by Mark Eller
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Sulya was certain something about Anithia and Missa Morlon was of supreme importance to Calto. Sulya tapped a long, pointed fingernail against full, dark blue lips, watching the two disinherited Morlon’s beg for scraps of food. A part of Sulya sympathized with them, knowing the wealth they were being denied. She had once traversed such a hard road. A small part of her wanted to grab Calto by the scruff of his neck and shake enough money from him to support the woman and child, but she quickly squelched the unnatural feeling. There was no room for compassion among the damned. No one had ever offered her a hand when she was young and alone, forced to slut her way among the humans, being treated like dirt, hungry, hurt, and denied. Although Sulya had been free of guilt for her begetting, her family had cast her out with the trash. Defective they called her, a bastard child. Her mother had spread her legs to a man from the wrong clan. Sulya had paid the price. She had even been given a bastard’s name so the other clans knew of her questionable birth. Sul, nothing, yana, child. Nothing child, but no one said she had to keep the name. Within hours of being cast out she changed her first name and then grabbed a clan surname, one with honor, dignity, from a clan located far away from Yernden. No. Sulya’s fortunes had risen through determination and ruthlessness. She felt no pity for Anithia and Missa. No pity for anyone.
“Is she the woman you want me to hire?” Carrid Brewer scowled. Stepping up beside her, he tried to intimidate Sulya with his girth. He was a big man, strong in the chest and arms, stout like a tree. His eyes were deep, commanding, but he didn’t frighten Sulya. She had stared Zorce in the eye. She knew true power, real fear. More than three quarters of a century earlier, in order to gain her own power, she had given her body over to Zorce’s use until it was nearly destroyed by his insatiable and monstrous passion. Almost two years later she had been split open giving birth to Phrandex, the hellgod’s child, Athos’s half-brother, to gain herself a new place and new power in Hell. This man, this brewer, was nothing.
“Yes,” she answered, “and you will hire her, or I’ll send a few visitors your way.”
Grunting, Carrid shook his head. “She better be able to handle herself, or she’ll end up raped or dead or both.”
With ice suddenly running through her body, Sulya turned more fully toward him. Her skin became a bright fuchsia of barely suppressed rage. “Raped does not bother me. Manhandle her, beat her, do whatever you desire to the woman, but make damn sure she stays alive until I get what I need, or it won’t be me you’ll answer to.”
Carrid’s tan faded from his face. Sweat trickled from his temple. His hands dropped from his hips.
“I see we understand each other perfectly.” Sulya smiled wickedly, enjoying the sensation of inspiring fear. It thrilled her to know she held all the power against this large, intimidating man. There had been a time when she would have been his willing victim, when she would have obeyed his depravity for the promise of a quarter loaf of bread. That time was long ago. Very long ago. “And you make sure no one else offers her a job before you do.” Her eyes narrowed at his lack of immediate action. “Well, just don’t stand there. Go offer her a job.”
The big man glared at her, his lips pressed tightly together, turning them into a thin line. Sulya didn’t mind. He could be as pissed as he wanted just so long as he obeyed her will. Passing out the door, Carrid set his foot to the street and crossed to where Ani and Missa were begging.
Sulya sighed. At last, something semi-positive she could report back to Zorce about, hopefully enough to offset her report that Radno Hornblaster had disappeared before she had a chance to rip his heart out. A spark of hope ignited in her soul as evil thoughts once again began to circulate. She just might be able to salvage something from this mess after all. Then again, maybe she should just go kill Calto to get this cat and mouse game over with. True, according to Zorce’s plan that wasn’t supposed to happen for quite some time yet, perhaps as long or longer than a year. Perhaps even three or four. Still, Calto’s death would simplify matters for her.
Sulya smiled. The possibilities for mayhem and murder seemed endless.
She would wait. Wait and watch as her plan unfolded, her ambition expanded. Calto’s time would come. When it did, he would learn exactly what she thought of men she couldn’t control.
Watching silently from the shadows inside the tavern, Sulya waited for the moment when the wench fell into her trap. Suddenly, she frowned and tensed. Anithia backed away from Carrid, shaking her head. Responding with a careless shrug, the big man turned and walked away. Sulya nearly ran out into the street to stop him, to thrust him back toward the woman, but that would make her presence obvious, and the altercation would build further suspicion. Instead, when Carrid slipped into the doorway beside Sulya, she shoved him hard against the door.
“What did you say to her? Why did she back away from you?” Sulya felt almost angry enough to gut the man in broad daylight, very angry indeed. As a rule, she saved those particular treats for the night, for those times when there were no stars, no moon, no light of any sort. Her victim’s terror was always so much sweeter then.
“Nothing,” Carrid answered. He tried to shove her away but found Sulya’s knife tucked in close to his ribs.
“Nothing? Nothing! Then why did she look frightened?”
Carrid scowled. “All I said was I needed another barmaid at the Hole and did she need a job?”
Sulya frowned. “What did she say?”
“Said she wasn’t that desperate yet.”
Sulya eased away from him, thinking hard. “Not desperate enough, huh? We’ll see just how desperate she can become.”
Spinning upon her heels, she left the big man to ponder his fate. Her boot heels clicked loudly upon the cobblestones as she tramped down the street, not caring if the stupid bitch had seen her leave the doorway. Sulya was done messing around.
“Desperate, huh?” Sulya muttered. “I’ll find a way to make her desperate. So desperate she’ll be sorry she ever refused the job.”
Evil poured from Sulya’s mind. Hatred filled her body. She would make the stupid wench sorry for her refusal. Repeated rape and injury would do the job, and maybe fear for her daughter. Afterward, she would find someone more pliable, more in line with Hell’s priorities, to run the Hellhole Tavern. Carrid was now a liability. In Sulya’s world, liabilities ended up dead.
