Soulbinder (Book 3) (22 page)

Kendril turned back to his friend, and raised the hood over his face until it was covered in shadow. “Before this is over,” he said quietly, “you may wish I hadn’t.”

“Open up!”

The gendarme’s fist smashed against the wooden door again, echoing inside. The officer leaned back, fingering the long curved saber at his belt. His enormous mustache was speckled white from the falling snow, and the strong cold wind whipped through the fur collar of his coat.

“Regnuthu take you, I said
open
!” He glanced back over his shoulder at the rest of his patrol.

Three other gendarmes sat on horseback in the narrow side street, their faces down against the cold wind. Muskets were slung across their backs, and long sabers hung at their belts. On their heads they wore the long bearskin caps of the Vorten gendarmes.

The officer glanced quickly up and down the street.

This was the dock district of Vorten, the northeastern section of the city that abutted the Inersa river. During the spring and summer boats were able to ply their trade routes and offload cargo here, but during the long winter the river was frozen solid, allowing only sleds and sleighs to cross.

Regardless of the time of year, the docks were a crime-ridden, scum-infested area of Vorten. There were dozens of warehouses, boarding houses, and shacks in the frozen mud that passed as streets here.

If the gendarme officer could have had his way, the whole place would have been burned to the ground.

“
Ashes
,” he cursed, raising his fist again, “I said—”

The door opened suddenly, a moment before the officer’s hand descended.

A pretty young woman with curly blonde hair stood in the doorway, smiling sweetly. “Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to
The Rusty Anchor
.” She glanced casually over his shoulder at the three gendarmes behind him, who straightened to attention at the sight of her. “How may I help you?”

The officer cleared his throat, thrusting his shoulders up against the cold. “Yes, ah,
harrumph
. We’re looking for two men, ma’am, and wondered if you had seen them.”

The woman smiled again, her face completely innocent. “Why certainly, officer. Perhaps you could describe them?”

“Yes.
Harrumph
. Both young, one with black hair and a goatee, tall, dressed in nice clothes, purple cape. The other brown hair, clean-shaven, medium height, dressed in a black cloak, seen in the company of a…mule.” He cleared his throat again, getting slightly uncomfortable under the woman’s gaze. “Seen anyone like that, ma’am?”

She shook her head, and pressed one hand instinctively to her supple bosom. “Why no, I haven’t. Are they dangerous?”

The gendarme straightened. “Well yes, ma’am, they are. They’re wanted in the murder of one man in an inn not two nights ago, and in the deaths of several more at the Great Library just last night.”

The woman’s face paled considerably. “How horrible! And they are still on the loose?”

The officer stiffened. “Not for long. No one escapes the long arm of the Vorten gendarmes, if you get my meaning.” He glanced over her shoulder into the darkened inn behind her. “Perhaps just to be safe my men and I should take a look around…”

The woman laughed. She touched the gendarme lightly on his arm. “I assure you, officer, there’s nowhere in my inn they could hide without me knowing. And I wouldn’t tolerate murderers in my establishment for a moment. I am, after all, a single woman running a business.”

“
Harrumph
. Yes,” the officer said uncomfortably. He glanced behind her again. “Well, I suppose that’s true, but—”

“Oh,” exclaimed the woman, “how thoughtless of me. You poor men must be practically freezing out here! You need something to warm you. Hold on one moment, gentlemen.” She disappeared inside.

The gendarme officer stood awkwardly by the door, unsure exactly what to say or do next. He looked back at his men, who studiously avoided his glance.

A few moments later the woman reappeared with four flasks. She handed them to the officer with a disarming smile. “Some
razvodit
for you all. I can’t think of anything that would warm you better than that.”

The officer fumbled with the flasks. “Yes, well, I—that is very thoughtful, ma’am, but we—” He looked back at his men.

They were all eagerly staring at the containers of the fiery liquor Valmingaard was so well known for.

The woman blinked. “I apologize, sir. I assumed you men had other duties to carry out, but you are of course welcome to come inside and rest your feet if you wish—”

The officer’s face hardened. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. We have much to do. Thank you for the
razvodit
, ma’am.”

“Anything for hard-working officers of the law. Swing back here again tomorrow and I’ll give you a refill.” The woman gave them a friendly wink. “Good day, gentlemen.”

The officer touched the brim of his tall cap. “G’day, ma’am.”

The pretty young woman stepped back inside the tavern and closed the door gently.

Inside the air was filled with the pungent smell of fried fish, tobacco smoke, and beer. The common room was almost empty save for a few stragglers who played cards or talked together in low murmuring voices.

The woman stepped across the floor and slipped out the back door of the inn, into a small alley clogged with snow and ice.

Pulling her shawl up against the bitter wind, she crossed the alley and opened a side door to a large warehouse, slipped inside, then closed the door behind her.

She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, looking for a moment at the line of barrels and crates that crowded the room, lit only by the gray light coming in through dirt and ice-smeared windows.

“They’re gone,” she said.

One of the lids of a nearby barrel lifted slightly, then opened all the way.

Maklavir popped his head out and gave a crooked grin. “You’re a saint, Senna, you truly are.”

“And
you
are a rogue and a scoundrel,” Senna replied, unable to hide a smile. “I don’t know why I put up with you, Maklavir, I truly don’t.”

“I ask myself that same question every day,” growled Kendril as he emerged from a crate. He wobbled, almost tipping over as he tried to swing a leg out.

Senna sighed. “So what is it this time, Maklavir?” She gave Kara a coy glance as the thief climbed out of another crate. “Eloping with Red there?”

Joseph’s head shot up. “What? No, he—whoa!” He tripped on his crate and crashed painfully to the floor.

Maklavir straightened up. He smoothed out his shirt. “I told you before, my dear, I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s all just one big misunderstanding.” He took the woman’s hand and kissed it. “Besides, Senna, you know you’ve always been the
only
woman for me.”

Senna smiled sadly. “I might have believed that five years ago, Maklavir. I’m a little older and wiser now.”

“And more beautiful,” Maklavir added.

Senna shook her head. “You’re still the same charmer you’ve always been, Maklavir.”

“And the same pompous fool,” Kendril said. He stepped up to the woman. “All the same, Senna, we owe you our thanks.”

She smiled, looking him up and down. “I’m always happy to help any friend of Maklavir’s, Mr.--?”

“Kendril,” said Maklavir smoothly. He stepped between them. “A Ghostwalker, actually. You know their vows and all.”

Kendril shot Maklavir a scathing glance.

Senna clucked her tongue and gave Kendril one more probing look. “More’s the pity.” She looked over the motley group. “So, who’s interested in some lunch?”

They chose a table in the corner of the common room, away from the door and the windows. Outside the icy wind howled unceasingly, but inside the blazing fire managed to keep the room at a tolerable, though still chilly, temperature.

Maklavir lifted a small glass of
razvodit
. “May your wife ever prove faithful, your dog ever be loyal, and the ice always be firm under your feet.” He downed the drink in one quick shot.

Kendril took a quiet sip of his beer. “I’ve never had a dog.”

“It’s a traditional toast,” Maklavir explained unnecessarily. He closed his eyes. “Eru, I’ve missed Valmingaard.”

“So,” said Kara as she settled back into her chair, “are we going to discuss our next move?”

Joseph pushed his empty plate forward on the table. “This Baron Dutraad is our man. He has to be the one who’s behind the assassin, and the one who wants this…what did you call it, Kendril?”

“Soulbinder,” the Ghostwalker replied quietly. He kept his hands cupped around his beer, staring at the front door of the inn from underneath the shadow of his raised hood.

“Yes,” said Maklavir, “and what is
that
, exactly? I think the time for being mysterious and cryptic about this whole affair is just about at an end, old chap.”

Joseph nodded. “I agree. I think we all deserve an explanation.”

Kendril paused for a long moment, staring down at his pewter mug. When he spoke, his voice was muted.

“During the great times of Despair there were pendants made, crafted from the very substance of the Void itself. They were designed to bridge the gap between the world of Zanthora and the world beyond, the realm of the spirits. They were known as Soulbinders.”

Kara leaned forward. “Spirits? You mean demons?”

Kendril gave a barely perceptible nod. “Demons. Spirits. Seteru. The old gods. They are all names for the same beings.”

Maklavir stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “This sounds like a bunch of old fairy stories to me, Kendril.”

The Ghostwalker looked over at Maklavir. “Maybe. But this pendant…the one Galla found in the ancient temple, matches the description of one of these Soulbinders. You saw it yourself, Maklavir, in the tome we found at the library.”

“And someone seems to want it enough to kill for it,” Joseph mused.

“You said these Soulbinders could bridge the gap between the Void and Zanthora,” said Kara. “
How
, exactly?”

Kendril crossed his arms. He glanced at the door to the common room. “The Seteru are spirit beings. To manifest themselves in the material world, here in Zanthora, is difficult for them. The Soulbinders were designed to create a link with a living being in the material world, someone to act as a host for the demon.”

Maklavir sat back in his chair. “What you are saying is insane, Kendril. Demons, Soulbinders…no rational person could believe any of this.”

“We have the record of history,” Joseph said, jabbing his finger at the table. “The Blessed Scriptures tell us—”

“Yes, well you’ll forgive me for saying so, Joseph, but not everyone holds the Blessed Scriptures with the same degree of uncritical veneration as you do.”

Joseph blanched. “History has proven the authority of the Scriptures, Maklavir. We know—”

Maklavir waved a hand. “Oh, don’t ply me with evidence, Joseph. You know very well that for every historical king or war that the Blessed Scriptures mentions, there’s some other myth or legend that makes no sense.” He glanced around the table. “All I’m saying is that we live in an age of reason, an era of rationality. The Seteru…the old gods are a product of the past, of superstition and fear. It’s hard to take any of this seriously.”

“Doesn’t reason leave any room for the supernatural?” Joseph said, continuing the argument. “For things that cannot be explained by what knowledge we happen to possess?”

“For demons manifesting themselves with the help of ancient jewels?” Maklavir shrugged. “That sounds more than a just a little far-fetched to me.”

“Then why would someone
kill
for this Soulbinder?” Joseph asked with a frown.

Maklavir gave the scout a sidelong glance. “Why would someone want to summon a demon from the Void?”

“I’m going after it,” said Kendril softly, interrupting their conversation. “I have to.”

Maklavir sniffed. “You think this Soulbinder is real? That there is some grand conspiracy to bring a Seteru into Zanthora?”

“I can’t afford not to,” the Ghostwalker responded evenly.

Kara looked over at him. “All right, let’s assume for a moment that this pendant really is a Soulbinder, and this Baron Dutraad or whoever is really planning to use it for something terrible. How exactly do you intend to go about getting it back? Walk up and knock on Dutraad’s front door?”

“If I have to,” Kendril said.

“We have to figure out if Dutraad even has it all first,” said Joseph. “We can’t just barge in to his house with guns blazing.”

Maklavir gave a smile. “Actually, I’m fairly certain Kendril could do just that.”

“The only thing connecting Dutraad to the assassin is the carriage,” said Kara quickly. “And we don’t know for certain that the carriage Joseph and I found is even the same.”

“The gendarmes are already looking for us,” Maklavir added. “The last thing we need is more attention-getting.”

Kendril stared at the common room’s fireplace. “We need to get into this Dutraad’s place unnoticed and look around.”

“Now look here, Kendril,” said Maklavir. “Baron Dutraad is a powerful man in Vorten, or at least he was back when I was at court. We can’t just burglarize his town home. He practically owns his own private militia, for Eru’s sake.”

Kendril glanced over at Maklavir. “There are other ways to sneak into a man’s home.”

Joseph rubbed his chin. “You’re talking about going in undercover?”

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” Maklavir pushed his chair back and stood. Several heads in the common room turned to see what the commotion was about. “It’s always about
you
, isn’t it Kendril? All your little conspiracies and violent tendencies…well I’m tired of it. I’m tired of
all
of it. It’s just another way to get us all killed, and for what? A strange looking ruby?”

Joseph started to stand as well. “Maklavir—”

“I’m not done yet,” the diplomat snapped. “In the last week I’ve almost been eaten by giant rats, had my throat cut by an assassin, and now I’m being hunted as a criminal. I’m done. I’m
through
. Whatever crazy scheme you’re concocting, Kendril, you can count me out of it.” Maklavir turned in a huff, his purple cape flipping behind him.