Servant of a Dark God (37 page)

“Oh?” said Talen.

“Yes, he’s been quite affected by this whole thing. You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?”

He could feel that something had shifted between them. When he’d last seen her, it seemed the stars and moon and torchlight had danced in her eyes and smile. All that was gone.

He thought about the two hatchlings.

“What do I know?” he said. “Nothing. Except that this woman should be brought to justice. Tell me what you’ve heard.”

Atra began to talk. He hoped she was an irrigation ditch because that’s the only topic he could remember to bring up and because he hoped that her talking would simply fix whatever had happened between them.

Atra went on to repeat many of the same rumors Talen had heard today. He nodded and added a comment here or there, but mostly he just let her talk.

She was definitely an irrigation ditch.

Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe “tell me” was one of those helpful questions. Thank the Creators he’d stumbled on it.

As she talked Talen looked at her eyes. He concentrated on them. He noticed that they were not all of one color. There was a darker ring of brown inside a lighter one. Talen wondered if that’s what perhaps made them so beautiful. But he decided against it. It was more their size and the loveliness of her brow.

Then Talen realized she had just said something and he had no idea what it was.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I fear the new baker puts more than flour and honey in his cookies. What did you say?” Da was right. She’d gone from Sleth to something else and he’d missed the whole journey looking into her eyes.

She shook her head. “I said that it seems Koramites are out of favor.”

“Well, not all Koramites I hope.”

Her mouth was drawn in a line of disappointment. Had she just told him he was unwelcome? His heart began to sink.

“You can’t judge a whole people by the actions of a few.”

“No,” she said. “But some people do.”

Then she changed the subject. “Would you like to see my new saddle?”

“I’ll gladly view anything you want to show me.”

She looked at him oddly.

“Anything having to do with saddles,” he said.

The humor he knew her for flashed across her face, but then faded. He needed another helpful question. He couldn’t quite believe, didn’t want to believe she’d said what she had about Koramites. Maybe she wouldn’t lump him in that group because he was going to be part of the Shoka.

“Tell me about your saddle.”

Atra turned to Nettle. “Does the loafing captain want to see a saddle?”

“Naw,” he said. “One saddle is pretty much like the other.”

He gave Talen a look then. Nettle was trying to buoy him up and tell him that he should take his fish elsewhere.

“Suit yourself.” She turned to Talen. “This way,” she said and led him to the back of the stable. It wasn’t proper for a boy and girl of courting age to be alone. But Talen decided they weren’t really alone, they were just going to look at a saddle. Nor were they courting. Besides, Nettle was in the yard. They would come right back out.

She laid her hand on one of the finest saddles he had ever seen. It had silver trim worked around the edges. The leather had been dyed black. The many tassels of green and scarlet all ended in a bead of silver. The horse blanket was indigo blue.

Talen felt the smooth surface. “It’s perfect.” Her horse was black and well-muscled. It was such a magnificent saddle. Atra told him about the quality of the silver, which required frequent polishing, and showed him the fine stitching of the leatherwork.

He wondered if he would ever be able to afford such a saddle. He might. But it wouldn’t be enough. That was the way of fine things. You couldn’t just purchase one. You had to purchase sets and pairs. A fine blanket to go with a fine bridle to go with a fine saddle for a fine horse. Fine horse combs. And fine servants to take care of the whole lot. He could work all his life to have the wealth contained in only the glass master’s stable.

Better to be plain than servant to such a master.

“You’re a graceful rider, Atra. You’ll look stunning at the races.”

She smiled. “You won a number of contests at the dance.”

Talen had won nothing. There hadn’t been any contests. “I don’t remember receiving any prize.”

“It wasn’t a public contest. Just among us girls.”

What was she talking about?

“We rated you all during the King’s March.”

The King’s March was a dance that only the men performed.

“A prize for hair, one for shoulders, for hands, for eyes, one for every significant part.”

“That sounds like a lot of prizes,” said Talen.

“You took one,” she said.

So perhaps she was simply tired. Perhaps that explained her demeanor. This was going far better than he had ever hoped. “So what is my claim?”

He waited and when she didn’t speak, he asked, “You’re not going to tell me?”

“Talen, things have changed. You should probably not come around anymore.”

She said it with kindness, but his discomfort at her rejection left him fumbling for a response. “Because of this,” he said and motioned to his clothing. He knew that wasn’t the reason why, but what else could he say? He tried a jest. “Next time, I’ll dress down for the occasion.”

“Talen,” she said.

“What’s going on here?”

Talen turned. The glass master stood with his hands on his hips. Talen had met the glass master when Uncle Argoth had introduced them last spring. He’d complimented Talen on his aim with the bow. But today the man had a hard look that suggested to Talen there was probably no helpful question that would ease this man into a conversation.

“Zu, your daughter was showing me her fine saddle. We were talking in the courtyard.”

“Atra,” he said and waved her out.

She turned to Talen and curtsied. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope your horse was well watered.”

When she’d walked out, her father looked at Talen. “I want you off my land.”

“I was hoping to get your help,” said Talen.

“I don’t care what you were hoping.”

“Zu,” said Talen.

But the glass master turned and walked out.

Talen followed.

“Zu,” said Nettle. “We need your help.”

“I trust your father, Nettle,” said the glass master. He looked at Talen. “And I’ve never had anything against your da. And so I’ll give you a warning. Stay to your own race. Atra’s too expensive for you, even if you were to be adopted by your better half. Now, I need you to leave.”

Talen turned and looked up at him. He had not said that with malice. But Talen wanted to respond. “You know what’s down in Whitecliff has nothing to do with me.” Talen pointed at Nettle. “Do you see his ear? I’ve been falsely accused of Slethery. Him of aiding. We’re here to ask for an escort. If you won’t do it for me, then do it for Argoth’s son.”

“I don’t have any men to spare.”

There was nothing Talen could say to that. Talen looked past the man’s shoulder and saw Atra glance at him, then enter the house. Her bride price was probably set at more than his father made in five years. But he couldn’t let it lie. “Sleth blood does not run in Koramite veins. It does not run in mine.”

“I didn’t say it did, boy.” The glass master didn’t say anything else, just folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Talen knew there was nothing he could say to ease this man, so he tugged on Iron Boy’s reins and walked out of the yard. He glanced back at the house and saw someone at the window.

For a moment he thought it was Atra, but it was Elan flapping her hand at him with that simple grin on her face.

Talen waved once. He would never be able to afford a girl like Atra. He probably couldn’t even afford Elan. And it wasn’t because of the money. When they pulled out on the main road, Talen climbed onto the wagon and let out a heavy sigh.

“You can’t listen to people who make glass,” said Nettle. “What do they know?”

“They know who they want their daughters to marry. They know that it was a Koramite in Whitecliff.”

“You didn’t learn anything back there, did you? The glassmaster was never interested in you. I say good riddance.”

Easy for Nettle to say. Talen had learned plenty and it had nothing to do with the glassmaster. He’d learned that Koramites would never rise as long as they protected and hid the bad elements among them. He’d learned that no matter what he did, his blood would drag him down. He’d learned the smith’s wife had stolen from him, stolen from them all. Talen flicked the reins and started Iron Boy walking.

First he’s beaten by villagers who know him. Next he’s attacked by hunters and accused of Slethery. Now this. It would only get worse. There was only one way to turn things around. He had to prove in some way that evil did not run in his blood. That it didn’t infect all Koramites.

He’d told the glass master he had nothing to do with Sleth. And yet he himself was falling into the trap, hiding the bad elements.

“I’m going to turn in those hatchlings,” said Talen.

“You do,” said Nettle, “and you start the wheels of your own doom. They’ll pry your name out of that little blind one. What then?”

“Look,” said Talen. “We wouldn’t hide a thief or murderer, why then should we hide Sleth, which are both? There’s got to be some way to deliver them and preserve ourselves.”

“There’s only one way to do that,” said Nettle.

“And that is?”

Nettle gave Talen a sober look. “Dead. You’ll have to deliver them dead.”

ALLIANCES

R

ubaloth stood on the portico, the sun-warmed marble under his naked feet, the warm breeze washing across his legs and bringing the sulfur scent of the hot mineral pools. Behind him in the chamber, the lord of the Fir-Noy, the one they called the Crab, lay on a couch, trying to gather his wits.

“Pour him another cup of the tea,” Rubaloth said to Leaf, the dreadman who was his guide. Rubaloth had just performed a seeking and then a minor binding on this man, forming a link between the Crab and an escrum, a weave that would allow them to communicate over distances. Bindings disoriented a man, made him dizzy and stupid. But Rubaloth did not have the time to let this man sleep it off. It would take a few days for the binding to cure completely, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be useful before then.

He heard the clink of the teapot, the sound of a cup being filled with wizard’s tea, then Leaf’s footfalls over to the couch.

Rubaloth had been cold the whole time on the sea and rummaging through this man’s mind made him feel filthy. He ached to submerse himself in the hot water that lay at the end of the marble path.

“This is a bitter brew,” said the Crab.

Rubaloth did not reply. He waited for the clink on the platter that would signal Leaf had returned the empty cup.

“So what is it you want us to do?”

“I want you to find out all you can about this Captain Argoth. Where his family is from, his business dealings, the types of foods he eats. I want to know if he has a regimen of exercise.”

“Exercise, Great One?”

“I want to know what he puts in his body and what comes out. You’ll dig in his privy. You’ll search his pantry and root cellars.” Anyone who used the lore needed to eat certain foods to keep the body from wasting. They needed to exercise in a certain way to prepare the body for the moment of quickening.

“Do you suspect him?”

“I suspect everyone, Clansman, including you.”

“Argoth’s sister married a Koramite,” said the Crab. “There are a number of us in the Council who have never trusted him.”

“You will provoke nothing,” continued Rubaloth. “He must know nothing. His wife must suspect nothing. You will take action only upon my command. And that will come through this minor binding.”

“What about questioning the Koramite?”

“Your tower is not secure. You’ll move him immediately. Far from Whitecliff.”

“Yes,” said the Crab.

“Do not touch him.” If the Koramite had anything to do with the rebellion here, if he had any secrets, Rubaloth would seek them out himself. He did not want to risk incompetent men killing or damaging the man.

“You do not want us to press him?”

“What did I just say?”

The Crab bowed. “Please forgive my stupidity, Bright One.”

“Be faithful over these few things and you shall be made ruler over many. Fail me, and you will be cast aside like rancid meat.”

He heard the Crab rise. His voice slurred slightly. “My heart is given to Mokad,” he said.

His heart was given to Mokad only because he saw that as his path to glory. Rubaloth felt that clearly during the seeking. He also felt nothing to suggest the Crab was part of the cabal that had murdered Lumen, which meant such ambition could be used.

“Prepare yourself. Wait for my command to use the weaves I’ve given you.”

“Yes, Bright One.”

Rubaloth turned the screw one last time. “I expect great things from you. Remember, the Glory is searching to replace Lumen. Which means he is also looking to raise one or two as candidates. It is not”—he paused—“impossible for a man of your experience and talents.”

The Crab’s voice echoed strongly off the floor, which meant he was bowing deeply. “I will not disappoint you, Bright One.”

Rubaloth dismissed him. Leaf walked the Crab out. When he returned, he said, “Do you trust him?”

“I trust his ambition.” Rubaloth took a breath, satisfied with this part of his plan. “Where’s Uram?”

“He’s coming, Bright One.”

Moments later the sound of studded sandals echoed down the hallway and stopped in the room. “My Lord?” said Uram in his pleasing voice.

“Argoth must come to the ship willingly. That is your mission. If he tries to escape, subdue him, but avoid killing him at all costs. When we’re out to sea, I will be more comfortable pressing him. But not a moment before. Defer to him, treat him as you would a lord.”

“May I respectfully suggest that we do not know the enemy’s size or strength. Will it not be safer to take him directly to the ship, Bright One?”

“Safer, yes, but also less effective. This enemy is a serpent, Captain. The moment it feels threatened, it will attack or flee. And so we shall give it no cause for alarm. When he’s cut off from all help and all prying eyes, I shall crack his mind like a nut. In that moment, surprise will be on our side. We will know his secrets. And if he is Sleth, then I will direct our allies here to quickly and quietly move on them all.”