Текст книги "Cascet of Souls"

Автор книги: Lynn Flewelling

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

CHAPTER 12. Strangers in the Light

KLIA and her forces had spent the last two days pushing half a troop of Plenimaran infantry-two squadrons of which were marines-out of a wood twenty miles east of the Folcwine. It was their second major victory in the past three weeks and as bloody as it had been, they’d given worse than they’d gotten. In the process they’d cleared the enemy out of a small Mycenian town, and the grateful villagers had brought Klia a dozen pigs and some beer. For the first time in weeks her riders had a taste of fresh meat, if not very much of it.

It was nearly midnight but reports kept streaming in to Klia as officer after officer appeared at the front of her tent with news of successes and losses. She found herself stifling yawns and at last she allowed Myrhini to announce that she would hear the rest of the reports tomorrow.

“You’re asleep on your feet,” Myrhini chided as she helped her friend out of her filthy tabard and hung her fine chain-mail hauberk on its rack.

Klia pushed through the flap at the back of the tent, pulled off her boots, and collapsed on the narrow cot in her breeches and sweat-stained shirt, utterly exhausted.

Myrhini chuckled. “Sleep well, my friend. You’ve earned it.”

She lit the night lamp and pulled a blanket over Klia, then went out to her own cot at the front of the tent.

Tired as she was, Klia didn’t sleep well. Her dreams were filled with the clash of battle and the screams of the dying.

Perhaps that saved her life; the moment she felt a hand grasp her shoulder she grabbed the dagger from under her pillow and threw herself off the bed. The night lamp was out, the little room in darkness.

“Myrhini!” she shouted as hands found her again in the darkness. She struggled, twisting in their unseen grasp, but they held her fast and sudden pain shot through her arms, hands, and right hip.

She heard Myrhini’s outraged shout and the hands released her. She dropped to the ground and crawled toward her sword rack. Torchlight flared suddenly, illuminating Myrhini lashing out at three men, a fourth writhing in pain underfoot. More riders came crowding in, but before they could kill or apprehend the assassins, the invaders brought something to their lips and fell down as if stricken by magic.

Klia sprang to her feet, glaring at the others. “How in Bilairy’s name did they get in here? Where are my guards?”

“Dead, Commander,” one of her rescuers told her. “They’re lying out front with their throats cut. Bastards killed them before they came after you.”

“Why wouldn’t they have killed me, too?” asked Myrhini as she began checking Klia’s wounds. The men had been armed with daggers, and between the darkness and her struggling they had only managed to inflict superficial wounds.

“I-I don’t feel well,” Klia said, pressing a hand over her eyes. Suddenly she felt light-headed and nauseated.

“Hertas, fetch the healer!” Myrhini ordered, righting the overturned cot and helping Klia to lie down.

“I’m all right,” Klia said, looking at the cut on her arm.

“It’s not deep, but it’s bleeding.” Myrhini staunched it with the corner of Klia’s blanket, then turned on the others. “Quit your staring and raise the alarm. If there are any other assassins sneaking around, I want them captured. Alive!”

“Thanks.” Klia winced as Myrhini insisted on looking at the stab wound on her hip.

“Bastard must have been going for your belly.”

Klia looked past Myrhini to the dead men littering her room, which was beginning to spin. They wore Plenimaran uniforms. “Looks like we missed a few. They must have been

carrying poison in case they got caught. I think-” Her tongue felt thick and she tasted something bitter. “I’m poisoned, too.”

“If you are, it’s something different, or you’d be as dead as they are,” the other woman growled. “This wound is deeper and bleeding badly. You’re lucky as Sakor that it wasn’t a few inches to the left, or it would have been in your guts.”

Klia couldn’t help a shudder; gut wounds were some of the worst, and generally ended in a lingering, painful death. But perhaps the poison– It was becoming difficult to form coherent thoughts.

The last thing she heard was Aden the drysian shouting for hot water. Coldness crept over her, but she could feel Myrhini’s hand warm and sure around hers.

Klia came around in daylight, sick, achy, and very surprised to be alive. Myrhini was still beside her cot, watching her intently.

“How long?” Klia tried to ask, but her throat felt swollen and her mouth tasted bitter. Her head was splitting. “Water-”

“Aden left this for you.”

Myrhini held Klia’s head up and helped her sip from a cup. The infusion smelled of herbs and minerals, and tasted mildly sweet. She managed a few sips, then gagged it up again.

“You have to keep it down,” Myrhini told her calmly. “Aden did what he could with magic, but he said you need this to fight any remaining poison. It’s a good thing you bled the way you did, too. Apparently because most of the wounds were shallow, the bleeding washed out the poison, or at least the worst of it. The stab wound to your hip was the worst.”

Klia flexed her leg and grimaced. “He didn’t have to cut anything out or off, did he?”

Myrhini chuckled. “No. Here, have some more.”

“Bilairy’s Balls,” Klia groaned, then doggedly accepted a few more sips. After a few moments of lying absolutely still with her eyes closed, the awful feeling in her stomach began to subside, though her head hurt so bad she was seeing

flashing lights behind her eyes. “How did they get past the guards?”

“And me?” Myrhini sighed. “They killed the guards, then opened the seam at the back of your room with some kind of acid.

“No sound. Who was on guard?”

“Two of Danos’s people: Saura and Melkian. I have Captain Beka and her Urghazi on guard around your tent now. Klia, I’m so sorry-”

Klia waved aside the apology. “Not your fault. The killers knew what they were doing. What do we know about them?”

“Just that they were soldiers, and must have been specially tasked with your assassination once they escaped from the battle yesterday. They wouldn’t have been carrying poison and acid by chance. Who was giving the orders is a mystery. The survivors of the battle must have regrouped and chosen a leader. I doubt there are enough of them to stage a major attack, but I have the perimeter under full guard.”

“Well done. I suppose I’d better get a report off to Phoria. You’ll have to write it for me, though. I can’t see straight yet.”

Myrhini brought Aden’s cup to her lips again. “Drink.”

Klia drank and the pain and nausea retreated a bit more, enough for her to send Myrhini to her clothes chest for the leather bag containing the small painted wands Thero had supplied her with before she’d left Rhiminee in the spring.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” her friend said, and went out to the map room to compose the report.

Klia pressed the wand to her lips, then broke it, releasing the message sphere spell infused into it. A blue point of light hovered over one broken end. “Thero, I must speak with you,” she said softly, then touched the sphere and sent it speeding off to the south. It was the nature of the simple but powerful spell to find the recipient, wherever he or she happened to be.

A tingle of magic woke Thero. A message sphere was floating over his face; there was only one person he’d given

any message sticks to recently. Heart tripping a beat, he touched it and heard Klia’s whispered message.

He threw a robe on over his nightshirt and went to the wardrobe, where he pushed aside the neatly hung robes and took a small marble box from a shelf at the back. It was a solid piece of stone until he spoke the command word and the seam under the lid appeared. Removing it, he took out a fine linen handkerchief spotted with dried blood-her blood. Klia had pricked her finger with a dagger and made the talisman for him in Aurenen, when he was recalled to Skala before she was. Blood magic was frowned upon at best by the Oreska, but it was part of the heritage passed down to him through Nysander. With this he could do a sighting, find Klia anywhere, anytime. It was a privilege he was careful not to abuse. Holding the handkerchief between his palms, he invoked the window spell, opening a portal between them over the long miles that allowed them to see and speak to each other.

Nothing in her brief message had prepared him for the state he found her in. A blanket was pulled up to her chest, but her shirt was off, leaving her in only her breast band, bare arms on top of the blanket. Even in candlelight he could see how pale she was, and the bandages on her hands and arms; defensive wounds. Her padded glove was off, and her maimed hand rested on her chest, a reminder of the poisoned needle that had nearly cost her not only her hand but her life. No scar, though, no matter how severe, could ever make her less beautiful in his eyes.

“By the Light, Klia, what’s happened?” he exclaimed softly.

She managed a wan smile. “Two days of fighting without a scratch, then tonight assassins attacked me in my own bed.”

“But how?”

She waved the question aside with obvious weariness. “I don’t have the energy to talk for long. They were Plenimarans, and came after me with poisoned knives. The drysian and Myrhini saved me.”

“You look ill.”

“I am, but it’s passing.”

“What can I do?”

Klia closed her eyes for a moment and licked her dry lips. “Not a thing, except to bear witness, I suppose. I just-I just wanted you to know. Silly, I suppose, but…”

Her words sped his already pounding heart. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but as usual the words jammed somewhere in the region of his heart. All he managed was, “I’m so glad you told me. I wish there was something more I could do for you. I could come there.”

“No, my friend, that’s not necessary, and might raise a few too many questions, since you’ve no business here.” She paused and shook her head slightly. “I wish you could, though.”

Every fiber of the wizard’s being ached to brush aside her warning and cast the translocation that would take him to her side.

“I want you to take word of this to Korathan, and tell him I’m fine.”

“Fine? All those bandages-”

“Minor wounds, Thero. It was dark when they attacked and I didn’t make it easy for them.”

“How many?”

“Four. They killed themselves with poison when they failed. We were unable to question any of them.”

“And you’re certain they were Plenimarans?”

“They were in uniform.” She let out a small laugh. “And who else would want me dead?”

I can think of a few. But he held his tongue. A Plenimaran attack was really not that surprising, and those were certainly recognizable tactics.

Klia gave him the details of the latest battle and the attack, but soon it was obvious that the effort was taxing what strength she had.

“Rest well, and call on me whenever you need,” he said.

Her smile was warm this time. “You know I will, my friend. Don’t let Korathan worry too much, please.”

“I’ll do my best, Highness.”

“Good.” With that she closed her eyes. After a moment of gazing at that beloved face, he broke off the spell.

* * *

Thero entered Prince Korathan’s palace room just after dawn. The prince was dressed and seated by the hearth, stroking the ears of one of his hunting dogs.

“I have news, Highness,” Thero told him. “Klia was attacked last night.”

“Attacked?” Korathan stared at him in alarm. “Sakor’s Fire, is she all right?”

“Yes. There was poison involved, but her drysian saved her.”

“Thank the Sailor. But how do you know this?”

Thero explained the night’s events as succinctly as he could.

“They sound more like professional assassins,” Korathan remarked when he was finished.

“Yes, but they might have been soldiers, as well. Klia said they were in uniform.”

“I suppose so. Have you told Seregil and Alec?”

“No, I came straight to you.”

“Good. I think it would be better if we kept this to ourselves for now. Klia is a popular commander and given the mood of the city, this kind of bad news isn’t needed.”

“But Seregil wouldn’t-”

“There’s nothing they can do about it, Thero. I’m not asking.”

Thero bowed low. “Of course, Highness. I will say nothing.”

“Good. She can tell the story herself when she comes home. And Thero?”

“Highness?”

“How did you happen to be talking to my sister?”

“She gave me a talisman, Highness, so that I could contact her. And I gave her message wands so she could contact me. That’s what happened last night; she called for me and I opened a window spell so we could see and speak to each other.”

Korathan raised a pale eyebrow. “Really? And how did this unique system come about?”

Thero couldn’t tell if the prince was displeased or not, but

he forged ahead with the truth. “When I had to leave her behind in Aurenen, we exchanged talismans. So I could help her if she needed it.”

“You consider yourself her protector, then.”

Thero met the prince’s gaze steadily. “I do.”

The prince looked at him for a long moment, then, with a hint of a smile, said, “Good.”

CHAPTER 13. The Golden Crane

ONCE Atre had Seregil’s and Kylith’s money in hand, the actor wasted no time in moving his company to their new theater, now named the Golden Crane.

Two weeks after they’d first seen the place, Alec attended the opening performance with Seregil and Kylith. Tonight Atre was launching a new play-a lovers’ tragedy-and it was the best production so far, now that the players had the money for proper costumes, cosmetics, and scenery.

As promised, Seregil and Alec sat with Lady Kylith in the lavishly appointed patrons’ box reserved for them. A wine jar and fine cups stood waiting on a small table, with a basket of pears.

“Patronage has its pleasures,” Seregil said, selecting a piece of fruit. “We certainly have the best seats in the house.”

“And room for more,” Alec noted.

“I do hope you don’t mind, but I invited a few friends,” Kylith told them.

“Not at all. Who will be joining us?”

“Malthus and Ania, and Duke Laneus and his lovely wife, Eona. I don’t believe you know them.”

Seregil squeezed her hand. “We’re always happy to make new acquaintances, my dear.” He knew Laneus by sight; he was one of the queen’s ministers.

“I’m sure you’ll like them. Eona is such a dark beauty! Her grandmother was a Zengati princess, you know.” Kylith paused and gave Seregil a concerned look. “I’m sure she’s from one of the tribes friendly to Aurenen.”

“I’ll assume that to be the case,” Seregil replied with a smile. “Besides, you can’t blame anyone for their grandparents, now can you?”

Word of the company had certainly spread, and the seats were soon full, from the boxes crowded with nobles down to the crowded groundling area.

The rest of their party soon arrived in satin, silks, and jewels. Alec rose with Seregil and bowed to the newcomers.

“You honor us with your presence,” Seregil said, shaking hands with the two men and kissing the duchesses’ hands.

Though fair-skinned, Eona had the dark shining curls and deep violet eyes of her Zengati forebears. As Kylith had noted, she was a stunning beauty, and Alec did his best not to stare.

“Oh, I am looking forward to this!” she exclaimed, settling next to Kylith. “And I’m so glad to meet you, my lords. One hears such wicked things about you.”

“Don’t embarrass the gentlemen,” her husband, a tall, grizzled man, scolded mildly, though the look he gave her was indulgent.

Seregil gave her his most charming and foppish smile. “I’m sure most of it’s true, but I promise we’ll behave ourselves tonight.” He raised Alec’s hand to his lips. “Won’t we, my love?”

“I’ll try,” Alec assured her, managing to blush a little, which clearly amused and charmed their guests.

The play was very fine, one of the best they’d seen so far.

“Doesn’t Atre look especially dazzling tonight?” Kylith whispered.

“The wonders of expensive cosmetics,” Seregil said with a soft chuckle. All of the actors were professionally made up, but Atre did stand out among them, looking younger and more vibrant than ever. Alec supposed they must be eating better these days.

Between acts Brader’s young sons Kalin and Van sold wine and ale, and little Ela went around the boxes with a basket of flowers. Their party already had refreshments, but Seregil summoned Van over and gave him a sealed note-an

invitation for Atre and his cast to a celebratory dinner after the show. During the second intermission the boy brought back word that the older players would be honored to join them.

“You will join us, I hope, Your Graces,” said Kylith.

“Unfortunately we have a previous engagement,” Malthus told her. “But certainly next time.”

When the show was over, the dukes and their wives departed with promises of invitations to come. Alec and the others remained in their box as the cast received compliments and gifts from their admirers.

It was obvious that while all the actors had some following, Atre and Merina were by far the most popular. Flowers and small gifts were pressed upon them by women and men alike. Alec watched as one besotted young merchant’s daughter took a gold chain from around her neck and placed it around Atre’s. The way he gazed into her eyes as she did so pinked her cheeks and left her flustered. He was less warm to the men, though polite, although that didn’t seem to dampen the ardor of the more smitten.

At last Brader made their apologies and the actors disappeared backstage to change clothes and wash their faces. Atre looked up and waved to Seregil and Alec as he went, as if to make certain they were still there.

Soon bored, Seregil wandered down to the stage and jumped up into the glow of the footlights. Striking a pose for Alec’s amusement, he sang a verse from the lover’s lament Atre had sung in the second act.

“My love, why do you look so coldly upon me?

Why is your heart as distant as the moon from mine?

What have I done that you should spurn my knee

And refuse your limbs with mine to entwine?”

Kylith laughed. “That’s the first thing that came to mind, is it?”

Seregil pressed a hand to his heart. “The heroine’s death has left me a bit melancholy.”

“It suits you. My lord looks very natural on the stage.”

Atre stepped smiling from the shadows of the wings. He was richly dressed tonight-more of his patrons’ money well spent-and had rings on nearly every finger and an expensive teardrop-shaped black pearl dangling from one earlobe. “And you have a far better singing voice than mine. As good as any bard’s.”

Seregil made him a florid bow worthy of Aren Silverleaf. “As always, you are too modest, Master Atre.”

The actor had evidently removed his paint, but still looked exceptionally handsome. Alec caught himself staring and hastily looked away.

“Do nobles ever take the stage here?” asked Atre.

“Only for private entertainments.”

“Well, if you ever want to arrange something, let me know. I’ve a number of roles that would suit you very well.”

“Heroes or villains?” asked Alec from the groundling area.

“I’m sure Lord Seregil could play any role, my lord. You yourself would make the perfect young lover.”

“I’ll leave that to you two. I prefer to stay on this side of the proscenium.”

Brader, Merina, Leea, and Zell soon joined them, all dressed in new finery, though far fewer jewels. Brader wore none at all, Alec noticed.

They dined together at a nearby tavern and found the actors good company, raucous without being crude, with many entertaining stories to tell. When the fruit and nuts were gone but the wine was still flowing, Atre and Merina entertained the house with several songs. Their fellow diners were a receptive audience, and Atre wasn’t shy about promoting their upcoming productions.

Alec took stock of the actor and his friends. Or perhaps friendswasn’t quite the right word, for they clearly deferred to Atre-all except for Brader, but he was a quiet one and hard to read. Zell and Leea were journeyman actors, good at their craft but not stellar, and there were still traces of the Mycenian countryside in their accents, while the vivacious Merina had all the polish of a noblewoman. She shone brightly, flirting harmlessly with Alec, tossing her shining

dark hair as she laughed. Brader showed the most emotion when he looked at his wife or spoke to her, and Alec guessed there was genuine love between them.

But Atre was the real star and center of attention. He was at ease with his patrons, despite their rank, yet never overstepped the bounds of respect. He was careful to include all three of them in the conversation, but showed Kylith just that little extra attention that acknowledged her as the most influential of the trio. No doubt he’d done a bit of asking around. In his place that’s what Seregil would have done, Alec knew, having observed him play that game many times. Watching Atre, Alec began to feel like he was watching Seregil immersed in some role, and he wondered what was really going on behind those lively blue eyes.

He looked more closely at the earring, which Atre most assuredly hadn’t been able to afford the last time Alec had seen him. A gift, no doubt. The hole through his earlobe was an old one, well healed, so he wasn’t new to such adornments, or to such gatherings as these, either, if his manner was anything to go by.

“Who was your patron in Nanta, Master Atre?” he asked at last.

“The lord mayor and his wife, my lord,” Atre replied with obvious pride. In Mycena that was the equivalent of nobility. “Alas, I don’t know if they are alive or dead now, after the siege on the city last fall that drove my little company westward.”

“Tell the tale of how you and your players came to Rhiminee, won’t you?” Kylith urged.

“We began our escape from Mycena on foot, after several of our members were killed,” Atre replied. “It was a dreadful journey. Finally we took ship in Nysana and reached Cirna just before your Mourning Night. We earned enough there in the streets to buy passage here early this spring. We began in the marketplaces, adding to our meager savings, and managed to scrape together enough to rent the theater in Basket Street where, most fortuitously you, dear lady, found us. And you, my lords.”

Seregil raised his wine cup. “To those in whom the flame of art burns brightest!”

The rest joined him in the toast. Alec was impressed to see tears glitter in the actor’s eyes as he humbly accepted the praise.

“I must say, I am delighted with your success,” said Seregil.

“Tell me more about yourselves,” said Kylith, nodding to Brader, who had been largely silent. “How did you and your lovely wife meet?”

“Father, Mother, and I were with a company of traveling players,” Merina told her. “Atre and Brader joined us at Rudderford in Mycena. Do you know it? No? It’s in northern Mycena, almost to the freeholdings.”

“What were you doing all the way up there, Brader?” asked Alec, trying to get the taciturn man to speak for himself.

But it was Atre who answered. “We are northerners ourselves, Lord Alec. We’d established a small company in Dresher’s Ford, but a plague struck the town and carried off most of our players. Brader and I took to the road to seek our fortunes elsewhere, and ran across Zell and his company in the process. They invited us to join them.”

“And as you can imagine, Atre soon took over,” old Zell said with a laugh. “Our own principal actor took issue with that and dissolved the company. We threw in with Atre and Brader and headed south to seek better fortunes. And along the way, Brader stole my girl’s heart. No woman could ask for a better husband, either.”

Brader smiled with a warmth Alec hadn’t suspected the man capable of. “And no man could have a better wife.”

“And such talented children,” Kylith added. “I’ve enjoyed their antics in the comedies, and Van died very well tonight! We all wept, didn’t we, Alec?”

“No higher praise than that,” Brader said, warming more at the mention of his children. “They’ve been onstage all their lives. They don’t know any other life.”

“But you’ve been unlucky in finding a home, it seems,” Seregil noted. “First plague, then the attack on Nanta.”

“And a few troubles in between,” said Leea.

“But our luck has changed for the better in Rhiminee,” said Atre, saluting his patrons with his wine cup. “I hope to stay here for a very long time.”

“I’ll drink to that!” said Seregil.