The Last Rune 4: Blood of Mystery

by Mark Anthony

  “Be careful, my lady,” said the man standing next to Grace. He was a merchant by his well-made but plain garb. “You must be sure not to stand any farther into the street than those around you when he comes. Our line must be even.”

  She shook her head. “When who comes?”

  “Why, the duke, my lady.”

  So Beltan was right—a procession was coming, one led by the Duke of Omberfell.

  The merchant craned his neck, as if eager to catch sight of the coming parade. “The duke has been preparing himself for great trials, my lady. They say he will soon ride to war.”

  “War?” She clutched the packages to her chest as she was jostled from behind. Beltan held out an arm, trying to keep the crowd from pressing too close to her. “War against whom?”

  The merchant seemed puzzled by her words. “Against the enemies of the Master, of course.”

  “The master? You mean the duke?”

  “Nay, my lady. The duke serves the Master even as we do. Surely you know that.” A hint of suspicion crept into his gaze. “You do know, don’t you?”

  “I’m new to town,” she said, hoping that was a good enough excuse for any ignorance.

  The bell tolled again. This time, she saw the source of the sound. Four men carried a wooden frame from which the bell hung. Another man trailed behind, striking the bell at intervals with a hammer. The men were filthy, their backs bowed. Blood crusted their ragged tunics, and chains clinked around their ankles as they trudged along.

  “Who are they?” Grace whispered to herself. However the merchant heard and answered her question.

  “They are transgressors.”

  She looked at the man. “Transgressors?”

  “Ones who have gone against the Edicts.” His eyes narrowed. “You do know the Edicts, don’t you?”

  Her chest felt suddenly tight; she struggled for breath. “I’m not...that is, I...”

  Despite the press of the throng, the merchant took a step back from her, his eyes growing wide. “Everyone knows the Edicts, my lady. Even a little child.” He began to murmur quickly, as if speaking the words of a litany, pressing his hands together. “One cannot resist the will of the Master. One cannot do things which the many do not. One must give one’s heart should the Raven ask for it...”

  Grace clasped a hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t stifle her gasp of fear. Beltan glanced at her, concern in his eyes. Before she could speak, the merchant raised his arm and pointed a trembling finger at her.

  “You’re a heretic,” he whispered. “You disobey the Edicts, just like those transgressors. But I won’t be tainted by you.” His voice rose into a shrill cry. “Heretic!”

  Until that moment, people had been watching the street, but now several turned their heads in Grace’s direction.

  Beltan leaned close to her. “We’d better get out of here.”

  However, at that moment the full body of the procession rounded a corner and marched down the avenue. A man on a gray horse rode at the fore, and there was no doubt he was the duke. He wore elegant black clothes, with a long cloak trailing behind, and his expression was proud and fierce. An ornate scabbard was slung at his side, and gems glittered on his fingers. However, it was not his finery Grace stared at. It was the symbol drawn in ashes on his forehead. It was the wing of a Raven. Or a blind, staring eye.

  They marched behind him four abreast, and Grace could see no end to their procession: a line of figures in black. Their robes had heavy hoods, but some had pushed the hoods back, and their foreheads bore the same symbol as the duke’s. Except some were marked, not with ashes, but with a puckered brand.

  From the midst of the procession rose a series of wooden poles, their bases gripped by the black-robed ones. Atop the poles, swinging like leather skins filled with water, were lashed limp figures. It took Grace a long second to realize they were people. Or had been, at any rate, before their hands and feet were cut off, and their eyes plucked out. Bile rose in her throat.

  So that’s why things are so ordered and efficient in this city, Grace. If you dare to go against the rules, if you dare to be different somehow, this is what happens to you.

  More of the figures in black robes marched around the corner, and more. A chant rose on the air.

  drink the ice

  breathe the fire

  Shadow be your lover

  chain the mind

  still the heart

  Darkness rules forever

  Most people watched the procession, but a few more had noticed the merchant’s accusing finger. He was silent now, his face a mask of revulsion, still pointing at her. Others gestured in Grace’s direction. Angry murmurs of heretic and witch ran through the crowd.

  Beltan shifted the parcel he held and grabbed Grace, propelling her through the crowd, snarling at people to get out of their way. Most did, shrinking in fear before the big knight, but some resisted. The packages were knocked out of Grace’s hands. She tripped over them and would have fallen but for Beltan’s grip on her arm.

  Now others picked up the merchant’s cry.

  “She’s broken the Edicts!”

  “Heretic! You befoul the name of the Raven!”

  “Get the witch!”

  Beltan was no longer just pushing. He swung the package of food, knocking several people aside, then let it drop. A man clutched at Grace, and Beltan punched him in the face. Blood and teeth flew. Someone screamed.

  Grace gathered her will. If they were going to accuse her of being a witch, she might as well do the crime. But there was no mist to weave into a wall as she had done before. What else might she be able to use? Then she felt the life strands vibrating with fear and anger around her, and she knew. She reached out with her mind, grasping the threads of the people around her, then with a thought, she tied them all into a tangled knot.

  At once, people began tripping over one another, flailing as they stumbled and fell to the street. The ordered line of the crowd became a churning sea of chaos. Shouts of pain and confusion rose on the air. In the street, some of the Raven cultists paused, staring.

  “Now, Beltan,” Grace said, clutching the knight’s hand.

  He roared, using his free arm to toss a man out of their way, then pulled Grace toward the mouth of an alley. It was cool and dark inside. They ran, and the noise of the crowd echoed after them. After a dozen yards they came to an intersecting alley. Which direction should they go? In moments, the mob would see where they had gone and would follow.

  “This way,” said a musical voice.

  Grace turned and saw him standing in the mouth of a shadowed archway. He was barely visible in his dark cloak, but she caught a flash of silver hair, a glint of vivid, green-gold eyes. Beltan sucked in a breath.

  The other motioned, urging them toward the archway. “Quickly. They’re already coming.”

  Then he was gone.

  Grace felt Beltan’s hesitation. However, shouts rang out behind them. There was nowhere else to go. She tightened her grip on the big knight’s hand, and together they ran through the archway, following Sindar.

  42.

  More than once, Grace thought they had lost their mysterious rescuer in the maze of alleys they traversed. Sindar moved swiftly, and often Grace caught only a flash of silver before he vanished around a corner or through an opening, leaving her and Beltan to run after or become hopelessly lost.

  And they did not want to get lost. Omberfell had seemed cleaner and more orderly than any city she had seen in the Dominions, but now Grace knew that had only been on the surface. All the grime, all the poverty, all the suffering, had simply been swept out of sight—into this tangled web of back alleys where she and Beltan often couldn’t walk side by side.

  Rats scuttled over their feet, racing between heaps of rotting garbage. Sewage formed rank puddles through which they splashed. Eyes peered out of windows that had never opened on sunlight or a blue sky, and dirty hands reached from doorways, plucking at Grace’s cloak as voices moaned for
alms and mercy. Beltan batted the hands away and pulled Grace onward. Only after a while did she realize that many of the heaps she had taken for garbage were people. She couldn’t tell whether they were alive or dead. The rats didn’t seem to care.

  At last they passed through an archway and found themselves on a clean, wide street not far from the Sign of the Silver Grail. There was no trace of Sindar.

  “Come on,” Beltan said, tugging at Grace’s arm. “We need to get inside before we’re seen.”

  As they approached the inn, Grace expected to see a line of figures in black robes pointing at her with accusing fingers. Instead, the street was empty. They looked both ways, then stole inside the inn and hurried up to their rooms.

  Falken and Vani were already there.

  “What happened?” Falken said, eyeing their clothes. “You look like you you’ve been rolling in a pigsty. And where’s the food you were going to buy? Not that it matters. Our mysterious friend was right—the docks have been shut down. No ship can enter or leave the port, by order of the duke.”

  “Just as I told you.”

  They looked up to see Sindar shutting the door behind him; Grace hadn’t heard it open. Nor, by the angry look on her face, had Vani. She started moving toward the slender man.

  Grace held out a hand. “Vani, no—he just saved our lives.” Falken cast Grace a curious glance. She drew in a deep breath, then explained what had happened. When she finished, Vani moved to the window, gazing outside.

  Sorrow shone in Falken’s faded blue eyes. “It seems things are darker than I feared. A year ago, the Raven Cult operated in secret. The Pale King must grow bold to let his cult work so openly now. No wonder the men we spoke to on the docks were so fearful when I even mentioned the idea of booking passage on a ship. I suppose just talking about breaking the duke’s order could get them executed.”

  Grace took a step toward Sindar. “Where were you?”

  “My question exactly,” Beltan growled. “You were certainly in a hurry back in those alleys. I almost think you were trying to lose us.”

  Sindar laughed. “I promise, you of all people would have found me.” He turned toward Grace. “As for where I was just now, I was making certain you weren’t followed.”

  Vani turned from the window. “Were they?”

  “No, but you can’t stay here long. The duke won’t allow troublemakers to go uncaptured in his city. There will be a search.”

  “They’ll know what we look like,” Beltan said, pacing.

  “Lots of people saw our faces. It won’t take long before the duke’s men knock on the door of the inn. And they’ll be watching the city gate as well.”

  Grace held a hand to her throbbing head. “If we can’t leave by the gate, and no ship captain will disobey the duke’s orders, how do we get out of the city?”

  They all looked at Sindar. The handsome man spread his hands and smiled. “My offer still stands.”

  “I don’t like it,” Beltan said, as if Sindar weren’t even there. “We don’t know anything about him. And it seems awfully convenient that he just happened to overhear our conversation, and that he just happens to have a way around the blockade. I’m sure of it when I say he’s lying about something.”

  “I agree,” Vani said, glaring at Sindar.

  Falken moved close to Grace. “What do you think?”

  Now everyone was looking at her, and she hated the attention. “I don’t think we have any choice. Even if he’s lying to us, I’d rather deal with a swindler than the Raven Cult. And he did help Beltan and me escape that mob.” She gave Sindar a weak smile. “I suppose we’ll just have to trust you.”

  In minutes they had gathered their things and were ready. Vani reported that the street outside the inn was still clear.

  Falken swung his lute case over his shoulder. “It would be good if we could leave without Farrand or any of his workers seeing us.”

  Grace nodded. “I can arrange that.”

  Sindar opened the door and gestured to Grace. “After you, Your Majesty.”

  A jolt of shock coursed through her. “How do you know about that?” She studied Sindar’s face, once again struck by the queer feeling of familiarity. “How long have you been following us really?”

  “We must go,” Sindar said, and moved through the door.

  It was shockingly easy to escape the inn without being seen. Grace wove the threads of the Weirding like a cloak around the five of them, concealing them from any eyes that might look their way. They walked down the stairs, into the common room, and through the front door. Neither Farrand nor any of his servants so much as glanced up from their work.

  They left the inn on foot—they would have no need of the horses—and Grace maintained the illusion as they made their way through the city. At one point fear stabbed at her chest when they rounded a corner and saw a trio of men in black robes moving toward them. They froze, but the robed ones simply walked by them swiftly. Grace forced herself to concentrate, keeping her grip on the spell.

  They reached the docks. There were many men about—no doubt from the crews of the dozens of ships locked in port— but they seemed to be doing little besides playing at cards or dice. Here and there, guards kept watch on the proceedings with hard eyes. Sindar moved to a narrow space behind a stack of wooden crates, and the rest of them followed.

  Once they were all behind the crates, Grace released her grip on the Weirding. Never had she held on to a spell for so long. Although, now that she had released it, she didn’t feel exhausted. Rather she felt alive, even exhilarated.

  Vani peered around the edge of a crate. “I wonder why the duke has ordered the port closed. Could it be they spotted the ship of the Onyx Knights? We know now that the knights are the enemies of the Pale King.”

  “I believe you’re right in that,” Sindar said.

  Falken raised an eyebrow. “You know about the Onyx Knights?”

  “Every ship’s captain who sails these waters knows about those pirates. If you don’t pay them a third of the value of your cargo in gold, they broadside your ship and send you to sleep at the bottom of the ocean.”

  Beltan ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I suppose it all makes sense. The Onyx Knights think they’re going to restore Malachor, so naturally they consider the Pale King their enemy. But the Raven Cult is in charge of Omberfell, and the cult serves the Pale King. Even the hundred knights on that ship wouldn’t be enough to take over a hostile city this size. They’d need at least double that number.”

  “It might be even more than that,” Sindar said. “From what I’ve heard, the Onyx Knights despise the Cult of the Raven. I’ve seen that firsthand. Only they’ve gone out of their way to avoid conflict with them. It’s almost as if the knights are using the cult for their own purposes.”

  Falken nodded. “I see it now. The knights are letting the Raven Cult sow chaos and strife in Embarr, weakening it, making it ready for invasion. And to get rid of any witches, runespeakers, or anyone else who might be able to stand against them. Then the knights will stamp out the cult once they take over the Dominion. That’s what they did in Eredane, and in Brelegond, too, I suppose.”

  “You can speak more of this later,” Sindar said, glancing at the overcast sky. “The sun will be setting soon. We must be on my ship by then.”

  Vani gazed out over the docks. “Which of these ships is yours?”

  “None of them,” Sindar said with a laugh. He moved from the crates to the mouth of a large storm drain. It was covered with an iron grille, bolted in place. The grille looked new.

  “That was not there when I last came in this way,” Sindar said, pointing at the grille. He glanced at Beltan and Vani. “Could you do the honors?”

  The knight and the T’gol gripped the iron grille. Beltan clenched his teeth, and Vani shut her eyes. To Grace, it seemed the grille warped and rippled under Vani’s hands. With a grunt, Beltan pulled it free of its moorings.

  “This way,” Sindar said, lead
ing the way into the storm drain.

  They followed after, hunching over, as the drain was no more than five feet high. Beltan came last, pulling the grille into place behind them.

  The tunnel was dank and slippery and sloped gently downward. They moved for what seemed to Grace like hours, although she supposed it was only minutes. The tiled walls pressed close, making it hard to breathe. However, she supposed that was good, as otherwise she would have screamed.

  After a hundred yards it should have been pitch-dark in the tunnel, but for some reason there was just enough light to make out the forms of the others before and behind her. At last, just when Grace was ready to turn and scrabble her way back out of the tunnel, she saw a gray circle ahead. They quickened their pace, and she breathed in relief as they reached the end. The five gathered on a small lip of stone. The roar of the sea thrummed on the air, and salty spray splashed against Grace’s face, moistening her cheeks like tears.

  “Now what?” Beltan said, glaring at Sindar.

  Grace blinked the water from her eyelashes, then understood. The tunnel ended in a cliff. To either side of them were vertical walls of rough stone. Water spilled from the tunnel, over the ledge, and into cold waves that lapped ten feet below.

  “Our transport already comes for us,” Sindar said.

  He pointed, and at first Grace was confused. It looked like a gigantic bird floating on the ocean, its neck curving down over its breast, its white wings tucked against its side. Only after a moment did she realize it was a ship.

  Falken swore a soft oath.

  “I have never seen a vessel like that before,” Vani said.

  Sindar smiled. “No, you haven’t.”

  The ship was coming toward them. It was not so large as the Fate Runner, but it was infinitely more graceful. The ship was not painted white; rather, its color came from the pale silver wood of which it was built. The vessel came closer.

  “The sea is too rough,” Beltan said. “It’s going to be dashed against the cliffs.”