“But,” said the guard on the left, “we…”
“Not to worry,” said Rachaelis, voice quiet. “Harrow won’t be in any condition to punish you once we’re finished with him.”
The guards took off running. Luthair sniggered. Rachaelis stepped forward and flung out her hands. Azure astralfire lashed out, shattered the door with a resounding crack, fragments raining into the warehouse. Corthain drew his gray sword and strode through the wreckage, Rachaelis hurrying after.
“What is this?” she heard Harrow roar. “Guards! Kill the intruder! Kill…wait. You!”
Harrow stood by his couch, his sweaty face flushed. His guards advanced on Corthain, swords at the ready, while the half-naked slave women cowered in the corners. Rachaelis stepped past Corthain, blue astralfire crackling around her fingers, and glared at Harrow.
His face drained of all color.
“You’re an Adept?” he whispered. “No, that…that cannot be, Kalarien was exiled, no way would he work with an Adept…”
The only sound was the angry sizzle of the astralfire in Rachaelis's grasp.
“I am an Adept,” she said, “and you lied to me and tried to kill me.”
As one the guards flung down their weapons and ran for the doors, followed by the terrified slave women. Harrow slumped back on to the couch, face working, his fingers groping under the cushions.
“Don’t try it,” said Corthain. “I remember that clever little crossbow you kept in your tent. The one with the poisoned quarrels, right? I wonder if it found its way under your couch cushions.”
Harrow’s hand froze.
“That’s good,” said Corthain. “Hands where we can see them, please, and no sudden movements. The Adept is upset, and you know how Adepts get when they are upset.”
Rachaelis scowled, but given what she had seen some of the Magisters do to their slaves, she could hardly argue.
“What…what is the meaning of this?” said Harrow, licking his lips. “I’ve done nothing to you, I even helped you, I told you about the Jurgur prophet and his meetings…”
“You led us into a trap,” said Corthain. “We arrived at Sunken Court to find a dozen Jurgurs and an apprentice blood shaman waiting for us.”
“That’s hardly my fault,” said Harrow. “I warned you that the ruins were dangerous, did I not? You went looking for trouble with the Jurgurs and you found it!”
“They told us,” said Corthain, “that you warned them.”
Harrow flinched.
“I think,” said Corthain, “that you find yourself caught in a vice. You have a good thing going here, selling cheap Jurgur slaves to the nobles and to the Conclave. But then this blood shaman arrived, and wasn’t too pleased to find you enslaving his people. The smart thing to do would have been to warn the Conclave, but there was every chance the blood shaman would kill you first. So you’ve cooperated with the blood shaman. You figured that the Conclave would kill him sooner or later, and you could come out unscathed. Could probably even enslave some of his followers.”
Harrow gave a jerky nod, sweat dripping down his face.
Rachaelis cast a quick glance at Corthain. He was good at this.
“Well, it’s fallen apart,” said Corthain. “You tried to kill an Adept, Harrow. There’s no way the Conclave is going to let that pass. And what’s more, this particular Adept happens to find you offensive. Doesn’t like slave traders very much.”
“If you’re going to kill me,” said Harrow, “then stop with the damn speech and get on with it already.”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Rachaelis.
“No,” said Corthain, “you’re going to give a speech, Harrow. You’re going to tell us everything you know.”
He expected Harrow to barter, or to snarl defiance.
Instead, Harrow started to giggle. A wheezing, croaking, whimpering giggle. Corthain had heard men laugh like that before, usually after their minds had broken.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?” said Corthain.
“The blood shaman is stronger than the Adepts,” said Harrow. “Stronger than the Conclave. You don’t know the kind of power he has. The demons do as he commands. I thought…I thought I could double-cross him. I’ve always been able to double-cross anyone.” Harrow began to sob, shaking like a child. “But he…but he reached into my mind, he put a spell on me…I can’t…I can’t talk about it…”
“A spell?” said Rachaelis. “If he put a spell over you, I can break it.”
“You can?” said Harrow. “I…I…”
His eyes bulged. Then his mouth fell open, and he began to scream. The sudden smell of burning flesh filled the room. Harrow screamed again, fell to the floor, and flopped like a dying fish. Smoke rose from his collars and sleeve, and the front of his sweat-damp white robe began to smolder.
Then his robe fell open, and Rachaelis saw a rune of blood-colored light upon Harrow’s chest, burning its way through skin and fat and muscle.
“What…” said Corthain, reaching for Harrow.
“No!” said Rachaelis. “Don’t touch him!”
She summoned silver astralfire and flung it against Harrow’s chest. The silver flames lashed and snarled against the blood rune. The blood spell was strong, hideously strong, and for an awful moment Rachaelis thought it would backlash through her. She redoubled her will, pouring more power into the astralfire. There was a thunderclap and a flash of silver light. The effort rocked her back on her heels, but the blazing rune vanished.
But it had burned a hole three inches deep into Harrow's chest.
“Mercy of the Divine, that stinks,” muttered Luthair.
“What was that?” said Corthain.
“A blood spell,” said Rachaelis. “A strong one.”
“And it must have been set to activate if Harrow ever considered betraying the blood shaman,” said Corthain.
Rachaelis nodded.
“A nasty way to die,” said Corthain. “He brought his fate upon himself…but a nasty way to die.”
Rachaelis nodded again. But she thought of the dead-eyed slave women in their orange kilts, and found it hard to muster any sympathy.
“And a dead end, as well,” said Rachaelis. “He said there’s a powerful Jurgur blood shaman in the city, but we already knew that. And any secrets he knew died with him.”
“Couldn’t you…er, speak with his corpse?” said Luthair. “I’ve heard Adepts can do that. Or call up his ghost and interrogate it?”
Rachaelis gave a sharp shake of her head. “No. Necromancy is one of the forbidden arts. The Adepts kill anyone they catch practicing it.”
“And a man has other ways of giving up his secrets,” said Corthain. “Come. We should be gone before the Swords realize that something is amiss here.”
He led them through the door the guards had used to flee. Beyond was a large warehouse, lined with slave pens. The doors had been opened, and all of Harrow’s inventory had taken flight. No doubt one of the slave women had opened the pens on her way out of the building. Rachaelis felt a surge of satisfaction at the thought.
A desk sat against one wall, a pair of leather-bound books on its top. Corthain flipped through both books, nodded, and took them. Then he checked the drawers. He dismissed the first three drawers, but the fourth was locked.
“Luthair,” he said, but Rachaelis stepped forward.
“Allow me,” she said, and gestured. Her mind became a fist, and she lashed it against the drawer. The wood shattered with a loud crack, and the drawer slid open. Inside lay a stack of letters and sealed scrolls.
“Handy,” said Luthair. He sighed. “Just think of the master thief I could have become if I could open locks by thinking about it.”
Corthain scooped up the documents and tucked them under one arm. “Let’s go.”
###
An hour later they sat in their room at the Red Water Inn, sifting through Harrow’s business records by the light of
a spelllamp.
“It seems that Harrow was quite the industrious businessman,” said Thalia. “In the last three years he’s moved over five thousand slaves, selling them both here in Araspan and in the markets of Khauldun.” She smiled at Rachaelis. “You did well, taking him down.”
“Why didn’t the College Liberia move against him before now?” said Rachaelis.
Thalia sighed. “Harrow hasn’t left Araspan in years. The College Liberia does not harass slave traders within Araspan itself. A policy which I think is foolish.”
“It is difficult, but necessary,” said Magister Nazim. Was that the Conclave's motto, Rachaelis wondered? “Some of the Colleges have diametrically opposed goals, and might come to blows. But by long tradition, we do not harass each other’s interests within the city. A fight between Adepts is terrible to behold. You’ve seen the ruins of Paulus’s tower, yes? If two Colleges came to blows, it might destroy half the city.” He shook his head. “But when Harrow tried to kill an Adept, he crossed the line. No Adept will protest his fate now.”
“What will happen to his slaves?” said Rachaelis.
“It seems that Harrow was low on inventory,” said Thalia, turning another page in the ledge. “He had hardly any slaves left in stock.”
“As for his personal slaves, they’ve undoubtedly fled,” said Nazim. “If any of them turn up, I will offer them my protection.” He sighed. “But their fates are in their own hands, now.”
“There is a reason he was running low on inventory,” said Corthain, looking at the second ledger. “He had sold all of his Jurgur slaves.”
“To who?” said Rachaelis.
“One of the noble Houses. House Marinius,” said Corthain. He shrugged. “I know the name, but little else about them. Thalia?”
“It’s a House of middling prestige and wealth,” said Thalia. “It’s produced powerful Adepts in the past, but none recently. Lord Marinius died about five years ago, and his widow Anna is Lady of the House now.” She grimaced. “I’ve met her a few times. Cruel, vain, and not terribly bright.”
“So why would she buy,” Corthain flipped the pages, “nearly a hundred Jurgur slaves?”
“A hundred?” said Thalia. “I have no idea. House Marinius doesn’t own any plantations, or mines, or anything that would require that much heavy labor. And it’s not as if Jurgur slaves are particularly fashionable.”
“Unless,” said Corthain, “Lady Anna bought those slaves for some reason other than heavy labor.”
Nazim looked up from the letter, blinking. “You think a Lord of an Araspani House would knowingly consort with a blood shaman?”
“I think that the Araspani nobility is corrupt and cruel,” said Corthain, “and would knowingly consort with demons if they could get away with it.”
“So how do you suggest we proceed?” said Nazim.
“We find out more about Lady Anna,” said Corthain. “She was obviously Harrow’s largest customer, and so far Harrow is our only link to the blood shaman. And the blood shaman is almost certainly the one who wants to capture Rachaelis alive.”
“I’ll do it,” said Thalia. “We can’t just storm in and put her to the question, the way you did with Harrow. If we do that, we’ll have all the nobles and half the Conclave calling for our heads. No, we’ll have to handle this delicately. I will play Lady Anna a visit, and have a look around her House’s tower. See if something seems amiss. We can decide where to go from there.”
“That seems like a reasonable plan,” said Nazim. “Corthain?”
“I have no objection,” said Corthain.
“Good,” said Thalia. “Because your instincts have been right so far. We never would have gotten this far without your advice.”
Corthain smiled. “I am pleased to serve, dear sister.”
“And a flatterer, too,” said Thalia with a laugh.
“Thank you,” said Rachaelis. “We couldn’t even put a name to my enemy. At least now we are taking action.”
“You give me too much credit,” said Corthain. “You are more capable than I would have thought.”
Rachaelis, to her chagrin, felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
###
Later that night, Rachaelis lay upon her bunk, wrapped in a blanket, and listened to Nazim snore.
Her eyes kept drifting to where Corthain sat next the door, eyes closed, sword laid across his knees. Modesty or not, the way he had fought…she had never seen anything like it.
For that matter, she had never met anyone quite like him.
Chapter 5 - Sister of the Temple
Corthain dozed.
A soldier quickly learned to sleep anywhere, under any conditions, and Corthain had been a soldier most of his life. The constant racket rising from the Red Water Inn’s common room did not trouble him, nor did the fact that he was sleeping against the wall.
Shortly after dawn Thalia stood over him.
Corthain opened one eye. “Hmm?”
“I’m going to astraljump back to the Ring,” whispered Thalia. “And then I’m going to visit Lady Anna Marinius.”
Corthain nodded. “Can you astraljump back here?”
“I can,” said Thalia. “I can use Magister Nazim's wards to home in on our room.”
“Handy,” said Corthain. “You’re comfortable going alone?”
“The blood shaman wants to turn Rachaelis into an Urmaaghsk, not me,” said Thalia. “I should be safe enough. Keep an eye on her, brother.”
“I will,” said Corthain.
Thalia nodded, concentrated, and vanished in a flash of silver light. Corthain blinked the afterimage from his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He might as well get some more sleep. After all, he could do nothing else until Thalia returned, and he suspected the next few days would be eventful.
About half an hour later Rachaelis rolled out of her bunk, looked around, and crept to the door. She pushed it open and shut it behind her, taking care not to make any noise.
Interesting. She might just be going to the privy. Or not. He thought of that warehouse in the docks, the strange glances she had given it. She had a secret of some kind, he was sure of it.
“Luthair,” said Corthain.
Luthair’s eyes shot open.
“Follow her,” said Corthain. “See where she’s going.”
Luthair nodded, got to his feet, and slipped through the door.
A short time late Luthair beckoned him into the hall.
“She’s left,” said Luthair.
“Left?” said Corthain. “Going where?”
“Don’t know,” said Luthair. “But she went out the front door, heading west, towards the warehouses.”
“And the slave markets,” said Corthain, frowning. Had Rachaelis decided to take things into her own hands, cleanse the city of slave traders? That could cause problems. And for her to wander alone was foolish. If the Jurgurs happened to find her…
“Wait here,” said Corthain. “Keep an eye on Magister Nazim. I’ll be back shortly.”
Luthair vanished back into their room. Corthain hurried down the steps, nodded at Bolton, and headed into the streets. He saw Rachaelis about thirty yards away, heading away at a brisk walk. At least she had had the sense to keep the hood of her cloak up. With the leather armor, she looked like any other unemployed mercenary, if a bit smaller than most.
Corthain almost called out to her, then changed his mind. He wanted to see where she was going. He pulled his cloak tight around him, the hood tugged low, and followed her.
She kept looking over her shoulder, and her eyes never stopped scanning the doorways and alleys ahead. But Corthain had done this sort of thing before, and he knew when to duck into alleys or step into doorways. If she noticed his presence, she gave no sign.
At last she stopped before the warehouse Corthain remembered from last night's astraljump. Rachaelis took once last look around, and then ducked through the warehouse door. The place looked unremarkable enough. A little dilapidated, but
that was common enough. Corthain paused at the door and listened. Within he heard murmured voices, and something that sounded like…chanting?
A spell, maybe.
He pushed open the door and found himself in a Temple.
At least, it looked like a Temple. Rows of crude benches faced a raised dais. An altar sat upon the dais, along with a statue of the Seeress, who had led the ancient tribes out of the wreck of the Old Empire and into the lands of the West. A few people, slaves and freeborn workers, sat upon the benches, heads bowed. A black-robed Brother knelt before the altar, speaking a chant in praise of the Divine.
Corthain saw Rachaelis in the corner, speaking in a low voice with an elderly black-robed Sister. They clasped hands, bowed their heads, and began to pray together.
Corthain blinked. Rachaelis had crept out of the Red Water Inn to…pray? He certainly hadn’t expected that.
“Here, take this,” said Rachaelis, pushing a leather pouch into the old woman’s hands.
“More, Rachaelis?” said the Sister. She had a strong voice. “Are you certain? This is a very great sum…”
“I don’t want it,” said Rachaelis. “I don’t even need it. I might not live through the week. Why bother hoarding wealth then? I…”
She looked up as he approached, and her face froze.
“You know this man?” said the Sister, rising to her feet.
“She does,” said Corthain.
“You followed me?” said Rachaelis, voice tight.
“I did,” said Corthain. “And if we’re finished stating the obvious, perhaps you can explain what you’re doing?”
Rachaelis gave a fractional shrug. “I felt the need to pray.”
“Well and good,” said Corthain. “And you also felt the need to sneak away without telling anyone where you were going? When your enemies want to capture you alive? Do you think that sneaking away alone might possibly have been a bad idea?”
Her face reddened, just a bit. “No one recognized me.”
“Yet I followed you, didn’t I?” said Corthain.
“Rachaelis,” said the old Sister. “Who is this man?”
The Third Soul Omnibus One Page 18
