One Realm Beyond (43 page)
Bixby heard the low growl that oozed from Cantor’s tense throat.
She poked his arm that wrapped around her waist. “What else? There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Feymare didn’t have a clue as to where Ahma and Odem are. He still doesn’t know for sure. You’d think a Primen warrior would be more useful in finding lost realm walkers. Realm walkers take a vow to serve Primen. After a life of faithful service, Ahma and Odem don’t seem to rank much attention.”
“Oh, that’s all twisted, but I’m not sure what to say to get it untwisted.”
Bridger shuddered beneath them. “Ask Cantor about the man who was murdered a couple of feet away from him.”
Bixby gasped. “When?”
Bridger answered. “Last night.”
“Last night? Cantor, what is he talking about?”
“The man who talked about seeing Totobee-Rodolow taken into the dungeon was stabbed for knowing too much.”
“You didn’t say anything about that when you told us about his information.”
“Why should I report it? His being killed didn’t change what he’d said.”
Bixby pondered his words. What was he not saying? And why was he not saying it?
“You saw a man get killed, and you didn’t mention it?”
Cantor lowered his voice. “It’s the first time I’ve seen a murder. I felt sick. I couldn’t get away fast enough. Your being wiped out gave me something else to think about, something to do. The urgent need to find care for you helped me focus. And I didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t want to talk about it.”
Bixby wanted to hug him. Of course she couldn’t. First of all, it would be embarrassing for Cantor. And second, she would have to turn all the way around and that would be awkward. Really her position was a good thing, because if she’d been facing him, she would have thrown her arms around him and held on until he admitted he’d been distraught. Being a man, he probably thought he shouldn’t react to what he’d seen.
She felt herself blush. Realm walkers should remain stalwart and not go throwing their arms around others.
She cuddled Jesha closer to her and cooed in her ear. “Cats are very useful.”
Jesha purred.
Congested traffic clogged the road closer to Gilead. Their progress slowed, and Cantor realized the crowd pressed in on them.
“Bixby, you had better quit talking now. Someone might overhear you.”
“You know I’ll twitch.”
“That’s all right. I’ll handle it.”
If he was forthright like Dukmee, he would have told her he was nervous too. Instead, he busied himself watching the crowd for anyone who looked suspicious.
He noticed several citizens taking unusual interest in Bixby. He’d forgotten how bizarre her appearance was. He’d grown used to the layers of clothing, the additional bits of lace, the trailing ribbons, and the embroidered flowers cascading off of sleeves or from her waist or down her back. Her flyaway, corkscrew curls just looked like Bixby. The only way
she could somewhat tame it was by smashing it down with a crown or a hat.
Her face turned as she watched a family in the back of a wagon. Oh, and she had a flower painted on her cheek today. And of course, the paint glittered.
“Bixby, put on that crown that obscures your presence. I’d rather people were a bit hazy on whether they saw us together since a lot of things are going to happen. Confused witnesses might come in handy.”
She quickly donned the proper headdress.
“That’s better.” Cantor observed the citizens on the road. “They seem to look right through you.”
She giggled. “Handy for our purposes, but I wouldn’t want to be ignored all the time.”
“Little chance of that.”
Bridger shifted back into his dragon form soon after they entered the city.
Bixby changed from fidgeter to chatterer. “Which is more comfortable, Bridger? Horse or dragon?”
“Definitely dragon. I always feel better in my own skin.”
“Which does Jesha prefer you to be?”
“Probably a sheep. More comfy to sleep on.”
Bixby laughed, but Cantor tossed them an impatient look. “Come on. They’re probably already there.”
When the hall came into view, all three friends stopped at once. Cantor drew in a sharp breath as the combined impact of his and Bridger’s reactions clenched his stomach. The avenues around the Guild Hall were packed with people.
Very few had business at the guild building itself, but markets and shops, restaurants, libraries, and museums lined the surrounding streets. Gilead was the capitol city, and
this district was the cultural center. Unless the catastrophe occurred late at night or they could stop the explosions, the carnage would be unspeakable. They could not fail.
Setting his mouth in a firm line, he led Bridger and Bixby straight to the In Shadow Inn.
From two o’clock on, the establishment squatted in the shadow of the guild building. The owners of the inn played upon their location by keeping the inn in darkness most of the day. The elite members of the guild strutted past this inn, seeking more elegant establishments beyond. Roobsters made up the clientele of the inn, men and women of the lower class: the drivers, lackeys, grooms, and lowly messengers who served those of the guild without expectation of a better life.
The innkeeper gave Jesha a rude greeting. “Anyone notices the cat, out it goes!”
“She
,” said Bridger. “Not it, but
she
. Out
she
goes.”
“That’s right,” said the grumpy man. “Out she goes.”
Cantor decided it was time to take the attention away from Bridger and his cat. “We’re looking for friends.”
“I don’t know who your friends are. Go ahead and look for ’em.” The innkeeper stomped away.
Cantor, Bixby, and Bridger stood near the door, surveying the room. No lamps were lit. Massive windows lined the street wall, but the grimy glass let through little sun. The common room of the inn was dim. As soon as Cantor’s eyes adjusted, he pointed to the opposite wall. Dukmee held a large table for them, but Feymare was not with him.
“I’ve ordered a meal,” said Dukmee as they gathered. “We’re likely to be busy the rest of today, and we may not get another chance to eat.”
They settled around the table. Jesha prudently sat in Dukmee’s lap under the red-checked tablecloth.
“Where’s Feymare?” Cantor asked.
“Out gathering information.” Dukmee looked behind Cantor. “Where’s Bixby?”
“Right here. Oh, I still have on the crown.” She took it off and grinned at their mentor. “You knew I was here.”
His eyes twinkled as he teased her. “I did.”
Bridger laughed. “Dukmee’s got a sense of humor. I didn’t know.”
Bixby gasped.
“I suppose you knew.” Bridger twisted his lips in a frown. “You don’t have to act so surprised just because it took me a while to figure it out.”
She shook her head at him and pointed to the door. Cantor and Bridger turned to look.
Feymare stood with the sun shining behind him. He glowed.
Cantor blinked. He should be able to see only the Primen warrior’s silhouette. But light poured from his entire body. The backdrop of sunshine highlighted his outline. Then it occurred to Cantor that there was no sun behind him. The inn was in a shadow.
He turned to look at his companions. Bixby and Bridger were awestruck, but Dukmee sat with an amused, content look on his face. Cantor surveyed the rest of the clientele of the inn. No one else seemed to notice the astonishing figure at the door.
Feymare stepped in, and the glow diminished somewhat, but now his apparel could more clearly be seen. He wore burnished armor. From his side hung a white shield with a bright
blue, rearing horse emblazoned on the front. He wore a gleaming sword, and his long hair was braided for battle. Even the cloth of his garments and the shoes on his feet gleamed as if polished with moonlight.
Cantor swallowed the lump that came to his throat. The aura around the warrior proved his status. Only those following Primen would see the glory given the man by their creator. Even though Cantor had thought Feymare less than capable, this showed how little Cantor understood. Dazzled and humbled, Cantor almost rose to his feet and bowed. He remembered in time that the honor should not be given to the gifted but to the giver.
The closer Feymare came to their table, the less distinctive he looked.
Dukmee leaned forward. “No one else can see him as you do. Primen has revealed his status to us to give us confidence. It’s heartening to have a Primen warrior on our side.”
Feymare took the last seat available at their table.
“Did you learn anything?” asked Dukmee.
“Yes.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened them again, his demeanor had subtly changed. Tranquility had been added to authority, confidence, and purpose. The peace on his face was at odds with the nature of their task. Cantor wanted to fold his hand over that quality and use it for his own approach to the rescue attempt.
Feymare spoke quietly. “A meeting has been called for the councilmen this afternoon. It’s most likely that once the men are gathered in the forum, the Kernfeudal will make their move.”
Bixby whispered. “Not tonight?”
“This afternoon.”
Cantor glanced around the room, his mind on the crowds outside. An explosion large enough to bring down the huge structure across the street would surely damage all the buildings around it. “What about all the people?”
“We will rescue the prisoners, then try to stop the explosion.”
Bixby’s voice quivered. “Can’t we warn those in the forum?”
“Yes, but first we will see the prisoners safe. If anyone knows of the escape plan, they will do their best to stop us. If they stop us there, then we will have no opportunity to thwart the destruction of the Guild Hall.”
Dukmee stood, holding Jesha in one arm. He searched the crowd, and found what he wanted. He raised a hand and, although he did not raise his voice, Cantor heard him call as if his were the only words spoken in the room. “Yo, innkeep!”
The man turned. However, none of the other patrons of his tavern seemed to notice. Dukmee tossed a bag across the room. Oddly, Cantor heard the coins clink within. Traps, enough to pay for the meal being prepared, but they would not stay to eat. He wondered if they were gold or silver. Ahma had always preferred to deal in gold.
He breathed a prayer. Let Ahma be there.
Dukmee indicated the door. “It looks like our business takes us away from our supper. Let’s hope later tonight we can sit down to a celebratory feast.”
The others rose as one and filed solemnly out of the inn.
I
t has to be this bridge.” Cantor stood at the apex of the river crossing. At one time, the river had been used as a moat around the building. Now the water flowed only on one side. “There should be a tunnel that leads to a cellar under there.”
Feymare turned to Bridger. “Why don’t you stay here and create a diversion while we sneak inside?”
“What kind of diversion?”
“Can Jesha help you?”
The ridges above Bridger’s eyes lifted. “I have just the thing. We’ll play keep-away. She likes that.”
Bixby and Dukmee strolled to the end of the bridge closest to the Realm Walkers Hall.
As they had planned in order to remain inconspicuous, Cantor and Feymare waited a few minutes, then started to leave.
Bridger grabbed the Primen warrior’s arm. “Wait!”
Cantor turned back. What was wrong? Had Bridger seen a threat of some kind? Why wouldn’t the dragon let them go?
“I want to help rescue my sister.”
“You
are
helping.” Cantor blew out his breath in frustration. If they had to go into a long, persuasive argument to get away, they would lose valuable time.
Feymare looked Bridger in the eye. “I need you here because you’ll be best at causing the distraction. Give us thirty minutes, then walk away from here, double back, and follow us into the tunnel.”
For a moment, Cantor thought the dragon would be stubborn, but after a brief hesitation, he agreed.
“All right.”
Feymare clapped him on the upper arm. “You and Jesha can start your commotion now.”