The False Martyr (122 page)

“
Give me your knife,” he
said to Garth. The big man’s eyes went wide. “So I can cut off this
dress.”

Garth snorted and handing
him a long, thick knife. Dasen inserted the blade at the neck of
the dress, and pulled it down, using the vest to protect his body
from the blade. In a moment, the dress was falling away. Climbing
from it, he kicked the remnants into the corner. He added the
dripping bag and the leather vest a moment later, gasping with each
movement for the pain in his chest. Finally, he began pulling out
the pins that secured the great wig to his head. Mrs. Tappers had
outdone herself that morning so that the wig would not come off in
all the excitement, and it took him what seemed like hours to find
and remove the last of the pins. When it was out, he cast the
cursed thing into the opposite corner, wishing it were a
fire.

That left him in an
undershirt that was surprisingly only bloody at its bottom and a,
now rather ridiculous, set of pantaloons that billowed around his
legs. The top of these was soaked red with streaks running in
streams all the way to the polished slippers on his feet. The
sticky blood still covered his middle, ran down his legs, and
stained his hands. It pulled at his skin as it dried and smelled
like death. Even worse than the cosmetics, it was everything he
could do to not claw at his face and hands. Desperate for a
reprieve, he looked for something to wash it away, but the room was
empty, containing not even a pitcher of water. “Can someone get me
a damp cloth and some clothes?” he finally asked.

Garth snorted, but more
humor entered the sound this time. “My knife,” he said, holding his
hand out.

Dasen looked down at the
knife still in his hand. It was broad and as long as his forearm
with a blade on each side. It was a killing knife. He shuddered and
handed it to the Morg, who, thankfully, returned it to its
sheath.

“
How are you feeling, my
dear?” Mrs. Tappers burst through the door, nearly running into
Garth. She held a small bucket in her hand. Steam rose from it,
along with the smell of flowers. Bubbles were visible along its
top.

“
I’ll live.” Dasen meant
it as a joke, but no one laughed. The truth was that he was feeling
light-headed and woozy. His head throbbed, and each breath felt
like a knife cutting through his ribs.

“
I can tell you’re
hurting,” Mrs. Tappers approached and ran her fingers over his head
and down across his chest. “I don’t think anything’s broken.
Probably just bruises, but I’ll get you something that will ease
the pain. In the meantime, I brought you some soapy water and a
rag, so you can clean up. I’ll be right back.” She pushed her way
back past Garth and disappeared through the door.

Dasen exchanged glances
with Garth before he stripped, but it was clear that the Morg had
no intention of leaving, so he stripped down to his final layer and
used the soft rag to scrub away as much of the blood and cosmetics
as he could. As he scoured, he thought about what would happen next
and found anticipation easing his other miseries.
Any minute now, Teth is coming through that door.
We’ll be away from here. We’ll be together and nothing will stop
us.

The door opened again as
he finished with the, now decidedly orange, water and rag. He
jumped, thinking his silent wishes had come true, but it was just
Mr. Tappers. He held a bundle of clothes in one hand and a steaming
mug in the other. “Everyone is gone,” he said. “I’ve checked every
room, every nook and corner. I think it’s the first time this place
has had this few people in it since the day we opened the door.”
Though he tried to maintain his usual chipper demeanor, Dasen could
hear the sadness and regret beneath. He took a long breath, looked
at Garth with resignation, and handed the clothes to Dasen. The mug
went to the table.

Dasen dressed quickly but
relished pulling on the light canvas pants, buttoning the shirt up
the front, allowing the neck to hang loose, rolling the sleeves,
but most of all, he delighted in looking and feeling like a man.
“Ah,” he said as he plopped back down in the chair, legs spread in
the least ladylike position he could imagine. “I can’t believe I’ve
been wearing all that for four weeks. I tell you, I have no idea
how women do it.”

“
It is nothing in
comparison to putting up with you men all the time,” Mrs. Tappers
answered as she swept into the room. “Drink up your tea now, dear,”
she ordered. “It will make you feel right as the day you were
born.”

Of course, she was right.
Taking a sip, Dasen found it sweet, herbal, and immediately
relaxing. “What is this?” He held the cup out, took another sip,
and felt his lips begin to tingle.

“
Something from a previous
life,” Mrs. Tappers said. “Best thing in the world for a headache.
Now, I’m just going to get some things together for your journey.
Relax for a few minutes and drink your tea. You should go soon, but
we’re safe for now.”

“
Thank you, I can’t say
how much it means that you’re helping us. I don’t know what Teth
and I would do without you.” Mrs. Tappers waved off his thanks as
she strode out of the room, so Dasen caught her husband’s eyes
instead. “I really mean it. I . . . I don’t know when or how, but
if there is anything we can do to repay you after this, I will do
it without hesitation.”

“
That’s very thoughtful of
you,” Mr. Tappers waved off the thanks just as his wife had, “but
we’ve got everything we need here. Now, drink your tea before its
cold.” Dasen took his advice and felt his miseries easing with each
sip as if washed from him by the tea.

“
It sounds like everything
went as planned?” Mr. Tappers started after a pause, directing his
question at Garth and Dasen simultaneously.

“
I guess,” Dasen answered
when Garth only grunted. “Deena Esther is dead, I’m still alive,
and the very Maelstrom seemed to have broken loose as we were
leaving. I suppose time will tell if Kian gets what he’s looking
for.” The thought of Kian brought Dasen’s mind lurching back to
Teth, and his heart leapt into his throat despite the calming
effects of the tea. “Where is Teth?” he started, breath catching
with each question so that he could barely get them out as new ones
piled up waiting for their release. “When will she get back? Have
you heard anything?”
Please, hurry, Teth.
Please, be careful. Please, come back to me. Please, come through
that door smiling. Please, be the girl I knew before everything
went wrong.

“
They’ll probably just be
getting to the caravan if it’s where Kian said it is,” Mr. Tappers
said. “I’m sure she’ll be alright, but you should probably head to
the boat soon, before the violence spreads. Teth can go directly
from the caravan and meet you.”

“
Won’t she have to come
back here anyway? I thought the road through town was the only way
to get to the village?” Dasen took a sip of the tea.

“
Sure,” Mr. Tappers
answered quickly. He licked his lips. His eyes shifted. “But as you
said, the city’s falling into chaos. If you wait much longer,
you’ll have to contend with the mobs.”

“
I suppose,” Dasen
answered with a look at Garth. The Morg had not moved from his
place by the door, one hand on the knife at his side, the other
flexing into a fist then releasing over and over. “But I’d like to
wait at least until we know that she’s alright. I’m not going down
the river without her – I don’t care what Kian has planned. And . .
. and if something went wrong, if she’s been hurt or captured, I
can’t be floating down the river knowing I’ve left her behind. No,”
he decided, “it’s my decision, and I’m staying here until I . . .
until I, at least, know she’s on her way to the boat.” Dasen took a
long drink of the tea and settled into his chair. Suddenly, he
wasn’t sure he ever wanted to go anywhere again. His hands and feet
tingled, arms and legs were loose, eyes blurry, mind
slow.

“
I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Mr. Tappers patted Dasen’s arm and looked into his eyes. “As long
as she stays to the cover, they’ll never catch her even if things
do go against them. She’s probably on her way to the boat now.
You’ll see her there before the sun’s reached its height. Isn’t
that right, Garth?”

“
Humph,” the Morg
snorted.

Dasen looked at Garth –
why hadn’t he answered the question? – then reached for the tea. He
nearly dropped it as his hand seemed to resist his commands. Why
wasn’t his hand obeying his commands? An alarm sounded in his mind.
Something wasn’t right. Mr. Tappers and Garth were both looking at
him strangely. Garth’s expression was greedy and uneasy all at
once, like a bear who fears scavengers might take a kill. Mr.
Tappers was breathing nearly in pants. He was covered in sweat
despite the relative cool of the morning. His heart could almost be
seen beating out of his chest. Looking, finally, at the nearly
empty cup, feeling his mind slowing, limbs easing, eyes drifting
out of focus, Dasen realized, finally, what was
happening.

I’m being betrayed!
the thought was almost enough for him to recover
his fading senses. He tried to rise, but his legs would not
respond, and he nearly pitched from the chair. Mr. Tappers caught
him by the shoulders and held him up.

“
Careful,” Mr. Tappers
warned, “you probably rattled your head when you fell. Maybe, you
should lie down. We’ll wake you when we hear from Teth.”

Dasen’s body wanted
nothing more than to take the offer, but he forced himself to hold
on, to keep going long enough to reach for the only thing that
might still save him. He had not even looked for the chaotic power
he’d used in the battle since that night in the alley, was not sure
if he could still find it, if he would remember how, if his
drug-addled mind could manage it, but he had to try.

It was waiting for him as
distinct and inviting as a fire on a winter’s day, and this fire
was raging. Garth’s stoic calm created almost nothing, but the
power flowed from Mr. Tappers and his wife in the next room – fear,
anxiety, guilt. But it did not stop there. Outside the inn was as
much energy as Dasen would need to annihilate the whole of Gorin
West. The mobs – fueled by zealotry turned to fury and revenge,
throwing themselves at the barricades, killing the soldiers that
defended them, looting shops, executing the governor’s
collaborators, burning and stealing and destroying – created a
tsunami of the chaotic energy that outstripped even what he’d drawn
on outside of Thoren. Dasen opened himself to it, felt it fill him
until he might explode, felt all his thoughts and emotions subsumed
by it, felt it blow aside the drug’s stupor like a hurricane
throwing back an unlocked shutter.

And, finally, Garth added
his fear to it. The Morg’s face fall – he knew. In slow motion, he
pushed Mr. Tappers aside. His hand reached not for the knife, but
rather, a short club that was tucked behind it. It was too
late.
He betrayed you!
the thought wormed through Dasen’s consciousness amplified by
the hatred raging from the city until it carried the weight of
purest malevolence.
He lied. The Tappers
lied. They all lied. They’ll give you to that old man. They’ll take
everything from you. They’ll take Teth from you. They are traitors.
They need to die.

Mr. Tappers was falling
back. Garth was coming around with his club. Dasen focused on his
eyes, saw the fear there, and smiled. Not yet, he told himself. He
formed a wish in his mind but channeled only the smallest stream of
the power through it. The runes formed and faded, and the three
hundred pound Morg was thrown into the wall behind him hard enough
to crack the boards and shake the entire inn. He leaned there for a
moment then slumped in a daze to the floor. The club slipped from
his limp fingers.

And Dasen was standing,
the power he held enough to overcome the effects of the drugs.
“Betray me?” he snarled. He looked at Mr. Tappers, his face frozen
now in a mask of terror, then at Garth who was groaning and
struggling to rise. “You will die!”

The door opened and Mrs.
Tappers appeared. She wasn’t afraid. That stunned Dasen long enough
for her to manage words. “I am sorry, dear, but we didn’t have a
choice. Please, stop. You don’t have to do this.”

Fueled by the rage of an
entire city, Dasen found no capacity to accept her apology or
compassion to spare on her. They would die. He would rip them
apart. He would burn them and their entire inn to the ground. And
then he’d find Lareno. He’d find Kian. He’d find the governor. And
they’d all suffer for what they’d done. He began to form the wish
in his mind, began to picture their organs bursting, their bones
breaking, their skin burning. He released the power, felt it flow
from him like a long exhale and grinned at the prospect of seeing
them die.

And as quickly as that,
the power was gone. Just as the first of the runes formed in his
mind, it crumbled, and world fell away.

When Dasen’s eyes drifted
open, vision blurry and scattered, he was lying on the floor. His
limbs were entirely paralyzed. He could barely keep his eyes open.
He could feel none of the power he’d drawn only a few seconds
before.

“
What were you thinking?”
Valati Lareno’s voice rose enough to keep Dasen conscious. “Do you
see now what you’re dealing with? He’d have killed every one of
you. He might have destroyed the entire city. I told you, he
couldn’t suspect anything.”