Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) (19 page)

They had to be hunting for Annis, same as Loren. She could think of no other reason for Damaris’s guards to wander the streets in darkness. That made tonight’s mission more urgent than ever.

She readied herself to step out of the doorway and hurry down the street, away from Gregor, when she heard a soothing voice in the darkness—too close, just by her ear.

“Can you not find your own place to stand? I find myself overcrowded.”

She jumped with a squeal and leapt from the doorway, dragging Gem with her. Loren’s hand flew into the folds of her heavy brown cloak, resting upon her dagger’s hilt.

Like Mennet stepping out from the shadows, a red-cloaked man appeared from the darkness—the same man who had rescued Loren from a cutpurse in the alley.

She stared with wide eyes, her mouth sliding open. Gem squirmed beside her and brought Loren to her senses. She shoved the boy, pushing him farther behind her. Her fingers tightened on the dagger.

Her every muscle tensed, ready for a fight. “What are you doing here?”
 

“Why, nothing at all,” said the man, cocking his head curiously. “No more than yourself.”

“Why are you following me?”
 

“I am not. You only just arrived.” He stepped forward, and Loren almost drew. But he bent before her, looking over her shoulder to Gem. “Hello, child. What is your name?”

“Stay back,” Loren said.

The man misunderstood her. “Your disease does not frighten me. If you wish, I can provide you with herbs to ease your pain.”

The man must not recognize her. Enshrouded in rags, Loren looked no more familiar to him than any other ill-lucked beggar hobbling on plague-ridden limbs. He had not followed her after all.

She took two steps back, nearly bowling over poor Gem behind her. The boy struggled to emerge from behind her cloak. “Stop pushing me!” he said.

“Shush,” said Loren. “We must take our leave.”

“At least let me give the boy some food,” said the man, his voice now even more soothing. “I would guess he is your son? I am well learned in arts of healing and of—”

He froze, and Loren saw his eyes light in recognition.
 

“Ah,” he said. “The girl from the alley.”

“Aye, and about my own business. As I said, we must be going. Good evening.”

“I would guess, then, that your . . . illness, let us say, is not nearly so bad as you would make it seem.”

Loren nodded. “And we have no need of your herbs, as you will understand.”

“And food? Can I offer you nothing to fill your bellies?”

“I
am
quite hungry,” Gem said.

Loren shushed him. “We have plenty to eat if we should wish it, and no desire to impose.”

The man straightened and stood back, folding his arms. “Help me solve a riddle. What chance have we, two strangers who know each other not, to encounter one another twice upon these city streets within a day? One might call it remarkable.”

“One might, and go on about one’s day, marveling at the world’s wide wonders,” Loren said.

The man smiled. “I am not of a mind to so easily dismiss a mystery. I believe something draws us together, girl. I caught but a hint before. Now I see it clearly.”

Despite herself, Loren curiosity prickled the back of her mind. “What do you see?”

“You bear something. Some burden, or some mark, I am not sure. It draws us together. We cannot avoid it any more than we can avoid the rising sun.”

Loren snorted, disappointed. “You speak of fate? I have never put much stock in the notion.”

“Not fate,” said the man. “Deep within, we are all like sunbeams and moonslight. Sometimes, we are drawn to others like ourselves, those who bear a similar purpose. That to which we belong, we attract to ourselves. Have you never known this true?”

Loren thought of her parents. “If it were, my family should have been much different.”

“Mayhap they are, and never let you see.”

“They let me see plenty,” she snarled, scorn slipping toward anger. “And nothing I belonged to, as you claim.”

Gem shifted restlessly behind her. “What is he talking about, Loren?”

“Be
silent!”
said Loren, but it was too late. She saw the man gently smile.

“Loren,” he said. “A name of the forests, and of victory. It suits you.”

“How should you know?”

“Does it worry you that I have your name?” the man shrugged. “You may have mine, if you wish. I am Jordel, of the family Adair. Well met.”

“Perhaps, and perhaps not,” said Loren. “And in any case, we must be going. Good evening.”

“Stop, I pray,” said Jordel. “What is it you so eagerly seek? Mayhap I can help.”

Something in his voice held her. As before, Loren could sense that the man meant her no harm. He had made no move to hurt them, and earlier he had likely saved her life. But Loren could not let herself forget that this man sought Xain, her only path out of this city and away from Damaris.

She shook her head. “Nothing that is any concern of yours. We dally too long. Good evening.”

A small smile played at the edge of the man’s mouth. “If you insist, Loren of the family Nelda. But unless I miss my guess by a wide mark, we will indeed meet again.”

She snorted and turned away, tugging Gem down the street behind her. Only after a moment did Loren realize that she had never given her family name.
 

She spun back around, but Jordel and his red cloak were already gone.

twenty-three

“Who was that man?”

“No one.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing.”

“Why would you not talk to him?”

“Be silent.”

Gem opened his mouth as if to ask yet another question but finally closed it to stare sullenly at his feet. Loren heaved an inward sigh.

“We must find Annis quickly and return to the inn. I do not wish for any more chance encounters tonight.”

“Why should you think we can find her? Among all the thousands within the walls, she will be like a single wheat stalk in a field.”

Loren had no answer, and so she said nothing. She knew her plan for a fool’s errand, that even walking these streets could be a disaster. Before, she had needed Annis. The girl knew this sort of place well, and would have been an invaluable asset. But now, Xain would arrange for her passage from the city. Wisdom would direct Loren to wait in the inn and steal away with Xain. But some internal compass would not let her abandon Annis to the city.

She made Gem show her through the streets and alleys of Cabrus’s slums, avoiding the rooftops where he told her Auntie’s children might be watching. She followed in his footsteps as he showed her the nooks and crannies, dark corners that ran through the city like flowing veins.
 

All the while, Loren found it hard to remove thoughts of Jordel from her mind. The man had spoken true about the impossibility of their chance meetings, but more than that troubled Loren. How did he know her family name, and what about his words of sunbeams and moonslight? Loren could not begin to understand it. She did not hold herself in especially high regard but knew herself for a clever girl. And while Loren might not bring loaves for the hungry and gold for the impoverished, neither did she engage in cruelty or wanton beatings of the weak and defenseless.
 

She thought it a cruel jape, then, to say she drew in only what belonged to her. Did she deserve a lifetime of her father’s brutal fists? Did she deserve a forced marriage, a tool to gain her parents wealth?
 

Her thoughts wandered further, and Loren thought of the day when she left home forever. Her meeting with Xain and her swift readiness to step beyond the King’s law. Her stealthy flight from the constables, and how even after her discovery she had escaped again by shadow and silence. Theft, too, had bought her escape from Damaris and the constables beyond the Cabrus walls. Once within, she had twice been robbed.

Framed by those thoughts, Jordel’s words seemed to hold some merit. The moment Loren had stepped outside her known world, she had lived a life of darkness, secrets, and subterfuge, as in her dreams.

Her thoughts were drifting. Loren forced her focus back to the matter at hand and quickened her pace, forcing Gem to hop-skip in front of her.

“It would be easier if we knew at least where to begin our search,” he grumbled.

“It seems we have begun already. If morning comes and we have not found her, the inn will see our return, but I cannot abandon her lightly.”

“You mean to search all
night,
then?” Gem rubbed his belly. “Oh, for my aching stomach. I wish you had told me so I might have filled it before we set out.”

“You will live. Or perhaps not, and then we would hold a great feast of mourning.”

“Would you?” said Gem, doubtfully.

“No.”

They stepped around the corner and nearly ran right into Gregor.

Loren spotted his face at the last moment, too late to keep herself from hitting his chest—but Gem’s quicker reflexes saved her. He leapt back, pulling her with him by the arm. She jerked to a stop, sucking a frightened gasp between her teeth.

Gregor, for his part, barely glanced at them as Gem dragged her farther back. Only then did Loren remember her disguise.
 

“Be careful!” hissed Gem.

But as Loren opened her mouth to reply, she heard the murmured conversation of the caravan guards. One sounded frustrated, and she caught the words, “ . . . the girl said Annis would be here.”

Loren froze, and as Gem tried to pull her along again, she placed a hand on his arm to still him.

“Wait,” she whispered. “We must follow them.”

“Why? Is one of them your cousin? Otherwise, I say give them a wide berth, for their swords look sharp.”

“They know where Annis is. Or whereabout, anyway. Come.”

Loren crept behind them without waiting for Gem’s reply. Who was the girl the guard had spoken of? It had to be Auntie—she had no qualms working with the constables; why should she hesitate to work with criminals and smugglers as Damaris had shown herself to be?

Gregor paused where the street spilled into an open square. Loren stumbled on a few more steps and leaned against the wall as though stopping to rest.

“What is it, sir?” said one of the guards.

“I see her,” came Gregor’s booming voice.

Loren’s eyes widened. Without a word, she motioned to Gem and waved him forward. They entered the open street and continued, ignoring Gregor and his men as they passed.

“Is that her?” said the guard.

“Yes,” said Gregor. “In the threadbare cloak. I know her walk.”

“Many in this city may walk the same.”

“No. She is of a height with Annis. It is her.”

“Very well, let us—”

“Look more closely.”

Loren followed Gregor’s aim, along with his men. There in the square she saw the figure Gregor described. Annis’s height, to be sure, but could it really be her in such a threadbare cloak? Patches lay upon it so thick and in so many hues, Loren might have been wrapped in a rainbow.

Then she saw what Gregor had: a squadron of eight constables standing nearby, each with a hand on his broadsword, arranged in a loose circle, talking in the dim light of the moons. If Annis screamed when Gregor took her, the constables would likely intervene.

“What of them, sir?” said the guard. “I wager we may take them.”

“No fighting,” Gregor said. “The mistress left no doubt on that score. That constable, Bern, hounds her closely enough as it is. If we aggravate the situation, she shall worsen ours considerably.”

The guard nodded with a gulp.

As Loren and Gem brushed by Gregor and the guards, one withdrew his arm as if bit. Loren kept her head down, well hidden in her cowl. She picked up her pace, drawing nearer to Annis.

“That is her,” she said to Gem. “Be ready. We shall have to run.”

“Again?” grumbled Gem.
 

“Wait until we pass the constables.”

Annis walked with slow, measured steps, for all the world like a girl on a nighttime stroll, though she kept her face down instead of raised to the stars. Loren slowed to avoid reaching her before passing the constables. She risked a languid glance over her shoulder, as though checking on Gem. Her eyes stole to Gregor and his men. The giant gestured at his men with short, clipped movements. One stole off to vanish down a side alley, and the remaining two stayed with Gregor.

“They are splitting up,” said Loren. “We must move quickly.”

“Only say the word. They will soon learn who they dare to trifle with.”

Loren rolled her eyes. “Now!”

She leapt forward and seized Annis’s arm, at the same time whispering “It is I” in her ear. Annis tensed for a moment, and then slackened as she recognized the voice.
 

Loren shoved her into an alley, seized her wrist, and ran, Gem’s bare feet slapping the stones at their heels. She heard Gregor’s wordless bellow to his men from the square behind them.