The Barrow (33 page)

He walked slowly toward the pyre, coming to stand behind his sister and the men restraining her. He could hear his sister whispering to herself: “
That won't be me. That won't be me. That won't be me.
” His mother looked down at him and smiled, as she always did in his dreams. Smoke and flames were rising up around her. Her skin was blackening from the heat, but she seemed serene.

“Stjepan. Blood brother,” said a familiar voice behind him.

Stjepan turned, and saw Harvald standing behind him, smiling apologetically. Behind Harvald looking toward him were Gilgwyr, Jonas the Grey, Coogan, Cynyr, and Duram, dressed in their street-worn finery, swords and daggers in braces at their hips. They nodded to him in turn. Beyond them, he could see a group of men with their backs to him: Austin, Fionne the Fingers, Timm Bellane, Myles the Younger, and Darant.
So Austin is dead, then
, he thought sadly.

“I'm so sorry, Black-Heart,” said Harvald softly. “The Path of the Dead calls for us all eventually.”

Stjepan looked at him for a moment. “Yeah. I suppose it does,” he replied.

He turned back to stare as the flames consumed his mother.

From the window Erim could see smoke rising in the distance over the southern and eastern skyline of Therapoli, more smoke than was usual from the chimneys of its many fireplaces, kilns, and ovens. Bells were ringing in several parts of the city. She guessed that there was a fire down in the Public Quarter. The scene around the Public Temple had been a rough one, and it appeared as though some of the Marked or perhaps someone from one of the independents might have used the chaos and confusion as an excuse to do a bit of damage. Riots and near-riots were scary things, in her experience, as they had a life of their own; someone might start one for their own purposes, but there was nothing like running down a once familiar street with screams and the smell of smoke and panic in the air to escalate excitement into madness, and then who knew what could happen. The bells of the Public Temple had been ringing an alarm ever since the High Priest had gone down, and they'd seen horsemen from the City Watch marshaling on the streets as they'd carried Stjepan's unconscious body out of the quarter.

The smoke to the east she'd guess was somewhere in the High Quarter; not a conflagration yet, probably bonfires on the cobblestones, and likely outside the city house of Araswell, where she was certain the Lord and Lady had retreated from the funeral, and where Gilgwyr, Jonas, Coogan, and Cynyr had all headed after depositing Stjepan safely in his rented rooms in the small attic lofts above the print shops of Grim & Sayles, a few blocks up from the Forum where Tinker Street met Aqueduct Way. The Grim in Grim & Sayles was in fact Petterwin Grim, Marked Man of the Guild; she was pretty sure he couldn't read, but he had been persuaded by Stjepan and Harvald to back the purchase of a printing press to be run by the bookbinder Garrett Sayles, and as far as she could tell he had no reason to complain to date, as the press was minting new books and broadsides and pamphlets virtually at all hours, bringing letters to the commoners of the city. Stjepan had found it amusing that the functionally illiterate Grim was using a print shop as the cover for his activities and operations as a Marked Man. Grim had thought it funny, too.

As she watched the smoke rising from the High Quarter, she wondered a bit about the beautiful Aurian woman, and if she really was a witch. She'd seen the strange letters and symbols moving about the woman's skin, as though they were fish swimming in a murky bowl of water that she could only see when they were pressed against the glass, trying to get out. She wondered how they'd gotten into her, and if it hurt at all. The woman had that classic Aurian beauty—blonde hair like spun gold, pale skin like ivory, and full, shapely breasts that would be soft handfuls to the touch, a different kind of beauty than the Palatian Ariadesma, with her copper skin and lithe, tight, athletic dancer's body. She wondered what the blonde Lady would look like completely naked.

Erim was interrupted from her daydreaming by a grunt from the bed. She looked back. Bed was a generous term; Stjepan slept on a mattress lain over the top of several crates, surrounded by stacks of more crates. The print shop stored some of its old equipment up in the lofts, and so there were strange metal contraptions scattered amongst the crates and chests along the walls and corners. Stjepan was slowly sitting up, reaching for a flask of water that she had placed by his bedside. It had been hard to find a place to put it, as every available inch of flat surface in the loft was covered with stacks of paper, books, inkpots, and boxes of quills. She watched as he drank some of the water, then poured the rest of the flask over his head and shook his wet hair, heedless of where the dripping water was scattered. He grunted again, cleared his throat, and looked over at her. In one smooth motion, she hefted and then tossed his leather-wrapped brace of sword and daggers to him, and he caught the bundle casually in mid-air with one hand.

“Gilgwyr says city law be damned,” she said softly, touching the rapier and dagger that she had slung to her side, retrieved from her own rooms while Stjepan slept. Anticipating a fast exit from the city, she'd also paid Master Cort a month in advance to hold her rooms in case they had to leave quickly. “You'd better hurry. We're missing the show, and it's starting to get ugly.”

She indicated the window. Stjepan lifted his head, listening to the distant sounds of temple bells for a moment, and then nodded, his mouth and jaw set grimly.

Stjepan and Erim moved quickly up the cobble-stoned alley, their faces masked by black neck scarves pulled up over nose and mouth, Stjepan with his hat pulled low over his face. They carried their sheathed swords and daggers in leather-strapped bundles, in case they had to discard them quickly, and Stjepan had a leather satchel slung across his body. They had crossed the Public Quarter from the print shops of Grim & Sayles through back alleys and side streets, avoiding the main thoroughfares; on occasion, startled residents had ducked out of their way, the sight of masked and armed men adding to the air of danger created by the temple bells tolling their alarm in the distance. The King's Road that separated the Public Quarter from the High Quarter was the trickiest part of the journey, as even with the strange air that was settling over the city it was quite busy. But they had dashed across it so quickly that no one had time to notice.

Noble families and wealthy merchants lived in the High Quarter, and as they often brought centuries of their rivalries and internecine wars into the city, their houses were usually built as strong tower keeps, with either no or only small windows on the ground floors. Windows grew larger as the floors grew higher, but were usually built with strong wooden window shutters in case arrows and bolts started to fly from building to building. By law no tower could be built higher than the lowest stone of the High King's Hall, but as the Hall was built on a hilltop rise, that left plenty of room for some of the Quarter's towers to reach considerable height. The alley that Stjepan and Erim followed led them up to the Street of Orfeydda, named after the first Aurian King of Therapoli, and most of the tower houses there belonged to old pedigreed families of Aurian lineage.

At the top of the alley, Gilgwyr, Jonas, Coogan, and Cynyr leaned nonchalantly against stone walls and iron railings in the shadows, along with several members of Jonas' crew; Little Lucius and Horne held the rear, watching Stjepan and Erim approach, while the brothers Cole and Ruvos Till held point, standing nonchalantly a couple of yards in front of the alley. Their swords and daggers were hid from view behind their bodies or cloaks. They were watching the backs of a large crowd of jeering onlookers gathering in the wide street before them; somewhere in the crowd were a couple more of Jonas' men, Tall Myles and Little Myles (who, unlike Little Lucius, actually was little), slipping through the press to see what was happening up close. Across from their vantage point and up a few broad stone steps were the great doors of the city house of Araswell, now shut fast against the surly crowd and showing stains where fruits and vegetables had been hurled against it. Several bonfires had been lit, one directly in front of the building, and two at each end of the street, and their smoke wafted through the streets and alleys of the High Quarter and into the sky. Divine King priests filled the front ranks of the crowd, along with some armored Templars. The crowd had already swelled to over a thousand men, women, and occasional children; it seemed a mix of devout commoners, probably marched up from the Public Quarter; pilgrims, caught up in the specter of a witch hunt; curious servants and groomsmen from nearby noble houses; and some element of pure street rabble, scum that didn't even rate as amongst the independent crews, but skulked in the shadows on the leavings of their betters.

“The witch. Give us the witch!” the priests would cry and chant on occasion, and the crowd would take up the cry for a while until it died down again.

Gilgwyr snorted in frustrated amusement. Little Lucius gave a low whistle and Jonas, Coogan, and Cynyr turned and looked as Stjepan and Erim came up behind them. Nods and quick handshakes went around.

“Did you see who hit you?” asked Coogan with a wry grin.

“Could'a been anybody, right?” joked Horne.

Stjepan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose so. Never saw it coming,” he said, touching the back of his head with a slight wince.

“I'm betting it was Naeras Braewode,” said Jonas. “I spotted him in the crowd, despite his best efforts to stay hid. He's had it in for you ever since you fucked up that little scheme he had going on the Street of Smiths.”

“He's still holding a grudge about that?” asked Stjepan. “That was six years ago.”

“Wizards don't forget,” shrugged Jonas.

“Wizard my ass,” Stjepan grunted to general laughter, then moved up right behind Gilgwyr and joined him in observing the proceedings.

“Rodrick Urgoar is still unconscious,” Gilgwyr said by way of greetings. “If news begins to spread of his unfortunate demise, some in this city will no doubt celebrate, given how unpopular he was; but these are the faithful, and this crowd will get really ugly.”

“I didn't hit him that hard,” protested Stjepan.

“Ah, but it's all in how you hit him, isn't it?” said Gilgwyr. “Besides, you needn't be the one to worry, as apparently the rumor is that Lord Arduin did the deed. Some of those present and many who weren't swear that he struck the High Priest to prevent him from revealing that his sister was a witch.”

“If you had anything to do with those rumors starting, I shall not be appreciative,” Stjepan said coldly. “I have no issue with standing for my actions, and Lord Arduin was wholly innocent in the matter.”

“Wasn't me,” Gilgwyr said, raising his hands defensively. “It seems to have been the genuine confusion of the crowd. Lucky you, off the hook. But regardless of the cause, this mess is going to make getting access to the Lady a bit harder. I've sent word for Leigh, but he might have left the city after Harvald died. That old bugger can be hard to find when he wants to be.”

Erim slipped up next to Stjepan and craned her neck. Someone in the crowd threw some ripe piece of fruit against the doors of the tower house, and that prompted a small shower of imitators.
All that food going to waste
, she thought, shaking her head. She studied the facades of the houses of the various nobles who shared this street. “There'll be stables in the back, yeah?” she asked Stjepan. “The servant's entrances.”

Stjepan grinned. “Aye,” he said. “The priests will never think to go there.”

They all stepped back a bit into the alleyway, leaving the Tills on watch.

“What are you thinking?” asked Gilgwyr.

“Nothing like the direct approach,” Stjepan said with a shrug. “Let's go knock and say hello.” He turned to the others. “Jonas, can you stay here, keep an eye on the crowd? Send one of your crew to alert us if things start to look dire?” Jonas nodded. “Coogan, Cynyr, I am beginning to suspect that a fast exit from this city might be required. You're not part of this, but can you pave our way, let's say at the Gate of Eldyr, and the West Gate?”