I already forgot how talkative you are.
Devaton interrupted the chatterbox with a gesture.
“Thanks for your service, Master Yun. I’d like to ask this gentleman a few questions.”
“As you wish.” With the practiced hand of an illusionist, he pulled the sack off the prisoner wobbling in his chair. Master Tillius’ bald head dangled off to the side, drool coming from the corner of his wrinkled mouth. The prisoner snored quietly, mumbling disconnectedly in the meantime. “Although, I should warn you that he took a hard hit to the head, and then I had to give him tsaikazia powder to make sure His Divinity didn’t get into any trouble.”
“You drugged him?”
Yun sat down on the edge of the table and threw his arms wide.
“I resorted to some tricks, mixing the powder in with his drinks along the way. What else could I have done to make sure the old man didn’t get noisy? He yelled like an angry merchant! That made it hard to get the job done quietly, and that’s the way you asked for it.”
What a lovely precaution.
The chancellor slowly circled the peacefully sleeping prisoner. His boots shuffled across the roughly cut stone slabs in the basement, his cane tapping rhythmically alongside.
“Will he be able to answer my questions?”
“Let’s wake him up and see.” Yun fumbled around under his shirt and pulled out a small glass flask. “A potion made from brown-leaf zhadevia. I bought it from a Canedan herbalist, and it’s amazing, let me tell you! Clears the head of anything. It definitely won’t have a problem with the tsaikazia.”
I know about that stuff. The only part you neglected to mention was that large doses can kill you.
“Go ahead, we don’t have much time,” Demos said, sitting down in an open chair. “Just don’t overdo it with the potion.”
“What are you talking about, Your Grace?” Yun asked, hurt. “We’re just interrogating him! Of course, I’m just going to give him a little. Enough to—”
“Shut up and do it,” Demos muttered irritably.
Yun pulled the master’s head back, pried his teeth apart, and let a few careful drops of the cloudy and whitish liquid fall down his throat.
“He’ll start coming to soon,” he said, sitting back down onto the table and starting to clean his fingernails with a small knife. “You know, I could really use a bath.”
As if I care.
They didn’t have to wait long, but to Demos, it felt like an eternity. The suspense was killing him, leaving him to count every missed second.
Finally, the clergyman twitched. He picked his head up suddenly, nearly lost his balance, and about toppled off the wobbling chair. The master nervously looked around and worked his dry lips in confusion, clearly trying to figure out how he’d gotten into the small room.
“Hi there, Master,” the chancellor started. “How do you feel?”
Tillius wheezed something and placed a dry, wrinkled hand on his throat.
“He wants a drink,” Yun said.
“In that case, give our guest some water.”
Demos had prudently covered his face with a hood and stepped as far away as he could to make sure Tillius wouldn’t be able to see him. He had no doubt the clergyman would have recognized him.
If he had access to the palace, he’s heard about me and my scars. And I don’t want to give myself away ahead of time.
Tillius coughed when Yun held a skin of water up to his lips. A little while later, clarity returned to the master’s eyes, and he even straightened up, remembering his dignified status, and leveled a haughty look in the direction of where Demos was sitting in the dark.
“The Keeper bless you, whoever you are,” the clergyman said. “Who are you, and what do you need from a simple servant of god?”
“All I want is to chat with you. Do me the kindness of answering a couple questions, Master Tillius.”
The clergyman looked around again, found that the way out was blocked, and sighed with a resignation befitting a person of his position.
“I have no secrets from god, and I’ll keep nothing from you. Go ahead.”
If only it was always that easy… Work would be a dream!
“Excellent,” Demos said, smiling under his hood. “In that case, I’ll start with the most important question. Why did Sister Tanal go to Ulfiss?”
“I’m sorry, who?”
“Sister Tanal,” the chancellor said clearly.
The clergyman’s eyes widened ever so slightly, though an exercise of will wiped the expression from his wrinkled face.
“That’s the first I’m hearing that name.”
Here we go…
“Of course, Master! Why lie? Just a second ago, you said you don’t have any secrets… Let’s keep it that way. I know for certain that she spent around two weeks in the Ulfiss cloister. There are the records in the ledgers to prove it, so her existence is an irrefutable fact. All we care about is why she took such a long journey and then almost immediately returned to Missolen.”
“But I really don’t know a Sister Tanal!” the master shrieked with a suddenly cracking voice.
Demos leaned forward with a creak of his chair.
“Do you really want us to take this conversation in a different direction? Who are you protecting, Master? Are they worth broken bones, severed flesh, burst eyeballs, stripped skin? Why can’t you just help us and go back to Ulfiss alive and well?”
Tillius said nothing. But the terror that flashed across his eyes told Demos everything he needed to know.
If you tell anyone anything, you won’t make it back to your cloister. You’re dead either way. And even if you don’t tell us anything, which you will, they won’t leave you alive. An unenviable position.
“We can protect you,” Demos said. “We’ll hide you, let you live out the rest of your life in peace and quiet.”
“You can’t,” Tillius whispered. “They’re following me. They must know that I’m with you, and they’ll find me. They will. You can’t hide me, you can’t hide me, you can’t hide me…”
He isn’t just scared. He’s petrified.
“Master Yun, it looks like our guest could use some more water.”
The spy put his knife away, leaped up, and handed the old man his skin.
“You’re very kind.” The clergyman smiled, baring his few remaining yellow teeth, and took a few small swallows. “I understand, you really need that information. You’re threatening to mutilate me if I don’t tell you, but what you don’t know is what the people who want to keep it a secret threatened me with. Believe me, it’s something I wouldn’t do to my worst enemy. I would love to rid myself of this burden—I’d give anything not to be involved in… There’s no way out of this for me alive. I get that now.”
“There’s always a chance,” Demos replied.
The old man laughed hoarsely and gripped the symbol of his faith hanging on the thick chain around his neck.
“There wasn’t a chance from the moment I was summoned, the moment I stepped into her quarters…”
“But why?” Demos asked. “Why did you help her get away? Why?”
“I wish I could tell you…”
Stubborn old bastard!
“So, tell me, Master! You already started. Ease your soul.”
“No,” the clergyman replied with a decisive shake of his head. “Everyone dies, and so will I. But I don’t want to die a traitor. Why are you looking for her? Leave her alone! She’s just a scared woman.”
Demos didn’t notice anything but a shadowy motion in the poor light cast by the single torch. Yun was sticking the cork back in his skin when the old man, with surprising dexterity, broke open the bulging silver disk he was still holding, dropped its contents into his mouth, and instantly collapsed onto the floor. Convulsions wracked his body.
“Curses!” Demos roared.
He leaped up from his chair, staggered on his bad leg, leaned on his cane, and hopped over to Tillius as fast as he could. Yun, l
isting off all the demons and devils as he did, tried to hold the old man back from the merciless convulsions, but it was too late. The once-white robe with its rich embroidery was saturated around the crotch area. The old man’s eyes came out of orbit, bubbles formed at the corner of his mouth, and blue veins bulged, threatening to explode—Demos didn’t know what the poison was, though it was obviously a powerful one. Soon, the convulsions died away, and Tillius’ face, which was already gray, lost what little color it had.
Yun looked up guiltily at the chancellor.
“The old bastard!”
Demos collapsed onto his knees next to the master as the latter pulled himself across the floor.
“Tell me why!” he yelled, shaking him by the shoulders even as he knew that wouldn’t help. “Tell me! Why did she run?”
“She was afraid,” Tillius wheezed. “The emperor… Didn’t die on his own… She’s afraid…of you, Burned Lord. You…”
“I don’t want to do anything to her! I just want to find and protect her.”
“She’s already under protection,” the master said, his voice weakening. “In a secure place. Don’t look for her—leave her be! She’ll come herself…”
Tillius croaked something unintelligible, and then his eyes rolled back. His breathing stopped.
“Shit,” was the only thing Yun could say.
The chancellor pulled himself up onto a chair and reached into his pocket for his pashtara.
One more thread broken.
“He’s dead,” Yun said as he stood up.
“I can see that! Get rid of the body.”
The spy nodded.
“Of course. This was my fault.”
Who could have suspected that the old guy would have the strength to do himself in? The nobility, the loyalty! You have to respect him, though that doesn’t help anything.
Demos waved wearily.
“It’s not your fault. Nobody could have guessed that would happen. Hide the body somewhere the clergy won’t find it any time soon, and then head over to Archella and lie low. My servants will deliver your money.”
It’s too early to get rid of Yun. That chatterbox could still prove useful, and hey, he was able to dig up quite a bit about Izara. He got Tillius here, too. I just wish it hadn’t all been for nothing.
Chapter 37. Ellisdor
“Well, boys, one more?”
Artanna did her best to focus her gaze on her clay mug. After a couple unsuccessful attempts, she decided she’d had enough of the memorial evening. It was time to stop drinking. Another couple toasts, and she wouldn’t have made it to her quarters.
“I’m out, guys,” she said, easing herself up from the table. It worked the second time. “Oh, damn… Who brought that bottle?”
“I did,” the Ennian called.
“You’re trying to kill me, Copper. Where did you get it?”
“In the castle bins. It’s Rundian firewater, at least that’s what I was told.”
Artanna coughed and dumped the rest of her drink on the floor in disgust.
“Damn Runds. Either I’m getting old, or the castellan’s slop didn’t use to be this strong.”
Jert looked at the commander apprehensively.
“Walk you up?”
“I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first time.”
“Well, if you trip on the stairs and knock your teeth out, the gods are my witnesses that I tried to keep that from happening. You’re going to need your teeth—take care of them.”
“Oh, screw you,” the Vagran replied with a wave as she wobbled out onto the street.
“And a fine evening to you, too.”
Jert watched her go before turning to Belingtor. Cherso was sleeping the sleep of the dead, his head slumped down on his arms. Thinking for a second, Jert pulled the minstrel’s pipe out of his pocket. The tobacco wasn’t that great, and Jert wasn’t a big smoker, but he didn’t want to just sit in the barracks with nothing to do. And for some reason, he wasn’t tired.
Failing in his efforts to blow even rings, the Ennian looked over at Vezzam, who was in a corner. The Vagran rarely drank, though that evening he’d followed the tradition and downed a few glasses in honor of his fallen comrades. By the looks of him, the alcohol had either gone to his head, or just had the blood pumping through his veins. Jert could tell he was nervous—he’d spent the whole evening fidgeting as if he was sitting on a pin cushion. He threw sideways glances at the other fighters, he played with the clasps on his doublet, and his fingers always had something rolling around in them. Copper had no idea what was going on.
Soon, the whole thing cleared up. No sooner had Artanna headed off to bed, than Vezzam’s twitching redoubled. He even turned gloomier than usual. Finally, the Vagran lost it and headed out after the commander. Jert followed, intrigued.
The Second stepped carefully behind Artanna.
The Ennian grinned to himself, let out some smoke, and shook his head, unhappy with his carelessness. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed that—he should have guessed that the Vagran wasn’t blindly loyal for nothing.
And that had a chance to wreak havoc with his plans.
***
A cold wind did its best to burrow under her shirt. Out in the fresh air, her head cleared a bit, and she found she could breathe easier. Torches flashed annoyingly in front of her—the guards were doing the rounds. Someone shouted a greeting, but Artanna just waved casually in response. She wobbled across the courtyard on weak legs, got to the stairs leading to the guest wing, and slowly started to climb. All she could think about was not making a fool of herself in front of the servants, or worse, someone from the local elite. That wouldn’t have been the best end to an already shitty day, and there would have been no way to rebuild her reputation.
Alcohol really was becoming her curse.
Once she got to her chambers, Artanna started by taking off her shoes. Then, she felt around for the chamber pot, pulled the lid off, and stuck a few fingers down her throat. When the spasms stopped, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and looked around. The only light in the room was coming from the embers in the fireplace. Artanna lit a candle, found a pitcher full of stale water, and downed it happily. That helped.
“Okay, my dear,” she whispered to herself, “you’re done drinking.”
She was less than positive that she was going to keep her word on that one. It wasn’t the first such promise she’d made to herself.
She didn’t have enough energy to get undressed. A smoke would have been nice, but she didn’t have the energy for that, either. Instead, she pulled herself over to the bed, tripped over her boots, cursed ornately in Vagran, and collapsed onto her pillows. But she was kept from falling asleep by the hinges on the door creaking. After grabbing for her dagger, she recognized Vezzam and relaxed.
“Not sleeping?”
“Not anymore, thank you very much,” Artanna replied as she sat up with a sigh. “What are you doing here?”
The Second stepped in, closed the door, and locked it.
“I can’t fall asleep.”
“What does that have to do with me? Am I supposed to sing you a lullaby?”
“Belingtor would be better at that, but he’s too far gone.”
“I’m happy for him,” Artanna muttered. “Today has been terrible. Let me go to sleep, and let’s talk in the morning.”
Vezzam crossed the room. Looking to pour himself some water, he found that the pitcher was empty and sat down on the bed next to the commander.
“Can I just be with you for a little?”
Artanna’s brows twitched in surprise. Without waiting for an answer, Vezzam pulled off his boots and laid down in the bed.
“Are you crazy?”
Without letting her finish, Vezzam pulled her into a tight embrace. She sniffed.
“Oh, god, you’re drunk!”
“No more than you. And with good reason.”
She didn’t have a response to that.
“I miss you
,” the Second whispered, burying his head in Artanna’s hair. “I try to be strong, but damn it, sometimes…”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything. It doesn’t bother you like it bothers me.”
“I miss you sometimes, too. But we figured all this out a long time ago.”
“You figured it out,” Vezzam growled quietly.
Artanna pulled herself away and looked at him coldly.
“And you agreed.”
He placed his hand over Artanna’s. She left hers in his.
“Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t helped you get away,” he said with detachment, looking up at the patch of sky in the open window. “We had it good together. Why did you have to go back? We could have left Rundkar, gone anywhere. But you had to go back to your precious Rolf no matter the cost. And how did that end up? Nobody felt any better, and I lost you.”
Artanna sighed heavily, looking for a way to change the topic. But Vezzam had already gotten started, and there was no stopping him. There was a reason they called him the Silent One.
“Maybe things would have been even worse if we hadn’t come back to Highligland. Don’t think about it.”
A shadow crossed the Second’s face.
“I can’t stop. I try, but I can’t.”
“Make yourself, damn it! I know, it’s hard. It wasn’t easy for me, either—don’t think I forgot everything. But this way was better for both of us.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Artanna was starting to lose her patience.
“What’s the point of all this? You want to pin my old sins on me? Cry about how hard life is for you? Get back at me? Go ahead, tell me how bad things are for you,” she hissed loudly. “You sleep on a feather bed, you’re fed three times a day, and you buy gilt belts for your weapons. Poor you.”
“Calm down. I just came to visit, make sure you’re okay.”
“As you can see, I’m fine. You can go now.”
It was stuffy in the room. Artanna stood up to open another window, but Vezzam didn’t let her get that far. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders and dug into her lips in an awkward semblance of a kiss. Artanna jerked and tried to pull away, but she tripped on a box, nearly lost her balance, and gasped as best she could as she flailed for support. One arm smacked into a metal tray of cups, sending it crashing to the floor. And Vezzam, without taking his lips away from hers, carefully pushed her over to the bed, pressed on her shoulders until she laid down, and unceremoniously stuck a hand between her legs.
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