The Heresy Within (25 page)

“I doubt it's wise for a small woman like yourself to get so close to an opponent.” Thanquil wheezed in a small voice after sucking in some air.

“It's not,” the woman on top of him replied with a grin. “Unless I'm the stronger.” She pushed herself off him knee first causing him to cough again and then she danced backwards and waited for him to stand back up.

“I don't think I stand a chance against you,” Thanquil said as he struggled back to his feet.

“You don't,” Jezzet replied, the smile still playing on her lips. “But a bit of sparring will do us both good.”

He lunged, parried a lazy flick from her blade and then he slashed with all his strength. Jezzet caught Thanquil's blade on her own, twisted her wrist and stepped in close to him. He found his own blade unnervingly close to his neck. Jezzet's blade was almost as close and she almost as close again. He could smell her she was so close and she smelled clean, with a hint of sweat. It was a marked improvement from the day he had met her. His heart was beating too fast, though whether it was from the sparring or her closeness he couldn't tell.

Then she stepped away and backed off again leaving Thanquil to wonder why the hell he had decided to spar with her in the first place.

“You could at least give me some tips as you keep killing me,” he said, dropping back into stance again.

“Don't pick a fight with a Blademaster,” she said with a wink.

“Wait, you're a...” But she was already on him, pressing the attack.

Jezzet didn't like it. She didn't like the whole damned situation. She didn't like the shoes, she liked the dress even less, she liked the people that would be attending even less and what she liked least of all was the idea that those people might be looking at her.

It wasn't the first time she'd been to a fancy ball. D'roan used to love parading her about on his arm, those times though she'd still been dressed in leathers. The folk at these sorts of balls saw what they expected, in leathers they'd seen her as a savage to be avoided and ignored; in a dress they'd see her as one of them.

But you're not one of them, Jez. Just remember, if anyone looks at you funny kill them.They'll be plenty of cutlery of lying around.

The thought of stabbing someone with a spoon made Jezzet smile, she wasn't even sure such a thing was possible.
Maybe if it was a really sharp spoon
.

“You look happy,” Thanquil said from beside her. She'd let him dress her up like some blooded lady but when he'd tried to take her arm she'd very nearly twisted it off.

“Ever killed anyone with a spoon?” she asked him.

“Uhhh...”

“Me neither, but I'm thinking of trying.” That shut him up, gave him that, '
is she serious?
' look.

Jezzet padded along the line in sandals. It was good to see the fancy folk have to queue. With D'roan they'd been no standing in lines. Everyone knew him; everyone feared him and so he walked past the lines and past the servants with the lists at the entrance and Jezzet walked with him. She'd never admit it but it had felt good, being low-born and all and walking past all the blooded and rich folk as if they were nothing.

Her dress was a chore and no mistake. A dark blue silk-like cloth, but not silk, wrapped around her body so tight it constricted her and so loose it left her feeling naked. It covered her chest and back and for that she was glad. It clung to her torso in such a way that left little to the imagination and somehow managed to make her breasts look bigger than they were and without showing off any cleavage. From her hips it started to fan out a little, not much but enough to provide an ease of movement she was glad of. The dressmaker had assured her the fabric would twirl with her as she danced and dazzle every man in the room. Jezzet had almost hit him for assuming she would dance.

The dressmaker had despaired over what to do with Jezzet's hair but she had no time for it or him. Short and spiky was how she liked her hair; it never got in her eyes and needed no maintenance. She'd seen women take hours brushing their hair until it gleamed in the light. Seemed like a waste of time they could better spend learning to stab people, a far more useful skill in the wilds.

They were nearing the front of the queue now. Soon the servants would check the Arbiter's invitation and then they would be inside, among the fancy folk and the finery and Jezzet would be one of them.

Sounds like hell.

She tried to distract herself by looking around the grounds. It seemed a wonder to her that she'd been to Chade a number of times, twice on the arm of D'roan, and didn't know such a place existed. The manse, though inside the city, was as big as a castle. Walls near thirty feet high surrounded the estate and all patrolled by a number of private guard, not of the city guard who were, it had to be said, notorious for their disloyalty.

Crushed stone covered the courtyard and lined the pathways into the extensive and beautiful garden that, by the looks of things, surrounded the entire manor. Huge green bushes grew in straight lines and right angles, flowers of all colours she could name sprouted from select patches of dirt, artful lanterns hung over ornate benches and cast dancing shadows while attracting the flying, biting bugs that could be found near any water source.

The manor itself was huge, almost as large as D'roan's own home had been. Built entirely of stone and glass windows with creeping green vines winding their way up the walls. The entrance was covered by a huge porch that was held up by two massive white pillars of stone each as thick as a tree and a good ten feet high. Jezzet was impressed despite herself, Arbiter Thanquil just looked bored.

Likely he's seen it all and more before. No doubt Arbiters are invited to all the fancy places.

It was easy to forget this was how the fancy folk lived even here in Chade. In the wilds life was hard, brutal, short, messy and bloody but there was also this. The blooded and the folk in the free cities that titled themselves '
Lord this
' or '
Lady that
' had money enough to spare and they knew how to spend it to make life grand and pretty. Still seemed a waste of bits to Jez.

“Invitation,” the servant at the entrance said as Thanquil and Jezzet stepped to the front of the queue of fancy folk.

“Arbiter Darkheart and guest,” Thanquil said with a pleasant smile.

The servant nodded and smiled back. “Invitation,” he repeated.

“Don't have one. I wasn't invited.”

Jezzet noticed guards by each of the pillars, four men in total and all of them armed and dangerous-looking. The servant stopped smiling and addressed the Arbiter in the most polite of tones. “I'm afraid this is an invitation only...”

“What's your name?”

“Elgin, sir.”

“I'm no sir, Elgin. I'm an Arbiter and I'll remember to mention to Lord Xho that his servant, Elgin, is responsible for his being investigated by the Inquisition. I'm sure he'll be most interested to know why you turned me away.”

Elgin looked worried. No one wanted to be the focus of an investigation by the witch hunters, even someone living in one of the free cities. The Inquisition could make anyone's life a living hell and Jezzet wagered they weren't above the odd assassination.

“Of course, Arbiter Darkheart,” Elgin said in a most pleasant tone again with a nervous smile gracing his plump, hairless lips. “Feel free to enter. Uh... your sword.”

“Will stay sheathed by my side.”

Again Elgin nodded and then stepped aside. Thanquil grinned at the man and entered the manor with Jezzet just half a step behind. Another servant awaited them inside and, with a formal bow, started to lead them to the great hall. Jezzet stuck close to Thanquil and picked up his arm with her own. She was certain she'd rather fight every guard in Chade than step into the great hall with all the fancy folk inside.

“Would they really do that? The Inquisition. Would they investigate Xho for refusing you entry?”

Thanquil chuckled. “The Inquisition has better things to do than investigate every Lord that lacks courtesy.”

Again Jezzet was fast realising that while it may be impossible to lie to an Arbiter it wasn't impossible for an Arbiter to lie right back and this one seemed quite adept at twisting the truth.

When the doors to the great hall opened the blast of sound and heat and colours and revelry stunned Jez. Music filled the hall, spilling out into the corridor in waves. The big room, which seemed all the bigger given her recent confinement in a cell, was lit by a hundred different sources. Ensconced torches lined the walls at regular intervals, a large hearth sat in the far side of the hall, roaring away to itself despite the heat. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling each with dozens of flickering candles.

The hall was already filled with guests and they were more colourful than the flowers in the gardens outside. Women in finery with giant frilly dresses or sleek skin hugging silk, some red, some blue, some yellow, some purple, some green, some orange, some colours Jezzet didn't know and didn't care to see ever again. One woman wore such a slim dress of skin colour that at first Jezzet had thought her to be naked. Only once she realised the woman had no nipples and no cunt between her legs did Jezzet notice she wore a dress.

The men were almost as bad; suits of colours to match their partners or to match their livery. Compared to the fancy folk in the great hall she in her plain blue dress and the Arbiter in a quilted doublet of brown with his brown Arbiter's cloak looked more out of place than she could say.
Like two ducks pretending to be peacocks.

“Your mouth is open, Jezzet,” the Arbiter said from her arm. “It's not very lady-like.”

“I'm not a lady, Thanquil,” Jezzet replied in a pointed tone but made an effort to close her mouth all the same as he escorted her into the hall.

You've seen all this before, Jez. Just been so long in the wilderness you've forgotten what it's like. They may look so very fine but put the women on their backs and they'll moan like any cheap whore and men die just as easily in fine silks as they do armour. It's like D'roan said, 'It's all just a lie to make them think they're better than the rest of the wilds.'
The thought brought some comfort but was diminished when Jezzet had to admit that D'roan was the biggest liar of them all.

“Arbiter Darkheart and partner,” the announcer announced into the hall in a voice loud enough to carry over the music.

Some sets of eyes turned to watch their entrance, more than Jezzet would have liked but by no means a lot. The women dismissed her at a glance while the men looked her up and down with appraising eyes. Jezzet Vel'urn had felt like many things before; a warrior, a thief, a murderer, a whore but never had she felt as cheap as when the men in this room looked at her. It made her angry; angry enough to do some damage. She started looking around for some cutlery. Then their gazes were gone, back to the women they were with, to the women they weren't with or to the men they were sharing cups with.

“That was uncomfortable,” she whispered close to Thanquil's ear.

“You're the most beautiful woman in the room, Jezzet. You're going to have to get used to a few stares,” the Arbiter said. He was looking about the hall through squinting eyes. “You served your purpose well.”

“My purpose?” Jezzet found herself feeling angry though she couldn't say why.

Thanquil glanced at her. “You didn't think I brought you here to show you a good time did you? With you on my arm not a single man or woman even noticed me.”

Jezzet felt cheap again.
He's right, Jez. He bought your life and freedom; what did you expect he wanted in return?
All the same she almost tore her arm away from him and stormed away but something in his face stopped her. He looked... nervous.

The Arbiter was sweating, his jaw was clenched, his teeth grinding back and forth and his eyes darted about in a mad dance over the fancy folk arrayed in front of him.

“Are you alright?” she asked him.

“I... uh... need to... there.” He started walking, near dragging her with him and stopped in front of a fat man in a suit of at least four different colours, each the more gaudy than the last. The fat man wore more gold than Jezzet had seen in her life. Golden rings on every finger, golden bracelets, golden studs in both his ears and nose, even a golden choker around his flabby neck. Seemed a pointless waste of wealth to Jezzet, one of those rings could feed a family for a month.

Arbiter Thanquil held out his hand to the fat man as he greeted him. Jezzet had seen the like before, in some places the grasping of hands was a traditional form of greeting. In the wilds, however, it wasn't so. Men didn't want to touch another man, not skin to skin. The blooded folk had made such a habit of murdering each other that they had resorted to all sorts of devious tactics including rings containing a poison needle. One grasp of hands could well mean death for the unwary party.

“Arbiter Darkheart,” Thanquil introduced himself. “I don't believe we met.”

The fat man didn't even glance at Thanquil's hand and spent almost as little time looking at the Arbiter himself. He did, however, spend some time leering at Jezzet. The woman he was with also stared at Jez but with a great deal more hostility and great deal less lust. For a brief moment Jez considered reaching for the nearest spoon and attempting to gut them both but they turned and walked away before she could find a weapon.

“What was that about?” she asked him in a whisper so close he must have felt her breath on his ear. It didn't faze him though; he didn't even seem to hear her. His eyes were still darting about in constant motion and Jez could swear his hand was shaking.

“Wait here,” he instructed her and took his arm from hers before striding away. Jezzet watched as he stepped into the path of a hurrying servant carrying a tray of empty goblets. The two men collided and the servant wasted no time in bowing multiple times, begging apologies, scooping up the scattered goblets and speeding away.

By the time Thanquil returned he had stopped sweating, stopped shaking and his eyes were calm again. His nervous, jittery energy seemed to have disappeared and he was back to his normal self.