asked, looking up from her scales.

Dace tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “I have my ways.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“Same sort of trouble you always get when you lock people up,” Dace assured Brak. “We’re about due for another one.”

“What do you mean?” R’shiel asked.

“A riot, of course. The miners are getting restless again. They never actually achieve anything useful, but it’s sort of a moral imperative to try it at least once during your sentence. I guess some men think the chance at freedom is worth the risk of a whipping.”

“Doesn’t that make it harder on everybody else?” Khira asked as she tapped the herbal mixture carefully onto the scales.

“It does for a while,” Dace shrugged, leaning over the counter to see what Khira was doing. She slapped at his hand in annoyance but he snatched it out of reach. “But life settles down again pretty quickly. You humans are funny like that.” The boy had the oddest turn of phrase sometimes.

“It’s none of our concern,” Brak said, giving Dace the strangest look.

“Well, you never know,” he said. “Maybe this time the wrong Defender will get in the way and they’ll do some good before they’re caught.”

“Exactly who did you have in mind?” Brak asked. R’shiel was puzzled by his tone. What could Dace do, she wondered, that would worry the older man so?

“Loclon would be a good start,” R’shiel muttered darkly.

“Has he been bothering you, too?”

R’shiel laughed bitterly. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“Then why don’t you report him?” Khira asked with a frown.

“Yeah, why don’t you?” Dace asked.

“R’shiel, Loclon is an animal,” Khira said seriously. “I saw the way he wielded that lash. He was enjoying himself. If you’ve got something on him, then do everyone a favour and tell the Commandant.”

“No.”

“What about Sunny?” Dace persisted. “Don’t you want him to pay for what he’s done to her? And what about what he did to you?”

R’shiel looked at Dace sharply. “I never said he did anything to me.”

“You don’t have to. I can tell just by the way you stiffen every time someone mentions his name.”

“I do not!” she protested.

“You do too, but that’s beside the point. Why don’t you turn him in?”

R’shiel sighed. “You know what happens to prisoners who betray anyone, even a bent Defender like Loclon. My life wouldn’t be worth living. Look at Tarja. He’s guarded night and day just to keep him alive and they only think he betrayed the rebellion.”

“You mean he didn’t?” Brak asked. Khira looked suddenly alert, too.

“Don’t be absurd, Brak,” she snapped. “He never said a word, even when they tortured him in the Citadel. He would never betray his friends.”

Annoyed, R’shiel tried to stand up but Dace pushed her down. “Look, no one in this place is going to lose any sleep if Loclon swings.”

“That’s the problem, Dace,” R’shiel said. “Hanging is far too quick for Loclon. He needs to suffer. Suffer a lot.”

Khira seemed a little taken aback by the savagery of R’shiel’s reply.

“Fine, let Wilem make him suffer.”

“Wilem wouldn’t know how to. Look, I have to get back. Crisabelle will be having a fit by now.” Dace stood back and let her go. Khira handed her the packet of herbs with an odd expression. Tucking the packet in her shirt, she turned back as she reached the entrance to the shop. “Thanks anyway, Dace, but I’ll deal with Loclon. In my own way.”

Dismal grey clouds were building up over the back of the Hallowdeans in the distance as Brak made his way to the Inn of the Hopeless after R’shiel’s visit to the shop. Going the long way around the square to avoid passing the Defender’s Headquarters, he glanced skyward and decided it would probably rain again tonight.

Mysekis had been after him for several days now. Mysekis wanted to know if there was anything between Brak and Khira. The captain often found a reason to drop into the shop, but Brak had neither the time nor the inclination to play matchmaker. Besides, Khira had an abiding dislike for the Defenders. Her façade would crumble in a moment if Mysekis started making serious eyes at her. It was a complication he didn’t need. Only the ambiguity of his relationship with the physic had kept the captain at bay thus far. The simple solution would have been to admit that there was a relationship, but Brak had his own reasons for not wishing to confirm or deny the rumour, not the least of which was the buxom innkeeper L’rin. He was, after all, half-human.

Brak suspected Mysekis would be at home for lunch, but he didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into someone who would make him wait at the Headquarters Building for the captain’s return. He skirted the square and slipped down a narrow alley into a muddy lane where the garbage wagon stood forlornly as two prisoners emptied the rotting garbage from the rear yards of the shops into the wagon. A miserable-looking mule was hitched to the wagon, held by Sergeant Lycren, in the unlikely event that the mule had either the energy or inclination to bolt.

“Ho, friend!” Lycren called with a lazy wave. “And just what are you up to? Sneakin’ around the back alleys like a convict.”

Lycren scratched idly at his unshaven chin as he watched his prisoners working further up the alley. Both men were stripped to the waist and sweating, even in the feeble sunshine that straggled into the lane. The larger of the two men was a double-murderer named Zac and the other was Tarja. Brak took a step backwards into the shadows. To his knowledge, Tarja was not aware he was in the Grimfield and he planned to keep it that way as long as possible.

He made an excuse for his haste to Lycren before hurrying down the lane in the opposite direction and slipping through the wooden gate at the back of the inn. He let himself in through the kitchen, snatching a freshly baked bun as he strolled through, waving to the angry cook who yelled at him. Tossing the hot bread from hand to hand he entered the dim taproom. Several Defenders, their uniforms crumpled
and unbuttoned, sat near the window in the weak sunlight, hunched over their ale, waiting for lunch to settle. Brak ignored them and walked up the stairs, biting into the bun and burning his tongue in the process.

At the end of the long hall Brak stopped and knocked on the solid wooden door. The hall was gloomy and quiet at this time of day. Most of the inn’s guests would be out and about their business. The lunch crowd had departed so this was about as quiet a time as any there was in the Inn of the Hopeless.

The door opened a crack. “It’s me,” he said softly. L’rin opened the door with an inviting smile, stepped backed as he slipped in, locking the door behind him.

L’rin’s room was the largest in the Tavern besides the taproom. Huge, multi-paned windows let in filtered sunlight through the layer of dust and grime that coated everything in the Grimfield. The room was both L’rin’s office and bedroom. A large cluttered desk stood under one window and beside it stood a huge locked chest where she kept the takings from the inn. The bed was a heavy four-poster with rich blue velvet drapes and snowy white rumpled sheets over a thick down mattress. Brak reclined on the bed, the sheets pulled up to his waist, his naked chest as sculpted as a marble statue.

A knock at the door sent L’rin scurrying around the room to get dressed. Although Brak was certain she had locked it, the door opened a fraction and a blonde head appeared in the crack. Dace glanced at L’rin who looked rumpled and more than a little
guilty, her thick honey-coloured hair in total disarray and her gown slipping down over one broad shoulder.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“You’re late,” Brak snapped, although he was neither surprised nor entirely displeased by the fact.

“Good thing, by the look of you two,” Dace remarked with a grin. “You are looking particularly lovely today, L’rin.”

“Thank you, Dace,” L’rin said, actually blushing from the compliment, as she turned to her dresser and began to straighten her hair. It took her only a moment to arrange it to her satisfaction and she turned to Brak. “I have to be getting back downstairs. Don’t come down straight away. People might talk.”

Brak nodded and waited until she had left the room before turning on Dace, who was smiling angelically.

“You have been blessed by Kalianah, the Goddess of Love,” Dace remarked.

“And cursed by Dacendaran, the God of Thieves,” Brak added sourly. “What are you doing here?”

The God of Thieves shrugged. “Helping.”

“How exactly are you helping?”

Dace sat himself down on the stool in front of L’rin’s dressing table. “You know, you really should be a bit more respectful, Brakandaran. I am a god, after all.”

“You’re a Primal God. You don’t need respect. A bit of commonsense, maybe, but not respect.”

Brak had received quite a start when he realised Dacendaran had taken up residence in the Grimfield.
It made sense, when he thought about it. The Grimfield probably had the highest concentration of thieves anywhere on the continent and Dacendaran needed no Temples or priests to worship him. He just needed thieves. The Sisterhood would have been mortified to think that a god resided amongst them.

True to his nature, Dacendaran was a slippery character and this meeting had taken some time to arrange. This was Brak’s first chance to speak with him alone since Dace had appeared on the verandah of the tavern to watch Tarja being whipped, and Brak was a little surprised he had shown up at all.

“According to R’shiel, Tarja didn’t betray the rebellion at all,” Dace said, swinging his legs under the stool and looking for all the world like an innocent child. “Are you still going to kill him?”

Brak folded his arms above his head against the headboard. “Who said I was going to kill him?”

“I’m a god, Brak, not an idiot. Why else would you be here with another rebel? To save him? You forget that I’m something of an expert on the baser side of human nature. And you are rather unique, you know.”

Brak frowned. He didn’t need to be reminded of what set him apart from the rest of the Harshini.

“Of course, you should be thinking about the demon child,” Dace continued, ignoring the look Brak gave him. “Not dilly-dallying about pretending to be a rebel assassin. Why do you suppose they call her the demon child? It’s not as if the demons actually had anything to do—”

“Don’t get sidetracked,” Brak cut in. “You know who it is, don’t you?”

Dace looked a little annoyed. “Well, of course I do! You don’t think I couldn’t tell a té Ortyn Harshini from a human, do you? And there’s only one outside of Sanctuary. I’m not supposed to get involved though. Zeggie would be really mad at me.”

“Zegarnald?” Brak asked with a frown. “Why does the God of War care so much about the demon child?”

Dace bit at his bottom lip. He looked more like a child accused of mischief than a god. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a god thing.”

“A god thing?” Brak repeated incredulously.

“You know what I mean.”

“I have no idea,” Brak replied. “Enlighten me, Oh Divine One.”

Dace sighed. “Xaphista has to be destroyed. The demon child is the only one who can do that.”

“You could just dispose of him yourselves, you know.”

“Of course we couldn’t! What would happen if the gods started killing each other? Honestly, Brak, you are so human sometimes!”

“Honestly? Now there’s a word I don’t often associate with you.”

Dace pouted. “You’re really not making this easy for us.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Well, you are,” Dace explained. “Sort of. Well…maybe not you personally, but it’s what you represent.”

“You are not making any sense, Dacendaran,” Brak said impatiently.

“Well, you know that when we created the Harshini we gave the té Ortyn line the ability to channel our combined power, just in case we ever
needed it? Then we made the Harshini afraid of killing so that they couldn’t turn on us. But where we really mucked up was by giving them a conscience. Not you, of course, but the rest of them. It’s really proving to be rather awkward.”

“How is that awkward?” Brak asked, ignoring the god’s assertion that he was not burdened with a conscience. This was the God of Thieves. He probably meant it as a compliment.

“It makes them worry, don’t you see? Korandellen is going grey worrying if the demon child is a force for good or evil. We don’t care. We just want Xaphista gone. Zeggie thinks that Korandellen sent you to find her hoping that if you don’t like what you find, you’ll destroy her.”

Brak didn’t answer immediately, aware that there was more than a grain of truth in Dacendaran’s concern.

“So you decided to help?”

Dace nodded, brightening a little. “I’m looking out for her. I don’t think she’s evil. Actually, she’s kind of sweet. She’s not a thief, of course, but no human is perfect.”

“I’m not going to kill her, Dace. Korandellen asked me to take her to Sanctuary, that’s all.”

“But you can’t!” Dace pleaded. “Suppose he doesn’t like her?”

“Korandellen is Harshini. He likes everyone. He can’t help it. That’s why they hired me, remember? And I don’t have a conscience, according to you.”

The God of Thieves thought that over for a moment before nodding brightly. “Well, that’s all right then. When do we leave?”

Brak was not entirely pleased with the idea that Dace had invited himself along. “Were you serious about the trouble brewing amongst the miners?”

“I’m the God of Thieves, not Liars. Of course it’s true.”

“Then we’ll use that for our cover. When they make their move, we’ll make ours.”

“What about Tarja?”

“What about him? I’m only concerned about R’shiel. Right now, she’s the most important person in the whole world.”

“Kalianah will be mad at you if you don’t bring him along.”

“I can deal with Kalianah.”

Dace looked sceptical. “Well, I still wouldn’t risk it, if I were you.”

“Your concern is touching, Divine One.”

The god scowled at him. “You know, Brak, sometimes I think you don’t hold the gods in very high esteem.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked.