Michael A. Stackpole (14 page)

“Nothing, really, but I think you know exactly what it is to have a brother. Dalt and I do not get along at all, but I remember when some of the cooper’s boys decided they wanted to beat someone up, and I was their target. They’d surrounded me and had taken turns seeing who could punch me the hardest when Dalt waded into them all fists and feet and fire in his eyes. Thrashed the lot of them.”

A smile softened her face. “You are very lucky to have Dalt for a brother.”

“That was what I was thinking at the moment, but then he gave me a cuff or two for having been stupid enough to have been trapped in that situation.”

Butcher’s Row went slightly up a hill, then curved to the right, where it became Jewelpath Road. Here, likewise, the buildings were made up mostly of wood, but they all started from a solid first story of stone, so they felt more familiar to me. Marija stopped at one tiny place with a high stone arch over a narrow doorway. A mortar and pestle hung from the keystone, making it easily identified as an apothecary.

We squeezed in past two old women swaddled in enough cloth to make both of them as thick as trolls. I heard snatches of gossip pass between them, but as I heard no names I recognized, I let their droning voices drift into the background. Not only did I not have a real taste for gossip, but the shop itself held more than enough to keep my attention occupied for a lifetime.

The walls on either side rose up two full stories and had built into them countless wooden drawers. Ladders fitted to a cast-iron track at the top and bottom of the wall rolled along to provide access to the upper drawers. Hanging down from the blocky support beams bridging the space beneath the arched roof, dried plants, bones, and one or two arcane devices I did not recognize filled the room’s middle reaches. Down on the floor level, aside from three casks of pickled vegetables along the far wall, a display of two standing chests—each of which brimmed with enough drawers to make it a simulacrum of the walls—took up all the floor space excepting a narrow pathway toward a counter in the corner.

“Good morning to you, m’lady Marija,” the thickset man behind the counter happily greeted her. “You would be wanting more of Lady Evadne’s tonic, I would guess.”

“Correct, Goodman Birger.” Marija turned toward me. “I would also like to introduce to you Master Lachlan, one of Lady Evadne’s grandsons from Garik.”

The apothecary offered me his meaty right arm, and I grasped it firmly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Goodman. Please called me Locke.”

“And you, Master Locke.” His smile forced his cheeks to widen his face enough to partially eclipse his ears. “1 will have more of that tonic for you in a moment or two.”

I had seen, from the rank badge sewn on the breast of his yellow tunic that he was a Chemist. This meant he was the rough equivalent of my grandfather’s being a Bladesmaster. As he moved from drawer to drawer, he pulled out pinches of this, or great hunks of that. He piled each ingredient on a white marble table beside a mortar and pestle made of some gray stone 1 did not recognize.

“1 have seen my grandmother take this tonic, and it does seem to enliven her, but 1 was wondering what is wrong with her?”

The florid-faced man’s smile lessened a bit. “She has the disease that will be the death of us all, save those who go as your father did.” He shook his head. “She is old, and her heart is not quite as strong as it once was. This tonic eases some pains, reduces some swellings, and makes it easier for her heart to do its job.”

I frowned. “If her heart is the problem, could not a magicker use his art to make her heart strong again?”

Birger turned from the mixing table and planted both of his hands on the counter. The look he gave me was serious, yet I sensed no anger in him. Instead he reminded me of Audin preparing to lecture me on some point of swordsmanship I had clearly misunderstood.

“Magick, my boy, has its limitations. So does your understanding of it—unless, of course, you’ve spent time studying it and are hiding your rank badges.”

I shook my head and noticed, to my mortification, that Marija seemed amused by my being lectured.

“Now if you were cut in a fight and you went to a magicker and he spelled your wound shut, you’d think yourself healed, wouldn’t you? Of course you would, but you would be wrong. The first thing you have to learn about magick is that almost anything done by magick can be undone by it—and there are times the undoing magick carries only a fraction of the power of the spell it undoes. When you have a wound spelled well, what the magick does is to knit you back together long enough for your body to repair itself. Yes, it might even speed the healing process, but if dispelled, you’d be in the same fix you were in before the first spell was cast.”

“Less any healing my body had done?”

“Smart lad. Now, in your grandmother’s case, there just is no cure for aging. There is no way for the body to heal itself. To be certain, spells might work to do the things this elixir will do, but this combination of herbs and things works in a manner too complex for spells to mimic easily.”

He went back to the mixing table and carefully added the ingredients to his mortar. He splashed in some water, then mumbled something as he picked up his pestle and pressed it down into the mix. Grinding and stirring, he blended the tonic’s parts into a smooth syrup that he repeatedly diluted with more and more water.

As he worked I saw the grayish mortar shift color, it brightened slightly as if the elixir was leaching color from it. I knew instantly that he was using magick to create the tonic, but I did nothing to interrupt him as he continued mixing and talking to himself. When he finally tapped the pestle clean on the edge of the mortar and reached for a bottle and funnel, I asked another question.

“You said magick would not help my grandmother, yet you used magick to create her medicine. How is that, especially given that you are not ranked in the ways of magick?”

“1 am not skilled in the ways of magick, but the Sorcerer who created this mortar and pestle was. By speaking precise instructions over it, 1 am able to condense the work of weeks into a few minutes. This tonic, for example, would require long steeping and repeated distillations to produce without magick. And to answer the question in your mind, no, dispelling the magick now would not return this to its component parts. At best a spell cast during the mixing could stop the brewing in the middle, but what was crushed would remain crushed and what was wet would still be sopping.”

The Chemist poured the tonic into the bottle and stoppered it with a bit of cork. “There you go, Miss Marija.”

Marija took the bottle and placed a gold Imperial on the counter, but Birger waved it off. “No, I’ll not be hearing of Lady Evadne paying for this batch. Tell her it is my Bear’s Eve gift to her.” Marija frowned, but Birger perched his fists on his wide hips and clearly would brook no argument.

“Then the warmth of the season be upon you and yours, Goodman Birger.”

“Likewise, m’lady.” Birger looked past me toward the two women by the door. “Triona, leave off gossiping like a fishwife and meet Master Locke, Lady Evadne’s grandson.”

The woman nearest me turned and snarled at Birger. “We are not gossiping, husband mine, but discussing what happened down in Old Town. You remember how it was said the baker there, Bald Ugo, was a member of the Black Church?” Triona thrust her face forward in a challenge to Birger, but being between them, I felt uneasy.

“Unproved tripe, lies spread by Jurik because Ugo had more customers.”

“Well then, how come is it, that this morning the Emperor’s constabulary forced its way into the shop when it had not opened for two days and began to stink bad? When they went in, or so it is told, they found a trapdoor leading down to a hidden cellar. There they found Black Church things, and Ugo’s whole family dead.”

“Dead?” I heard myself ask quietly.

Triona nodded, her dark eyes glittering like stars. “Worse than dead, Master Locke. Carved up. Carved up by something horrid that opened them like a fisherman gutting his catch. And, mind you, lad, it ate most of what it caught, too.”

10

_D

espite the festive nature of the season, the news of the murders in Old Town was a topic of fascination for most folks in the capital. Throughout the rest of the week 1 heard the story repeated and embellished to the point where a whole congregation of Black Churchers had died when they summoned Fialchar from his sanctum in Chaos, and he was displeased with their efforts. The manner of death of Bald Ugo and his family also varied, from the bodies being desiccated into parchment skeletons to their having been reduced to puddles of boneless flesh that begged to die.

In very short order the whole incident became wrapped in a fabric of fantasy that could have made me think it all a fable. If Triona’s version of it had not painted an image into which I could slip the person of a
Bfiarasfiadi
sorcerer, I would have refused to believe any of it, I think. Kit, who heard his own versions of the story, did not comment on it overmuch, but told me enough to keep my wild speculations alive.

Despite the story’s seeming confirmation of my dream, I stuck with my decision to keep it to myself. Kit and his people had chased the creature back toward the city and, apparently, were involved in a search for signs of it within the capital, so they didn’t need the distraction. Moreover, Kit already knew it could use magick, and he had seen enough evidence of what it could do to link Bald Ugo’s death with it if facts warranted that linkage. What 1 had to offer was a bad dream that clothed itself in bits and pieces of stories I had heard as a child.

I could not imagine the Warlord not already working on the worst-case scenario—namely that the creature was a sorcerer with a mission to perform in the capital. Try as I might to spy out clues to what was being done, I saw no signs of extra preparedness or caution. Then again, not having been in Herakopolis before, 1 had no way of judging if any special precautions had been taken or not.

The holiday season in the capital lasted longer than it did in Stone Rapids and seemed more powerful. Whereas in the village where 1 had spent my entire life to this point we would prepare gifts for our kin and close friends in anticipation of the single Bear’s Eve celebration, here parties appeared to be as much a part of the season as snow and ice. As the days shortened and the night grew toward the longest it could possibly be, the festive atmosphere became frenzied, and I found myself quite caught up in it.

James took me to a tailor the afternoon of the day Marija and I ventured out. In that shop I was measured every which way and that, then shown countless fabrics from all corners of the Empire. Because the invitation for the Emperor’s Ball had specified white and silver as the dominant colors, with an accent color allowed for each person, the patterns and weaves and fabrics themselves became important to create the proper social image.

The tailor steered me away from anything heavy with a sniffed, “They do have fireplaces in the palace, m’lord.” We settled on a tunic of silver silk with a quilted cotton jacket and cotton pants that 1 could tuck into the top of my boots. The tailor suggested I choose a green ribbon for my accent color to match my eyes and that 1 have it run up the sleeves and down the legs of my suit.

I agreed with the choice of color, but I asked for the ribbon to be cut into strips that could be hung like fringes from the underside of my jacket arms and along the back of the yoke. In Stone Rapids no one had the money or the time to prepare clothing solely for use on Bear’s Eve, so we made things more festive by sewing on ribbons in that manner.

The tailor mumbled a remark that ended with the word, “quaint.” He seemed to have no problem with the gold Imperials lames gave him for doing the job. James then took me to a cobbler’s, where we purchased a pair of boots in white leather. I protested that my brown boots were fine, but James pointed out that the color was wrong for the ball, and that put an end to the argument.

The rest of the week became something of a blur. I attended parties every evening with my grandmother and Marija. I met more people than I had even imagined existed in the world, and many of them had daughters or nieces or sisters to whom I was also introduced. I would just as soon have remained in Marija’s company, but her status as a servant kept her segregated from the revelers. What had been acceptable behavior at my grandmother’s party would have been scandalous at these other celebrations.

Because of the parties, the very nature of the Empire impressed itself upon me as never before. While Herakopolis was larger and more grand than any city I had ever visited, it was in the homes of the people we called upon that this point was made most emphatically. We attended celebrations in houses that dwarfed my grandmother’s house. While I had thought
tsoerits
to be exotic, at other parties I found them as common as chicken eggs. I tasted fruits 1 never knew existed before, drank wines of all different flavors and colors, and was enticed into trying all sorts of other things against my better judgment.

Xoayya attended most of the parties I did and, in Marija’s absence, took it upon herself to introduce me to the various treasures the capital had to offer. She seemed to know where things came from, where they had been purchased, and trivial little facts about our hosts that amounted to gossip, but that 1 suspected were garnered through visions.

“I want to thank you, Locke, for your suggestion about the song.” She regarded me over a crystal goblet of a blue wine that was only slightly darker than her eyes. “It is effective.”

I smiled. “You’re only getting visions when you want them now?”

“No.” She glanced down. “Inconsequential things appear to be sifted out. What does get through appears to be stronger and more intense.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know.” When she looked up I read fear in her eyes. “I had a vision—a dream—that concerns us.” She pressed a hand against the breast of my jacket. “It wasn’t sexual—at least I don’t think it was—but it
was
very strong. There was a connection between us and another creature.”

I did my best to keep my voice even. “What sort of creature?”

“Something dark and decidedly evil.” She lowered her voice. “You heard of the slaughter, didn’t you? Whatever did that is what is linking us. It has something to do with our destinies. Through that thing we will find out why we are here.”

“How do you know this?” I frowned. “I know it comes from a vision, but you’re placing a lot of weight on it. Have you seen what happens to us or… ?”

“I do not know what happens to us, nor have I seen anything that would tell me what will happen. I know something will happen, though, because I feel now as I did before my father died. Some visions, the worthless ones, fly past my notice like an overheard comment or something seen from the window of a speeding carriage. Their brevity is a mark of their intensity and importance.”

She set her wineglass down on a sideboard, then pressed her hands together. “The feeling I have of the linking is very strong. It’s like the ocean’s undertow. We’re being pulled along, and we can’t escape it. Our destinies are wrapped up in the destiny of this thing.”

I slowly shook my head. “I’m not doubting anything you’ve said, Xoayya, really, I’m not.”

Anger creased her brow. “What you’ve just said indicates you don’t believe me.”

“Not true. I believe you’re reporting everything you’ve experienced accurately and completely.” I shrugged. “I’m just not sure I find the argument about destiny very compelling. We don’t even know what did the murders, much less that it’s some dark creature linking us.”

She clutched my right forearm in both her hands. “You do know the creature I’m speaking about, though. Don’t deny that.”

I coughed lightly behind my left hand. “Xoayya, I’ve had a dream, but it’s cobbled together out of stories and rumors. It felt real to me, but I know it was just a dream.”

“How do you know that?”

1 hesitated, then shrugged my shoulders. “I just do.”

A frosty tone entered her voice. “I see.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “What if 1 could prove to you that your dream was real?”

“How can you do that?”

Xoayya looked left and right to see if anyone was watching us before she answered me. “The reason my grandmother knew to come rescue me is because she is a powerful clairvoyant herself. Not many people know this—I doubt even your grandmother does. My grandmother gave up magick when she met and married my grandfather, so those who know her secret outside our household are few. She could convince you that what you dreamed was real.”

“You want me to speak with her?”

“More than that, I want you to sit with her and have her divine your future. She will be able to tell you things about yourself that no one but you could know.”

I shook my head. “Not interested.”

“You will be.”

“I don’t think so.”

Xoayya smiled confidently. “Oh, you
will
meet with her. I have seen it.”

“Perhaps.” I reached down and freed her right hand from my wrist. “Have you also foreseen my asking you to dance right now?”

Her smile grew. “I did see that you would try to deflect me.”

“Did I succeed?”

“We’ll see.”

1 did, but only temporarily. As it was, that was enough because my grandmother tired somewhat quickly at many of the parties, requiring us to make our departure rather early in the evening. Returning home, I was able to meet Nob for an occasional game of chess and still get enough sleep so I could rise early and put myself through the regimen of exercises Audin had forced on me for as long as I could remember.

Part of me would have been happy to forget the training and discipline with which my grandfather had made me greet each day of my life. Being out and on my own for the first time, I wanted to rebel to show that I was better than he imagined and that I did not need his exercises. After all, here I was in the capital while he was stuck back in Stone Rapids. What could he know that would benefit me here?

The truth was, though, that the capital was so alien to me that 1 needed an anchor. Waking before the sun slipped over the horizon, I forced myself out of a warm bed and into the weapons chamber. There, the cool air puckering my flesh, 1 paced myself through stretches and sit-ups, push-ups and balancing myself on my hands. Choosing the rapier I had worn, I took myself through various guards and worked up a sweat fencing against shadows.

One morning, as i recovered from a lunge that had spit a foe, I heard my door open and solitary applause. I spun and saw Kit leaning against the jamb. “Audin’s training has taken root deeply in you, Locke.”

1 wiped my forehead against my left forearm. “It has, indeed. You speak as if you disapprove.” I pointed the rapier at the rank badge of five arrows shaped into a pentagram that he wore. “What would you know of him or his methods? You clearly studied beneath another because Audin would not touch a bow if his life depended upon it.”

Kit smiled like a fox. “You Garikmen are fools for letting a foe get as close as needed to finish him with a sword.”

“And you Herakmen are cowards for not daring to feel your foe’s breath on your face when you kill him.” 1 sheathed the rapier. “I do not think provincial insults suit us, cousin. We can do much better.”

The lanky scout laughed lightly. “No need for insults at all, Locke, for 1 am not your enemy. To answer your question, like my father before me, I was sent off to Garik to train beneath Audin. I endured a month of his harsh treatment—during which time I did not so much as finger even a dagger—then I decided 1 wanted nothing to do with him or his skills. I ran away and convinced a caravaner that I had been kidnapped. I told him that if he returned me to Herakopolis, my grandmother would pay him a vast reward.”

I frowned as a distant memory started to bubble up through my consciousness. “So, you are the student who chose to flee. You were used many a time to frighten me into compliance. I had heard you were devoured by wolves or killed by bandits or frozen to death in the wilderness. Whatever skill I seemed not to be able to master was somehow linked to the doom that had befallen you.”

“Better that, then, than to be scourged with our fathers’ deaths in Chaos. Audin asked me if I wanted to end up like my father. So much so, in fact, that I decided I did not want to be like him at all. That included being trained by a man who obviously had failed to keep my father safe with his training. I decided to find myself a Bowmaster to let me kill my enemies at a vast distance.”

I smiled. “And 1 would bet that you did not touch a bow for a month or more under his instruction.”

Kit shook his head. “In fact, you are quite wrong. Herluf took me out to the gallery he had prepared and shot a single arrow into a target at fifty paces. He then gave me a piece of string and pointed me toward the forest behind his cottage. ‘Go, boy, and build yourself a bow. Come back with it and three arrows.’”

He crossed the room and seated himself in one of the chairs. “I did as I was told and came back with a wretched piece of wood and three reeds. Herluf invited me to shoot, and even if the arrows had flown straight, they would have gone nowhere near the mark. My Bowmaster turned to me and said, ‘Now you know you know nothing. When I am finished with you, you will know everything.’”

“Did he give you a new bow?”

“No. I worked with my little toy for over a year. I kept it with me at all times and got so I felt strange without it in my left hand. Herluf again sent me out into the woods to get a piece of wood for a bow and, this time, I made a better selection, but it was still not good enough. Finally, the third time he sent me out, I stopped and asked him his advice on my selection. At that point my true education began.”