Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm (21 page)

Harriman executed a flawless bow of respect. “My lord, you summoned me?” His intended question remained unspoken.
What did you find of such urgency to risk a daylight meeting?

The baron shifted on the stump. “Two strangers came to my court this morning. They named you as head of the criminals.”

Harriman hid exasperation beneath an expression of interest. He spoke soothingly, never losing the tone of deference though he was fully in control of the situation. “Not unexpected, lord. In order to help you destroy the organized underground and bring you the names of their leaders, I necessarily had to win their trust, to make them think I was one of them. We knew this might happen. It’s still important that you pretend to see me as Wilsberg’s diplomat and dismiss such a suggestion as nonsense.”

“I thought I hired you to put an end to the violence.” The baron met Harriman’s gaze, steely eyes flashing, demanding explanation. “The strangers reminded me that Cullinsberg’s streets are still unsafe.”

Harriman banished rising anger with professional skill. “Not unexpected either, as you must know, lord.” The lies came easily, without a twitch or furtive glance to betray them. “The leaders are in your custody. What you’re seeing now is reaction to their capture.” His gaze remained locked and steady. Once the executions have concluded, the violence will die away. Meanwhile, I need to stay to watch for upstart leaders.“

The baron fidgeted. Harriman stood, unmoving, aware something as yet unaddressed disturbed Dietrich. The medallion’s chain clinked beneath the sough of wind as the baron squirmed. At length, he spoke. “Those strangers. They lacked common courtesy. They badgered my guards into a fight. They insulted me. And ...”

By the baron’s sudden reluctance, Harriman guessed they had come to the root of his discomfort. “And, lord?” he encouraged gently.

“And,” Dietrich continued. He leaned forward, his face red in the gloom. “They fought free of three guards, injuring one and humiliating another so badly I had to put him on suspension until he calms down. And if the Norse woman who tried to kill my bowmen with fire isn’t a Dragonrank sorceress straight out of fairy tale ...” He stopped, not bothering to complete the statement, and cast a nervous look at Halden and Skereye.

Harriman resisted the compulsion to swear. He knew Taziar’s companions from Bolverkr’s descriptions. And, though Bolverkr had never directly told Harriman, the nobleman knew his master planned to destroy Larson as personally and cruelly as he would Taziar. “These strangers you speak of. A willowy, blond man and a beautiful woman with a sapphire-tipped staff?”

Surprise crossed the baron’s coarse features. “How did you know?”

So the little thief wants to bring outsiders into our feud.
In his annoyance, Harriman conveniently forgot he had done precisely the same thing, and that the quarrel was Bolverkr’s, not his own. Instantly, the rules of his game changed.
Anyone who interferes will pay, beginning with those urchins who harbored him.
Harriman regained his composure masterfully and dispatched Baron Dietrich’s query without answering it directly. “You’ll get no more trouble from them, lord. I’ll see to it. And there’s something I need to tell you.” He met the baron’s gaze again. “Taziar Medakan’s in town.”

The baron’s face collapsed into wrinkles, and Harriman attributed his confusion to more than a decade spent working with the guard captain of the same name. Then, the baron’s eyes fell to slits and his nostrils flared. “The Shadow Climber?”

Harriman nodded confirmation.

Baron Dietrich drummed his fingers on his breeks, his manner calculating. “That weasel stole an artifact from Aga’arin’s temple, escaped my dungeons, and led a faction of my men across the Kattegat
against my orders!
”

Harriman lowered his head and waited.

“Not one of my soldiers made it back, Harriman! Did you know that?”

“Of course, lord,” Harriman reminded without offense. In his eighteen years as Wilsberg’s diplomat, he had worked well and closely with the baron, cheerfully paying taxes to the last copper and supplying the baron with the best of the traders’ crops and wares. Wilsberg’s farmers had served their time among the baron’s conscription forces in the years of the Barbarian Wars.

The baron went rigid. “I’ll send every guard in Cullinsberg after the thief.”

Harriman cringed, aware such an arrangement would destroy every trap he and Bolverkr had constructed. “I wish you wouldn’t, lord.”

The baron went silent, still shaking with anger.

Harriman seized the baron’s quiet to continue. “Every criminal in town believes Taziar informed on the leaders. If you arrest him, it’ll prove his innocence. The underground will look for another informant, and I’ll be exposed as a liar at the least. So will the guards you commanded to name Taziar if questioned. And since nearly all your guards actually believe Taziar
is
the informant, you’ll seem like a ...” Harriman softened the accusation. “Your guards will know you fed them misinformation and wonder why you trusted these men and not them.” He indicated the sentries beside the baron. “Criminals are unforgiving by necessity. If your men arrest Taziar, my life and those of several of your guards will become as worthless to the ruffians and assassins on your streets as Taziar’s is now. Believe me, lord. They can do worse to the Shadow Climber than even your dungeon guards could.”
And we will.

“Very well,” the baron agreed. “For your sake, I’ll order my sentries to leave Taziar at liberty.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Harriman said respectfully, though he never doubted Baron Dietrich would take his advice. Despite maintaining courtly formality, Harriman had grasped control of this operation some time ago.
I may have lost some of that power thanks to Taziar’s meddling friends, but I’ll get it back
, Harriman harbored no doubt.
I have some lessons to teach, some warnings to give, and I’ll need to get Taziar back into my custody.
He smiled wickedly, and, for the first time, a trace of true emotion slipped through.

Taziar Medakan pitched another log onto the already well-stocked hearth and watched flames lick around the cooler bark without catching. The firelight struck red and gold highlights through hair the color of coal and swept across fine features ashen with concern. He took a seat on the dwindling woodpile. Shortly, he grew restless and chose to sit on the table instead. His back to the fire, he stared at Astryd, asleep between the packs. An instant later, he was up again, pacing the length of the inn room.

I can’t believe I let Allerum go off alone, knowing he wanted to see the baron. What was I thinking?
Taziar pounded his fist into his palm, aware the problem did not come from a specific thought, but from no thought at all.
That headstrong elf can get himself into more trouble eating breakfast than I did breaking into the Dragonrank school grounds. I’m just glad Silme was paying more attention to Allerum’s intentions than I was.
Now Taziar frowned, aware more than enough time had passed for Silme to catch up with Larson, convince him of the foolishness of running off alone, and return with him to the inn room.
Unless he persuaded her to help him. Gods! Silme has to know you just don’t handle underground affairs through legal channels.
Taziar cringed, familiar with Larson’s single-mindedness that often transcended common sense, a trait inspired and nurtured by Kensei Gaelinar.
Silme might have found it safer and simpler to give in to Allerum’s obsession. But we’re wasting valuable time.

Taziar’s ambling brought him to the window over the alleyway. He stopped, feeling the chill, autumn breezes on his face, sharp contrast to the warmth of the fire at his back. From habit, he measured the distance to the ground, sought minuscule ledges in the featureless stretch of stonework.
They might need my help. I’ll stay out of sight. How much trouble can I get into just gathering facts?
Memory of the beating in Shylar’s whorehouse that still left his cheeks and ribs swollen and splotched with bruises made him wince. His lapse admitted Silme’s warning:“ ”You’re of no use to your friends dead.“ Taziar wrapped his fingers around the sill.
But I’m even more useless if they’re dead. My one life is worth little compared with their eight. How many others may die for me?

Taziar had climbed halfway across the window ledge before he realized it. Astryd rolled in her sleep, and her movement froze him, dangling from the sill.
What in Karana’s hell is wrong with me? I can’t leave Astryd alone.
He sprang back into the chamber, landing lightly as a cat on the planking. He crossed to Astryd and perched on a pack near her head. Idly, he stroked the soft, blonde locks, pulling free strands that had caught at the corner of her mouth. Since Larson and Silme had departed, every position seemed uncomfortable to Taziar, and he found himself unable to sit still. Urgency spiraled through him, and he fought the impulse to return to the window.

Harriman doesn’t know where we’re staying; otherwise, he would have found us already. No one will disturb Astryd. Besides, she’s hardly helpless.
Taziar recalled his first encounter with Astryd. He had discovered her locked in a berth aboard the summer ferry. Then, mistaking him for a captor, she had evaded him faster than he could think to stop her. Once he managed to catch her, she had clawed and kicked him like a tiger.
She’s slept long enough to restore most of her used energy, so she’ll have magic, too.
Taziar kissed Astrryd’s cheek, felt her settle more snugly beneath her spread cloak. Sliding his sword from its sheath, he placed it near her hand.
You won’t need it, but neither will I. I’ll feel more comfortable if you keep it.

Having rationalized leaving, Taziar bounded across the room before he could change his mind again. He paused only long enough to ascertain that the alley stood empty, then lowered his legs through the opening and scrambled to the ground.

Again, Taziar peered the length of the thoroughfare. Satisfied no one had seen him, he turned his attention to the back wall of Mardain’s temple. Having grown accustomed to longhouses, and simple cottages, the building appeared awesome, taller than any man-made structure in Norway. Taziar accepted the challenge with glee. Recalling the lack of hand and toe holds on the stones that formed the first story, Taziar took a running start. Fingers scraping granite, he sprinted the length of the alleyway, then flung himself at the wall. Momentum took him to the coarse areas of mortar at the second story. From there, he skittered to the roof.

Wind dried beads of sweat from Taziar’s forehead as he stared out over the city of Cullinsberg. Shops and dwellings stood in stately rows between the confining square of the city’s outer walls. Roads striped, curled, and crisscrossed through the business district, and people traversed the main thoroughfares in crowds. Taziar craned his neck to glance into the alleyway where Rascal’s gang had tended his injuries and discussed the changes in the structure of the underground. A lone figure paced the earthen floor. Though distant and at too peculiar an angle to be certain, it looked like a child. Taziar read agitation in the movements.

The muscles of Taziar’s chest bunched in worry, and he felt flushed. He found niches in the wall stones and clambered downward, jumping the last story back into the alley. He slunk close to the walls through the dappled shadows of the buildings until he came to a threadlike crossroad. He studied the alley quickly before darting across and into a throughway parallel to the first. Once there, he shinnied up a warehouse. His footfalls made no sound on the roof, and he scrambled to the opposite side. Flattened to the tiles, he peered over the edge.

Far beneath Taziar, Ida scuffed her sandals on the packed dirt floor of the roadway. A dress designed for an adult hung in loose bulges, its hem frayed and filthy. She clutched a tattered cloak tightly over it to protect her from the cold. Her head hung low, and she flung her hand outward on occasion, as if carrying on a conversation with herself.

Taziar examined the pathway; his aerial position accorded him a safe view over the rain barrels and garbage. Finding Ida alone, he descended the wall stones and slipped into the alley beside her. “Ida?”

At the sound of Taziar’s voice, Ida jerked her head up. Her limbs went rigid. Tears traced meandering lines through dirt on her cheeks, and her eyes appeared swollen. A crimson bruise marred the soft arc of her jaw.

“Ida?” Cut to the heart, Taziar reached out to comfort her.
What kind of heartless madman would hit a little girl?

Ida dodged Taziar’s embrace, back-stepping until her shoulder touched the wall. Her voice sounded as scratchy as an elderly man’s. “Harriman’s men trapped Rascal and the others in an old warehouse in Ottamant’s Alley.”

Taziar cringed, his fear for the children intermingled with his memory of his own arrest in that same alley a few months earlier. “You escaped?”

Ida shook her head, avoiding Taziar’s gaze. “They let me go. I’m supposed to tell you ...” Her breath came in sobs from crying. “... they’ll kill anyone caught talking to you.”

Aware how difficult Ida found her words, Taziar shared her grief. Slowly, without threat, he reached for her again.

Ida shrank away. She blurted, “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Finally, she met Taziar’s stare. “I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

“Ida, please.” Taziar approached. “Rascal and the others ...”

Ida shuffled backward for every step Taziar took toward her.

Taziar stopped, and Ida stood in miserable, quaking silence. “I’ll get them free.” Lacking any other way to soothe, Taziar promised without any knowledge of what his vow might entail. “You’ll see. I’ll release them and get you all safely out of the city.”

All color drained from Ida except the angry splotch of the contusion. “Taz. The warehouse ... Harriman ...” Sudden panic made her stiffen. Her eyes rolled, revealing the whites like a frightened cart horse. Abruptly, she whirled and ran, the slap of her sandals echoing between the buildings.

For some time, Taziar stood in quiet uncertainty, senses dulled by a heavy barrage of emotion. Grief and guilt weighed heavily upon him, and he knew he had brought disaster to the only Cullinsbergens who dared to trust him.
They’re only children.
Taziar wrestled between decisions.
Do I go after Rascal or try to comfort Ida?
The girl’s sorrow and fear haunted him, and he made his choice quickly. The sound of her footsteps had already grown faint. Abandoning caution, he chased after her.