Night Winds (12 page)

The poet formed an easy smile. "If I wanted to write poems on sunshine and flowers and love, this might worry me. But you know my thoughts well enough. I'll weave my verses for the night, sing of the dark things that soar through nameless abysses--unfold the poetry of the macabre, while others prattle about little things. Hell, Kane, we've talked many a night away on these matters, and found our minds too close together even to argue, only to second the words of one another. True beauty lies in the dark side of life--in death, in the uncanny--in the grandeur of the unknown. The pure awareness of beauty is as overwhelming an emotion as blind fear; to feel inexpressible love is as soul-wrenching a sensation as to know relentless terror. When fired to the ultimate blaze, the finest emotions become one intolerable flame, and ecstasy and agony are inseparable.

"I'm blocked on Night Winds because I can't enter this dark world, can't get close enough to this point of fusion to understand the emotions I'm trying to recreate. I've looked everywhere for inspiration--read through dull volumes, chased after tepid vices, haunted the desolate places, dabbled in strange drugs... And I've learned nothing. If I can induce Klinure to give me the inspiration of lost dreams, I'll risk any nightmare--no, I'll welcome them--if I find the creative energy I need to create a perfect poem!"

Kane frowned, too similar of spirit to the other to dissuade him further, but uneasy nonetheless. "It's your decision, of course. But make certain you understand the risks which await you beyond the threshold of dream. You'll not be asleep, but in Klinure's embrace, so that you'll not awaken from those nightmares which drove their dreamers into screaming wakefulness. There are many dreams of falling, for example, from which one awakens before ending his plummet..."

Opyros thought for a moment. "Vaul!" he swore in understanding. "Then you think Amderin...?"

"It's a risk--only one among uncounted others whose nature we can't begin to conceive."

A clamour had arisen across the tavern, and the huddle about the dice table suddenly began to break up. Many voices were raised at once--cries of anger, protest, disbelief, congratulations. As the milling figures drifted away, the thickset figure of Eberhos could be seen. He was followed across the floor by a blond Waldann mercenary, whose broad shoulder sagged under the burden of the bulging saddlebags slung across it.

Eberhos's flushed face made his grin seem all the broader. "I've won it all!" he announced. "No man has gold or spirit enough to play against me further!" With an arrogant gesture he poured a handful of gold coins upon the table. "There's a hundred in payment as I promised. You'd have a hundred more, had you been less quick to judge another man a fool. The carving now, please."

The piping stopped, Kane's cold eyes met Eberhos's gaze, and his jubilant sneer retreated. Not looking at the gold, Kane slid it back to the alchemist's assistant.

"You owe me no debt," he explained casually. "I've decided to keep the figurine. Its price of fifty sarmkes has been paid."

A shadow of worry crept over Eberhos's victory-lit face. "I didn't sell it, Kane--it was collateral. Now I've met my side of the bargain as stated. There's a hundred sarmkes, and now I need that carving." He made a motion to reach for the onyx figurine where it Jay before Opyros.

"I wouldn't," advised Kane.

Eberhos flexed his fingers in nervous anger. He did not reach out, however. "I have to get it back before Damatjyst notices that it's been taken," he explained.

"Well, just tell your master what you would have had to tell him if you'd lost the money I gave you," Kane offered without sympathy. "Or now that you're wealthy, why not see if one of the southern cities needs another alchemist."

"All right, I'll give you two hundred for it."

Kane shook his head, a mirthless smile starting on his lips.

"Two hundred fifty--no more!"

"But earlier tonight you admitted the carving was priceless."

"Name your price, damn you! I don't dare risk Damatjyst's anger."

"You'll find my anger no better risk," retorted Kane.

Rage made the veins bulge along his thick neck, and Eberhos moved his hand closer to his sword hilt. Behind him, his Waldann bodyguard shifted the gold-laden saddlebags uneasily.

Webbre and Haigan had nonchalantly strolled over to either side of Kane; their brutal faces sneered at the alchemist. His expression one of detached interest, Levardos had, unnoticed, drawn back his chair. A quick glance around the tavern disclosed others of Kane's men had laid hands on their weapons and were slowly approaching. The squat figure of Stanchek could be seen muttering instructions to his henchmen, who moved unhurriedly to cover the door.

Kane took the onyx carving from the table and began to roll it on his palm; there was mockery in his smile, and death grinned from his eyes.

And Eberhos knew that death hovered close. "Hell, what do I care about Damatjyst's wrath," he laughed suddenly. It sounded like a death rattle. "I've learned all that old miser can teach me, and I've gold enough to make my life what I will. Keep the damned carving if it pleases you, Kane--if Damatjyst wants it, he can go look for it. I'm going to find another tavern and some rich fools to play against me."

With slippery fingers he retrieved the gold coins, smiled servilely, and made for the door. His worried bodyguard clung to his back like a shadow, and the pair disappeared through the tattered curtain.

Webbre and Haigan laughed and hooted, and hugged the frightened dancing girl between them. Opyros took the carving from Kane and gazed upon it with worshipful eyes. Levardos permitted himself a thin smile.

Kane caught Stanchek's quizzical gestures and shook his head with a frown. "His luck held out," he remarked at Levardos's unspoken question. "Several thousand in gold, one man to guard him, and the bastard left here alive--Stanchek thought I was going to take care of it."

"We can still find him," offered his lieutenant, starting to rise.

"Don't count on it," Kane advised. "Still, I've made a deadly enemy, and when I had the chance, I let him live. Levardos, have you ever known me to be that careless?"

"No," admitted the other, and slipped his dirk back into the sheath hidden beneath a bloused sleeve.

Kane continued to stare moodily toward the curtained doorway. It occurred to Opyros that his fascination for the black figurine might have thrown Kane into unforeseen difficulty. After all, Kane did have frequent dealings with the alchemist, and Damatjyst was almost certain to learn into whose hands his carving had fallen.

"Don't worry about Eberhos," Kane scoffed, when the poet voiced his concern. "Unless he has even less brains than I give him, he'll be far from Enseljos before another night. His master will surely blame him for the theft, and Damatjyst is most exacting in the matter of debts.

"More to the point, now that it's yours, what do you mean to do with the simulacrum?"

But the poet had already made his decision. "As I've said, I hope to summon Klinure--to follow her into the secret realm of dream. I'd be grateful if you'll show me the spell, since your knowledge of these things seems to lie far deeper than you choose to reveal. But if you're opposed, then I'll look elsewhere for the spell of evocation."

"It would take little enough effort to discover," said Kane. "No, if you're certain in your mind, I'll do what you want. But there is an unknown degree of danger, and I think you may want to wait until your thoughts are somewhat clearer than tonight before you get into this too deep."

"Well, I'm going to try it," Opyros asserted. He refilled his stein with painstaking attention. "Though I think I will wait for my head to clear; I'll want my thoughts unclouded for this venture. Shall we try it tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow night, if you wish," Kane agreed. "Night is the realm of Klinure. I'll see to the arrangements."

"Where? Will my study do?"

Kane shook his head. "I think another place would be better. Atmosphere is extremely important, and we need solitude--someplace free of distractions and conflicting aurae. Dreams are influenced by the dreamer's surroundings, and the genius loci of Enseljos is not conducive to the tone of dream you seek. I think the Old City is evocative of the mood you desire, and one of its abandoned temples should retain sufficient occult magnetism to facilitate communion with the dark muse."

"The temple of Vaul yet stands," Opyros suggested.

"A warrior god of somewhat cold and prosaic nature," argued Kane. "I was thinking of the temple of Shenan. The moon goddess should favor this venture."

"I didn't know her cult ever reached this far north. Where is her temple?" How can he say these things so casually!

"I'll show you," the other promised, and went on to speak guardedly of Shenan's worship in the days of the Old City.

They talked on into the night, Levardos leaving them at one point to attend to some errand. When he returned to draw Kane aside for low conversation, Opyros discovered himself yawning. Innumerable mugs of ale had at last dulled his drug-tortured nerves, driven the ghost voices and afterimages from his mind, As a matter of fact, Opyros decided it was quite probable he was drunk.

"Well, I think I'll wander back and get some rest," lie announced, smothering a belch. "Or is that backwards--should I concentrate on staying awake maybe, so I can sleep tomorrow night?"

"No, get some rest," Kane told him. "If we succeed with the evocation, there'll be no need to lie asleep. Klinure herself will lead you beyond the gates of dream."

"Well then, till tomorrow evening," drawled the poet, fumbling to fasten the folio. The onyx figurine he had already restored to its wrappings and secured at his belt.

"Wait. I'll accompany you," Kane offered. He signed for his men to follow. "Should by chance you run into Eberhos, you might find the greasy tub of guts ungrateful for the stake you gave him tonight."

It could not be far from dawn, Kane noted as they left Stanchek's. The skies had not grayed perceptibly, but the stars were beginning to dim. It was cold, very quiet. Crisp night air was stunning to inhale after the close, smoky atmosphere of the tavern. Few were abroad; it was an hour of the night when even those who disdained sleep went about their business within doors.

Certainly it was not the time of day Kane might expect a beggar to accost him. They heard her sobbing wail through the darkness, and shortly came the shuffling sound of her step. Then through the island of a rare streetlight they saw her approach, drawn by the flame of the torch Haigan carried.

"Please, kind gentlemen, please, can you spare a coin for a poor mother? A coin for a poor mother and her child!" She was not old, though her sordid rags and haggard face made her appear twice her years. A baby, so enswathed in rags as to seem no more than a shapeless bundle, nursed at her breast, his face buried by her shawl.

Haigan moved to shove her away, but not liking the mad glare of her eyes, he turned to let her pass.

"Kane! Is it truly Milord Kane!" she moaned, pressing nearer to him. "Ali, Kane, you'll spare a coin to help this poor mother and her sickly babe? He has food, but I've none, and soon my babe must seek his food elsewhere, unless this poor mother has coin to buy bread and meat."

Kane thought her face familiar, though too pale and drawn to place the memory. "Why do you beg at the most desolate hour of night?" he murmured, digging his fingers into his almoner.

"I cannot mingle with the crowds by day. They drive me from the streets when honest folk see me," she whirred. "The guard takes no pity on a poor mother and her son." There was a heavy stench about her, a foulness less squalid than charnel.

Though his fingers touched smaller coins, a whim moved Kane to place a gold sarmkas in the woman's emaciated hand. It would buy food and shelter for several months.

"May Lord Thro'ellet spread his wings to guard you, Kane!" she blessed him, clutching the coin as if to crush it. She pressed closer; Kane saw the baby's face and knew the reason for her pallor.

Her voice lowered. "As you pass the corner, there are eight men who wait in an alley. Two have crossbows. They speak of Kane."

Swiftly she slipped past them, crooning to her babe. She must have shifted him to her other breast, for he gave a brief cry--more a snarl than whimper. Kane heard a troubled fluttering noise suggestive of the flap of leathery wings. Then the only sound was the mother's crooning, fading into the night.

"Strange," remarked Opyros. "She blessed you in the name of a demon."

"She spoke of an ambush!" said Levardos, who had stood close enough to overhear. "Should we get more men, or take another street? Thoem's horns! It's that bastard Eberhos--he'd know to waylay us on the street that leads to Opyros's manor!"

"So I was thinking," growled Kane. "But if it isn't Eberhos, I want to know who it is that dares this! No, we won't waste time returning for more men--if they've seen our torch, they'll grow suspicious and change position. Since we know where they're waiting, the trap can be reversed."

"They outnumber us, and they've got crossbows," pointed out Webbre.

"I don't pay you just to hear you blow on those pipes," Kane returned.

Haigan threw an arm over his brother's shoulders.

Now, don't you worry, little brother. I'll save a little one for you."

Webbre grinned and pushed him away. "Careful with that damn torch."

"Keep your voices down!" Katie snarled. "Let's not pause any longer , or they might start wondering. I'll circle around and take care of the crossbows. Meanwhile walk slowly toward the corner with the torch, so they can see the light coming. Stop before you got there--Opyros, give a yell that you dropped the carving, and the rest go back with the light and make a show of looking for it. That should give me time to reach the alley from the far side. Come fast when I yell."

Seeing they understood, Kane slipped away into the night, loping as fast as he dared without making noise.

"He sees in the dark like a cat," muttered Levardos as he vanished into the deep shadow.