The Firemage's Vengeance (16 page)

“At last the storm abated. Gregor brought all the folk into the town hall to receive their pay. He waited until they had all arrived, for he had promised them all a gold weight, even the children. First he gave them their money. And then he locked the front door, and burned the hall to the ground. He and his men stood watch to make sure no one escaped through the windows. When at last the flames died out, he made his soldiers search through the corpses to recover every bit of gold he had paid out.”

Ebon did not remember when they all stopped walking, but at some point they had, and now they stood in a little circle watching Lilith in horrified silence. Now he felt sick, as though he might retch into the gutter, and he knew the chill in his bones was not from the cold air.

“That is monstrous,” said Kalem. “It must be false. Surely the High King would not stand for such an act.”

“What makes you think word of it ever reached her ears?” said Theren, spitting the words. “Do you think her courtiers let such troubling rumors invade the royal court? It is easier for the merchants and the royals both, if they do not discuss such things. And after all, it sounds as if there were no witnesses.”

“But that is not the conduct of the wealthy—it is the atrocity of a monster.” Kalem sounded indignant, but he could find no sympathy in Theren’s face, nor even any understanding. “You cannot think all merchants are that way. Certainly not the royalty.”

“Oh, you think the royalty are exempt?” said Theren. “You know how Isra became an orphan as well as I do.”

“But that … that is one king,” said Kalem.

“You are no fool, Kalem, and only a fool thinks any goldbag in Underrealm has entirely clean hands.”

Kalem opened his mouth to object again. Ebon spoke first. “Let it be, Kalem.”

Kalem gaped at him, astonished. “You cannot say you agree with her. I know your family and Lilith’s have reputations, but—”

“I said let it be.” Ebon could not meet Theren’s eyes, for he could almost feel the fury glowing off her. And when he once would have agreed with Kalem, that her hatred of the rich and the powerful was misguided at best, and born of jealousy at the worst, now he could not put fire in such a belief.

“It grows late,” said Lilith, rubbing her arms. “We should move on.”

They took her advice, pressing on through the light snow that had begun to fall. Theren was the next to speak, after a long silence. The white-hot anger had gone from her voice, but Ebon still heard it smoldering—quelled for the moment, but not gone.

“Why is she waiting? She has more artifacts. We know she took them from Xain’s house. Why delay?”

They kept walking in silence, for no one had an answer.

ADARA [10]

The next morning, Ebon sent a letter to Adara, asking her to search the lovers’ guild for news of Gregor. He was not sure what to expect—after all, he had already asked her to seek for Isra, and that had returned nothing yet. But the very next afternoon he received a letter in response, asking him to come and see her at once in her home. It was Sunday, and he had no other demands upon his time, so he fetched his winter cloak and set out into the city. The snow that had been falling for the last few weeks had subsided at last, and though the air was still sharp with winter’s chill, the sky above was a deep and pure blue. It stood in stark contrast to the snowy roofs of the city’s buildings, and the sun leapt bright from every surface, so that Ebon had to shield his eyes.

Adara answered his knock almost at once, and led him upstairs after he stamped his boots free from snow. She had set out a small tray of figs, cheese, and bread, and at first they ate in silence. But soon Adara leaned back in her chair, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

“I have found your man,” she said. “Yet I hesitate to tell you where.”

Ebon blinked. “Why? What is wrong?”

She studied him for a moment, lips twitching towards a frown. “Why do you seek Gregor at all?”

“He is the one moving Yerrin’s magestones. He is our best chance to find Isra, and thus to capture her.”

“I have heard many stories of this man, Ebon. He is a fell and grim warrior, prone not only to violence, but to cruelty when he kills. The family Yerrin is known for ruthlessness, but his reputation sets him above even the rest of them.”

Ebon shivered. “Well, I mean to set Mako upon him, and so I suppose we will find out who is the more terrible.”

Adara shook her head. “Do not pretend that you will be free from danger in this. Why should I put you in harm’s way? You are already Isra’s enemy. Must you add Gregor’s name to the list of those who wish harm upon you?”

That forced a grim laugh from his gut. He spread his hands. “When that list is so long, what is one more entry?”

She sighed. “Very well. He has been seen on the western end of the Seat, going in and out of the sewers that may be found there. Some whisper that the family Yerrin conducts its smuggling through some hidden port, though no one knows exactly where it may be found.”

“That is good,” said Ebon. “Mako knows the sewers well, and doubtless he will be able to find their hiding place. I am surprised you learned this so quickly, when your connections have still been unable to find Isra, wherever she may be lurking.”

Adara frowned at that. “I, too, have been troubled by that. Gregor has all the backing of Yerrin at his disposal, as well as their considerable coin. I cannot think how Isra has concealed herself better than he has, especially after she was spotted within the Academy itself. That should have sent word rippling through the streets, like a stone dropped into a calm lake.”

Ebon thought of what Mako had said in the abandoned manor of the family Skard. “Ripples, you say. You are not the first to describe them to me. Yet she moves like a ghost, a specter already dead, and leaves no trace. And, too, she withholds her hand, though we do not know why. It has been a week since she revealed herself—more than enough time, it seems to me, to try again.”

“There must be other things afoot, and mayhap Gregor has something to do with them,” said Adara. “Wondering about it may do little good. Be grateful instead, and act quickly, before it is too late.”

“Too much later, you mean,” said Ebon. “It is already too late for Oren and Credell, and poor little Vali.”

Adara nodded solemnly, and let the names of the dead linger in silence for a while. Then she stood. “Would you have wine? It is a touch early, but when has that stopped either of us?”

He grinned. “Do you mean to get me drunk again? I am not sure I can survive another night like the last.”

She laughed. “No, not that. My head still twinges with pain at that memory.” She paused for a moment to look at him. “But I thank you for joining me in that. I know it was an odd request, and had its consequences, yet I do not regret it.”

“Nor I,” said Ebon. She returned to the table, and he took his goblet. “And I will never forget the words we spoke—nor the promises I made to you.”

“I should hope not. I very much intend to hold you to them.”

His smile felt somewhat forced. “Yet near the end—the end of the drinking, anyway—I remember you told me something. Something about truth, and how it came hard to you even then.”

Her smile grew careful. “Did I? Mayhap my thoughts grew muddled.”

The words came easily enough, but he heard the warning behind them. Let it be. Please. “Mayhap it was my wits that were addled, not yours,” he said lightly. “You told me so many things, after all, that I had never heard before. I was honored to learn them—and would do so again, if you ever wished it.”

Recognition dawned in her eyes, an acknowledgement of his unspoken invitation. “Thank you,” she whispered. And then she sighed, and straightened, and the moment passed them both by. She ran a finger along the rim of her mug. “I understand you have spent much time in Lilith’s company of late. More to the point, I understand Theren has, as well.”

Ebon’s eyebrows shot up. “And who have you heard that from?”

“The guild carries many whispers, and I do not listen only for the ones you ask me to.”

He sighed. “I admit Lilith still makes me uneasy. Theren seems to trust her utterly—well, better than I do, at any rate. But I do not know how much of that stems from good sense, and how much stems from her feelings.”

“She still loves Lilith, then?”

“I asked her that when Lilith was imprisoned, and she said she did not know. Yet her every action tells me that she does. It is not only the trust she places in Lilith. It is the little looks, the smiles and the half-hidden gestures. The way her hand moves towards Lilith’s, as though aching to hold her. I can scarcely believe the change in her demeanor, considering how she despised Lilith when I first met her.”

“Often love springs forth unbidden,” said Adara. “When it does, it is rarely governed by sense.”

Ebon smiled. “Do you speak of Theren and Lilith, or of us?”

She kicked him beneath the table, but gently. “I think we are more sensible about things than many. Nor do I doubt Theren’s judgement in this. She is a passionate woman, governed more by her heart than by her head, yet she has wit enough to know evil from good. She placed her trust in you quickly, though she had more reason than most to despise a merchant boy. If you are grateful for that trust, return it now. After all, is Lilith not proving herself helpful?”

He frowned. “Helpful enough, I suppose. Yet it is all in the service of catching Isra, whom she hates. And I have bitter memories of her treatment when I first arrived at the Academy.”

“Children may be cruel, but not be evil.”

Ebon mock-glared at her. “She is older than I am. Do you call me a child?”

She returned his frown, though her nose twitched as though she longed to smile. “You are newly come to manhood, Ebon, though you had little opportunity to ever be a child in truth.”

That brought to mind a question he had never thought to ask, and he cocked his head. “How old are you?”

She smiled. “Do you see wrinkles in my skin? Have you come to regret our tryst? Do you love me only for my beauty? That cannot be, for who could call me more beautiful than any of the fine ladies you must have met throughout your life?”

He stood suddenly, and she yelped as he lifted her from her chair, holding her across his chest while she wrapped her fingers together behind his neck. “I would call you so a thousand times, though the Mystics put me beneath their knives and command me to renounce your grace. But you have not answered my question. Tell me how many summers you have seen, or I may have to draw the truth from you by every means at my disposal.”

“Do your worst,” she purred.

nineteen

THEY SPENT THE DAY DOING little of consequence, and it was evening before Ebon left her at last. The sun had almost gone down, and he hurried through torchlight. He had time enough before curfew to return, but he had no wish to remain in the cold a moment longer than necessary.

The streets seemed curiously crowded for a Sunday, when many merchants and crafters chose not to work. But then, the Seat had become flooded with new arrivals recently. Ebon was not sure why, except for some vague rumors that the High King soon meant to make her next move in the war.

Ebon soon tired of struggling through crowds and having to halt for every passing carriage or wagon of goods. He broke away from the press, aiming for the yawning mouth of an alley that seemed to head the right direction. But when he reached the end, it turned north rather than south. He grumbled and increased his pace. Soon he saw the alley opening ahead, leading to another street packed even tighter than the last one.

He pushed into the crowds with a sigh, forcing his way across and into another side street. Here at last the way was clear, and it even headed in the right direction for a time. Ebon let loose a breath of relief and slowed.

A boot scuffed on the street behind him. He turned. The street was empty.

His heart began to race, but he scowled and fought the queasy feeling in his stomach. Xain, it seemed, was not done stalking him. He had a chilling thought: had the Dean seen him leave Adara’s house? But he dismissed that fear at once. No matter what Xain suspected him of, Ebon did not fear the Dean would threaten Adara.

Hunching his shoulders, he pushed on through the cold. The side street led him south, but it kept turning the wrong direction as it did so. Soon he had neared the Seat’s western edge, where the buildings showed more signs of damage from the fighting and the flames, and there were fewer people about. And then he came upon a street where there were no other passers-by at all.

Three quick footsteps sounded, shockingly close. But when he turned, the street remained empty.

He put his hands to his hips. “Enough of this. I can hear you, Xain, scuttling after me like some pickpocket. If you have received another note, I still know nothing about it. But come out and ask me anyway, if that is your wish, so that we may both go about our evenings in peace.”

The person who stepped from the shadows was not Xain.

Ebon froze. He could see no face beneath the green hood, but the person who faced him was a behemoth—nearly as large as Perrin, and clad in mail under their cloak. There came a hiss of drawn steel. A broadsword glinted in the moonslight. Ebon could not drag his gaze from its shine. Thick, heavy boots crunched in the snow, forming holes as deep as Ebon’s whole leg.