"He's over in the holy sanctum, according to his people. I'll find out what he knows when we get there."
Telyn nodded, and looked to Lysha. "You were going to talk to the Registry Chancellor. Anything?"
Lysha shook her head with a snort of disgust. "Nah. Far's I could figure, there's nah Limbdigger clan atall. No'ne at the Registry, an' none o' the House people, 'ave e'er 'eard o' 'im or 'is clan. Up 'til a wee past three cycles ago, e'en the hawkers hadn' heard o' 'im."
Telyn blinked, surprised. "The man didn't just appear out of thin air -- he had to come from somewhere."
Lysha shrugged. "If Nacaris found true, Limbdigger don' appear particular set on amassin' a fortune, or 'e'd be dealin' wit' the shopkeeps, or hire out commissioned routes. He's nah keen on recognition, neither, or he'd be registered, an' playin' ta the Gild House market. Man's a ghost."
Telyn rubbed her face thoughtfully. "It does actually seem he's looking for the opposite of most merchants, doesn't it? He needs the gele for something, but he doesn't want to draw attention to himself in getting it." Her eyes fixed on her hands. "I wonder why."
Silence descended on the table's occupants for a long moment, before Telyn looked up from contemplation of her hands to look between Lysha and Nacaris. "His trade is always done through a third party?"
"Always," Lysha confirmed, and Nacaris nodded agreement.
"Then that leaves me to wonder why he chose to come after Sele himself, if he even did. And why does he still linger here, when he's obviously intelligent enough to realize that the Gild won't rest until they've recovered their missing Mistress?"
Nacaris shrugged. "Maybe what he sees in Ulambara has more profit than risk for him. After all, his motivation doesn't appear to be gele, so he's not likely to do anything stupid in speculations. He probably keeps to himself, and Ulambara's got enough foreign pilgrims that, if he doesn't initiate contact, no one's likely to bother him, either."
Telyn considered for a moment, then nodded. "True. But anyone brash enough to abduct a Gild Mistress en route to her new home would have to be very certain of two things: where she was headed, and his own ability to both abduct her, and evade any capture or pursuit."
"That means we're dealing with someone powerful." Nacaris frowned. "And he's got spies in the right places."
"He could e'en be politically connected," Lysha put in.
Telyn nodded. "It's possible. But it bothers me that no one heard of him, up until a few cycles ago, aside from old legends. More people should know about him, if he's been observing household politics for the length of time necessary to cultivate the contacts we're talking about. No one stays hidden that long. I'm living proof."
"What are you thinking, Telyn?" Nacaris regarded her with a wary, curious expression.
"How long does a man have to be alive to be a primary player in an old legend?"
Lysha blinked. "It'd be impossible. That'd take centuries of time."
Telyn only wished she could dismiss it that easily. Instead, it only served to solidify the sickening suspicion in her gut.
"We need to find out who Limbdigger really is," she hedged, unwilling to voice her suspicions, yet. "I suspect he's originally from the Endlands, but I'm guessing his name is as much a fabrication as his occupation as a merchant."
"How d'ye figure?"
"That he's an Endlander, or an imposter?"
"Both." Lysha shoved blonde hair from her face.
Telyn glanced at Nacaris, who offered her a quick smile and a subtle nod. With an indrawn breath, she filled Lysha in on what she learned from Sala about Limbdigger, her father, and the Phoenix Book.
"Hmm," Lysha rubbed her face thoughtfully when Telyn finished. "That sounds reasonable. An' 'is time wit' the Bathron'd give 'im reason enough ta act against the Gild. Ta Bathron, humiliatin' the Gild with a nabbin', an' gainin' access ta the power at the very core o' the world at the same time'd be too much a temptation ta resist."
Yet, Telyn's suspicion still held. There was only one man she knew of who was old enough to be behind this, and the thought was too terrifying for her to contemplate long.
Lysha sighed. "All right, so we're assumin' 'e's an Endlander. Wouldn' 'e've given 'imself away, by now? Endland customs're said ta be passin' unusual."
Nacaris and Telyn shared another look, before Nacaris shrugged. "Not all of them. But you do have a point."
"Which means one of two things," Telyn agreed.
"What'd that be, then?"
Nacaris' expression turned grim. "It means either he's a better spy than anyone's aware, and he's made himself invisible by learning to hide his origins and customs, or..."
"Or he harbors more hatred for the Bathron than for the Gild," Telyn finished for him in a rasping whisper. It was a possibility she'd been unwilling to voice before, but faced with all of the evidence, it seemed more likely than any other.
Lysha's gaze moved between them. "How could anyone who lived so long among the Bathron hate them more than their sworn enemy?"
"Stranger things have happened," Nacaris answered her, though his gaze remained fixed on Telyn. She could feel it burning into her, even though she refused to lift her own from the tabletop. She knew he was aware that she had suspicions, and that her unwillingness to air them made him wary. There was little choice. Accusations such as those flying around in her head weren't the kind one bandied about without proof. Especially not since her upbringing said their source as untouchable by the likes of her.
Finally, with a grim smile, she lifted her gaze to her companions and answered Lysha's question directly. "Betrayal, or the misguided notion that he was betrayed, is the cause of his hate. A Majin of note, his status elevated by the guardianship of one of the Aerai Majin's sacred artifacts, doesn't expect to be banished from his chosen home and stripped of his fine living, no matter who he is or what he's done. That kind of man would view expulsion and banishment as the worst form of betrayal, and deserving of the destruction of every last remnant of the Clan he sees as his betrayer."
"You sound like you know a great deal about this man," Nacaris hinted, one dark eyebrow lifted in query. She ignored him, and focused instead on Lysha as the other woman shuddered and nodded, making the Borderlander sign against evil.
"We're truly in a bad way, then," the Borderlander commented. "How're we supposed ta fight a madman?"
"We don't." Angry determination gelled within Telyn as she rose resolutely to her feet. She was about to come face-to-face with a killer responsible for not just the death of her childhood, but of her entire ancestral line. "We have to figure out how to outmaneuver him, instead."
And, if what she suspected turned out to be true, Kishfa help them all, because getting around the sly old fox would be the most difficult challenge any of them ever faced.
Chapter Fourteen
Bright sunlight bathed her face, and Telyn flinched away from it as she roused from sleep. She shifted, and frowned as hard stone poked her side and she found herself pressed against it by something heavy and warm. Memory sank over her, and a small smile tugged her lips as she burrowed back against the warm wall of Nacaris' body behind her. Even through the layers of their clothing, she felt surrounded by the warmth of his body. Her smile widened as she blinked awake. They were curled into their cloaks along the dock, like two pilgrims awaiting ferry passage. Not the most romantic of berths, but then, she hadn't been in any mood for romance the night before. Even as she came fully awake, the suspicions that plagued her in the darkness returned, and her gut burned as if she suffered the bite of a deadly pit viper.
With a sigh, she levered herself up on one elbow and took in their surroundings. Not quite the dock, then. The awning of the dockside tavern sloped above them, and she remembered. Nacaris found her pacing the docks, and convinced her to accompany him to the tavern awning when the bitter chill of the night mists rolled in.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep -- she'd been so sure she'd never sleep again until this torturous journey was ove
r, but the warmth of Nacaris' arm around her, and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, had lulled her as they talked. And then, she remembered nothing.
His arm tightened around her as she made to sit up, and a low, growling rumble surrounded her. Telyn chuckled.
"Come on, you old bear. The sun's up, and we've a crossing to make."
He grumbled again, but released her. With another chuckle, she rose to her knees, and then turned to find his grey-green eyes open, but bleary.
"Don't blame me," he grumbled good-naturedly as he sat up and winced. "It wasn't this old man's idea to spend the night on a street like some urchin."
A laugh burst from her as she stretched her limbs to chase away the lingering aches of the chilled ground. "Listen to you! You're not so old as that, and I'm sure you've slept in worse places."
His gaze turned suddenly somber, before he shifted it away completely. "About the second, at least, you'd be right."
That gave her pause, as a chill slipped through her. Was this part of the secret she sensed hovering around him? "How old are you?"
He refused to meet her gaze.
"Nacaris..."
"I'll be thirty-six summers, by winter's start," he finally replied, using the Endland calendar reckoning.
Telyn blinked. He was nearly a full decade her senior -- eight cycles, to be exact. A memory nudged her, but she couldn't pin it down. Something about his age mattered a great deal, and he knew it.
She frowned. His age told her one thing -- Nacaris was very skilled at what he did. A mercenary rarely lived past his or her twenty-fifth cycle, in these brutal times, without being either very skilled, or very lucky. Which added yet another question to her growing list of mysteries about her lover. Who was this man?
Telyn sighed, and shook off her questions. They didn't have time for personal mysteries or questions, right now. Any moment now, Lysha would arrive, and--
"Hoy!"
She glanced toward the sound of Lysha's hail with a wry smile, and found the Minegard striding toward them with a wide grin on her scarred face.
Nacaris was on his feet by the time she turned back to him, and the quick smile and wink he gave her allayed her uncertainties, for now. They would deal with the secrets between them once this journey was behind them both. At any rate, Nacaris' friendly mask was firmly back in place as he addressed Lysha. "Fair Morrow, Lysha. Where are we meeting this admirer of yours?"
The Minegard laughed, and pointed down the dock. "O'er there. Shall we be goin', then?"
And, as she trailed behind her companions, Telyn continued to battle the strengthening urge to run far away. Senses she feared to question told her that what they learned today had the potential to destroy everything she thought she knew about her world.
*****
It appeared that instinct was correct, Telyn acknowledged as she moved through the narrow streets of Ulambara's Holy City a scant two hours later. The holy sanctum wasn't anything like she expected.
Telyn sighed. She'd pictured a place of quiet, pious contemplation and devotions, where everyone went about in silent awe of the power within this holy place. At very least, she'd thought to find a kind of serenity and calm on these streets.
Instead, bedlam ensued around her, more deafening than even the Brassanburg market. She jumped to one side of the street, flattening herself against a wall to avoid being trampled by a cumbersome wilderbeast pulling a cart full of mead barrels. The lofty, ethereal atmosphere she'd expected of the world's holiest city was clearly a creation strictly of her mind.
Exotic animals of every type, from beast of burden to pampered pet, added to the general din of the city's residents and pilgrims.
"Not exactly what you expect, is it?" Nacaris' voice turned her attention his way.
"You could say that." She scanned the teeming streets, and bit back a grin at the chattering crown monkey perched on the shoulder of one very pious looking man. The words leaving the mimicking monkey's mouth would scorch a Lahrasian pirate's ears. "You could definitely say that."
The cascade of bells yanked Telyn's attention around in the next instant, and she stopped dead in her tracks as poignant memory sliced through her. A Shelliac Mummer's caravan, distinguished by its gold-and-white silken drapings, had set up shop directly across the open square from where she stood. Bittersweet longing filled her. The Shelliacs were a lost breed, almost completely exterminated by Mad Brahmad. Yet, to Telyn they would always symbolize a true coming home -- spiritual perfection and simple kindness. Both Dariadus and the Lady Raleena had sworn allegiance, in their own ways, to the Calling of Sheli, Endland Goddess of peace, harmony, and healing. Lady Raleena had been a Priestess, sworn to uphold the very highest standards of kindness. The reminder that Raleena no longer walked the world of men, and that Telyn had failed the oath she swore over Raleena's grave, were wounds that cut clear to her soul.
Belatedly, she registered the crest of a golden falcon emblazoned on one of the hangings. These Mummers were part of Dariadus' Tribe! As both nomads and Shelliacs, they would know every family and household in the Endlands. The dedicates of Sheli were permitted access to most oases and households, since one never knew when one might have need of their aid. And for her, Dariadus' seal told her she would find friends, and news of her old master and friend, among them.
She never paused to consider explaining herself to her companions before she started across the square. As she drew near the caravan, she caught the eye of a man who looked vaguely familiar. He was tall and dark-skinned, with well-hewn features and a merry twinkle in his dark eyes that pricked a memory deep within her. Did she know this man?
"Nacaris, old devil!" The man called out with a booming laugh as he bypassed her to clasp forearms with Nacaris in the familiar handshake of Endland tribesmen.
Nacaris grinned back at the other man. "Figures I'd find your face around here, Marat. Never could pass up a crowd to play to, could you?"
The other man laughed, and Telyn stared, slack-jawed, between the men. They knew each other? But that would mean... Nacaris knew Dariadus!
"You know this man?" She demanded of Nacaris. Maybe she was wrong, yet. Maybe they'd met somewhere else. After all, Mummers travelled a lot.
Marat's booming laugh surrounded her, spiking that sense of familiarity, again. "He most certainly had better, the jackal! We mentored together, he and I."
Nacaris looked vaguely unsettled, hidden beneath that easy grin, as he turned toward Telyn. "Actually, we both do, Telyn."
That stopped Marat, and a stunned expression stole over his dark features as he studied Telyn intently. "Can it be? Dariadus' own apprentice? By the golden wings of Sheli, you actually found her!"
Telyn swallowed hard at the mention of her former master. Over the cycles, she'd missed him a great deal -- his kindness and humor. Besides, memories of Dariadus stirred other memories she'd suppressed. Memories of a boy on the verge of manhood whose attention had both intrigued and frightened her for reasons she refused to consider. That fear drove her from Dariadus' Tribe -- the fear that she could someday lose herself in another.
She nodded in response to the Mummer's scrutiny. "I was his apprentice, yes."
A beaming smile broke the man's face. "This is a joyous day, indeed. Hoda, Blessed Daughter of Sheli. What brings you to my humble caravan?"
"We're looking for information." Nacaris lowered his voice, with a glance around. "The kind that's best not given where prying ears can hear."
The humor fell away from Marat's face. "I see. Come inside, then, and let's discuss what brings you to this holy city in search of me."
Telyn followed Nacaris' lead inside the wooden caravan, where the softly lit interior brought back the pangs of memory, again. She settled easily into one of the cushions, her gaze remaining on the two men who'd already so upended her world. Knowing that Nacaris had some stake in her past left her reeling. It was another piece of the secret he kept, and she was more determined than ever to get to the core of it
.
"Why didn't you tell me you knew Dariadus?" she hissed when he sat beside her.
"You didn't ask." His reply was blithe, his shrug nonchalant. Yet she sensed the tension radiating from him, and knew this argument was far from over.
Turning her attention to Marat, she suddenly wished she could remember him, as well. His significance in her life was buried in amongst the memories she worked so hard to suppress.
"Tell me what brings you here," Marat said as he settled into a cushion across from them.
"A man named Limbdigger." Nacaris' voice snapped her attention back to the matter at hand. "He's an Endland merchant who's been scaring the hawkers blind and stealing valuable treasures in the name of trade."
Marat frowned. "What sort of treasures?"
"A Gild Mistress, for one."
The Mummer jerked upright in surprise, and then settled back with a low whistle. "I see the problem."
"What can you tell us about him?" Telyn leaned forward. She could tell their quest was troubling for Marat. Was it because he was protecting the man?
Marat looked confused and apologetic, which told her he was doing nothing of the sort. Then, he shrugged helplessly. "I'm not certain what to tell you, Telyn. I've travelled all of the Endlands, and a great deal of the Middle Lands, as well, and I've never heard of a Limbdigger Clan, or encountered a merchant by that name. Not even in the whispers of the darkest alleyway swills."
Telyn's heart sank. She was beginning to think the man didn't exist. If it weren't for Sala's firm insistence...
"However, I do know stories -- old ones -- of a man with a name very much like that one."
Telyn's attention jerked up to his face. Was he having her on? No, the light shining in his eyes was utter sincerity.
"Do you know where he was from?"
The Mummer shook his head sadly. "No. His is an unfortunate tale, full of deceit and trickery the like of which would put the heartless Rakul to shame. No one knows where he first came from. Some stories say he was born from Endland sand in the midst of a Dark Storm. Others say he slithered out of the mires of the Caryptus at low tide. The only thing they all hold in common about his origins is that he was of the vilest creation."
Daughter of Ashes Page 16
