Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) (12 page)

“Well, who else would have me?” the strange man asked dryly, motioning to his face. “In recent years it was worth my life to walk out on the streets, given that something as minor as a visible wart could get one accused of witchcraft and executed in numerous horrible ways. Captain Ash was kind enough to let me stay here, and I’ve done what I could to repay that.”

He waved one thin hand towards the library room behind Tank, and around at the maps plastering the walls.

“Speaking of which,” he said, folding his hands together again, “may I please tell you what you need to know at this point? Then you can be free of my frightening company sooner than later.”

Tank advanced a hesitant step, not at all sure he was doing the right thing, and felt a flush heating his face. “Sorry for the rudeness,” he muttered.

“I expected it,” Tendallen said, expressionless. His gaze cut over towards the left wall, where a large map of the coastal plains took up most of the available space. “Please look at that map. Go stand in front of it, in fact.”

Tank was more relieved than worried to put his back to the man. He studied the map with care to distract his mind from the questions piling up.

“You see Bright Bay,” Tendallen said. “You see, to the east, Kybeach. To the east of that lies Obein, then Sandsplit. To the southeast of Sandsplit is the only other port town of the southern coast, Sandlaen. To the northeast of Sandsplit runs the Forest Road, which is the only path through the Hackerwood. Due east of Sandsplit are Northern Church lands: they claim the marshes that produce the holy grey salt.”

Tank glanced over his shoulder, searching for sarcasm; found only blankness.

“The Northern Church is extremely strong north of the Hackerwood,” Tendallen said, pointing Tank’s attention back to the map. “There are cities, such as Stecatr, in which trouble with the Church quickly takes you beyond any kingdom law’s ability to save you. South of the Hackerwood has become rather more relaxed over the years, even with the recent troubles; Bright Bay is so close to hand that kingdom justice is easily enforced.”

He paused. Tank turned to look again, and this time surprised a thoughtful expression on the man’s thin face.

“I would suggest, as you are young and far from experienced in the ways of the Church, that you stick to working the southern coastlands for at least a year or two. Isata is probably about as far as it is safe for you to go, until you understand more about the northlands. We are very different from where you... grew up.”

Tank turned round fully, his hands tightening into fists at the innuendo the man managed to put into that one, flatly said phrase.

Tendallen stared back without apparent concern. “Kybeach is extremely unfriendly to outsiders,” he said. “If something goes wrong in Kybeach, I suggest you run first and defend your actions to Captain Ash later. It’s an unusual town; he’ll give you more rope there than anywhere else you might travel. Sandsplit has some people you ought to steer clear of, but no doubt you’ll find out who they are without my advice, which I believe you’ve had more than enough of already. Tell Captain Ash this word:
bluebird.
Good day. “

Tank didn’t wait for a second invitation to leave.

In those days...
Telling stories always put Idisio in a pensive mood, and the one about the childless kaen and the ruined city in the desert had always bothered him more than most.
None shall drink from this well...
Deiq hadn’t reacted at all the way Idisio had expected, either; he’d had the most
peculiar
look on his face the entire time, and then had more or less admitted to being there, himself, when the actual events took place.
That story’s nowhere near accurate,
he’d said, mouth tight with evident irritation, but refused to talk about it any further.

What that implied about Deiq’s age, and Idisio’s potential, was as impossible to comprehend at the moment as the notion of any part of that story being true. And what part had Deiq played at the time? Had he been the fat old man who cursed the kaen? Hard to believe; but he certainly hadn’t been the kaen himself. More than likely, he’d been an offstage character, manipulating events from a safe vantage point. That seemed much more his style than pronouncements of doom:
If you touch me, this well shall instantly go dry, and your entire lands, O kaen, will then go as dry as your loins.

Idisio couldn’t even imagine Deiq using the word
loins,
for one thing. Picturing the way Deiq’s mouth would doubtless pucker around such a word brought a rueful grin to Idisio’s face and made it easier to push the entire incident aside as yet another strange moment to simply accept and forget about.

Thankfully, the armory Deiq wanted to look at wasn’t far from the balcony where Idisio had told the story; he didn’t have much time to brood over possibilities and impossibilities. Deiq opened the worn wooden door and stood still for a moment, staring in. The blackness beyond seemed a fitting backdrop for his lean form, reflecting his cynical nature in some abstract fashion. Idisio rubbed his eyes and glanced away to clear his mind of that notion.

He was perfectly aware that Deiq had suggested going through the armory as a way of distracting them both, and had gone along with that more than willingly; but the darkness and the stifling, hot quiet only made his thoughts return to the story he’d just told.

The great central desert remains empty to this day, but for the restless ghost of the old kaen.

At least Scratha Fortress wasn’t
haunted...

At that thought, Idisio felt an odd chill slither along his back, and Deiq shot a sharp glance back at him.

“Sorry,” Idisio muttered, and tried to pay attention to his surroundings rather than brood about superstitions. Or Riss. Deiq had been adamant in his refusal to discuss her misery—or Idisio’s—beyond a brief dismissal:
You’ve known her less than a month. Tell her whatever will make her happy.

In other words,
Idisio thought,
lie. Leave her behind with empty promises and without looking back. She’s only human, after all....

Deiq aimed another sour glare at Idisio. “You’re too damn young for good sense,” he said. Then, without explaining that comment, he moved aside a scant step and waved Idisio forward to the doorway. “Stand here. What do you see?”

Idisio took two reluctant steps forward and squinted into the room. He saw vague outlines, defined by the sun flooding through the hallway behind them: the squared-off shapes of lockers and chests.

“Stores,” he said. “Lockers, chests.”

“Close your eyes. Take three steps forward. Wait—”

Idisio heard Deiq moving behind him, and then the sound of the door closing. He shivered again, uneasy for no good reason—although being locked in a dark room with Deiq would probably send most people into instant panic.

Most
humans,
he corrected himself a little sourly.
I’m not human. I never was.
He still couldn’t quite grasp that at times, and wasn’t entirely sure that he ever
wanted
to be completely comfortable with being
other.

“You’ll get used to it,” Deiq said, as he had during Conclave; less bleakness saturated his tone this time. “Open your eyes. What do you see?”

Utter blackness surrounded them. “Nothing. It’s dark.”

“Is it?”

Idisio blinked hard, frowning and not at all sure what Deiq was getting at. “Yes...”

“Are you
sure
it’s dark?”

“I—” He blinked again, squinted a little, and started to shake his head, not understanding the game Deiq was playing this time. Abruptly, darkness cleared, lifting into the same dim murk he’d seen from the doorway. He let out a hiss of surprise, and heard Deiq’s satisfied grunt in response.

“I can only see outlines,” Idisio said, reaching out to touch a nearby cabinet.

“It’s a start,” Deiq remarked. “Close your eyes again. Now—there’s one oil lamp in this room. Do you know where it is, without looking?”

Idisio sorted through the shapes he’d seen; nothing more complicated than observation, here, and he was reasonably good at
that.

“At the far end,” he said. “On a long table.”

“Yes. It’s not a table, but that’s good for a first try. It’s the same green-oil lamp you’ve seen elsewhere; you remember what those look like when lit?”

“Yes.”

“Imagine this one lit.
See
it lit,
know
it’s lit.”

Idisio scowled, concentrating fiercely. A faint golden haze rose in his mind. Deiq sucked in a sharp breath. Scratha ha’rethe said,
You wish this lamp lit?

I’m trying to do it myself,
Idisio said, his heart hammering.

The ha’rethe seemed to blink in slow puzzlement, then the sense of a shrug passed through Idisio and the golden haze faded.

“I think you were trying a little too hard,” Deiq said, a strange catch in his voice. “Try again. More
quietly.”

Idisio opened his eyes briefly, found only the same darkness as before, and sighed. “I don’t understand this,” he said. “It doesn’t even make sense. How can I know something that isn’t true? That lamp
isn’t
lit. I can’t know it is!”

“It’s a matter of willpower,” Deiq said in a tone of strained patience. “Look—like this.”

The lamp across the room flared into bright life. A moment later, it went out, leaving them in utter darkness again.

“Try again,” Deiq said.

Idisio blinked hard and focused on believing the lamp was still lit, but the room remained resolutely dark. Frustration turned his breath rough. Finally, he said, “Forget it, Deiq. This isn’t working.”

Deiq sighed. The lamp flared to life again.

“It’ll come,” Deiq said, not sounding entirely convinced. “You’re still developing, that’s all. It’s going to take time.”

Idisio shrugged off the faint tinge of condescension in that statement and went to examine the nearest locker. It stood taller than Deiq and somewhat wider than both of them, and was fastened with a simple clasp-lock.

“Wonder what’s in here,” Idisio said, absently wrapping his hand around the metal lock. He’d left his picks behind in Bright Bay, and in any case picking an armory supply lock would probably get him in troub—

The lock
snicked
open, rolling sideways, and fell into his hand like a ripe apple. He almost dropped it, shocked.

Deiq laughed. “Apparently that one’s simple enough for you.”

Idisio turned the lock over in his hands, staring at it. “I did that?”

Deiq nudged him aside and pulled open the locker door, revealing shelves of helmets, throat-guards, and arm-guards, mostly crafted of leather and chain-link. Idisio supposed more comprehensive armor would be worse than useless in the smothering desert heat.

He glanced at the doorway nervously, half-expecting someone to come through and start shouting at them for looting. Deiq snorted and snapped a finger against Idisio’s shoulder.

“Stop that,” he said. “Nobody would say a word if we decided to walk out of here with every piece we could carry on our backs.” He pulled a helmet from a shelf, turned it around a few times, and finally replaced it. He shut the locker door and moved on to another.

Idisio stood still, looking around the room with a mixture of awe and anxiety. “Really?”

“Really,” Deiq said. He touched the lock. It sprang open, as the one Idisio still held had done.

“But that’s stealing!”

Deiq turned and gave Idisio a bemused stare.

Idisio felt his face flushing. “Never mind,” he muttered.

Deiq made a dry, amused sound and went back to looking through the locker. Idisio reset the lock on the one he’d opened and sat on a chest, watching. After a few moments, curiosity got the better of his intentions. He stood, then turned and knelt to pop the lock on the chest. It gave as easily as the first, and he grinned as he lifted the lid.

“Damn, this would have come in handy in Bright Bay,” he muttered.

“It would have gotten you killed in Bright Bay,” Deiq said without looking up. “That’s why you never allowed it to surface.”

Idisio sat back on his heels and stared at Deiq’s back. The elder ha’ra’ha continued opening lockers and chests. “You’re saying I blocked myself into—into being... normal... on purpose?”

“Being human,” Deiq corrected dryly, aiming a quick glance over his shoulder. He pulled shut the locker he’d been examining, refastened the lock, and knelt to open a chest.

Idisio watched in silence, understanding that Deiq wasn’t going to answer the question any more directly than that. The chest turned out to contain well over a hundred daggers, some almost long enough to be considered short swords.

Deiq lifted one and slid it partway out of the plain leather sheath, tilting it a bit; lantern light caught and striped over the Scratha Family sigil on blade and hilt alike.

“Made here,” Deiq said, studying the dagger thoughtfully. “The armory fell out of use before Cafad was born. The Scratha smiths were damn good, but they bailed out early on in the crisis years. I think they went to F’Heing, actually.” He slid the blade back into the sheath and handed it to Idisio. “Stick this in your pack. It’s better quality than you’ll find most places.”

Idisio measured the dagger with his hands and decided it would—just—fit; he’d have to repack a bit to make room. Deiq shut the chest without taking anything for himself, reset the lock, then stood with a sigh.

“Good enough,” he said, looking around. “Scratha’s got supply yet. I was worried that someone would have looted the stores during the cleaning, but it seems solid. Now all he needs are some guards, but I expect that will take a bit longer than household staff. Nobody’s going to donate guards they way they would servants.” He slanted a sideways glance at Idisio, and a smile tugged at his mouth. “Or kathain,” he added pointedly.

Idisio bit the inside of his cheek and just as pointedly ignored that comment. “During the cleaning?” he said instead.

Deiq turned and gave him a long, thoughtful look, then shook his head.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said in an oddly muted voice. “Drop it for right now, please. I’ll explain later.” He took a step towards the door.