Suriax (14 page)

Lynnalin nodded her agreement. The men were
clerics of the bird god Ferogid. He was a god of pestilence and
undeath. His followers wore bone armor to mimic his emaciated
vulture/humanoid form. They had a sixth sense about death and were
drawn to battles and disasters. While it was not uncommon to see
them picking through the remains of the recently deceased, eating
the raw flesh from the bones, it was said they took older corpses
back to their temples to perform rituals to raise the poor souls,
creating undead servants for their god. That was one reason the
citizens of Suriax were so inclined to follow the rules regarding
killing in the city. Suriax had an agreement with the temple of
Ferogid that allowed them access to anyone killed in the city. As
long as all the appropriate papers were filed, bodies were turned
over right away with the assurance they would not be raised. Anyone
else was given over without such assurances.

The ground was littered with streamers,
confetti, jewelry and coins, covered in grime and submerged in
random puddles. A woman carried buckets of water, pouring them out
on two fires blazing in a small home. Her face was red and
blistered with fresh burns. She watched suspiciously as Lynnalin
and Rand walk by. Her reaction was not unusual. Those who saw them
either ran in fear or looked at them as though they were the cause
of their misfortune. The only exception was a group of laughing men
who leered at her suggestively. One took a step toward her, but
Rand tapped his hammer against his hand threateningly. The men
ducked back inside the building where they stood. Lynnalin pulled
up her hood and kept walking.

A noise beginning as a soft din in the
distance grew to a yelling mob. Dozens of people surrounded a small
store. Glass broke and men jumped through the front window,
climbing on other people already inside. Someone ran out with a
barrel of mead and was tackled by a man on the street. The barrel
fell and broke, its contents spilling on the street. The second man
cursed and shot fire at the first man, roasting him on the spot. He
turned and pushed his way back in the store. Light flared inside,
quickly turning into a raging fire. The crowd surged, emptying onto
the street in a wave. Lynnalin was caught without a way to get out.
All around people pressed into her, stepping on her feet, elbows
digging into her back and chest, hair in her face. She couldn’t see
the street. She couldn’t see where her arms were. Someone pulled on
her cloak, choking her in the process. She reached up and grabbed
the tie, trying to get her fingers between the fabric and her
throat. Hands groped her breasts. At some point she realized her
feet were no longer touching the ground. Hands on her back lifted
her up and carried her deeper into the crowd. Even with her fingers
trying desperately to pull at her cloak, she felt her vision
blur.

Then the pressure was gone. She took in
several gasping breaths, noticing later she was sitting on the
ground. She could see the ground again for a few feet in every
direction. A flaming hammer swung over her head. Rand reached down
and helped her to her feet. Holding out his hammer, he led them
through the crowd. She saw several bodies with heads bashed in
littering the ground. Once they were clear, he let the fire go out.
Fresh blood covered the side of his hammer. Already forgetting her
and Rand, the crowd attacked the next store across the street.
“Thank you.” Rand grunted in response, eyes trained on their
surroundings for potential threats. They walked in silence until
they were well past the courthouse. Rounding the corner, she could
see the Arrow’s Quill in the distance. Picking up her pace, she
rushed there. People ransacked a few businesses down the street,
but for the moment, the tavern was quiet. The scorched bodies just
outside the door suggested Bryce had worked hard to get it that
way. “Stand back,” she warned Rand before opening the door. If she
knew Bryce, he would be jumpy right about now. The fire ball that
came at her the moment the door was open proved her caution valid.
“Stinguest,” she said. The flame extinguished before it could reach
her. “Bryce, it’s me,” she called.

“Lynnalin? I’m sorry.” She took a look around
and cringed. There were scorch marks everywhere. The curtains were
in tatters on the floor. “Come on in. Have a drink.” He poured two
drinks and pushed them forward.

“This is Rand,” she introduced. “Rand, meet
Bryce.” They nodded their greetings. “Where’s Marcy?” Bryce’s eyes
grew hooded. “She left town. I don’t know where she is, now.”

“What do mean? I just saw her the other day.
She didn’t say anything about leaving town.”

“It had something to do with Kern. There were
Royal Guards staking the place out for days looking for him. They
wanted her to lead them to him.”

“That’s why she wanted the scroll,” she
realized.

Rand finished his drink and set down his mug.
“Well,” he said, standing, “I should get back to the stadium.
Thanks for the drink.” He opened the door to leave and nearly fell
over from people trying to get in the tavern. Pushing against three
men, he struggled with the door. Bryce ran over and put his body
weight into pushing the door closed. Hands reached around Rand.
People were yelling to be allowed in. Some wanted food. Some wanted
to drink. Some wanted to plunder the building for any and all
valuables.

“Somniedus,” Lynnalin commanded. The men at
the door fell asleep. Without their weight against the door, it
slammed shut. After a moment to get over their surprise, Rand and
Bryce barred the door.

“Are you alright?” Bryce asked.

She tried to stop the spinning in her head.
Her head injury was beginning to throb, not that the pain bothered
her, but it did make concentration difficult. Add to that a less
than restful night unconscious, and she was near her limits for
spell casting for the time being. She needed a good night’s sleep.
“I will be, but we need to figure out a long term solution. Those
people won’t stay asleep forever, and there are even more the spell
didn’t reach. It isn’t safe here.”

Bryce looked around the tavern. “I know,” he
said dejectedly. He built this business from nothing. The idea of
leaving it to be destroyed was not easy to swallow. Before they
could discuss options, the window erupted into a fiery spray of
glass and wood. A stone planter rolled through the room, coming to
rest by Lynnalin. Fire shot through the opening, catching her cloak
on fire. “Stinguest,” she said quickly. The flames went out, but
not before leaving a whole big enough to stick her fingers
through.

“Open up or I’ll throw in another fireball,”
someone called from the street.

“Fireball?” Lynnalin asked. Gathering her
cloak she stormed to the window, climbing up on a table and out the
opening. The street full of men and women stopped their fighting to
look up at her. Well,
her
and the large ball of fire growing
between her hands. “You call that a fireball?” The flame that was a
bright glowing red turned to blue and white as she fed in her own
fire. The flames flared out, engulfing everyone for fifty feet.
Anyone caught in the blast disintegrated into ash. She looked out
at those left. “This tavern is off limits. Now go find some place
else to loot.” She waited for the street to clear before going back
inside. Jumping down from the table, she headed to the back where
Bryce kept his spare bed. “Let me know if they come back.”

“Where are you going?” Rand asked.

“To sleep.”

* * *

“Can we talk?” Eirae sat down next to Kern,
their backs to one of the many balcony gardens in the palace. His
eyes and tone suggested a serious conversation.

“It was self defense,” Kern started without
preamble. “He attacked me.” This was ridiculous. All he wanted to
do was help some people, and now he was being judged for killing
that man. What kind of backwards place was this anyway? He was
starting to miss Suriax. At least things made sense there.

“I’m not here to discuss what happened today.
No one faults you for your actions. We all know you saved those two
women’s lives.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?” he
asked, mollified, but confused.

Eirae collected his thoughts and continued.
“I want to talk about your feelings on killing.

Kern groaned “What is this, an intervention?
Let me guess, you want to talk to me about the error of my ways and
how killing is evil?”

Eirae laughed. “So, Pielere got to you first,
then,” he said to himself. “I guess we can’t help wanting to
meddle. We are accustomed to making decisions that affect the lives
of thousands of people, and we take family obligations seriously.
As such, Pielere and I are prone to unsolicited advice. Just ask
Mirerien.”

He scrunched his face. He was annoyed at
having his life scrutinized, his life choices questioned, but it
was somewhat comforting to be called family. “Honestly I didn’t
expect you three to believe me so easily, much less take to giving
brotherly advice.”

“Mirerien believed you. She’s never wrong
about that sort of thing. She has a knack for knowing if someone is
telling the truth.”

“Really?” he asked, intrigued. “So what’s
your special power?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Mirerien knows if someone is lying.
Pielere can hear voices of people asking for help.”

“Pielere hears voices? That explains a lot.”
he shook his head. “We’re getting off topic.”

“Look, yes I’m with the Flame Guard. Yes,
I’ve killed people. I’m surprised you have a problem with that.
After all, you’re known as the Punisher. Are you telling me you’ve
never sentenced someone to die?”

“There is a difference between having someone
executed for a crime and going out and killing someone because you
want to.”

“I never just killed people because I wanted
to or because I enjoyed it. It was my job, and it was all legal.”
He found himself returning to that argument, almost as a desperate
last attempt to justify his actions. He never questioned the moral
choice to take a life before. It was not something anyone in Suriax
thought of or talked about. Killing happened. Death was something
you grew accustomed to. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He never felt
guilty about his life before, not even when his uncle criticized
him about it, but now . . . now he found he did not want them to
think poorly of him. He didn’t want his new family to be
disappointed in who their brother was. It was stupid. He didn’t
even know them, but they accepted him, and a part of him didn’t
want to lose that.

Sensing the conflict in Kern, Eirae’s tone
softened. “I don’t have a problem with killing if it is justified.
If someone commits a crime, there needs to be a consequence. That
is what keeps society moving, what keeps order. The fear of
punishment is what keeps people from breaking the law. While it may
be legal to kill in Suriax, that doesn’t make it justified. That is
where our father lost his way. He became distracted with what was
legal, with what he could get away with, and stopped being a
steward of the law. You say you killed on orders. What were the
crimes of the people you were sent to kill?”

Kern thought back. Many of the people he
killed were not pleasant individuals, they were killers, thieves,
all around cruel people, but there were some who were guilty of no
crimes. He was sent to kill people who challenged the queen’s
authority, people who spoke out against her or annoyed her. He
never questioned that before coming here.

Eirae put a hand on Kern’s arm. “Just think
about it.”

Kern felt his head spin. His vision blurred
for a second. “Okay,” he mumbled, before heading back to his room.
Suddenly, he felt very tired. He turned the corner down the hall
and came up short. Marcy and Thomas were standing at the door of
her room. Thomas looked down at her, stroking her face
affectionately. His head lowered, their lips about to meet, when
everything went black.

* * *

Kern awoke feeling groggy. He rubbed his face
and came instantly awake. His hands were sticky and smelled of
blood. A quick glance confirmed the smell. He patted his body but
did not find any injuries. Dried blood stained his clothes and bed
sheets. He saw he still wore his day clothes, including his boots.
Trying to remember when he came to bed and whose blood he was
covered in, he looked around the room for clues. Everything looked
untouched. He saw no sign of a struggle, no dead body, nothing to
tell him what happened.

The door flew open. “Murderer!” Thomas came
running in. Guards held him back, but he continued to scream at
Kern. “You killed her,” he accused.

“Who?” Kern asked.

Two guards grabbed his arms and pulled him
off the bed. “Kern Tygierrenon, you are under arrest for the murder
of Marcy Kentalee.

* * *

Kern looked around his small cell. The walls
were stone. They normally housed criminals in the prison, crafted
from magic from a large tree, but given his ability to create fire,
they were taking special precautions. Truth be told, he hadn’t
gotten the hang of calling the fire, yet. He was just as likely to
kill himself as to escape. But they weren’t taking any chances. The
room was empty, not even a cot or chair. He sat on the cold stone
floor and stared at his hands. The blood was dry, now. He still
couldn’t believe it. Marcy was dead. He’d never hear her laugh
again. He would never see her smile. And they thought he was
responsible. He could never kill Marcy. He loved her. Yes, he was
jealous of the way she looked at Thomas, but what sense would it
make to kill her? Of course, no one listened to him. He was covered
in her blood. Even he knew that was suspicious. He had no idea
where to blood came from.

The door opened. He squinted against the
bright sunlight. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw his uncle standing
there. The look of disappointment cut through him. “How could you?”
Frex’s voice broke.