Orly was something of a bastard, but at least he was the kind of bastard who paid. The problem with working with Orly is that I never knew whether I was taking the job he actually laid out for me. This should have been a straightforward assignment, and one that I would gladly participate in, but wasn’t that the reason Orly would offer it to me? He knew my feelings about courtesans and he’d already seen what lengths I would go to when enraged.
Damn. Maybe I’d gotten too predictable. Isander would be disappointed to learn that his lessons hadn’t stuck. The five years I’d spent with him mentoring me, teaching me to become the assassin I was, had taught me how to twist the knowledge the healer Jeilla had provided into a new way of using those gifts, making me skilled and deadly.
“Alright, Carth. I was told that you were a slaver. And you tell me that’s not the case. Prove to me that you’re not. Then maybe I’ll share with you what you want to know.”
I doubted that anything she would tell me would convince me to reveal that Orly had hired me. Doing that only put me into a different kind of danger. Orly could be particular about the privacy he expected of those working for him. I didn’t blame him for wanting to preserve the anonymity. That was the reason he’d hired me, after all.
Carth grunted and turned to face me. “You say slaver as if you understand the term,” she said. “You speak of courtesans as if you understand. Come, Galen of Elaeavn, and I will show you what you wish to see.”
She stalked toward the far door, not waiting to see if I would follow. It was a different door than the one we had entered through, and I glanced back, wondering if I really should follow. There was no telling what going with Carth would commit me to doing, and I didn’t really have any interest in getting drawn into some mysterious task. I’d already been pulled in that way enough times before.
That was part of the reason I’d come to Eban. The city should be simple. There was enough crime to keep me busy, and enough people who needed killing to make my skills worthwhile.
There was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to hit Carth with one of my coxberry darts, knock her out long enough to get her to Orly, and then let him deal with whatever the consequences might be. With as much coin as Orly offered, I would be set for months. Long enough to remain selective with my jobs. Another part of me knew that I couldn’t. Not without knowing why Orly wanted her. With him, I had to know.
I jumped to my feet and followed her.
The door led into a long and darkened hall. Without my Sight, I doubt I would have been able to see very far. I wondered how Carth managed to move so easily through here. Walls of stone pressed around, and it appeared that the hall had been tunneled out of the ground, rather than built. The air had a damp earth scent to it, but it mixed with something like the scent of onderbrin flower, a bitter herb that grew far outside the city. Onderbrin had certain uses too, mostly for healing.
Carth glanced back at me, her eyes narrowing as she did. In spite of the darkness, she saw me clearly.
I nearly stumbled.
What was I missing with her? What secret ability did she possess that I didn’t know? Already, I’d learned of strength. And she clearly had skill with her knives. Could she be Sighted? Her dark eyes were not those of someone from Elaeavn, but I’d seen stranger things in my days, enough to know that the Great Watcher didn’t choose only Elaeavn to bestow gifts upon.
Carth opened a small door recessed in the stone and waited. Light spilled out from the other side, enough that I wouldn’t need to be Sighted to clearly see. She hesitated and then stepped through the door and down a step.
I paused at the door, forced to peer down into the room. The angle made it difficult for me to clearly see. The visible floor was hard-packed earth, but there was nothing else. Steady orange light glowed. I paused to listen but heard nothing moving.
Where was Carth taking me?
My mind raced with possibilities. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had attempted to negate the advantage my Sight provided, but Carth had already managed to do that using the fog hanging over the city tonight. Was this her way of attacking me without giving me a chance to resist?
What did I really know about Carth? Not a damn thing, I decided.
Then there was the fact that she recognized my name. It was well-enough known in Eban that I was respected—feared, even—and more than one up-and-coming assassin had thought to make a name for themselves by taking me on.
Especially in the aftermath of what had happened with Davin. When I’d disposed of the thief-master—another time someone had attempted to use me, and to reacquire a lost courtesan—a power struggle had briefly emerged in the city. Orly had quashed that as quickly as I’d ever seen, fully prepared to take on the widening rule of the dark side of Eban, but there were a few who had wanted to make more of a name for themselves. Some thought to impress Orly, thinking that they could buy favor with him by disposing of me. Those were the easy ones to dissuade, especially since Orly found me useful. I wondered how much difficulty I would have if that was no longer the case. The harder ones to scare away were those who thought to impress the remaining thief-masters. There were many I hadn’t established myself with yet, leaving me with little option but to leave those would-be assassins either dead or rendered useless.
Could Carth simply be another assassin thinking to make a name for herself in Eban? If that was the case, then there would be reason for her to want to prove herself against me. It would make her eminently more hirable, but I didn’t have that sense from her. She was skilled, but she didn’t strike me as an assassin.
Then what? And why would Orly want her brought to him?
I had to know.
I jumped down the two steps, pulling a pair of darts out of my pocket as I did, readying to throw them if needed.
Carth lounged against a wall, watching me with an amused expression. “You took your time, Galen of Elaeavn.”
I surveyed the room again before answering. It was long and narrow, with a low-hanging ceiling nearly brushing my head. Like most of my kind, I was tall, the height—like my eyes—a marker of my people, so I ducked, keeping my neck bent. It placed me at a disadvantage. Carth had no such difficulty, only coming up to the level of my chin.
Sconces were inset into the carved-out walls. Beams crossed the ceiling for support, with thick posts spaced throughout. Rows of cots lined the room, and many of them were occupied by people, mostly women, but a few children. The scent of onderbrin came strongly from this room.
A few women moved between the cots, some carrying buckets or towels or trays topped with vials. There were no men.
I stepped further into the room, the training I’d long ago received from the healer Jeilla pulling me forward. I stopped at the first cot. A young woman lay there, her face bruised and battered, a long, festering cut running along the side of her neck. A simple blanket kept her covered, but I could still see bloodstains over her legs and groin. She alternated between moans and shivers.
“What is this?” I asked Carth without looking over my shoulder, but even as I did, I knew what I was seeing. This was a place of healing, but for who? Who were these people? And why hide it here, buried beneath the city like a tomb?
It came to me then. These were the women I’d heard about. Courtesans attacked and left for dead. But why would Carth lead me here? And why would Orly care?
Carth stopped at my shoulder and stared down at the woman, her eyes softening as she did. “This is why I come to your city, Galen of Elaeavn.”
My hand touched the sick woman’s forehead and felt the fever radiating from her. I ran my fingers around the outside of the wound, thinking that with better supplies, there was more that could be done with it, but already the infection setting in had spread. It was clear from the streaks of red running toward her face and down her neck that even with the right compounds, this woman wouldn’t survive. Jeilla might have managed more—she had a talent for healing, something that I suspected came from the Gre
at Watcher himself—but the lessons I’d learned would not.
Curiosity forced me to peel back the sheet, and immediately I wished I hadn’t. She was naked beneath the sheet, and a maze of bruises, each of different ages, stained her body. Another long gash, much like the one on her neck, ran along her right thigh. A foul odor emanated from this. It was more infected than the neck.
“It would be kinder to provide her with comfort,” I said. “Poppy. Orphum. Either in enough quantity would end her suffering.”
Carth stepped in front of me and pulled my hand away, letting the sheet drop back. “You would sacrifice them?” she asked.
“Not sacrifice,” I said softly. Leaving the woman like this only added to her torment. Sometimes it was simpler—and more humane—to use a little terad, let the toxin run through the veins, the breathing to stop. Other times, it was necessary. In this case, it seemed it might be both. “Trust me when I say that I’ve seen healing. There is nothing that can be done here.”
“Then it is a good thing you are not the healer, Galen of Elaeavn.”
I grunted and looked away. “Not any more,” I said.
I made my way through the room, pausing at another bed. This was another woman, though older. Bruises around her eyes told me she’d been beaten many times before. Her hair was dark, stained a dark brown, and her lips were stained with the remnants of paint. Unlike the other woman, she at least appeared to rest comfortably.
At another cot, I found a young boy. Probably no older than ten. It was about the same age I’d begun learning from Jeilla, about the same age that my mother was killed. Had Jeilla not taken me in, I might not have survived on the streets. Even in Elaeavn, the streets could be dangerous, especially near the docks. The Elvraeth like to think the city they run is a special place, the kind of place where nothing could happen without their approval and the oversight of the Great Watcher, but I’d lived there long enough to know that the Great Watcher didn’t really care what happened in Elaeavn, just like he didn’t really care what happened in Eban.
The boy on the cot was awake and staring up at me. His eyes were lined, with dark rings around them sagging into his thin cheeks, making him appear gaunt. He wore a tattered shirt and the angle of his left arm made it clear that his collarbone had been broken. The fracture overlapped, pushing up against the skin, straining to press through. I’d seen fractures like this before, but they required significant force.
“This needs to be set,” I said to Carth.
She had followed me through the room, stopping next to the cot and eyeing the boy. “You think you know more than our healers now?” she asked.
I grunted. “If your healers think that binding his shoulder like this is healing, then yes.”
I leaned toward the boy and he started to withdraw. He, like the women around him, had known more violence than he should, not that anyone should truly know violence. It had been forced upon me until I had eventually embraced it.
“Easy,” I said, trying to speak in a calming voice. “I want to help.”
“Not help,” the boy said. His voice was high-pitched and thin, the kind of voice that told me he would always be anxious.
I glanced back at Carth to find her watching me. “Let me help him,” I said. There might not be anything I could do for any of the others—at least not without a significant supply of herbs and healing medicines—but I could align this boy’s shoulder. “If nothing is done, he might not be able to use his arm again.” He was old enough that it still might not heal well, not if he didn’t have appropriate care for it. The healers around here might be as skilled as Carth claimed, but if they couldn’t manage a fracture, then the boy would never recover the function he’d lost.
Carth nodded to me. “What do you need?”
I eyed the boy for a moment. It would be easier to help him were he asleep. “You have orphum?” I asked. Seeing the way the last woman had rested soundly, I suspected they at least had some supply. Carth nodded. “I need five grains of orphum, bandages, and someone to hold the boy.”
A woman standing behind Carth frowned at me. She wore a plain dress and her face was streaked with dried blood. From what I could tell, none of it was hers. Deep brown eyes were drawn and weary. “Five grains is too much for Owen,” she said. “He is too sickly.”
I flickered my gaze from Carth to the healer standing behind her. “Perhaps he is sickly. Five grains is for sedation, not comfort. I would have him asleep for what must be done.”
The healer eyed the boy and stepped up to his head. She ran her fingers over his forehead and pushed his mop of brown hair back. The boy didn’t withdraw from her as he had with me. “It is too dangerous to manipulate the bone. Already it threatens to pierce the skin. If that happens, there is nothing that we can do that will prevent infection from setting in.”
She had knowledge, at least. Open wounds with bone exposed were among the nastiest to heal. I’d seen them enough times, and more since working with Isander, to know that once the bone poked through the skin, infection always set in. Even with the right combination of medicines, there wasn’t much that could be done to stop the spread of infection if that happened.
“I have no intention of piercing the skin,” I said. “And if nothing is done, then this boy will suffer needlessly. Do you wish for him to never fully regain the use of his arm?”
She continued to stare at the boy. As she did, I realized that they shared the same deep-set eyes, and the same color of hair.
“He is yours?” I asked.
The healer glanced up at me before looking to Carth for direction. When Carth nodded slightly, the healer turned back to me and took a deep breath. “He is mine,” she said.
I began to understand her hesitance. It was often hardest healing those you cared about. Feelings slipped into the way, the same as they did attempting to heal those you despised. I had experience in both. “Then let me help him.”
The healer scanned me with her eyes, taking in my heavy cloak, the pouch hanging from my waist, even the sword I wore. She was observant, as the most skilled healers often were. Then she met my eyes. She didn’t look away as many did, fearful of the dark green they saw. Many feared those from Elaeavn, feared risking doing or saying anything that might upset us. The healer simply stared at me.
“You are an assassin,” she said.
The simple way that she said it troubled me. Not only had Carth known who I was, but this healer simply accepted the fact that I was an assassin, without so much as blinking. More than ever, I wanted to know what I had fallen into. These were not slaves or courtesans cowering in fear. These were proud and confident women.
“I am an assassin. I have not always been one.”
The healer pursed her lips as she watched me. “Why have you come here, assassin?” she asked.
My mouth quirked in a slight smile. “Ask her,” I said, nodding to Carth. “Now, if you intend to allow me to help, then help. I can help this boy. As I said. Five grains of orphum. Bandages. Now.”
The healer watched me another moment and then nodded, hurrying off to a part of the room blocked by a pair of posts.
“Why did you bring me here, Carth?” I asked.
“You come, making claims of slavers and courtesans. If you were hired to bring me to this, you will fail.”
My eyes drifted from bed to bed, each occupied cot with another person. The women were all injured, and from what I could tell without examining them thoroughly, most had been beaten. A few had more serious injuries; some, like the woman near the front of the room, appeared near death. Others simply seemed as if they rested. More than a few had brightly stained lips or smudges of paint along their faces.
Damn Orly for this assignment. What had he hoped to accomplish using Carth? What did he think getting her in front of him would do? There had to be some reason, something he thought he could accomplish, but I couldn’t think of anything. “You came here to rescue, didn’t you?”
“There are woman here who
suffer,” Carth said.
I noted the faint scar on her jawline again. Had Carth once been forced to serve? It wasn’t a question I was willing to ask, but it would explain why she was here, and perhaps then I could understand what she intended.
“And you think you can simply rescue all these women?” I asked.
“These, and others,” she said.
“There will be more,” I remarked. “There are always more in Eban.” Even if she saved the women already in the city, within a few weeks, there would be more. And then the security would increase, making it even harder for them, reducing their freedoms even more than they were.
Her eyes tightened. “Perhaps, but whoever has this particular… interest… will not be.”
“You think to stop the slavers?”
She answered with a single nod and I shook my head.
There was no doubting that Carth was talented. Quick and strong and clearly skilled with her knives, but the thief-masters who controlled the flow of courtesans into the city had much to lose if that stream dried up. Not only money, but there would be other problems. Control would be lost. It was hard to control a man if the thing that controlled him was gone. The thief-masters would send an army to stop her. It was probably why Orly had started with me.
The healer returned, carrying a tray with the orphum. She had a bundle of bandages tucked under her arm. She glanced from Carth to me and then set the tray down. “Do you still wish to attempt this, assassin?” she asked.
I nodded. Assassin was better than Galen of Elaeavn, a claim that, since my exile, I could no longer make. “Let’s begin.”
Chapter 3
After setting the boy’s shoulder, I left Carth. She hadn’t made any attempt to restrain me, and even escorted me to the front of the building before leaving me. A pair of women sat on either side of the door, one holding a crossbow and the other a pair of knives, each making it clear that I would find it difficult to enter without permission.
A Game of Tsatsun (The Binders Game Book 1) Page 2
