The Outworlder (22 page)

“But those are supposed to be secret
meetings!”

“I know. But somehow whoever illuminated this
manuscript managed to get inside the Dragon-Lords’ temple and
witness one of those ritual sacrifices. And he’s preserved it in
this seemingly insignificant decorative flourish.”

“Well, Jared, I never thought much of your
infatuation with these old books until this moment.” Rafe rocked
his chair back onto two legs with a whistle and clasped his hands
behind his head. “So what do we do?”

“First, we have to understand the ritual
itself. This picture here is actually the first in a series. If
you’ll notice, the illuminator has inscribed a cipher here.” He
pointed to the corner of the illustration, where a miniature open
book lay on the ground, its leaves decorated with a strange
figure.

“That scratch is a cipher?”

Jared laughed. “Yes. It tells us that there
are five illustrations in the series. I’ve managed to track down
the next two.”

Rafe’s eyes flickered from Jared’s face to
the shelves lining the walls, and his eyebrows arched. “We have to
search through all of these?” he asked woefully.

Jared laughed again at his friend’s
disheartened expression. “No. I’ve got a pretty good idea which
section to search. If you look, these three volumes are all on
agriculture. They are also in chronological order, so that the
pictures occur in sequence.”

“Fabulous,” said Rafe. “So how does that help
us, exactly?”

Jared moved to the center of one of the
bookcases and pulled a book halfway off the shelf. “This is where
we start. And we go to the floor.”

For the next four hours, Jared and Rafe pored
over tomes, careful to replace them in exactly the same order in
which they found them. At the end of that time, Rafe replaced the
last volume on the shelf and rubbed his eyes and face with dusty
hands.

“I didn’t see anything, Jared,” he said.

Jared was frowning fiercely. “No, nor I. But
did you notice how the manuscript hand changed? It wasn’t the same
scribe. Maybe there aren’t any more pictures. Maybe he never had
the opportunity to finish what he started.”

“Maybe he was discovered,” Rafe suggested.
“And executed.”

Jared nodded and stood slowly, stiff from
long hours sitting cross-legged on the stone floor.

“Well, we’ll just have to go with what we do
have, then.” Jared lined the books up in order and went back to the
table to study the illustrations. “Why is it so bloody dark in
here?” he asked.

“Because it’s nearly sundown,” answered a new
voice.

Jared and Rafe both spun toward the doorway,
and Jared’s hand hovered over the books, ready to slam them shut if
need be.

“You missed dinner, both of you. Arnauld was
concerned.” Brytnoth sauntered into the dim vault of the library
and grinned at them. “So I came to investigate.” He looked them up
and down. “Been dusting the shelves with your shirts and faces,
have you?”

“Thanks, Brytnoth,” said Rafe. “For your
information, we’ve been working very, very hard.”

“So I see.” Brytnoth leaned across the table.
“What’s kept you in here so long?” he asked. “Did you find
something useful that could help us save Sahara?”

“Us?” Rafe said, glancing at Jared.

“Maybe,” said Jared. “And maybe not.”

“Are you still worried that I’m a spy?”
Brytnoth asked.

Rafe swung around to face Jared. “What’s he
mean, a spy? Who’s spying?”

“Childir.”

Rafe gaped at him and sputtered wordlessly
for a moment. “You’re not serious. You can’t possibly be serious.”
When Jared said nothing, he blurted, “But…but how? And what could
have possibly led you to that conclusion?”

“Think about it, Rafe. He was the only one
who knew our plans for the attack,” said Jared. “Not even Arnauld
knew the whole strategy. It failed so miserably because our enemy
was ready for us. Sahara and I couldn’t figure out how plans made
with such safeguards of secrecy could have been so easily
discovered. I’ve been suspecting a traitor in our midst since the
battle, but I didn’t have the chance to investigate…until
today.”

“Jared suspects that Childir might have
leaked the information to the Dragon-Lords,” Brytnoth added.

Rafe glanced at him and then turned back to
Jared. “He really does have a knack for stating the obvious,
doesn’t he? Listen, Jared, I understand you’re upset about the
attack and what happened to Sahara. But suspecting Childir of
collaborating with the Dragon-Lords is hardly reasonable, is
it?”

Jared shrugged. “I think it’s perfectly
reasonable. Who else has the knowledge and the skill necessary to
communicate with them?”

“But surely we need more proof of his guilt
than a mere suspicion!” persisted Rafe. “It’s hardly just to
condemn him on a guess!”

Jared’s eyes narrowed. “No, perhaps not. But
I’m not going to wait around for absolute proof. There’s too much
at stake.”

Rafe subsided with a sigh. “You have me
there,” he said. “And what proof would we find, anyway? There are
just herbs and books and birds in his study.”

Jared suddenly straightened up. “I can’t
believe I’m really that blind!” he breathed. “It’s been there all
the time!”

“Sorry, what has?” Brytnoth asked, then added
to Rafe in a lower voice, “He was doing this to me earlier—making
cognitive leaps and leaving me on the other side of the chasm.”

“The birds! The birds, of course!”

Rafe stared at Jared as if he were mad. “What
are you talking about?”

Jared scowled. “The birds in Childir’s study!
I always thought he kept them because they were cheery…and for
cutting open for prophecies and such. But they must be trained to
carry messages. He could send one out with a note and we’d think it
had been used for augury!”

Understanding dawned on Rafe’s face, and he
leaned back in his chair. “And he was the one who chose the day of
the attack.”

“Yes, he was. I asked his advice myself.”

“So he pretended to use that bird to foresee
the outcome of the day’s events, when actually he sent it
fluttering to the Dragon-Lords with a message that we were on our
way.”

Jared nodded. “That must be it. That must be
exactly what happened.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Well,” said Rafe. “I guess we won’t be
asking him any more questions, then, will we?”

“No, we won’t.” Jared rubbed his hand through
his hair and swore softly.

Rafe jumped to his feet, knocking over his
chair in the process. “You haven’t gone to him again, have
you?”

Jared and Brytnoth exchanged glances and
Brytnoth nodded.

“Jared has this theory…” he began.

Rafe slapped his forehead. “And you shared it
with Childir? After you suspected him of being a spy?”

“No, no!” Jared said. “I didn’t put the
pieces together until after I told him my little theory. And as
soon as I suspected something, I tried to put him off the subject.
We got away as soon as we could.”

Brytnoth sniffed. “We can’t change what’s
past, anyway,” he said. “So what about the future? What about
Sahara?” He gestured to the books on the table. “What’s all
this?”

“We’re going to stage a rescue. Somehow.
That’s what the books are for.” Jared rubbed a hand through his
hair so that part of it stood on end. “But didn’t you mention food?
I’m starving! Let’s talk about this over some ale and a
supper.”

A short time later, the three men slid into a
secluded booth at the tavern and Rafe summoned one of the barmaids.
She was a sweet-looking young woman just the shy side of twenty,
and her whole face lit up in a smile when she saw Rafe. She looked
vaguely familiar to Jared, but he couldn’t place her.

She wiped her hands on her crisp square apron
as she threaded her way through the tables and patrons.

“What’s your pleasure?” she asked, hovering
next to Rafe and flashing him another bright smile.

“All business tonight, sweet Emma,” he
replied, returning her smile. “Three of those meat pastries this
place is supposedly famous for and a bottle of red wine. Quick as
you can, now—we’re starving!”

The girl glanced around the table, her
shimmering dark eyes resting on each of them in turn. “Hello,
Jared,” she said softly, and he nodded to her in greeting. Then she
turned to Brytnoth. “And who might you be?” she asked. “I’ve not
seen you here before.”

Brytnoth opened his mouth to speak, but no
words came out. He flushed, stammered, and finally managed to blurt
out his name. When Emma laughed a rich, delicate, intoxicating
laugh, he flushed to the roots of his hair.

“I’ll tell cook to be double quick,” she
said, ruffling Rafe’s hair as she left.

Brytnoth swore softly under his breath and
ran a hand through his hair. Rafe grinned at him and slapped him on
the back.

“Well, Rafe?” Jared asked, watching her push
through the swinging doors into the kitchen. “I’ve only seen her
once before, and not in the tavern.”

“Who is she?” asked Brytnoth.

“She’s Thormund’s daughter,” Rafe said. When
Brytnoth looked at him blankly, he continued, “Right. You don’t
know Thormund.”

“Thormund is Arnauld’s chief advisor. He used
to be our ambassador to the Great City…when there was a Great
City,” Jared explained. Then he turned his attention back to Rafe.
“I find it hard to believe that Thormund would let his daughter
wait tables in the tavern.”

Rafe lowered his voice. “It’s not something
he’s pleased about. But she was determined to make her own way, and
he didn’t have the heart to fight over it. So here she is.”

“Why would the daughter of a lord want to be
a barmaid?” Brytnoth asked with a frown.

Rafe grinned. “She wanted a little adventure,
I suppose.”

“
Adventure?
She thought being a
barmaid would give her adventure?”

“Look,” said Rafe, “you’re not the youngest
daughter of a lord. Adventure is anything that gets you outside the
confines of your chambers.”

Brytnoth turned to gaze at the bar. Emma was
there again, leaning against the counter and chatting with two
young men who were drinking pints. He gave a single shake of his
head and sighed.

“Anything that lets you see and be seen, I
guess,” he muttered. “What a shame.”

“What are you talking about?” Rafe laughed.
“You appreciate seeing her, don’t you? Business has improved for
old Appledore since she joined the staff, I’ll tell you that
much!”

“Well….”

“Well? What are you complaining about?”

Brytnoth raised his head and looked Rafe
straight in the eyes. “I just think it’s sad for a woman to think
she needs to sell herself at a bar to feel like she’s free.”

Rafe gaped at him and Jared, silent in his
corner of the booth, allowed himself a smile.

“What do you mean by that? Are you saying
she’s nothing but a common…a common…” Rafe spluttered, unable to
bring himself to finish.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Brytnoth answered.
“It’s just that I’ve seen what happens to women who flirt on the
margins of the old dance.”

“I thought you said you’d lived your whole
life on that passenger ship, Brytnoth,” interrupted Jared.

“Where do you think I saw these things?”
Brytnoth gave a short laugh, full of heartbreak, and gazed back in
Emma’s direction. “My first love was just like her. Innocent, full
of life, in love with being desirable and being desired. She was
assigned to the late shift in the ship’s bar.”

“What happened to her?” Rafe asked.

Brytnoth studied him quietly. “When I got
there, it was too late. Some of the men were getting
claustrophobic—we’d been shut up on that damned ship and floating
aimlessly through the void of space for years. They drank to forget
why they were drinking, and by the time they were drunk enough to
forget that, they’d forgotten everything else too. There were three
of them that night.” He took a deep breath. “I got there too late.
She was already dead.” He paused for a moment, and then added
fiercely, “And since I couldn’t save her, I killed them all
instead.”

Rafe’s mouth dropped open. Brytnoth dropped
his head into his hands with a shuddering sigh.

“You can’t understand,” he said softly. “It’s
like a living hell…no way out, no way through. Death is a blessed
comfort. If we hadn’t crashed in the desert, we’d have torn each
other to shreds.”

“I swear on my life that I will never let our
people be herded onto some ship like that,” Rafe gritted, fastening
his eyes on Emma’s laughing face. “It would be better for us all to
be slaughtered here in our own city fighting for our freedom than
to become animals like that.”

Brytnoth shuddered again and raised his head.
“There’s still hope for Albadir,” he said. “We have to do
everything in our power to preserve it.”

Emma returned to the table a few minutes
later, bearing their food and drinks on a large tray. She set the
steaming pies in front of them and poured their wine into generous
flagons.

“Will there be anything else?” she asked. She
turned her sparkling eyes on each of them in turn. She gasped in
surprise when Brytnoth caught her by the hand, his face still awash
with tortured anguish.

“Please,” he mumbled. “Please don’t do this
to yourself.”

Emma looked at Rafe, something like fear
replacing the flirtatious teasing in her eyes, but Rafe was focused
on Brytnoth. She tugged at her hand and gave a little laugh.

“I’m sure I don’t understand.”

Brytnoth powered through the catch in his
voice. “Please go back to your father’s house and never come here
again. I know you don’t understand…” His voice rose a little and he
gripped her hand tightly, urgently. “Sweet girl, this life can
destroy you. It may seem a game to you, but it’s not. It’s not a
game at all.”