Sourcethief (Book 3) (42 page)

"Zell, no!" Tanner shouted.
"Wait!"

In his head, Tanner knew that Zell was probably the
better fighter, veteran of a hundred crossings of blades. Stalyart knew what he
was doing though, and had the advantage of surprise, of being fully awake, and
of having the light at his back, revealing his opponent in more than just
silhouette. And of course, Zell had also to contend with a trusted and familiar
voice calling out to him, splitting his attention.

Stalyart's blade slid into Zell's chest and came out
dripping red.

The huge man collapsed to the floor with a crack
that told of a floorboard giving way under the impact. Blood began to pool
beneath him immediately.

"ZELL!" Tanner screamed. He abandoned the
boy—Jadon—and went to his friend's side. With a strength borne of panic, he
rolled Zell's massive frame from his side onto his back. His undershirt was
soaked with blood, but his eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw was clenched.

"Zell, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for
this to happen, I'm sorry," Tanner told his dying friend. "We were
just going to grab the boy and bring him back, I swear. You weren't even
supposed to be up."

Zell mouthed something, but had little breath to
lend it. Tanner leaned close, putting his ear just in front of Zell's lips.

"Mr. Tanner, where did Wendell go?"
Stalyart asked. The pirate stood looking around him. He waved his bloody sword
around above the bed, finding no resistance.

"Whoreson of a magician," Tanner swore
through gritted teeth. He went to the window and looked down. The fresh fallen
snow betrayed a trail of footprints, still actively appearing out of nowhere,
heading down the alley.

Tanner took the revolving pistol from its holster,
and pulled back the hammer. Taking careful aim, he imagined the height of a man
above those footprints, and squeezed the trigger.

BAMMMM!

The shot rang out and a spray of red erupted from
the air, flecking the snow drifts with blood. The footprints stopped, and a
larger depression in the snow punctuated it.

Tanner put the pistol away and turned to look at the
boy. Jadon's eyes were wide, but his expression otherwise blank.

"Your name is Jadon here, right?" Tanner
asked. The boy nodded. "Do you remember me? I helped Anzik, and I plan to
help you too." The boy nodded again. "Good, now get dressed, we're
leaving."

"You killed him," Jadon said, making no
move toward his travel clothes.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Wendell should never have
kept you from your father."

"He made me look through Anzik's eyes for him.
I didn't like that," Jadon said.

"Well," said Tanner, "I can hardly
manage any magic, and I promise not to use any on you. I'm just going to bring
you to see your father. I gave him my word."

"This blade," Stalyart asked, picking up
Zellisan's sword. The old coinblade always carried two, but had not the time to
get the shorter blade out. "Is this a runed blade? The lighting makes
telling difficult."

"Yeah. Take that, and the helm too,"
Tanner said. He spared a glance down at Zellisan, but turned away quickly.
"Can't let magic lie around."

"What was that he said to you, a moment
ago," Stalyart asked.

"Let's just say I'm not going back to Kadris
anytime soon, and leave it at that."

There are times when a man takes leave of his senses:
in the furor of deadly combat, when the safety of a loved one hangs by a
thread, or when in the presence of a particularly alluring woman. Brannis had
found himself beset by all of these, but times interspersed when he was left to
clearer thoughts. He had been spending more time reacting in the moment, either
being carried along by his Khesh-savvy companions, or thrust into situations
where emotion guided him more surely (if less deftly) than the devious portion
of his mind.

Soria had gone into the woods to procure them
breakfast. They had fled with meager provisions, and the bread in their packs
was already gone. They had departed the road so as to be out of the sight of
travelers, obscured by hill and trees alike.

"Strange thing, but I never learned to
hunt," Brannis said, taking Rakashi's attention from the cleaning of his
half-spear. The Takalish twinborn looked up from his work. Catching that there
would be more to follow, he began to fold the cloth he had been using to remove
the tarnish from the blade. "The noble sons that attended the School of
Arms went whenever there was a respite from classes, but always at the
invitation of some relative. I was never asked along; in fact I think I was
pointedly
un
asked. I learned to shoot a bow, of course, but unless any
of us develops a taste for baled hay, I have no experience with game
animals."

"My father taught me the blade—in both worlds,
in fact," Rakashi said. "He taught me that it is a scale, for
measuring the skill of one warrior against another, the most accurate you will
ever find. It has nothing to do with providing food, and I might only have
occasion to use it against an animal if confronted by a crazed beast."

"I doubt anyone ever taught Soria to hunt,
either," Brannis said.

"No, I think not," agreed Rakashi.

"She really is something," Brannis said.
He looked up into the trees; it was as good a place as any to keep his eyes
from Rakashi's. "Just pushes aside anything in her way, and does what she
sees the need for. She did the same in rescuing you, I suppose. She was
supposed to be hunting down wandering bands of Megrenn troops, not saving them.
I can only imagine her crew's reaction to having you aboard."

"It is just me and Soria on the
Starlit
Marauder
," Rakashi replied.

Brannis returned his gaze to his companion then, but
saw nothing but a Takalish warrior with his bared blade draped over his legs.

"So where did she find you, anyway?"
Brannis asked, trying to mimic a good-natured smile.

"Does it matter?"

"Well, she had orders, of course, an area
assigned to her," Brannis answered. "I'm just curious whether she
stumbled upon you by chance, in the course of her duties, or went off
looking."

"Where was she assigned?" Rakashi asked.

Brannis forced a chuckled. "Sure, if I tell you
that, you'll make sure that she found you somewhere by chance. You might be
tempted to make up a comforting lie to keep her out of trouble."

"What sort of trouble might she find from
you?" Rakashi asked.
There it was!
Brannis had watched for it and
had seen a narrowed eye that betrayed a touch of anger.

"None at all, of course. But I think a well
answered question might tell me a great deal about both of you. Foremost among
them: where do loyalties lie? Would she pick sides against Kadrin for the sake
of a Safschan friend? Would you lie to me to protect her reputation?"

"Brannis, if you place so little faith in my
word, why not just ask her yourself?" said Rakashi. He took his half-spear
in hand and returned it to its sheath.

"Who's to say I haven't?" Brannis replied.
The smile that appeared then was genuine. Rakashi had walked himself into the
trap without being pushed. "That's why I find the question interesting.
The differences in your answers tell more than the answers themselves. As a
scholar, I thought you might appreciate that."

"And my knowing that you will compare will
affect my answer, you no doubt believe. Very well then, if you wish to know,
she found me and a small group of survivors in the forests west of Dolok. There
was a battle, and my side was victorious. She agreed to return us safely to
Safschan," Rakashi said. "How does my account compare to hers?"

"I heard nothing contradictory," Brannis
said. He could not keep his grin from widening.

Rakashi frowned. "You did not ask her
yet." Brannis shook his head. "Well played."

"And now I don't need to ask her, since you
told me the truth."
The truth as you find it after a few cups of wine
and a night of dancing: spun about, confused, and a bit giddy. West of Dolok is
east of Munne
.

* * * * * * *
*

The ride south resumed at a slower pace. The horses
were not yet fully recovered from the night's frantic flight, and it was hard
enough to pick bits of aether-seared rabbit from a stick while at a mere
walking gait; much faster and it would be quicker to throw the meat to the ground
and be done with it.

The trees were grandiose, many as large around as a
barrel, and stretching up to a canopy whose upper reaches were obscured by the
lower. The road was more a corridor than a path, with even the lowest of
branches being out of reach from horseback, and twining overhead to roof them
in.

"I'm not sure bits of mine are cooked all the
way through," Brannis called over to Soria, riding next to him. "Have
you done much cooking by aether?"

"No, I usually just light the campfire with it,
and cook a proper job of it," Soria replied. "Here, let me see
it."

Brannis handed her the spit with his haunch of
rabbit. Soria let go her reins completely, and guided her mount with her knees
as she stared at the greasy little tangle of meat. Brannis watched as it began
to sizzle and smoke. The air filled with a proper fragrance of roasting morning
feast, and brought a smile to Brannis's face. That smile held on gamely as the
smoke overpowered the more pleasant smell. He started at the sight of his meal bursting
into flame, his eyes wide.

Soria shook the spit about, and blew on it until the
flames went out. "There you go. Made sure it cooked clear through."

Brannis jotted himself a mental note never to
question her cooking again. He nibbled a bit at the blackened remains, but
found nothing worth saving and tossed the spit into the underbrush.

They picked up their pace once Soria and Rakashi had
finished their meal, but Khesh was a huge place, and rushing headlong would
only avail them so far. Neither catching their prey, nor being caught by any
sort of authority from Kjalljhal, they needed direction.

They had to leave the road to clear a path for a
caravan of over three dozen wagons, bound for the northern ports. Talking with
the caravan guards, they were able to discover that their quarry had passed
along the same road the day before: ten horses with riders smartly armed,
including two noble ladies by the looks of their dress, one being a southern
Kheshi. Finding whether it was Abbiley and Tomas with them proved more
troublesome to confirm. Khesh was nothing if not a stew with a hundred
ingredients. With hair too dark to suggest southern Kheshi heritage and skin
too pale to be undoubtedly from the north, there was nothing about them that
shouted of Acardian blood during the brief chance meeting. Brannis and his
companions could only surmise that Lady Skaal and Abbiley had been the two
ladies, and Tomas Harwick mixed in among the guards.

"Well, it seems that Abbiley and Tomas are
riding along of their own volition," Brannis said, once they were past the
caravan and back on the road.

"That would seem reasonable to assume,"
Rakashi answered.

"Why are we rescuing them, then?" Soria
asked. "They probably think we're the kidnappers. We could still turn
around and head back." Brannis folded his arms and lowered a disapproving
brow. Rakashi cocked his head to the side. "Fine, maybe Kjalljhal wouldn't
be the best place to be seen right now, but we could head east. Winds, we could
even press on south. We could visit home. I don't have maps or anything, but we
could purchase some and find Raynesdark, and Naran Port—Kadris would be easy
enough to find, map or no. We could paddle out on Dragon Lake, just like we
used to—"

"That all sounds lovely, but I really do think
the rescue remains in order. Just because they are unaware of their peril
doesn't mean it isn't real," said Brannis. "We can explore Khesh once
the trouble I've caused here has been sorted out."

"I agree with Brannis," Rakashi put in.
"Just because they think themselves safe, and perhaps view us as a threat,
does not make either true. I have not come all this way to leave them to their
fate. I think a warrior who commits his life to a cause has a duty to see it
through. The protection of an innocent is a shameful cause to abandon."

"Fine, forget I ever mentioned it," Soria
griped. "The two of you ... lines from the same ballad of dying young for
a noble cause."

Brannis and Rakashi exchanged a look that passed
behind Soria's back as she rode between them. Neither looked pleased at the
prospect.

* * * * * * *
*

The crossroads presented the first major decision
they had to make over the direction of their pursuit. The forest in the area
had been cleared and a collection of hovels had been built up from the wood—in
a bygone age by Brannis's estimation, given the state of the structures. It
seemed to have been an age that predated Khesh's builders' guilds, any civil
authority that oversaw house plans, the concepts of the square and the plumb
line, and the invention of the steel axe.

The crossroads was peopled by a hereditary sort of
beggar. The residents got by on trading information for food and coin,
providing lodging for the desperate and unwary, and general thievery. They had
little of value, provided little of value, and lived on a knife's edge of
offending their way free of their heads.

"Heey, how there!" one of the beggars
called to them as they approached. "Ye gots a Braannis among yee
there?" Brannis heard discord in the voice, though it spoke Acardian.
While Soria used the Acardian of a Kheshi native when she spoke at ease, the
crossroads beggar spoke the Acardian of a native who had gotten a bit of Kheshi
permanently lodged in his teeth, and never quit trying to work it loose.

Brannis scanned the encampment for anyone who looked
like they might be armed and lying in wait. He saw a few children playing in
the dirt with sticks, too young to be a threat even if armed. An old woman
tended a stew hanging on a tripod of sticks over a fire. Two men sat on stump
chairs in front of one of the hovels passing a jug between them and looking
inebriated. If any among them were a threat, they were hiding it well.

Soria replied to the man's query. She used harsh,
angry words, still managing to make them sound beautiful in her sing-song
Kheshi. It was almost enough to make Brannis overlook a simple fact, but not
quite ...

"Soria, for the love of your merciful goddess,
let the man speak Acardian!" Brannis interrupted her. "He's the first
one we've met in days who sounds like he can do better than bargain over the
price of a horse in my language." He turned to address the man directly.
"Yes, I am Brannis."

"Yee gots a message. Shee left it foor
yee," the beggar replied.

"Who did?" Brannis asked.

"Din't aask, mind yee. Noot fer mee to aask,"
came the reply.

"Have it here, then." Brannis urged his
horse forward and reached down left-handed for whatever message he might be
handed. The right hand stayed near the hilt of Avalanche. The beggar came
forward with a filthy piece of rumpled paper.

"It holds no magic," Rakashi called over
to him, using Kadrin. Brannis had not thought to worry of scribbled runes and a
potential trap. He reached down and took the note.

Sir Brannis,

Your errand does commendably
speak to your character. If your wisdom and compassion are the equal of your
bravery, come alone to the western road. You find welcome and hospitality and
your friends may wait behind. The betrothed couple will be sent home with your
friends.

The note was unsigned. Brannis supposed it did not
need to be, for name or not, he knew who had left it for him. It was clearly a
woman's handwriting. He pressed the note as flat as he could against the back
of his horse's neck, trying to smooth it. The grime and fingerprints lay over
the ink, and the lines flowed smoothly over creases, suggesting that the damage
had been done to the poor scrap of a manuscript by its caretaker, not the
writer. It was also written in Kadrin, assuring him that they were dealing with
a twinborn. The fact that the vocabulary was commendable but the grammar
deplorable spoke of an educated foreigner rather than someone at all fluent in
the spoken language.

Bits of a cipher were coming clear, and the mystery
began unraveling to reveal the plot beneath. A backup plan started to take form,
a counter to what he had long suspected was a plot by Rashan to gain influence
over Kyrus, back in Veydrus. An obscure saying, something that Kyrus had once
read somewhere, came into Brannis's thoughts: "the only safe place to hold
a snake is just behind the head."
What then, if the snake has a head at
either end?