The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (52 page)

After a while, I said, "Aren't you going to say anything more?"
"Urge you to forgive them? No. You voice a dilemma, and you spoke the answer to that dilemma a short while ago. Once you pair the answer to the question, I'm sure you'll see your way clear. In the meantime . . . I can't regret entirely that this episode has happened."
I looked down at the cup in my hand. "Nor I, if you're referring to the wine. But I'm sorry that you were forced into the position of having to offer it."
His faint smile returned then. "Say rather that I was given the opportunity to do what I should have done long ago." He hesitated, then added, "When you grow up under the care of a man who alternates daily between telling you he loves you and giving you harsh beatings, it's difficult to extend trust to others. Carle understands that from his own experience, and can take that into account in dealing with me. But I wasn't sure whether you . . ." His voice trailed off.
I gave him my own faint smile. "Have you forgotten what event caused me to leave Koretia?"
After a moment, he gave half a laugh. "Yes, I suppose I had. Well, then, it's right that the three of us should share the wine of friendship, since we share that experience. And as long as the chain remains unbroken—"
He stopped suddenly, choked by a fit of coughing. The blood came more heavily onto his handkerchief. Concerned, I set the cup aside. "Shall I fetch Sylvanus?" I asked.
He nodded, unable to respond otherwise, and I quickly rose to my feet.
The day patrol was still standing in a cluster, except for Fowler, who was rolling up his pallet to leave room for the night patrol's pallets. Once I had finished beckoning to Sylvanus, Fowler tossed me my thigh-pocket, with its dagger still sheathed within.
I waited until Sylvanus had hurried into the storeroom, and the coughing there had been replaced by the sound of Quentin's steady voice; then I gave Fowler a quiet word of thanks for the thigh-pocket and for his earlier intervention.
He shrugged; there was still no affection between us, but as he put it, "I know what you are capable of. Duelling your partner when he gets on your nerves, yes. Taking a blood vow of friendship with a breacher who has just attacked your former army official – never. Anyone who knows anything about blood lines of loyalty in Koretia could have figured that out."
He raised his voice as he spoke. I glanced over my shoulder at the cluster of remaining patrol guards. The two new guards were avoiding my eye. Levander was looking to Payne for guidance. Payne, when he saw me looking his way, came forward. He silently handed me my belt-dagger.
Gazing into his narrowed eyes, I knew that he would never beg my forgiveness. He had too much pride for that, and he had made too big a fool of himself. If I made clear that I considered him a fool, his anger at himself would transform into anger at me. And so it would build between us, this bitter enmity that had begun with a simple mistake.
I'm an Emorian.
I heard again the words that I had spoken in the storeroom. Those were the words that Quentin believed offered me the answer to my dilemma, I realized. A Koretian would allow his resentment to build higher and higher until it could only be resolved by bloodshed. An Emorian, if he truly served the Chara, either placed charges against the man who had harmed him, or he set the matter aside.
"I'm overdue to return to Emor," I said to Payne, giving him something that approached a friendly smile, "but would you like to play a game of Law Links before I go?"
Surprise entered Payne's face, followed by relief, quickly hidden. "It is too close to my duty hours," he replied. "Perhaps next time."
I nodded. "I'll look forward to it." I waved my farewell to Levander and the others, gave the free-man's greeting to Sylvanus as he emerged from the storeroom, and left the patrol hut with a high heart, having taken yet another step further in my road to serving the Chara.
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The fifteenth day of May in the 943rd year a.g.l.
To Calder son of Victor:
My love and greetings, blood brother. I know that you will be surprised to receive this letter, as I do not know where your work has taken you this month, and in fact it seems likely that you will not be able to read this until we meet again. I have heard exciting news, though, and I am eager to share it with you.
My work has kept me in the borderland for several months now, and I have been impatient to return home to see you and my other friends. Yesterday, therefore, I was quick to finish my business, which involved visiting the market square at Blackpass. As I was turning away from the market stall where I had been transacting business, I caught sight of someone looking my way. I only saw him for a brief moment, and then he turned his face away, but I felt sure that it was someone I knew.
This made me very uneasy. As you know, my father and I did not part on good terms when I left my family home, and though I know that my father would not visit Blackpass during the present feud, it's possible that one of the younger members of my family – for example my brother-in-marriage – would be daring enough to visit here, now that Blackwood has said that he will not allow blood vows of vengeance to be fulfilled on the streets of his town. I therefore decided that it would be best to ascertain who had caught sight of me.
The man was several spear-lengths away. I stayed far enough behind him that he would not be able to notice that I was following him – for I have not forgotten, Calder, the tricks you taught me during our many hours of playing Jackal and Prey. Frustratingly, though, the man's back remained toward me as he went from stall to stall, examining the wares of a potter, exchanging a joke with a fruit merchant, paying for a bag of blackroot nuts. Finally I decided that I would have to circle around to the front of him, and so I put forward speed to accomplish this.
I am sorry to report, blood brother, that I seem to have been a poor student of your lessons, for I had no sooner started to rush forward than I crashed into the fruit merchant, who had just emerged from his stall with a basket full of limes.
By the time I had picked myself up, the man I had been hunting was out of sight, so I took the time to apologize to the fruit merchant and to help him pick up the limes that had not been immediately trampled by passersby.
Fortunately, he was a man of good humor and even refused to take money from me for his spoiled merchandise. As we hunted under people's sandals and boots for the scattered limes, I thought it best to fall into conversation with him – for as you know, Calder, I am very interested in learning what lesser free-men think about the present feud.
This seemed to be a day, though, when all my enterprises would be frustrated, for I discovered that the fruit merchant was far more interested in talking about his sister's young sons. By the time that the limes were salvaged, he had dragged me back to the stall to show me profiles that an Arpeshian artist had drawn of the boys. I learned far more than I ever wanted to about the daily lives of borderland boys.
My politeness, though, was rewarded when Morgan – for such was the fruit merchant's name – mentioned that his nephews were so mischievous that he had been forced to prevent them from spying upon the Jackal's thieves.
My hearing heightened then, for you know well, Calder, that I have long been interested in the god-man and in his activities in our land. Though the merchant seemed inclined at this point to turn the conversation toward the feeding habits of his youngest nephew, still a babe in arms, I managed to tear the story out from him.
It seems that the boys were wandering after dark during one recent evening – evidence, Morgan said, of how spirited the boys are – when they overheard a group of men talking in low voices in an alleyway. From the conversation that the boys heard, they became convinced that these men were none other than the famed Jackal's thieves, who have caused such trouble in recent months by committing thefts and pranks in the houses of the nobility, especially the new nobility. It appeared that this alleyway was a regular meeting point for the thieves. The boys later made plans to return to the alley, but fortunately Morgan learned of their plans and was able to dissuade them from their dangerous enterprise.
Once again, I was hard pressed to keep the conversation on its track – this time Morgan wanted to discuss the pranks that his nephews engage in – but I was able to elicit from him that he had not told anyone the boys' stories. No, not even his baron's soldiers – and here he raised his eyebrows, for I confess that I had momentarily forgotten how unlikely it was that he would do such a thing. After all, we Koretians are not like the Emorians, running off to soldiers for help every time a crime is committed.
Naturally, I asked Morgan where the alleyway was located. Until now, Morgan had told his story with a smile; he seems to be a naturally affable man, as is shown by the incident with the limes. But when he guessed that I wished to visit the alley myself, he grew greatly alarmed. "I know about you young men," Morgan said. (He is of about age thirty.) "You always seek excitement and danger. Believe me, the Jackal's thieves are not the type of men you want to be clashing your blades against – nasty lawbreakers that they are."
In the end, though, I was able to persuade the reluctant fruit merchant to give me the location of the alley, as well as the information that the previous meeting had taken place two hours before midnight.
So now at last there is a good chance that I will be able to learn more about the Jackal's thieves and perhaps something about the man claiming to be a god. I am zealous about tonight's hunting and look forward to telling you more in my next letter to you.
Please give my love to all of your family, and especially to your eldest brother, Quentin.
Adrian
The sixteenth day of May in the 943rd year a.g.l.
For reasons I will eventually make clear, there is no longer any reason for me to maintain the fiction of the above letter, so I will tell in a straightforward manner what happened when I went to the alley last night.
Two men arrived there; I could catch no more than an impression of their faces in the darkness, but I thought I would be able to recognize them again if ever I met them in daylight. I pressed myself back into the shadows, unwilling to come too close, so I couldn't hear clearly what they were saying, but I caught the words "Jackal" and "thieves." Then one of them said, in a voice just loud enough to reach me, "Come, if we bring the Jackal our report now, he'll be able to tell us what to do next." The other man nodded and murmured something; then the two men left the alley.
They were easier to track than I had thought they would be; it appeared that the Jackal's thieves received no better training in slipping through dark streets than the Chara's spies. The moon was below the horizon, so I followed them from sound, in the same way that I used to hunt breachers on moonless nights. Once I thought I had lost them; then I heard them again, just reaching the end of a black alley. Quickly I stepped into the alley behind them.
It was the sound of a breath that alerted me to what was about to happen, and my hand sped toward my dagger, but it was too late. In the next moment I found myself thrust front-forward against the alley wall, with my empty dagger hand pinned painfully against the small of my back.
My dagger slid out of its sheath; then I felt my back-sling taken from where I had draped it, on my left shoulder. This was not being done by my captor, but by a second man, who then felt my boots for weapons before reaching under my tunic to unlace my thigh-pocket. I was motionless and silent through all this; I could feel the edge of a blade biting against the back of my neck.
"Take him inside," the second man said. His voice was low, but memory began groggily stirring within me. My thoughts were cut short by a light blinding my eyes: it came from the house whose wall I was trapped against, for the second man had pulled open a door in the alley. I felt myself jerked back from the wall, then propelled through the door. As the door closed behind me, I was released, and I stood still for a moment, blinking in the bright torchlight as I took in my surroundings.
I was in a storehouse of some sort; I could see bags of grain around me and small doors leading into further rooms. Surrounding me were half a dozen armed men, four of whom I recognized. Just coming through one of the small doors were the two men I had been following; they must have arrived by way of another outer door. A third man was standing so close to me that I knew he must have been my captor: this was Morgan the fruit merchant, his smile just as broad as before. Holding my belongings was a fourth man, the one whose face I half-recognized yesterday. He turned without a word and handed the dagger and back-sling and thigh-pocket to Morgan, who took them so compliantly that I knew that this last man must be the leader of the group.
I felt my throat close in and my heart pound, but I found the strength to say, "You have no right to take me, Griffith. I let your brother live; I am no longer part of the feud."
The baron of Cold Run looked upon me with cool and steady eyes. Since I had last seen him, he had acquired a deep gash along his right arm, and I wondered whether one of my kin had attempted to make him a victim. He was dressed in a dark tunic that gave no indication of his rank, but though he appeared to be the youngest man there, everyone else was watching him expectantly.
He said, "That is why you are the prey: because you are no longer part of the feud. We have captured you upon the instructions of the one to whom you broke your blood vow."
To my knowledge, no man there was my kin by birth, yet standing in the bright light, I felt myself bound once more by the dark terror that has followed me since I left Mountside. Griffith stood waiting, his hand hanging beside the free-man's blade at his belt. With a dry mouth, I said, "My father?"
"No," said Griffith. "The Jackal."
The seventeenth day of May in the 943rd year a.g.l.
I am being held in the storehouse where I was captured, in a room empty but for a pallet and basins, and with only narrow slits near the ceiling for windows. These let in enough light for me to see by, as well as the smells and sounds of the outside world. I hear people passing by periodically and could shout for help, but what would be the use? The Jackal's thieves would merely tell the Koretians that I am a spy, and I would be handed over to Blackwood's soldiers, to meet a fate as terrible as the one I am now facing.