Self-Made Scoundrel (19 page)

“It’ll be found. The Valley is not a huge place,” Derk said. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “Even if the worst happens, which it won’t, trying to do good won’t be punished by the Church. Though it won’t end well for the people here.”

Sindra nodded slowly, frowning slightly. What would the Church do if the chalice wasn’t found? Derk didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if the temple in Portsmouth who had commissioned the party would react or if the situation called for the intervention of the main temple in Whitfield. “I just…I really wanted this to happen,” Sindra said finally, disappointment heavy in her words. “I wanted to do something good for the Church. It seemed so simple.” She laughed, rubbing the side of her face with her hand. “I should have known. The Goddess brought out the secrets, didn’t she?”

“Looks that way,” Derk shrugged. “Maybe the chalice being taken was a good thing? Now we know about the few of them here who want something, who wish to be integrated into the Valley proper. We wouldn’t have known about it otherwise.”

“I suppose,” Sindra said. “I don’t know what the Church will say but it should be brought to their attention.” She smiled and then leaned over, kissing Derk on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked. He couldn’t help but smile back, trying not to seem too happy about the kiss.

“For working this out with me,” Sindra said. Her eyes lowered and she squeezed his hand. “I guess all we can do is wait and see. And maybe go try and find it ourselves.” Sindra sighed again. “I would have packed more travel clothes had I known,” she said.

“Me too,” Derk said. They sat there for a while, listening to the sounds coming from outside. Derk leaned over and kissed Sindra, taking the opportunity since no one was around. She kissed him back, brushing her hand against the stubble on his chin. They sat there in the candlelight kissing till Derk wondered if the door had a lock on it. Just as he squeezed her leg a knock came at the door.

“Sister Sindra, are you okay?” the voice came through the door. It was one of the priests and it sounded like Riyin. “You are missed at evening meal. We were hoping to share a meal with you.”

“I’m fine,” Sindra called. She waited for a breath before she said, “I’ll be there in a moment.” She turned to Derk and bit her lip, an apology in her expression. Derk pulled away from her. Thwarted again. Sindra laughed and stood up from the bed, sidestepping past the cot placed in the middle of the room as she straightened out her robes. She opened the door a crack. Derk could see the priest on the other side of the door. “My apologies. After the news I felt like I should retire to my room and pray on the matter.”

“Oh,” Brother Riyin said. Sindra pushed past him and out of the room, Riyin looking into the room and seeing Derk there. Derk stood up and walked toward the doorway, Riyin staring at him.

“What?” Derk said. “I was helping her pray.” He walked out of the dormitory, catching sight of Sindra as she headed toward the open-air dining hall. Inside people were playing music and sat on benches eating and drinking merrily.

Most of the people seemed to be members of the clergy, but a few of the townspeople were sprinkled among the robes. Asa stood up and waved at Sindra, then Derk, a place of honor set for Sindra beside the High Priest. Derk sat at the end of the bench, climbing into a space next to Jezlen.

“You missed it, there was a fire eater,” Devra said, her green eyes sparkling. Derk poured himself a glass of whatever was in the pitcher, finding it very sweet. “There are going to be dancers later.”

“The food is not terrible,” Jezlen said. Round pieces of bread sat in piles down the length of the table and when Derk ripped one open he found it stuffed with herbs and bits of vegetable. It was still warm and shiny with butter.

“Are we leaving in the morning?” Asa asked Derk. He watched Sindra and the High Priest talking, seeming to be making polite conversation. Derk shrugged.

“If they don’t get it, we’ll get it,” Derk said, stuffing food into his mouth. He wiped his hands free of flour on a napkin and watched as the other people ate.

It was a small gathering, about twenty people in all. They asked Sindra questions about the Church and how long she had been serving. A few even asked Derk, Asa and Devra about their involvement with the Church. Derk left out the part about being recruited in a bar fight but Asa rather joyfully filled it in. One priest asked Jezlen a question about the Church and the Forester answered by sipping from his cup and pretending he didn’t understand him.

The fire dancers came and performed a stunning set, swinging torches, and a woman even wearing a belt of fire as she danced in time to the upbeat music, unscathed by the flames.

Asa was called to stand in the middle as several men juggled fiery torches around him, the young man’s face screwed up in good-natured fear as balls of flame zipped past his head. The jugglers tried to get both Jezlen and Derk to stand in. Jezlen feigned ignorance of their words and Derk politely declined.

Derk laughed as Asa was roped into a dance with the woman who wore the belt of fire, his face turning red as she shimmied her hips in front of him. After the drama of the stolen chalice, it was a nice change. Derk looked down the table at Sindra and smiled, all of them clapping in time to the music. Eventually Sindra relieved Asa and danced, the stringed instruments playing happily in the hot summer air. Tomorrow would be fine, Derk told himself. They would find the men who stole the chalice and they would return to Portsmouth triumphantly. And if they wound up having to go after the chalice themselves, they would find it and still bring back the holy item. If Derk had anything to do with it, he would turn a bad situation into a good one. It’s what he did.

“They are definitely dead,” Jezlen said coolly, releasing the hand of the body he was standing over. Its arm flopped to the ground, lifeless.

“This is bad,” Devra murmured, turning to Asa, her green eyes wide with fear. “Who could have done this?”

“Only one thing,” Derk said, grimacing. The camp hadn’t just been attacked. It had been destroyed. The fire had died down and the morning mist dampened the entire camp. Bodies lay scattered, broken arrows littering the ground. The only sword they found was broken and black with blood and gore, all the bows gone. Whoever had attacked had taken the weapons as well as the chalice. There was no doubting the victims were the zealots the High Priest had spoken of. The male victims wore their beards forked and had shaved heads, moisture making their beards sag. A gash from a claw across the face of the only woman in the group made Derk’s stomach turn. “Freemen.”

“Here?” Devra asked. “Why?” She wrung her hands together, a habit Derk noticed she did when worried, and Asa took off his hat.

“They probably have a base close by,” Jezlen said. He walked around the camp, crouching down and scratching at the dirt with his fingers. “The Freemen mostly raid in lean times. If the zealots had not stolen the chalice, this would not have happened to them.”

“These men and woman have families, you know.” The young priest who had accompanied them on their search shot Jezlen an amazed look, looking surprised by his seemingly heartless comment. The priest gestured toward the bodies, his face stricken with grief. “They didn’t ask for this.”

“They should have kept a better watch.” Jezlen said. He stood up and walked over to the edge of the camp, ignoring the angry looks of the priest and the other men.

“What am I supposed to do?” the priest said. The priest hugged his arms to his chest and began to weep, seeing the bodies of the villagers. “I can’t believe this” he sobbed. “Our community hasn’t known a violent death in two generations. What do I tell their families?”

“You comfort them,” Sindra said. “You use it to bring the community together. Honor their memories by speaking on the good they did in their lives, not the terrible nature of their deaths. But do not make them out to be martyrs.” The young priest looked up to Sindra and then nodded slowly.

“Sometimes death is senseless,” Derk said, looking over a body face down in the mud. “When Freemen are involved, especially.”

“We’ll put them in the cart and take them back to the village for last rites,” one of the villagers said. “Will you come back with us?”

Sindra shook her head. “The chalice is still missing. We will try to track the Freemen and see if we can’t get it back.”

“But how will you face them?” the priest asked. His eyes were red-rimmed and his brown hair plastered to his head. The sound of the cart made one of the villagers run to meet it, no doubt to deliver the news of what they had found. The cart had been brought to carry back any sick or wounded, and Derk frowned as he thought of the shock of the villagers.

“It does not look like many attacked the camp. They most likely caught them by surprise,” Jezlen said. “Probably in the dark. Whoever kept watch most likely sat too close to the fire and was blinded.”

“We have to at least try,” Asa said, looking grim. “We can’t go back to the Church and say, ‘Well, it looks like some Freemen got a hold of the chalice so we let them have it.’ It would look stupid.”

“Maybe they dropped it along the way?” Devra said. “What use would they have for it? They can’t eat it and it isn’t a weapon. Maybe they opened the box and abandoned it?”

It was very hopeful of Devra to think so but Derk nodded, watching as the men began to load bodies into the cart. The priest closed their eyes, his hand over his mouth as he looked on the deceased, tears falling once more.

“If we are going to go, we need to leave now,” Jezlen said. “This weather may get worse and the tracks will disappear in the rain.” Sindra nodded slowly, walking to the cart to tell them they would need their belongings after all. Derk just stood there and watched as the bodies were moved, Jezlen gesturing with his head for Derk to follow him. Derk looked around to make sure no one was watching and he followed Jezlen out of the camp and over a small rise, past some tall grass.

In the grass lay a Freeman, dead. Its face was small and its head virtually hairless. The eyes were black orbs with no pupils and its lips were pulled back in a snarl of death, showing pointed, razor sharp teeth. Grey skin was barely covered by scraps of fabric and an arrow protruding from its abdomen revealed the cause of death. Blood stained its ragged nails dark. It was hardly a man. Derk had seen drawings of Freemen in his youth and heard the stories, but seeing one filled him with dread. Jezlen just gripped the hilt of his sword.

They walked back to the camp and Asa handed him his pack and the shortsword he had asked for back in Portsmouth. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would be enough. Derk gulped as he slung his pack over his shoulder and fastened his weapon around his waist, remembering the dagger sitting in its sheath. Devra had a walking stick, Asa a sword and a club and Sindra…a dagger. It looked ornamental.

They said their goodbyes after the last of the bodies were put into the cart. Derk shook hands with the villagers and the priest, avoiding the man’s tear streaked eyes. When the villagers and the priest trundled down the path, the group was left in a strangely abandoned clearing, the remains of the campfire a black stain on the ground. Jezlen led them wordlessly to the body of the Freemen. Devra gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Asa narrowed his eyes at the body and Sindra’s face grew hard. She looked determined.

They mounted the horses they had been given except Jezlen, the Forester scouting ahead and tracking. Derk held the reins of the gelding in his hand and stared up at the cloudy sky. If the sky was clear he would have been able to take comfort in the fact the Goddess was watching them, her pale face looking down from a blue sky. Instead grey clouds surged and rolled, the threat of a summer rain making him hunch his shoulders and wish to be indoors. The foul weather matched the situation. Derk sighed and prayed both the weather and the undertaking would turn to their favor.

Trespassing

“Are you sure?” Derk asked, furrowing his brow. The cave a stone’s throw away looked unobtrusive. A few scraggly trees grew around it, the soil too poor to grow anything more impressive, and the ground littered with shards of stone. No sign of life could be seen or heard.

“The tracks lead here,” Jezlen said quietly. “It is the type of place a group of Freemen might dwell. As you may recall from stories your mother told you.” Jezlen’s mouth twitched as if he might smile and Derk rolled his eyes. Quietly they walked back to the others.

“There will be at the most twenty of them within,” Jezlen said, his voice low and steady. “Larger groups of Freemen have not been encountered for two of your generations. They will have a central area where they convene and keep the fire and maybe a separate area where they keep their belongings. Food. Weapons. They can see in very low light, and the only lights they keep are glowing mushrooms. If you hear a sound like a puff of air, do not worry. It is only sporing. But try not to walk into a cloud. It will make your face glow.”

“Twenty?” Devra gulped. Her green eyes were wide with apprehension. “Will they all be together? Will we have to face twenty at a time?”

“I have not had to kill more than five at a time, at the most,” Jezlen said nonchalantly, pulling out his sword. It looked well-used but well-kept. “It is possible you will make it out alive.” It would have helped if Jezlen smiled at her but he only stared. Derk snickered nervously, looking to Asa, who stepped in front of Devra slightly, dark eyes shining with fear.

“No one is going to die,” Sindra said, stepping forward and facing them. “We are going to get the chalice back from these beasts and return it to the Church, where it belongs. They don’t have the training or the determination we do. The chalice means nothing to them.”

“What should we do?” Asa asked. Derk looked in the direction of the cave.

“One of us should scout ahead. When the way is clear, the others can come up.” Derk looked at Jezlen. “Which one of us will stick our neck out first?”

“Not Asa. He’s too loud,” Devra said, drawing a look from her brother. She widened her eyes at him and folded her arms. “What, you are!”