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by Patricia Reding

  The innkeeper chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jerrett interrupted. “Celestine hasn’t aged a bit since—”

  “Since you last saw her?” Ezra interrupted. “Yes, that’s right. Remember how you were all here for the festival that year? Celestine met Reigna and Eden then. Well, met them again, I guess you’d say. She remembered them from when they were infants, but she came to know of their real identity, during that visit. Quite on her own, she swore a life oath to protect them. Now what most people don’t know is that after Mara and Dixon visited here years ago, when the twins were just newborns, Celestine had decided to undergo Oathtaker training herself. She left here for a time to do so, then returned, but she’s never had her own charge. In any case, we were married a short time later.”

  “An oath!” Jerrett exclaimed. “Did she know it would—”

  “Halt her aging? No, she didn’t. It was quite spontaneous, I assure you. Anyway, she looks as young as she did on that day.”

  “You’re a lucky man,” Jerrett said, grinning.

  “Indeed.”

  Ezra looked out at the pub’s visitors and scowled when he saw two men bickering. Then, catching the eye of a man who stood watching the crowd, he, almost imperceptibly, lifted his chin and tilted his head toward the potential trouble.

  The man with whom he communicated went to the table where the two visitors sat, arguing loudly, just as they stood in unison. Ezra’s representative cautioned them against any fisticuffs or scuffling. He’d remove them both immediately and not allow them back unless or until the innkeeper granted them the right to return, he told them.

  Slowly one, then the other, sat back down. Moments later, they laughed together, the anger of the moment dissipated.

  “So, then,” Ezra said, turning his attention back to his guests, “what brings you here?”

  “Ahhhh, well first, have you seen Mara and Dixon by any chance?” Marshall asked.

  “Seen them? You mean lately?”

  Nodding, Marshall leaned back as a barmaid approached the table. She placed three foaming ales on the table before the men. He picked up the mug nearest himself, then took a swallow. “Ahhhh, good brew.”

  “Yes,” Ezra agreed. He lifted his drink and looked over the edge of his mug at his guests. “Were they supposed to have stopped here?”

  “Oh, no, not necessarily.”

  “But they’re not at the compound.”

  “No,” Jerrett said. “Mara had a . . . an accident.”

  “An accident? Is she all right?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, she’s fine. She just decided she needed a little time away and Dixon agreed it would be a good idea.”

  “Time away?”

  “That’s right,” Jerrett said. “We didn’t necessarily think they’d stop this way, but thought it might be possible.”

  “No, I haven’t seen them. Now what brings you two to the City of Light?”

  Marshall ran his hand through his hair. “We’ve been having some trouble at the compound. We thought we’d stop here on our way to trying to find some answers.”

  “Trouble that led to Mara’s . . . accident?”

  “That’s right,” Jerrett said. “The compound has been under regular and consistent attack.”

  “Oh?”

  Celestine neared the table. She watched Ezra until she caught his eye. When he nodded at her and motioned her nearer, she approached. She placed a hand on the back of his chair, then leaned in and whispered in his ear.

  “He’s back?” the innkeeper asked, turning her way.

  She nodded, glanced quickly at their newest guests, then turned her attention back to Ezra. “He’s—” She blinked rapidly as her eyes darted toward the back of the room.

  “In the back?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

  She nodded but didn’t move. “He’s . . . in bad shape.”

  “Is Kegan with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Let him get started, and I’ll be there soon.”

  “I’ll let him know.” She kissed the top of the innkeeper’s head, then walked away.

  “Everything all right?” Marshall asked.

  Ezra was silent for a minute. “I think so.” He leaned in and took a drink. “I had a man out in the field who just returned, apparently in bad shape.”

  Marshall also leaned forward, mimicking the innkeeper’s body language. “Don’t let us keep you. We can catch up later. Jerrett and I aren’t on a firm schedule.”

  “No. My man, Kegan, is a healer. He’s with Joseph now.” The innkeeper took another drink. “I’ll let him work with him for a time before I join them, though I suppose I shouldn’t be too long in the event he needs help with the healing.”

  The sounds of raucous laughter interrupted the men’s conversation. One by one, they turned their attention to the source of the sound, then grinned at a young man acting out a mime to the delight of the inn’s customers.

  Marshall was the first to break the spell the entertainer had on them all. “So,” he said, turning back to business, “as we were saying, there’s been trouble at the compound.”

  “Right,” Ezra said. “It’s been under siege. But how can that be? And what about the twins? Oh, never mind,” he waved his hand, “they’re with Mara and Dixon, of course.”

  “No, they’re not,” Jerrett said.

  The innkeeper sat up straighter. “Not with them?”

  “Mara thought they’d be fine at the compound.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Lucy would agree,” Marshall said. “She is not pleased. But Dixon wouldn’t hear her complaints. He insisted Mara should get away and—”

  “What happened to her anyway?”

  Jerrett told the innkeeper about Mara’s fall and injuries.

  “But you have a number of healers at the compound.”

  “That’s right,” Marshall said. He explained how Mara’s shoulder wound was healed right after the battle, and how her other injuries were seen to when the Oathtakers returned to the compound.

  “And then, shortly afterward—out of nowhere it seemed—she said she wanted to go to her old home to visit,” Jerrett added.

  “Hmmm.”

  “Dixon insisted she should be allowed to do so, and that he’d accompany her,” Marshall said.

  “Hmmm,” the innkeeper repeated. “Rather odd, isn’t it? For her to leave her charges?”

  “Yes, although she has left them from time to time over the years to attend Council meetings here in the City.”

  “Well, I trust they know what they’re doing,” Ezra said. “Now, who do you suppose is behind the breaks into the compound?”

  “That’s what we’re hoping to find out,” Jerrett said.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We haven’t been able to get any specific information, but we have reason to believe the intruders received their directions from someone inside Chiran.”

  “Chiran!”

  “That’s right.”

  The innkeeper nodded slowly, looking from one of his guests to the other. “I think maybe the two of you should drink up and then join me to go see my man, Joseph.”

  Marshall’s brow dropped. “Why’s that?”

  “Because he just returned from there.”

  The innkeeper led his guests down a hallway to a back room. When he neared a door that led to the sole quarters situated there, a young guard stationed outside nodded at him, then opened the door for the three men.

  The smell of singed hair greeted them as they strode into the room. Ezra ushered his guests in, then closed the door behind.

  On a cot to one side, a young man reclined. Burns marred one side of his face, along with peeled blisters. Dried blood spotted his chapped and swollen lips. More cuts and bruises peeked through his dark hair, shorn tight to his head. Fire had singed it, and his beard. Breathing short and labored,
the man looked near death. Before him sat another man whose hands rested on the patient’s chest.

  “Kegan,” Ezra said in quiet greeting.

  The healer looked up, his expression grim. He nodded, then glanced at Marshall and Jerrett.

  After quickly introducing his visitors, the innkeeper turned his attention to the wounded man. “Goodness,” he muttered, “he’s barely recognizable.”

  “He took quite a beating,” the healer muttered. “I’m concentrating on his internal injuries first.”

  “Of course. What are you finding?”

  Kegan held his hand up to ward off further interruption. Several long minutes passed in silence.

  Suddenly, Joseph took in a deep breath.

  Removing his hands from the man’s chest, Kegan turned back to his guests. “Sorry about that. His lungs were . . . heavy, likely from taking in a great deal of smoke . . . But at least he’s breathing better now.”

  “Has he spoken at all yet?” Ezra asked.

  “No. He rode into the stables nearly unconscious. I think his mount knew better where the two of them were headed than he did.”

  The innkeeper grabbed a nearby chair and set it down, bedside. He sat, then leaned in. “Is he likely to regain consciousness any time soon?”

  “Now that he’s breathing better, he may. I ran a thorough diagnostic. He has no broken bones or other internal injuries. But I should get started on these burns now.”

  “Let me. You look exhausted.”

  “Lung injuries do take a lot of energy.”

  “Go. Get some rest. I’ll take it from here.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. There’s not much left here, and I’d like to be able to speak with him as soon as possible.”

  “All right. Let me know if you need anything more.” Kegan made his way to the door. “Oh,” he said, turning back. He pulled something from his pocket. “Joseph carried this. I don’t know what it is.” He dropped an object into Ezra’s hand.

  The innkeeper studied it for a moment before turning to his guests. “Any idea?”

  Both Marshall and Jerrett examined it and then shrugged before returning the item to Ezra, who placed it on the bedside table.

  “I’ll be right with you,” he said to them, then turned his attention to Joseph. He dunked a cloth in a basin of water sitting on the table. After wringing it out, he gently washed away dirt and dried blood from his face. When through, he placed his hands on the sides of his patient’s head. He closed his eyes, concentrating.

  Within moments, Joseph’s burns started healing. The size of the blisters reduced and then disappeared entirely. His blackened skin gradually turned red, then to a light pink. Moments later, the abrasions on his head sealed over with fine lines of scar tissue, and his bruised and swollen lips returned to their normal shape and size.

  After removing his hands, the innkeeper examined his work. Satisfied, he nodded. “Joseph?” he called softly.

  The man, startled, opened his fear-filled eyes, and sat up.

  “Careful, now,” Ezra said, gently pushing him back. “Easy does it. You’re all right now.”

  Slowly, he relaxed. The fire in his eyes subsided. “I made it?”

  Ezra grinned. “Do I look like an after-spirit?”

  The man gazed into his eyes. His attempt at a grin looked more like a wince. “I made it.”

  “Yes. It appears you’ve had quite the journey.”

  “To Sinespe, I think.”

  “No,” Ezra said, chuckling, “you’re still in the land of the living. Can you talk now?”

  “I’m much better now, yes. Thank you.”

  “You’ll have to thank Kegan. He did the lion’s share of the healing here. I just gave you back your pretty face.”

  The man smirked, then grimaced in residual pain. “Thanks. I’d hate to disappoint the ladies.”

  The innkeeper laughed. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Joseph squeezed his eyes shut. When he re-opened them, his gaze rested on Jerrett. His brow furrowed as his eyes slowly slid down the Oathtaker’s form, stopping momentarily to concentrate on the man’s tattoos. He turned his attention back to Ezra.

  “It’s all right,” the innkeeper said.

  Once again, Joseph’s focus rested on Jerrett’s body art. He nearly flinched when he tensed his muscles.

  Jerrett followed his gaze. “Oh, don’t mind these,” he said. “They’re left over from my wilder days.”

  “He’s all right,” Ezra said to Joseph. “He’s one of us.”

  “One of us?”

  “An Oathtaker.”

  “Sorry,” Joseph said. “It’s just that . . . Well, where I’ve been, those markings are a bit too common.”

  “Oh?” Jerrett asked.

  “Most Chiranian soldiers cover their bodies in such tattoos.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember seeing some very like these. Of course, that was years ago.”

  “Maybe we should do this later,” the innkeeper said. “I suppose, in truth, you should get some rest.”

  “No, I’m . . . all right.” Joseph breathed in deeply. “I made it into the guard, but there was a . . . misunderstanding . . . Dear Creovita, but they are heathens . . . thugs. I barely made it out. And when I did, I was followed. I couldn’t shake them.” He broke out into a dry coughing spell.

  “You sure you’re all right to talk now?”

  Joseph waved his hand as he caught his breath. “Fine. I’m fine.” He looked at the innkeeper. “One night I stopped at a wayfarer’s cabin. I suppose I shouldn’t have used it for shelter. It was too obvious, I guess. But the weather had turned sour and . . .” He coughed again. “Well, they caught up with me—beat me mercilessly. Then they threw me into the hut, barricaded the door, and started it on fire. Fortunately they left me there and rode off, and thankfully, I quickly regained consciousness. I broke the ceiling vent open far enough to pull myself through, but not until after . . . Well, you saw . . .”

  “Those were some serious burns.”

  “Yes. Anyway, I jumped into the saddle, turned my mount in the general direction, and then I passed out. I only regained consciousness a couple times for a minute or so each. I guess my mount got me here safely.”

  Ezra picked up the object that Kegan had handed to him earlier. It was a short metal item that looked like a stick with one pointed end. He turned it in his fingers. “What’s this?” he asked. “It looks dangerous.”

  Joseph jolted upright. “Careful with that!” he exclaimed, then broke out coughing again.

  The innkeeper gently pressed him back. “You should rest. We’ll finish this up later.”

  “No, I’m all right. But that thing is a weapon. A magic weapon, I guess you’d say.”

  Ezra’s brow furrowed as he turned his attention back to the object. He rolled it between his fingers. “Oh?”

  “It holds a powerful poison, a sort of magic poison, that is released if it punctures something.”

  “You mean something like someone’s skin?” Marshall asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “How powerful is the poison?” Ezra asked.

  “You’d be dead in seconds.”

  “Where’d it come from?”

  “Every Chiranian soldier receives one along with his uniform and weaponry. The soldiers are ordered to use the poison on themselves if they’re captured and find themselves unable to escape without the risk of disclosing important information.”

  “Hmmm. So . . . you infiltrated successfully, anyway.”

  “Yes, but something gave me away.”

  “What was that?” Jerrett asked.

  Joseph shook his head. “It was stupid really. I was assigned to Mortal Cark’s protection in Darth.”

  “Wait,” the innkeeper said, his hand raised. “Darth is a city?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You said Mortal Cark?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s an odd name
.”

  “It’s not a name. Zarek recently adopted it as a title, a form of address, for use in Chiran. He chose ‘Mortal’ to serve as a constant reminder that the people are just that—mortal.”

  “Hmmm,” the innkeeper grunted. “And this Cark is someone important in Darth?”

  Joseph coughed. “That’s right. Like a mayor, I suppose you’d say, but in charge of the guard there.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, his wife, Chaya—”

  Ezra’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “You didn’t—”

  “No,” Joseph said, shaking his head, “it was nothing like that. One day when I delivered a message to Cark, Chaya caught up with me in the vestibule of his home. She begged me for that weapon.” He pointed to the item the innkeeper held. “It’s called a ‘channel’ because the poison is held in a tube inside.

  “She was a wreck. I knew Cark beat her mercilessly. I’d heard her screaming from time to time when I guarded his home. But of course, there was no way I could step in without— Well, you know, without giving away that I was different from the others who simply laughed when they overheard her cries.” He closed his eyes. “I thought she wanted the weapon to use it on him.”

  “So you said ‘no?’” Marshall asked.

  “No. I would have given it to her, even though I’d have been discovered for doing so. The leaders check the soldiers’ gear regularly. In the event a channel is used to kill someone, they require that every soldier account for his own weapon. I understand that through some sort of magic, they’re able to tell what man’s weapon was used. Anyway, I was going to give it to her and worry about the results later, but before I could even reach for it, she told me that she wanted it to take her own life. That was just—” Joseph shook his head. “It just seemed wrong for her to be the one to die.” His eyes met Ezra’s, begging understanding.

  The innkeeper nodded. “Go on.”

  “I hesitated, and in that moment Cark arrived. He surmised in a second that his wife had spoken to me. Before I could say anything, he ordered my arrest.” Joseph stopped to cough. “So, I ran,” he finally added.

  “I see.”

  “I got out of there as quickly as I could.” He closed his eyes. “But if I could do it again . . . I think I might first use the channel on Cark myself.”