Priest (Ratcatchers Book 1) (2 page)

Before Heden could blind him or suck the air from his lungs so that he could not speak, the priest of St. Eseld chanted a quick but potent prayer to his witch-saint, pointing at the nearest guard. Wil. In slow motion, Heden watched the scene play out. He knew Wil was just unlucky. The priest had picked the closest watchman to cause confusion and tip the whole jail over into disarray.

His single eye wide with zeal, head thrown back in a twisted form of ecstasy, mouth chanting words no one but Heden could understand, the priest stabbed a finger at Wil and Heden watched the young guard’s head explode in a burst of pink. Bone, hair and brain showered in every direction as a headless body slumped lifeless to the ground. All of the guards froze in shock, looking down at the blood and human remains covering their clothes and faces. All but one.

Teagan stepped smartly into view, grabbed the cross-guard of his sword with his left hand and his scabbard with his right. Heden recognized the non-standard draw and knew his instincts were right. He was in the presence of a professional.

As the priest turned to Mathe to attempt his lethal prayer again, Teagan yanked the sword halfway from its scabbard, turning the pommel into a projectile, driving it up into the priest’s chin. There was a loud crack. The priest was unconscious, possibly dead, and Teagan hadn’t even drawn his sword yet.

The priest’s body slumped to the ground while other acolytes began fighting the guards, some of them chanting minor prayers. Heden grabbed the amulet of St. Lynwen under his shirt out of habit, and began a prayer of his own. He knew the battle would be over in a moment—was already over from his point of view—and he thought it best if everyone just calmed down.

Teagan yanked his sword the rest of the way out of his scabbard, gripping the blade with both of his leather-gloved hands and used the natural angle and momentum of a sword pulled up and out of its sheath to bash the nearest acolyte over the head as though the sword was a mace, knocking the acolyte out. This was a man used to fighting with metal gauntlets.
That kind of thing will ruin even the best leather if the sword is worth a damn
, Heden thought
.
Another acolyte hit the ground.

He allowed the sword to continue its swing down, using its own momentum to flip it, catch the pommel, and leveled it at the neck of the nearest conscious acolyte.

“Halt,” he announced. The acolyte stopped chanting and stared down in terror at the blade at his throat.

Teagan had taken two men down and had another held at sword-point in the time it would have taken even an experienced guard or soldier to draw his blade and swing once. Heden was impressed.

Meanwhile, Mathe had made his way to the dead priest who’d killed Wil. Heden was almost done with his prayer.

“You bastard,” Mathe gasped as he stood over the dead priest. “That was Wil, you fucking bastard!” Mathe kicked the dead priest’s head, causing blood and teeth to fly out. “He was my fucking friend, you piece of shit!” Mathe was shouting and crying and about to take his rage out on a living captive.

Heden finished his prayer and, taking a deep breath, watched a calmness wash outward from him like the wave from a stone dropped in a pond. Everyone calmed down. Only Teagan seemed unaffected, but he hadn’t even broken a sweat or been out of breath. He was calm as a rock.

Mathe seemed to collapse a little. His rage stopped, his tears stopped, and he turned away from the dead priest. He looked lost. A face Heden had seen before on men after a battle.

The acolytes had stopped chanting, stopped struggling. They weren’t compelled into silence or submission, Heden had just returned them to normal. Many of them had been worked into a fanatical ecstasy for hours and would now be wondering why they were in a jail.

Teagan pulled his sword away from the acolyte’s throat and sheathed it, guiding the point into the scabbard without looking.
I could never manage that
, Heden thought.
I always had to look down and watch what I was doing when I sheathed a sword.

One of the guards asked Mathe what he should do, and Heden watched Mathe pull himself together. These men would be home much later than normal. The Vine would have to open early for five watchmen coming off shift who’d desperately need to drink their memories away. Wives and families would be worried and when husbands returned home, they’d get no explanation. And more than one man would take his anger and confusion out on his family. Heden’s prayer would help with that, but it would be hours later and there was only so much Heden could do without taking the men’s will away from them. Which he was loathe to do in any circumstance.

A stomping was heard and the door to the dungeon below opened. Domnal emerged, his shoulders laden with two dozen heavy manacles. Domnal was a big man, fat but strong. He stood looking at the scene before him, at the acolytes all staring silently at the floor. At the explosion of red on the wall and the headless body of Wil on the floor, next to the beaten corpse of the priest of St. Eseld.

He let the manacles slide off his shoulders and in wide-eyed anger said,

“What the fuck happened here?!”

“Alright, let’s hear it,” Domnal said, his voice loud as he walked to his small office. He threw his heavy key ring on the table. It hit with a loud clatter, slid, and fell off the other side. Domnal scowled and swore as he sat down and then groaned as he leaned over and picked the ring up off the ground.

Heden followed him in and closed the door behind him. The room was warm, made of hard wood and lit by four candles in sconces on the wall. A layer of sawdust covered the floor, put there by the guards to absorb any blood spilt during the execution of their duty. Several pieces of parchment covered Domnal’s large desk. Heden knew the man could read and write, but only the typical phrases found in official documents. Put a book in front of him, and he’d start to sweat.

“You heard it from Mathe,” Heden said, sitting down in the armless chair.

“I want to hear it from you,” Domnal said, scowling.

Domnal was Mathe in ten years. A big man in every sense of the word. Tall, wide, gone to fat. His pale complexion meant his face went flush any time he was angry or ashamed or had exerted himself. It was currently beet red. His hair grew in short brown wisps. He was loud, brutish, and effective.

Heden recounted what happened, and voiced his own culpability.

“Well what did you come here for if not to help,” Domnal threw his keys on his desk, half at Heden, in disgust. They clattered and rang on the wood and slid down off the table again, landing at Heden’s feet.

“Ah, fuck it,” Domnal said. Heden, aware Domnal’s outburst was not directed at him, reached down and picked up the heavy iron key ring. He placed it on the desk, out of reach of Domnal.

“We don’t see you for a year and then you show up and one of my men dies,” Dom wasn’t really talking to him, Heden knew. He was just angry. “Why didn’t you just stay home?”

Heden didn’t say anything. Dom needed to let it out. Heden knew that if he tried to defend himself, Dom would just get angrier.

“I’m going to have to go talk to his wife,” Domnal said, his voice now betraying weariness.

“Want me to do it?” Heden asked.

“You?” Dom said, not fully listening.

“Done it before,” Heden said. “Spent lots of time with families of dead. . .,” he wasn’t motivated to finish the sentence. “You know.”

Domnal grunted a negative, adjusting his bulk. “It’s got to be me. She’d think I didn’t care if I sent you.”

Domnal was probably right. Heden could see his friend was no longer angry at him. Sometimes it paid to keep your mouth shut.

“Where do they come from?” Domnal wondered. Heden had not used a prayer to calm Domnal and now he’d bled all his anger out and had time to be resentful.

“I dunno,” Heden said. “You want a real answer? The king, I guess.”

Domnal straightened up, frowned and made a questioning grunt.

“The king burned down the bridge across the Mal,” Heden said. “He had reasons. But now there’s no bridge, so no trade. Folks start to struggle, they don’t know any other work and they get desperate. Then they listen to a priest of Cyrvis telling them they don’t have to live like this.”

Domnal listened, then scowled and grunted. “That don’t explain it. My da was poor for two years after the Duke took his farm. He didn’t kill no-one. It don’t explain it.”

Heden knew both of them were right. “No, it doesn’t,” he granted.

“How’s Megan?” Heden asked after a moment.

He saw Domnal’s face flash blank for an instant, and Heden’s stomach turned. He recognized the sign that something was wrong between Domnal and his wife, and that just saying her name caused him discomfort. Domnal was about to lie to him.

“She’s fine,” he said without feeling. “Keeps saying we should invite you to dinner.”

“You
should
invite me to dinner,” Heden agreed.

Dom sighed at his friend. “You wouldn’t come,” he said with sympathy. “You’d find an excuse to stay in that fucking inn you never open.”

Heden didn’t say anything. He wasn’t aware his desire to avoid the world was so obvious to everyone.

“She says you just need a woman,” Domnal said, gaining interest in talking about something other than the Eseldics and his dead guard.

Heden shrugged. “What did you tell her?”

“I asked her if she was volunteering,” he said, flashing a quick smile. Heden smiled a little for show. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he found that kind of talk distasteful.

Domnal took the question seriously and answered; “I told her it was too late for you. Tried to explain.”

“What’d she say?”

“She didn’t listen. She don’t believe that stuff. Not a romantic, like you,” Dom said, drawing the word ‘romantic’ out to make fun of Heden. “She’s got a niece she says would play your organ like a fife if you’d but loosen your belt.”

Heden looked at the ceiling and blinked as though asking Cavall for strength.

Domnal chuckled at Heden’s reaction and this made Heden happy. “She don’t know you,” Domnal concluded.

Heden waited a moment and changed the subject.

“Did you know Teagan was a ratcatcher?” Heden asked, guessing at the new guard’s old profession.

“What?” Domnal said. “Teagan? ‘Course I did,” he said, frowning. “Everyone does. You know what it’s like here, no room for secrets.”

Heden did know what it was like there and knew there were more secrets than Domnal would let on.

“He’s good,” Heden said. Domnal was impressed with Heden’s evaluation.

“He’s a mare,” Domnal grinned.

Heden frowned. “He’s a what?”

Domnal sat back in his chair, his grin turning into a smile.

“Fancies men,” Domnal said.

Heden’s face went blank for a moment as he absorbed this. “Hm.” He shrugged to himself. “Well he’s that good in a fight, he can do what he wants with his prick. Who was he with?”

“The Sword of Silver,” Domnal said raising his eyebrows and pronouncing the words with exaggerated precision. Most people thought company names were absurd.

“Really?” Heden said. “They were good. They recovered the Blade of a Thousand Years. I always thought ‘The Immortal Blade’ would have been a better name for them after that.”

“Ah it’s all crap,” Domnal said.

“True,” Heden said.

Domnal remembered something, and threw a sharp glance at Heden for a moment. Then, seeming embarrassed, cast his eyes down.

“Listen, Heden,” he said, screwing his face up with reluctance. Heden could tell his friend was embarrassed by something and for some reason Heden was in no mood to let him off the hook.

“Uh, listen,” Domnal said again lowering his voice, seeming to shrink as he asked a favor. “I was wondering if you could, you know after everything that happened this morning, if you could…say a blessing for me?”

Heden frowned and looked Domnal up and down as though he were being tricked.

Domnal seemed anxious and ashamed. Heden shrugged. “Okay,” he said. Domnal was immediately relieved. The two men got up and approached each other.

Domnal straightened up, eyes closed. Heden grabbed his amulet with his left hand, held up his right, palm out, and prayed to his saint, Lynwen.

Both men stood there, eyes closed, as Heden spoke his prayer in the First Language. As he did so, Heden caught a fleeting glimpse in his mind of two eyes, a woman’s, rolling with amusement. Heden felt his hands grow warm and knew Dom was feeling the same unnatural heat.

The prayer was not ceremonial, it was purifying. It was effective in proportion with how just and fair the subject was, as was Cavall’s will, but Heden prayed to Saint Lynwen, who had her own agenda which none but Heden understood. The prayer would strengthen the body and cure small ills. And reveal any physical problems with the supplicant.

Heden’s eyes flashed open, angry at the secret Lynwen had revealed to him even as she cured it. Now he knew why Dom was ashamed to ask.

“You fucker,” Heden said.

“Heden!” Domnal said, flinching at his friend’s judgment.

“You know I’m going to have to pray over Megan now, too.”

Domnal half turned, picked up a proclamation off his desk. “Well you can do that when you come to dinner.” He avoided Heden’s gaze and pretended to read the document.

“You complete shit, you know she dotes on you. Brags about you.”

“Should I tell her, do you think?” Domnal asked, his face pained, his voice quiet.

“Should you…no you should not tell her, you should be faithful to her! You should go to the church and ask Cavall and Llewellyn for forgiveness!”

“Am I going to be alright?” Domnal asked, stung by his friend’s anger.

“Not if you keep paying for whores!”

“Listen, Heden, did you come here for a reason?” Domnal struck back, angry because he knew Heden was right. “Everyone here does it, you know. If you gave it a go once in a while, you wouldn’t be….” He stopped. Heden cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

“You going to finish that sentence?” Heden asked mildly.

The small office was silent for a few moments. Then Domnal looked away and sniffed. “Nah,” Domnal said.

“You’ve got someone here for me,” Heden said. “A girl.”

“What?” Domnal asked, forgetting his earlier question. “Oh fuck you’re right,” he said, glad to have something else to think about. He put the papers down. “I’d forgotten about her,” he reached out and picked up his keychain, his thick fingers searching through the keys.

Heden fingered a small pouch on his belt as Domnal selected the right key and moved to the door. Heden stood behind him.

“Black gods,” Domnal said, and Heden saw some weight pulled off him, his body sagged a little with relief, “she’s been here for three days. The boys won’t go near her. I end up having to bring her food and drink. She’s in a terrible state. Not bad looking though,” he mused, then remembered who he was talking to. “I knew they’d send you,” he smiled at Heden. “Knew you’d show up to take care of it.”

“Yeah,” Heden said. Domnal turned to leave.

Domnal looked over his back. “Thank you for the prayer.”

“Yeah,” Heden said. “Tell Megan I want hogget.” He pushed his friend forward. “Let’s go.”

Domnal opened the door and led Heden to the cell.