First Truth

by Dawn Cook

  “What?” Strell pleaded, the concern almost palpable in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  Shaking off his disquiet, Bailic met the anxious piper’s gaze. “She has been shattered by the same force that blew out your window,” he accused. Strell’s face went white, and Bailic was satisfied his words had been understood. The piper knew exactly what he had done.

  “But will she be all right?” Strell pleaded.

  Bailic’s pulse quickened. She would make a splendid hostage. “I can clear the way for her return,” he said softly, relishing the delicious feeling of power. He held the piper’s gaze, not caring if his fierce desire showed. “Let’s discuss my fee.”

  Strell’s face went blank. “Pardon me?”

  A smile blossomed over Bailic. He quite enjoyed bargaining when he held the high ground. “I want the same thing you do,” he all but whispered, leaning over the girl in a rustle of cloth. “I want that book,” he said, stifling a shudder as the words passed his lips.

  “I don’t know where it is,” Strell said quickly, despair creasing his face.

  “Then I’ll leave you to your mourning, Piper.” He got to his feet, hardly able to contain his glee. The man knew of the book. It was as good as his.

  “No! Wait!” Awkwardly heaving himself to his feet, Strell gazed down at the girl, his indecision clear. Bailic remained, already knowing the outcome. “I—I’ll find it,” he whispered.

  “I thought you might,” Bailic drawled. Fool, he thought. This is where compassion leaves you. “So, you agree? The book for the life of your companion?”

  Only now did Strell tear his gaze from her to fix him with a venomous stare. The tall man seemed to tense, gathering himself up. Bailic stiffened, laying a protective shield over his thoughts, but the piper was already collapsing in on himself. “Done and done, Bailic,” Strell said brokenly. “Alissa for the book when I find it.”

  “Alissa is it now?” Bailic all but laughed. “I knew she wasn’t your sister. Salissa indeed! No, Piper. ‘When you find it,’ isn’t soon enough. I want it by the beginning of winter.”

  “But that’s only five weeks away!” Strell cried.

  “Yes, I know.” Bailic laughed then—he couldn’t help it— but the sound abruptly died. He hadn’t yet sealed the bargain. “So, Strell,” he said scornfully, using the man’s given name for the first time, “done and done?”

  Strell’s eyes hardened. “No,” he said softly. “I want something as well.”

  Bailic grinned. “Oh, my insolent guest,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re indeed plains raised if you enjoy the pleasures of haggling so much you would risk the life of another in the doing of it. Take care I don’t tire, though, and leave without making any agreement at all.” Bailic’s eyes narrowed. “What could you possibly want?”

  “I want your nightly visitations to end,” Strell said roughly. “I’ll see you get food, and you can eat it if you dare, but you won’t join us for our meals. I will not entertain you anymore.”

  Bailic’s eyebrows rose and dropped. He rather enjoyed the entertainment, but the fare had turned bland lately. Romance and lost loves. If he pushed the issue, Bailic was sure it would worsen. “Is that all?” He smiled.

  Strell tugged his coat straight. “You will leave Alissa alone. Don’t even talk to her.”

  “And in return I get . . .” Bailic said with a leer, leaning casually against the mantel.

  “You get the book by the winter solstice.”

  “Fair enough.” Bailic shifted suddenly, startling the bird. “But I want to make one thing very clear.” He stepped close, and smiling, leaned over the silent figure of Alissa so his softly spoken words would be indisputable. “If the book of First Truth fails to reach my grasp by the first of winter, I’ll put her right back where she is now. Only this time there won’t be anyone to make a path for her to follow back. You will watch her slowly waste away before your eyes.” Bailic smirked. “It will take some time for her soul to depart completely. You want to risk it?”

  Pale and uncertain, Strell’s eyes dropped to Alissa. He nodded and held out his hand, palm up. “Done and done.”

  Bailic looked on in wonder before stretching his own to cover it to seal the bargain. “Done and done, Strell,” he murmured. “You have until the beginning of winter.”

  In a daze, Bailic turned to leave. He had won, he thought. It couldn’t be this easy.

  “Bailic?” came Strell’s rough call. “You’ve forgotten something.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Spinning on a heel, he rudely crowded Strell away from the girl’s side. Stoically ignoring the charred remains of her tracings, he again slipped carefully into her mind. He would never be able to hear her thoughts—she was a commoner after all—but he could feel her small knot of emotion. “Ah,” he sighed. “There you are. Comfortable, are we?”

  Bailic blinked in surprise. There was a glimmer of awareness seeping from her, looking like the faint glow of embers from a neglected fire. She was coming out of her stupor on her own. By morning she would be back among the living without his help! This was almost unheard of. Rare was the person who could find a strong enough impetus to return after retreating this far into their unconscious. They generally wandered lost among their thoughts and dreams until their bodies ceased functioning and died. But the deal had been struck, and he would go through the motions to ensure the piper wouldn’t slip from their agreement on a technicality. Besides, he was looking forward to hurrying her along.

  Taking a slow breath, Bailic removed his thoughts from hers. Glancing at Strell, he shifted to stand directly over her slumped figure. He paused, considering her, then looked slyly at the piper through half-closed eyes. So concerned, he thought snidely. He was going to enjoy this.

  Bailic gently brushed a wisp of hair from her face, and bending low, he breathed upon her pale cheek, somehow free of soot. “Wake, my dear. We are all waiting for you,” he whispered tenderly. Then, with an incredible suddenness, he drew his hand back and swung it fiercely.

  Bailic’s open hand met Alissa’s face with an astounding crack.

  Strell lunged, crashing into Bailic. In a tangle of arms and legs they went down, rolling on the floor. There was an outraged screeching from the bird, and Bailic flung an arm over his head at the sudden smell of feathers and the beating of wings. Claws raked the air over his face. Bailic formed a field and ward about the bird. He would be done with it now.

  Then the bird was gone as Strell plucked her from the air and threw her aside. “What the Wolves are you doing?” Strell snarled, pinning him to the floor.

  “Get off,” Bailic spat, willing to let the assault go unpunished—for now. He wouldn’t chance damaging his prize, not now. And on further thought, it wouldn’t be very clever to use a ward and possibly teach the man something. Who knew how much unauthorized schooling the piper had? So Bailic contented himself with smiling coldly up at the furious man, recalling how extremely satisfying it had been to slap the girl. “What,” he mocked, “did you expect me to do? Wake her with a kiss?”

  Livid, Strell grasped Bailic’s vest and pulled him up to smash his head into the floor. Bailic crafted a ward to burn the man as deeply as his lady was. This further attack he wouldn’t allow. From the hearth came an excited twitter.

  “Strell . . .” Alissa mumbled.

  “Alissa!” Strell turned and struggled to his feet.

  Bailic’s head hit the floor with a dull thunk. His eyes narrowed, and he fought with the desire to burn the man anyway. He touched his face to find a small scratch. The bird had reached him after all. Mustering as much grace as he could, Bailic rose and angrily brushed himself off. It seemed he had been doing that a lot lately. It was becoming tiresome.

  Strell was kneeling beside the girl, stroking her forehead, whispering something encouraging. Her eyes were closed, and the imprint of Bailic’s hand showed an angry red upon her cheek. Even the bird was fussing and crooning, bobbing next to her ear.

  “Disgusting,” Ba
ilic said with a snarl, and he spun about. The piper was a fool. Throwing away his chance for immeasurable power for the maybe-affections of a common girl. It was asinine. Compassion made you weak and vulnerable. There was no strength to be found in it. That was an error he would never make again. Once, long ago, had been enough.

  Bailic looked back before he crossed the threshold. They were completely oblivious to whether he was there or not. “Fool,” he said shortly, and stomped down the hall. No one noticed him leaving.

  Somehow his victory was not as sweet as he had imagined it would be.

  34

  Safe, she thought, but from what, she couldn’t remember.

  “You will stay?” a faint memory stirred. It was a summons so old, it stretched back to before her birth. The call had been unheard for nearly twenty years, drowned out by warm breakfasts, skinned knees, and laughter. But now, alone in her thoughts, she could hear it. “Remember me?” it whispered seductively. “Stay.”

  “But what of Strell?” she thought in confusion. She couldn’t stay, even if it was warm.

  “He bides your company no longer,” the voice within her whispered. “You know this.”

  “Talon will grieve if I don’t return,” Alissa insisted.

  “Strell will care for her,” the whisper said. “Stay with me?”

  “But my mother,” Alissa said, feeling her resolve loosen. “She’s alone and waiting.”

  “Be fair to yourself,” the voice soothed. “She doesn’t expect your return.”

  “Papa,” Alissa pleaded, feeling her will to resist fade. “He gave his life for me.”

  “He returned to me before you,” the voice insisted. “Stay with me.”

  “Bailic will get my book,” she whispered, but her strength was gone.

  “Does it matter?” the dark voice said softly, and with a slow thought, Alissa agreed. The voice left her to her hazy, gray world. Alissa snuggled down amid the gentle warmth, drowsing peacefully, waiting for the fog to soothe her to an immutable slumber.

  “Wait. I will return to you,” a new voice whispered tenderly, shocking through her fog.

  Strell? she thought, startled. He was so angry with her. He wouldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t talk to her. Would he?

  Then a sharp pain rocked her. The cloying gray that enfolded her slipped reluctantly away and dissolved, leaving behind only the recollection of its fearsome security, whispering its lies of peace and contentment. Only now as its hold loosened did Alissa realize. It was Mistress Death, here in her thoughts, and as the dark maid gathered the last of her blanket back in her arms, Alissa felt her settle peacefully down to wait. Death had found a comfortable berth in Alissa’s thoughts and was content to stay her hand for a time. But Alissa knew she had been marked. Death could claim her at will. Like a middling fool, Alissa had run to her offered security. Her peace was the peace of death, her refuge one of permanent isolation. And Strell had been the one who freed her.

  He does care! Alissa thought, and her entire being seemed to resonate with the knowledge. “Strell!” she shouted, but it came out as a croaked whisper, barely audible even to her. There was a distant crash. Somewhere, Talon chittered in anger.

  “Strell?” It was better this time, but the tumult continued.

  “Strell,” Alissa tried again. She sounded terrible, she thought. What had happened? The third time was the charm, though, and she sensed a familiar presence at her shoulder.

  “I’m here,” he whispered, and Alissa felt the lightest, trembling touch on her forehead.

  “I know.” She tried to open her eyes, but they seemed dreadfully heavy. Finally she managed to pry them apart to find Strell’s relieved smile. He was covered in gray dust. Streaks of clean skin showed underneath. With a happy sigh, she smiled back. Maybe their argument was finally over. A trace of worry crossed him. “What is it?” she asked.

  The look vanished. “Nothing.” He pulled away but continued to beam down at her. Perhaps she had only imagined his unease. Talon chittered and fussed, demanding attention, and Alissa wiggled free of her blanket and tried to sit up. She frowned as her muscles failed to respond as quickly as they should. A harsh buzzing seemed to echo between her ears, fading away only to start up again at her slightest movement. “This isn’t my room,” she said. “It’s your room. At least I think it’s your room.”

  He gestured weakly. “It used to be.”

  It was an absolute shambles, reminiscent of the time her goat, Nanny, had gotten into the house when Alissa and her mother were at market. A thin film of greasy ash covered everything. Over the cloying catch of dust was a fresh smell, and Alissa looked to the window to see if it was open before she remembered the ever-present wards. Her eyes widened at the new crack running from the window to the upper corner of the room. It hadn’t been there the last time she stole a glance into Strell’s chamber. Turning back, she noticed he had on his coat, and then she saw the sack—packed and waiting on the floor.

  Alissa felt her throat tighten. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “I know.”

  His voice was gentle, carrying a soft understanding, and she looked up, relieved. “We can go as soon as I find my book,” she promised, stroking Talon to try and calm the excited bird.

  Strell’s smile froze and he looked away. An uncomfortable silence settled. Alissa glanced over the demolished room, anxious to change the subject. She wanted to rise and stretch, but she wasn’t sure her legs would obey her. She was so tired. “What happened?” she asked.

  Strell rose and went to sit on his bed. He moved with a lurching, limping motion that made Alissa ill just watching. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he said. “There was an explosion of some kind. From the looks of your room, it came through the chimney.”

  Talon bumped her head under Alissa’s fingers, and weary, she set the bird aside. Not to be dissuaded, Talon hopped back to Alissa’s lap, demanding attention. Alissa obligingly ran her fingers over the bird’s head, her thoughts going back to her experimentation before her fire. “Uh,” she said, feeling a flush of guilt. “I might have done it. I was trying to break that accursed ward.” She looked at the wreckage. “But I don’t remember any of this.” Realizing her cheek was throbbing, she touched it, wincing as it hurt all the more.

  Strell looked past her and into the fire. “I heard your cry. Then I was knocked out.” Seeing her questioning look, he glanced to where a frightening silhouette of a slumped man lay on the floor. “I woke up over there,” he said. “You were so cold when I found you. I thought you were . . .” He cut his thought short. “You were so cold,” he finished lamely. Rising, he limped to the window and stared out into the darkness. His shoulders were stiff and hunched, and Alissa would almost say he was frightened. Watching him, she began to get frightened, too. He spun around, his face hard with determination. “Bailic knows we’re looking for that book.”

  She twisted in her chair, trying to sit up. “We already knew that.”

  “Yes, but now . . .” He stopped, turning back to the window.

  “But what?”

  “Nothing,” he said shortly, his back to her.

  The fire settled with a shower of sparks. Strell cast about for his share of the tripod. Groaning under his breath, he limped across the room to get the metal rod from under the scrunched-up rug. Alissa watched him warily. Clearly he was hiding something.

  “What’s the matter, Strell?”

  He hesitated, his eyes averted. His jaw clenched, and then, as if reaching a decision, he turned and muttered, “Bailic woke you up. Brought you back. Not me. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Bailic!” she exclaimed, not liking he had seen her unawares.

  Strell poked at the fire, placing several blackened pieces upon it. “He replaced the ward on my window, too.”

  Alissa blanched. “I blew out the wards?” she said. But at least Bailic had replaced them. Maybe he liked the cold even less than she.

  A glimmer of Strell’s usual smile showed. “Y
es, and it gave me a nasty bump.” He gingerly rubbed the back of his head, holding his breath as he lowered himself to the hearthstones.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Strell painfully shifted himself closer. “Hush,” he admonished with a faint smile. “It’s a small thing. What under the open skies were you doing?” He tucked a tendril of her dratted hair behind her ear, the movement so natural and fast that Alissa had only time to blink. He turned away, and she shifted uneasily, disguising the motion as sitting up straighter.

  “Well,” she said as she pulled her blanket tight, “I provoked Useless’s ward and captured some of its strength.” Alissa couldn’t help her proud smile. It had been so pretty, casting shadows in the darkness of her fire-lit room. “I was going to slowly draw its strength away. Then somehow I changed it, bringing it from my thoughts to reality. I saw it, Strell! Right in front of me! I could’ve touched it.” For a moment, she lost herself in the remembered glories of its existence.

  “Then I let it go,” she continued. “I thought it was separated from my source. I must have burned myself. I don’t remember much after that.” She busied her fingers with Talon, avoiding his eyes. “Until you freed me.”

  Strell stiffened. Taking his leg in his hands, he carefully shifted his foot. “I told you. I didn’t bring you back. Bailic did.”

  “No,” she argued softly, “you brought me back. You asked me to wait. That you would return.” She didn’t care what he said. Strell had given her the will to return; he was the one who deserved her thanks.

  Strell looked up. All his ire was gone, replaced by a look so tender and hopeful, it almost hurt to see it, glowing there on his face. His eyes dropped, and he turned away as if embarrassed. “Look, Alissa,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry about everything. I know you said you’d give anything for that fabric, but I should have asked about your salve.” His words began to spill from him in an unaccustomed rush of confession. “I meant to tell you sooner, but I just kept putting it off, probably because I knew you’d be angry, but Bailic didn’t want anything of mine. I only added it to the pile to make it look bigger, and when I did tell you, you got mad. I didn’t know it meant that much to you until you threw my chair out of your room. I’m really sorry. If I had known the salve was that important to you, I would have asked.” He hesitated. “Or told you sooner.”