Thread Slivers (Golden Threads Trilogy) (19 page)

Lebuin looked from Ditani back to the odd seamless stone walls. “No one knows how to do this?” He asked, pointing at one of the white-inlaid stone signs. “So what language is that?”

“Again, Master, no one here knows.”

Lebuin marveled at the engineering that this water channel under his very home represented. An itch reminded him of the sack he wore.
This is amazing. I haven’t even left the city and I have already learned many things about this world. I can see the reason for Journeymen to journey. Only why do I have to have all of it coming so fast?

Ditani maneuvered the boat near a wall where some sludge had built up. He purposefully let one of the oars pick some up and let it drop between them on the floor of the boat. He then cursed and started to throw it out by hand. A nearby group of workmen on a barge laughed at Ditani’s seeming inattentiveness. Lebuin watched for a moment before Ditani looked at him meaningfully. Remembering the priestess’ instructions, he bent down and helped, getting plenty of smudge on his hands and arms. He wiped his hands on his shirt and pants, following Ditani’s lead. Finally Ditani pointed at his boots, and, grimacing, he proceeded to ruin those too.
And it does get worse. I have never been so dirty in my whole life. This stuff stinks, too. Stabbed, burned, chased, robbed of my powers, my clothes ruined, wearing an old oat sack for a shirt, and now river sludge on my whole body. This is worst day I have ever had, but also the most enlightening day too.

The boat passed through an open gate made of steel that shone like a mirror.
Those don’t look like they have aged, but they have to be as old as the city.
He tried to remember how old the city was.
The Duianna Empire was the first civilization in human history, and that was founded over fifteen thousand years ago if the reference books are to be believed. Then the accords were signed, breaking up the failing empire into roughly the current smaller countries of today, and that happened about nine thousand years ago. The Mages’ Guild of Argos was founded just over four thousand years ago. This city is supposed to date from the time just before the Duianna Empire, which means that the city itself is maybe sixteen thousand years old, or possibly older. What civilization was here before we came? Why did they leave? And why do we know nothing of them and yet live in their cities which seem to have been built for us today?
Once past the gates they came out into the docks just as the priestess had said. Ditani found a place to tie up and they climbed on the docks just like the dozens of workmen milling around vessels of every size and shape.

Carefully, they made their way unnoticed through the docks until they came to Merchant’s Road. Turning, they walked with the flow of foot traffic to the Blue Dolphin. Many workmen were heading there as well, it being the end of the day. Lebuin and Ditani joined the flow of workmen walking into the Blue Dolphin.
I think we overdid the grime; most of these men look cleaner.
Sniffing, he decided they were not really too far apart. Lebuin headed for the bar, but Ditani grabbed his shirt. “Aye, I see a clear spot, buddy,” he said, indicating a place at a common table.

Lebuin rubbed the shirt and nodded agreement; they made their way over to the table and sat down. Ditani ordered dinner and took a couple of hyly mugs off of a passing tray. Putting one down in front of him he picked it up and sniffed. Taking a careful sip, he found it thick and lightly sweet.
Actually, this isn’t as bad as I imagined.
He drank his fill, finding he was thirstier than he realized. Ditani watched and smiled at him, and feeling a bit better, Lebuin smiled back.

When the food arrived there was no napkin, nor water to wash with. Lebuin watched as Ditani produced a knife and cut a piece off a hunk of meat, using his hands. Ditani left the knife in front of him, and grabbing some bread, began to eat bare-handed with his dirty fingers.
Lord, I know I needed to learn... but really, this is almost too much.
Smelling the meat, his stomach made up his mind for him. He grabbed the knife, cut into the meat, grabbed some bread, and ate. As he ate he thought over everything, and realized Ditani had done more for him in one day than he had ever done in his life for anyone else. Smiling, Lebuin realized he really enjoyed Ditani’s company, so he dug in and enjoyed dinner with his new friend.

Next to their table a bard stepped up to the small platform and struck up a jaunty tune. Lebuin grabbed a fresh mug of hyly and thought that things could get worse. But for now, this was a wonderful dinner after all. Ditani smiled at him and he smiled back.
Time will tell indeed. I just hope it is finished with today’s tale!

Chapter 7

Blood tells true

‘S
TEADY, CALM, WAIT FOR THE right moment.’ Her trainer had said that in every knife fight they had together.
Knives out, balanced foot, cautious on the approach, all key. The Knife apparently had similar training. They circled each other slowly, both measuring the other up.

“Who’s paying you?”

He smirked. “Sorry missy, that is privileged information and where you’re going it won’t be of any use.”

Confident bastard.
Looking at his excellent disguise as a slightly wounded workman, she knew he was experienced.
He had to have been following us. Damn it! I shouldn’t have let the priestess drape me in that hood.
She spotted the quick shift of his rear foot and was able to parry the first thrust. She sliced up with her dagger but he had already shifted and parried with his off hand. They exchanged a handful of feints, attacks, and parries, circling fast.

Lebuin and Ditani finally got through the door. She glanced over to make sure they were getting out, and smiled as she saw the door closing. Turning her attention fully on her opponent she saw he was circling towards the door.
I need to keep him occupied to give Lebuin time to get clear.
In spite of the danger, she launched a series of attacks to keep him from trying to run and pursue them. The Knife managed to hold her off. It meant he got into a better position; he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Feinting with his left hand, he changed direction at the last moment, and dropping low scooped up the loose end of her initiates’ robe. Easily parrying her dagger, he yanked hard, pulling her off balance.

Damn it! These robes are going to get me killed! Gotta do something unexpected or I’m dead when his knife comes back around.
Ticca was already off balance, so she let herself fall forward instead of fighting to stay standing as he expected. He had already reversed his knife and was trying for a neck strike, but without her counterweight he was also off balance. Ticca twisted and arched back, effectively dodging the strike. Unfortunately that exposed her mid-section and she was much too close. He delivered a vicious knee strike to her chest. The air was forced out of her in a loud yelp of pain and surprise. Releasing the robe, he sliced out, smiling wider as he managed to cut what felt like a bone-deep gash across her shoulder. Clenching her jaw on the pain, she managed to only squeak.

He smiled as she finally recovered from the maneuver by taking a couple of wild shots just to keep him occupied while she stepped past.
OK, bastard, you’re not bad.
She backed up a little and he let her go.
Think you’re winning, don’t you... except I’m better than you.
She glanced at her shoulder; a bit relieved, she saw it wasn’t as bad as it felt. It wasn’t a deadly or impairing wound, unless that blade had been poisoned.
If his knives are poisoned I need to end this fast to get help in time.
Almost laughing, she thought,
Well, at least I’m already at the hospice.
She smiled back at him and saw his eyes light up with joy.
Yep, you think are winning.
But you’re not as fast or as well-trained.
“Not bad, but do try to keep up.”

Ticca relaxed her stance, controlled her breathing, and moved with a fluidity and grace that would make any dancer jealous. Stepping forward, she delivered a series of thrusts and cuts, and he parried every one. She didn’t give him time to riposte. She kept thrusting and cutting, faster and faster, as she warmed to the fight. He started backing away from the flurry of blows and she stepped forward with him, never stopping the attacks. He managed to get a riposte in about every third strike. She easily parried those and followed through with her own riposte. She smiled and looked him in the eye as the attacks continued. Finally his eyes showed real fear.

He had backed all the way to the wall. Sweat was pouring down his face. She paused. “Care to reconsider?”

“To hell with you, bitch!” He feinted left, but she saw his right moving to throw. She ducked under the thrown knife, thrusting up with her dagger and cutting the wrist of his extended hand. He was totally exposed; she simply reacted, knocking his knife wide and burying her blade to the hilt in his heart. Quickly stepping back, she pulled her knife out and let him fall face-first to the floor.

Backing up a few more steps she checked the room for more enemies. The only people in the room were a handful of patients, all stock still, mesmerized by the fight, and two acolytes. She let herself breathe a little before sitting down on an empty cot. She didn’t put the knives away; she just rested her wrists on her knees dangling them in her hands.
Two days, two kills. This one was at least a reasonable fight.

An acolyte approached cautiously. She brought her knife up quickly before dropping it again. “Lady, do you need me to look at your wound?” He looked like he would try to fly away if she moved.

Looking at her shoulder, she saw the blood was running well but slowing. Very gently and softly she replied, “Yes please, and do you have a rag I can clean my knives with?”

He moved to her side and handed her a square of cloth. She wiped and cleaned her blades while he inspected the wound. “I need to see it better; can you remove your shirt?”

She stood, shedding the initiate’s robe onto the next cot. She then took her belt off and placed it on the robe. Finally Ticca turned her back and removed the shirt, and grabbing the towel he offered she wrapped it around her bare chest; then she sat back down, pulling the cot with her equipment close enough to grab it fast if needed.

Another acolyte started towards the body but she called him off. “No, don’t touch him, I want to inspect him first.” The acolyte obeyed and went to help the other patients.

Just as the first acolyte finished wrapping her shoulder with clean white cotton bandages the priestess came back through the door, her rod still glowing green.

“He’s done, Holiness; unfortunately he didn’t want to talk.”

The priestess approached and inspected the bandaging. “Is it a major wound?”

“No, just sliced up the skin. I’ve had worse.”

“Perhaps, but I think I can help.” She lightly rested her hand on the shoulder and chanted a prayer. Soft warmth spread, and the pain eased considerably. “That will speed the process. In a day you can take the bandage off and it should be near fully healed.”

“My thanks, Holiness.” Ticca stood, dropping the towel and making the acolyte squeak a quick goodbye and rush off. She managed to not laugh, barely. Slipping her shirt on, she grabbed the belt. “I presume Lebuin is safe?”

The priestess nodded. “I set them on the Delivery Channel dressed as workers. They should have no problem making it to the Blue Dolphin via the docks. You can meet them there in about two marks.”

Ticca thought about the situation for a moment and it felt good all around. “Thank you, I am worried, but I doubt they’ll be watching the shipyards for workers.” Settling her belt into place she stepped over to the dead Knife. She bent down and rolled him over.

He had four knives, a few coins in a cloth purse, and that was it. Searching him thoroughly yielded nothing more. The knives he had been using looked familiar. She tried to place them. Picking one up, she saw it was slightly longer than a dagger but still a bit shorter than the short sword she had fought with. It was single-edged and the hilts were a series of knotted black cotton bands over ivory or bone.
These look like those knives my Uncle and Trainer talked about. What were they called?
She thought for a moment and then it came back.
Odassi! The fighting knives of that group called Nhia-Samri who were pushing the pressure points to keep the anger high and the war going where my Uncle lost his arm.
She looked at them a bit closer and then put them down.
It might be, but this more likely one of the imitations Knives like to use to scare people; he didn’t fight in the style my Trainer showed me they use.

“He must have followed us from the Temple; I bet he was going to try to get into the hospice when we left.”