Storm Season tw-4

by Robert Lynn Asprin

  "Do you recognize it?" he asked.

  "No-"

  Cythen took the boss from Thrusher's hands. "Stepson-" she said with both fear and anger. "See here, the lightning emerging from the clouds? Only they wear such designs."

  "You have a plan?" Dubro demanded.

  It wasn't only Dubro waiting for a plan. With the mention of the Stepsons, Cubert had re-entered the room, and Cythen was warm for blood; the hawkmasks all had reasons for vengeance. Even Thrusher, still rubbing his sore head, acted as if this were a challenge that must be answered. Walegrin tucked the boss in his belt-pouch.

  "We know it was a Stepson, but we don't know who," Walegrin said, though he suspected the one who had overturned Illyra's table earlier. "We don't have time to run them all to ground, and I don't think Tempus would let us. Still, if we had a Stepson hostage or two ourselves, it would be easier-"

  "I'll go with Thrusher. I know where they're at at this hour," Cubert asserted. Cythen nodded agreement.

  "Remember, a dead Stepson won't do us any good. So if you must kill one, hide the body well-dammit."

  "It'll be a pleasure," Cubert grinned.

  "See that they get their swords," Walegrin said as Thrusher led the ex-hawkmasks from the room. He was alone with Dubro. "Now, you and I will search the back streets-and hope we find nothing."

  Dubro agreed. For one generally reckoned no smarter than the hammer he used, Dubro moved well through the darkness, leading Walegrin rather than being led. The latter had expected him to be a massive hinderence and had kept him apart from the rest, but Dubro knew blind alleys and exposed basements that no-one else suspected.

  At length they emerged from the Maze to the stinking structures of the chamel houses. Butchers worked there, gravediggers and undertakers as well. Slippery mounds of rotting flesh and bones stretched, undisturbed, down to the river. The gulls and the dogs avoided this place, though the shadows of huge rats could be seen scurrying over the filth. They had found Rezzel here that morning-and left her here. For a moment Walegrin thought he saw Illyra lying out there-but no, it was just another jumble of bones, glowing with decay.

  "She'd come here every so often," Dubro said softly. "You'd know why, wouldn't you?"

  "Dubro-you don't think I-"

  "No, she trusted you and she's not wrong in such things. It's just, if she were frightened, if she thought she had no place else to go-she might come here."

  "Let's go back to the bazaar. Maybe her people have found something. If not, well-I'll gather my men and whatever they've found in the morning. We'll deal with Tempus from there." Dubro nodded and led the way, carefully, around the eerily glowing things lying on the mud.

  Moonflower, who was as large among women as Dubro was among men, sat awkwardly at Illy-ra's table when they entered the little rooms behind the awning. "She is alive," the immense woman said, rearranging Illyra's cards.

  "Walegrin has a plan to get her back from the Stepsons," Dubro said. Between them they almost filled the room. -

  Moonflower got off the creaking stool and approached Walegrin, a predatory curiosity in her eyes. "Walegrin-you've grown up!"

  She wasn't tall; no taller than Cythen, but she was built like a mountain. She wore layers of colorful clothes, more layers and colors than the eye cared to record. Yet she could move quickly to trap Walegrin before he reached the door.

  "You will rescue her?"

  "I didn't think you S'danzo cared about her," Walegrin snarled.

  "She breaks little rules and pays a little price-but not like this. You think of the mother. She broke the big rules and paid the big price. But wouldn't we all like to break the big rules? She paid with her life-but we remember her here," Moonflower pressed a beefy hand over her heart. "You go and bring her back, now. I'll stay with this one." She stepped aside and pushed Walegrin back into the night. She probably wasn't very strong, but at her weight she didn't need to be.

  Alone in the bazaar, Walegrin remembered what Illyra had said about the S'danzo. They were two societies, men and women, and their purposes were not the same. It had been the S'danzo men who had dismembered his father-and S'danzo men who had cursed him. But it was the S'danzo women who had the power, the sight-

  Walegrin made his way slowly up the hills behind Sanctuary to Balustrus' villa. His energy went into finding the ground with each foot. He'd need food and sleep before he could face Illyra's problems again. It occured to him that he wouldn't be able to leave until she was found, one way or the other.

  A woman's weeping caught his attention. His half-asleep thoughts converged around Illyra as a shape rose out of the darkness and threw itself around him. By the smell it wasn't Illyra. He pushed Cythen aside and studied her in dawnlight.

  The jagged cut along the girl's face had been re-opened sometime in the night. Fresh clots of blood had twisted her expression into something worthy of Balustrus. Tears and sweat made vertical lines across her dirty skin. Walegrin's first impulse was to toss her headfirst into the brush. Instead he took her hand and led her to a rock. He unfastened his cloak and handed it to her, telling himself he'd do the same for any of his men, and not entirely believing it.

  "They've got Thrusher and Cubert's dead!" she sobbed.

  He took her hands, trying to distract her from the hysteria that made her all but incoherent. "What about Thrush?"

  Cythen buried her face in her hands, sniffed loudly then faced Walegrin without the tears. "We were Downwind, past Momma Becho's. We were trailing a Stepson pair we'd been told passed that way after sundown carrying a body. Thrush was leading, I was in the rear. I heard a noise. I gave a warning and turned to face it, but it was a trap and we were outnumbered from the start. I never got my knife out-they had me from behind. It was a carry-off; they weren't trying to kill us. I went down before they hit me hard-but Thrush and Cubert kept fighting.

  "I got my chance once we were back in the City, near the palace. I didn't linger, but they only had Thrusher with us-so Cubert's dead."

  "How long ago was this?"

  "I came straight here, and I haven't been here long."

  "And you're sure it was the Prince's palace- not Jubal's?"

  She became indignant. "I'd know Jubal's if I saw it. I'd have stayed and gotten Thrush out if it had been Jubal's. The Stepsons and Tempus haven't had enough time to learn what any hawkmask knows about the mansion. But we were attacked by Stepsons, anyway."

  "You knew that?"

  "By the smell."

  Walegrin was too tired to continue sparring. He'd lost Thrusher who'd been with him longer than anyone, who was more friend and family than lieutenant. Moreover, he didn't have a hostage to strengthen his position. It was impossible to believe this scrawny, starving woman could escape where Thrush hadn't-

  "You don't believe me, do you?" she said. "Thrush trusted me at his back. He must've fought until they hit him hard, where's I gave up sooner. That's the difference, Walegrin, you say women have no honor because they'll lose first and win later. You men have to win all the time or die trying. If I was in on it, would I have come back like this?"

  "To lead me in," Walegrin challenged, but without conviction.

  The sun was up when he slid the bolt of the villa-gate and led Cythen into the courtyard. Balustrus was waiting for them. The metal-master already knew some of the night's events.

  "Seems you won't be jumping early after all?" he accused.

  "Yes, I'd planned to leave," Walegrin agreed. "The longer I stay; the tighter the noose. I'm getting out. I leave you the ore, the necklace and the formula you don't need anything else."

  "It won't be that easy unless you've replaced Thrusher with that bone-bag behind you. Word's come from the palace." Balustrus handed him a scroll with its seal broken.

  The writing confirmed Cythen's story that they'd been taken to the palace by Stepsons. The Prince commanded Walegrin's presence in the Hall of Justice. Walegrin crumpled the paper and threw it into the dirt. He could have abandoned Thrusher; he could have
abandoned Illyra-but he could not abandon them both.

  "Cythen," he whispered to her as they entered the room he shared with Thrusher. He looked about for a cleaner tunic. "No matter what, don't stop looking for Illyra, hear me? If you find her you take her back to the bazaar. The S'danzo will help, and Dubro. They won't ask about your past. Do you understand?"

  She nodded and watched without interest as he cast his filthy tunic aside and pulled another one over his head.

  "You should wash first," she told him. "You shouldn't stink before the Prince. You won't win any bargains."

  Walegrin glared at her, dropping the second tunic to the floor as he stormed toward the stream where they washed.

  "I wasn't always like this," she shouted after him.. "I know better ways."

  Dripping, but clean, Walegrin returned to the room to find his tunic lying neatly on the mattress. Somehow the girl had gotten the extra wrinkles out. His bronze circlet had been given a quick polish and some of the mud was gone from his sandals. But Cythen herself was gone from the shed, the courtyard and the villa. Coming on top of the loss of Illyra and Thrusher it was almost more than he could endure. Had he found her right then he would have cheerfully beaten her.

  But the girl had been right, damn her. He felt better clean. His few men straightened up as he assembled them in the courtyard. He told them what he'd told Cythen. They grumbled and he doubted they'd wait more than a day before going their separate ways if he did not return. He looked for Balustrus too, and found only his share of the swords. The ore, the necklace and the metal-master had vanished. He was getting used to that.

  Knots ofpeople ducked out of his path once he was on the streets. He was recognized, but no-one stopped him. With eyes fixed forward, he walked past the gallows, not chancing a glance at the corpses. The gatekeeper took his name without ceremony and a lad appeared to conduct him to the Hall of Justice.

  He was left alone there in the echoing chamber. Kadakithus himself was the first to enter, accompanied by two slaves. The young prince dismissed the slaves and took his place on the throne.

  "So, you're Walegrin," he began simply. "I thought I might recognize you. You have been no small amount of trouble."

  Walegrin had intended to be quiet and meek-to do whatever was necessary to free Thrush. But this was Kittycat and he invited disrespect. "Finding your clothes each morning must be equal trouble. You've got my man in your dungeons. I want him freed."

  The Prince fidgetted with the ornate hem of his sleeve. "Actually I don't have your man. Oh, he's been taken all right, and he's alive-but he's Tempus' prisoner, not mine."

  "Then I should be talking to Tempus, not you."

  "Walegrin, I may not have your man-but I have you," the Prince said forcefully.

  Walegrin swallowed his reply and studied the Prince.

  "That's better. You're entitled to your opinion of me-and I'm sure I've earned it. There's a lotto be said for playing one's part in life. Now, you'll talk to Tempus after you've talked to me-and you'll be glad of the delay.

  "I've had gods know how many letters from Ranke about you-starting before you disappeared. I got my most recent one with the recent delegation from the capital. Zanderei-as cunning an assassin as they could find. I know how much money you got from Kilite. Don't look so surprised. I was raised in the Imperial Household-I wouldn't be alive at all if I didn't have some reliable friends. The chief viper in my brother's nest is always asking for you. He seems to think you've discovered Enlibar steel; I assure him that you haven't, though I know you have. I know how much he said he'd pay you for the secret; so I know you're not in Sanctuary looking for a better price. But then, I also know what Balustrus said about your progress with the steel. Does any of this surprise you?"

  Walegrin said nothing. He was not truly surprised, though he hadn't expected this. Nothing was truly surprising today.

  The prince misunderstood his silence. "All right, Walegrin. Kilite's faction found you, paid you, pardoned your absence and then tried to have you killed. I've run afoul of Kilite a few times and I can promise you you'll never outsmart him on your own. You need protection, Walegrin, and you need protection from a special sort of person-the sort of person who needs you as much as you need him. In short, Walegrin, you need me."

  Walegrin remembered thinking the same thing once, though he'd envisioned this interview under different circumstances. "You have the Hounds, Tempus and the Sacred Bands," he remarked sullenly.

  "Actually, they have me. Face it, Walegrin: you and I are not well-equipped. Alone with only my birth or your steel, we're nothing but pawns. But, put my birth with your steel and the odds improve. Walegrin, the Nisibisi are armed to the teeth. They'll tie up the armies for years before the surrender-if they surrender. Your handful of Enlibar swords won't make any difference. But the Empire is going to forget about us while they're fighting in the north."

  "Or, you want my men and my steel here instead of on the Wizardwall?"

  "You make me sound just like Kilite. Walegrin, I'll make you my advisor. I'll care for you and your men. I'll tell Kilite we found you floating in the harbor and make sure he believes it. I'll keep you safe while the Empire exhausts itself in the north. It may take twenty years, Walegrin, but when we return to Ranke, we'll own it."

  "I'll think about it," Walegrin said, though actually he was thinking of Illyra's visions of an invading fleet and her warning that he would not go north.

  The Prince shook his head. "You don't have time. You've got to be my man before you see Tempus. You might need me to pry your man loose."

  They were alone in the room and Walegrin still had his sword. He thought of using it; perhaps the Prince thought the same thing for he sat far back in the throne, playing with his sleeve again.

  "You might be lying," Walegrin said after a moment.

  "I'm known for many things, but not lying."

  That was true enough. Just as much of what he'd said was true. And there was Thrusher's safety, and Illyra's to think of. "I'll want a favor, right away," Walegrin said, offering his hand.

  "Anything in my power, but first we talk to Tempus-and don't tell him we've made an agreement."

  The Prince led the way along unfamiliar corridors. They were in the private part of the palace and the surroundings, though crude by capital standards, dazzled Walegrin. He bumped into the Prince when the latter stopped by a closed door.

  "Now, don't forget-we haven't agreed to anything. No, wait-give me your sword."

  Feeling trapped, Walegrin unbuckled his sword and handed it to the Prince.

  "He's arrived, Tempus," Kadakithus announced in his most innane voice. "Look, he gave me a present! One of his steel swords."

  Tempus looked around from a window. He had some of the god's presence to him. Walegrin felt distinctly outclassed and doubted that Kitty-cat could do anything to help him. He doubted that even the metal boss in his pouch could help him free Thrusher or Illyra.

  "The steel is Sanctuary's secret, not Kilite's?" Tempus demanded.

  "Of course," the Prince assured him. "Kilite will never know. The entire capital will never know."

  "All right, then. Bring him in," Tempus shouted.

  Five Stepsons crowded into the room, a hooded prisoner with them. They sent the man sprawling to the marble floor. Thrusher pulled the hood loose and scrambled to his feet. A livid bruise covered one side of his face, his clothes were torn and revealed other cuts and bruises, but he was not seriously hurt.

  "Your man-I should have let my men have him. He killed two last night."

  "Not men!" Thrusher spat out. "Whoresons; men don't steal women and leave them for the rats!"

  One of the Stepsons moved forward. Walegrin recognized him as the one who had overturned Illyra's table. Though he felt the rage himself, he restrained Thrusher. "Not now," he whispered.

  The Prince stepped between all of them with the sword. "I think you should have this, Tempus. It's too plain for me-but you won't mind that, will you?"
<
br />   The Hell-Hound examined the blade and set it aside without comment. "I see you can control your man," he said to Walegrin.

  "As you cannot." Walegrin tossed the Hound the boss Dubro had found. "Your men left it behind when they stole my sister last night." They were of a height, Walegrin and Temp us, but it cost Walegrin to look into Tempus' eyes and for once he understood what it meant to be cursed, as Tempus was.

  "Yes, the S'danzo. My men disliked the fortune she told for them. They bribed some Downwind to frighten her. They don't understand the Downwind yet. They hadn't intended her to be kidnapped, any more than they'd intended to get robbed themselves. I've dealt with my men-and the Downwinders they hired. Your sister is already back in the bazaar, Walegrin, a bit richer for her adventures and off-limits to all Stepsons. No one guessed you were her brother-certain men are assumed not to have family, you know." Tempus leaned forward then, and spoke only to Walegrin. "Tell me, is your sister worth believing?"

  "I believe her."

  "Even when she rattles nonsense about invasions from the sea?"

  "I believe her enough that I'm remaining in Sanctuary-against all my better judgement."

  Tempus turned away to take up Walegrin's sword. He adjusted the belt for his hips and put it on. The Stepsons had already departed. "You won't regrethelping the Prince," he said without looking at anyone. "He's favored of the gods, you know. You'll do well together." He followed his men out the door leaving the Prince alone with Walegrin and Thrusher.

  "You might have told me you were going to give him my sword!" Walegrin complained.

  "I wasn't. I only meant to distract him-I didn't think he'd take it. I'm sorry. What was the favor you wanted?"

  With Illyra and Thrusher safe, and his future mapped out, Walegrin didn't need a favor, but he heard his stomach rumbling and knew Thrush was hungry too. "We'll have a meal fit for a king-or Prince."