"Money," he bleated.
Continuing with his idea of drunkedness, Kendrick kept his movements slow and a little shaky as if he couldn't quite remember what he'd done with his purse. It suited the tough right down to the ground because he started patting him down. As soon as the man bent, Kendrick grabbed him by his thinning hair.
The sound he made was almost comical if Kendrick had been in the mood to laugh. The knife hit the stones and slid out of reach as the man struggled to free himself, yanking and twisting like an unbroken horse. Kendrick refused to let him go as beads of blood welled up on his abused scalp. He didn't need the man terrified for his life. He didn't need the man's life; however, he was in the mood to take it.
The cold slap of warning Nalcet instilled in him when he sent him away from the well hit Kendrick across the forehead.
Do not make my brother's mistake and think that life is simply yours to take at will. It leads down a path you are not prepared to walk.
Of course, it would come to him now when his entire being hungered and weakened before the feeling of what piddling power this broken creature had. It wasn't fair. Kendrick thrust the man against the column he had used for shelter and held him there with his body.
"Are you going to kill me?"
The words penetrated the fog of Kendrick's brain, but he didn't consider them long. Instead, he sank his face forward until it might have been a kiss and let his hunger take over. It was easier that way. The hunger knew nothing of morality or of its victim, it only knew to feed.
It took longer than he expected to drain the man to his dregs like a cup of soured wine, but when he did Kendrick felt the flush of refreshment through his entire frame. It was as if he had bathed in a pool of the purest water and been rejuvenated by the time.
There was the body to be disposed of. Looking down at it, he considered what he knew of the area. Would anyone even notice him slumped against the column as if he'd hit while trying to keep from falling down on his own? Who would care? Decent folks who helped their neighbors had long since gone home to their beds. What was left behind, well, what was left behind were those who would step over a fallen man in the street and tell him to lie there and sleep it off even if his chest didn't rise.
Exactly what he needed.
If someone roused the guard, it was unlikely, there was nothing tying him to crime. Instead, he needed to make his way back to his Mother and prepare for his next act.
He walked up the street with an easy jaunt in his step, his pretense of drunkness gone, discarded as the man he left behind.
His mother looked up from her cards as he came toward the table and beckoned him to a seat beside her with her eyes. She had both her cards and her pipe to wrangle with, her eyes made useful tools as well. Though he thought he knew her tablemates, he did not attempt to make conversation. He had no words for them.
After a few more hands, which he watched without comment, his mother bid her fellows good night and reached for her cloak which he dutifully helped her put on. The pipe, belonging to the establishment, was discarded for one of the keepers to deal with. The cards, however, were of her own design and she gathered those up to put away in their specially lined and decorated bag. They were part of her pride and Kendrick knew much better than to comment on his mother's possession of gambling materials. Nalcet would not have approved.
"Success?"
Her question as they stepped out into the street got a look of contentment.
"Good."
He took her arm and they walked away together.
"How many of the people you were playing with know who I am?"
"All of them, of course. You are the Voice of the Empire. In all truth, your name came up several times before you appeared. I wondered if one of them might be trying to conjure you."
"Why would you say that?"
"You are the most eligible bachelor in the land and the word of your empty bed has already reached the upper circles. I have no doubt you'll find yourself awash in invitations here soon. The dance of politics, of course."
"I have no desire to take part."
"You don't have to desire it, you have to fake it. Otherwise, as you well know, others will ask questions you have no answers for."
All too true. He had taken up with Versa in part because of the expectation he must be enjoying some young woman's company after the Immortal made it clear she would not entertain him.
"Do you honestly believe any woman born is good enough for me?"
"No, but then I'm your mother and no woman will ever hold a candle to me, will she?"
He couldn't help but chuckle. Humble was one thing she would never be under any circumstance.
"What are you going to do now? Once we've reached the house and you have the chance to whisk your way back to the castle."
"I think I'm going to go pay our friend in the dungeon a little visit after I'm certain of the spell I want to use. I've changed my mind."
"About what?"
"Don't worry. I have it all under control."
"I don't have to remind you how foolish that is do I?"
"No, you do not."
He escorted her into the house and past the single remaining servant who kept the light while waiting for the mistress of the house to return. The old gentleman who often served as his mother's hands and feet when she was in a mood moved through the house with the surety of someone who had grown there and would die there. Kendrick felt no such connection.
At his mother's chamber door, he bid her goodnight and went across the hall to his own apartment. After waiting a few moments for the light-bearer to go away, he went to a small box hidden away. Inside were the only physical copies of the spells he knew. Mother knew he kept them there, better than in the palace where they might be discovered. He only kept the captured souls there to insure they were close at hand should he have to make a run for it. Something which seemed more and more likely as time went on. If he did have to flee, he would take them and flee once more home.
Perhaps Nalcet would look on that as a boon and not a failure. Kendrick could only hope.
At the moment, it didn't matter as he used the coals from the brazier in the room to read by. It threw a satisfyingly red tinge across the delicately cut leather pages. This far from the well, the words didn't glow by themselves making reading them much harder, but Kendrick persevered. He needed to affect Warden in such a way as to be able to control him. Not just take the knowledge from him, but make him his pawn.
With him, the criminal working for him, nothing could possibly led back to Kendrick. He would bring him back the seal, allowing him to finish what he started, and maybe, if Fate worked in his favor, he would bring back Jalcina as well. His feelings for his mother's assessment aside, letting her escape had been a serious misstep. One he needed to remedy.
The sharp rap on his door told him Mother wanted inside.
"I think I know where your prey may be going," she said as she stepped inside and shut the hammered door behind her. Her face in shadow made her look sinister with only her eyes staring down at him where he sat on the floor.
"Where?"
"At the temple, she was seen in the company of two men. One of them was Burning Island, the other had the streaked hair one often sees in Xernians."
Like many places in the empire, Xernia maintained a stout independence. It paid the king's ransom necessary to do so. They had a councilor, as did everywhere else, but little that came from the council penetrated the vast amounts of open water between the islands. It had been some feat when the Black King managed to destroy the defenders and take the head of the then king centuries ago. No one expected anything like it and none had any chance of it now.
Truthfully, Kendrick did not fear Xernia, he feared what would happen should he tread heavy and awaken Wrepta, the sleeping city. Nalcet spoke of his sister, Wrepta, in whispers if he mentioned her at all. Not like Sinda, the Rose City, who often spoke herself and made her wishes clear enough. Long before Kend
rick was born, Wrepta went down into the sea, disappearing beneath the waves save for the pinnacle of her existence, the Crystal Spire daring those who wished to draw near. Legend had it the waters around the spire were haunted by the souls of the dead from Wrepta's fall. Those who went there came back with tales of things they had seen in the water or not at all.
It was as good a hiding spot as any when one considered how much harder it would be to mount any kind of a decent search party for her when the guards would be forced to stop on every single one of those islands and hold parlay with the islanders themselves who were just as apt to stab you as offer you food. Cross, the only supposedly civilized city, worked much like a bandit haven; there were those in power and those who paid to reap the benefits. Men and women who lived like lords, without lifting a finger, for owning this or that area of the water where such wonderful things were found.
Jalcina would stand out in Xernia. Her pale skin against the bronzed look of the island people, the starkness of her single shade hair. It would give her away. All he had to do was find her.
Kendrick considered his options. Time was no ally. He couldn't leave the capital when he was supposed to be resting. He couldn't leave the capital when he was supposed to be presiding over trials. He couldn't leave for this or that or another. It grated on him.
"Thank you, Mother," he said. "I will take what you say under advisement."
Now that he no longer decorated Death's door, he could think clearer. His choices were few. Versa had forced his hand in such a way he didn't dare not appear for her execution without casting his own loyalty in doubt. They were too deeply intertwined for anything less.
His mother had not left. She stood as a specter in the doorway while he slipped form one page to the next.
"Was there something else?"
"I think you will get a communication from your Father. Soon."
Ominous. He looked up at her silhouette as she turned her face away.
"What are you hiding?"
"Find out for yourself."
He did not care for the way her voice broke into what he thought might have been pity. Then she slipped out of the room and left him to this disjointed thoughts. Whatever was going on behind the curtain, he needed to find out before it caused him harm. He had too much left still to lose.
Wee hours of morning played at the edge of the windowsill, the promises of sunshine and heat in Arathum for another day. Kendrick missed the chill of the mountains, the breath of frost in the air even in what might have been close to summer in the lower lands. Arathum was too flat, too dry, too hot, too everything he wanted nothing to do with.
Soon he would go home. He would return home the hero his father wanted him to be, the one who broke the Fate Circle and freed him from death. Without a word, he bid his mother good morrow. Let her keep her secrets. She always had. He learned that at her knee.
If he was going to do what he wanted before someone noticed him missing, he needed to move along. Trouble came on fleet feet and he needed to be faster. Standing in his stark bedroom, he thought of how once it had been a luxury to be in this strange city. Once, long ago, he had begged for the chance to make merry in its streets. Now, he wanted nothing more than to shake the granules of it from his sandals and have done with it.
Soon.
He stepped through the air and found himself standing in the shadows at the top of the dungeon staircase with the familiar pull of his magic reaching out from him. What he wanted waited at the bottom of the stair. He would use his powers to make Warden do as he desired. Force him to seek out Jalcina and either destroy her or return her. Bring back the seal stolen away by the woman who would be a traitor to everything in the world.
It would go according to plan.
Down the stairs, he kept his movements slow and even. The man at the bottom, emboldened by the death of his predecessor, would probably be a bit sharper than previous and he had no desire to get stabbed. Enough of playing with knives for one night. As he reached the bottom, there was indeed a man there, but he bowed as soon as he saw him and then moved aside.
"Voice, I didn't expect you."
"And you will not remember I was here," Kendrick said. The man undoubtedly thought Kendrick was there to make nice with his former mistress for her choice to betray him. Except he had no such interest.
Versa made her choice. He would not allow her to make his as well.
In the hall between the cells, he pressed his hands together and whispered words no one spoke for hundreds of miles. Outside of Nalcet, they were nothing but gibberish without the talent to make them manifest. Out of Kendrick's mouth, the air grew curly and shimmered green with his intent.
Warden came to the cell door at the sound and watched with impassive eyes.
"And what exactly do you hope to do with that?" the assassin muttered. "Poison me?"
Without a response, Kendrick drew closer until the men were face to face through the door. His words slammed into Warden's will and battered it with his superior strength. It cracked, but held. Warden tried to take a step back, but Kendrick kept him tethered like an animal meant for slaughter.
"Stop it, Kendrick!" Versa's voice came through muffled and divided his thoughts like a dull knife. He turned toward her cell, drawn away from his prey by an unreasoning desire for her silence. She screamed at him until he reached her cell door and spoke one word,
"Silence." Her voice weakened and she retreated, leaving him for the shadows of her cell.
Kendrick turned his attention back to his initial objective, but it was too late.
He expected Warden to be cowering on the far side of the cell, hiding in the dark as if it would save him. Even if it were true, his own power had started to wane. The spell was not meant to be held or split. Only forced on a single object until its very will to exist crumbled. Versa's interference, and him allowing her to lead him astray, cost him his full measure against his opponent. That was before the sound of a man becoming something else.
Pressing his face into the slits available, he tried vainly to see what went on inside. The shadows were too deep and they pulsated with eager grasping life. In truth, Kendrick knew those motions, they were the soul of the Black King brought once more to life. But he had the soul hidden away in another part of the castle, how could it have reached this far? And if it could, why hadn't it done so before? Just as he turned to go, a body slammed against the door turning it into a gong. At the sound, the guard came running, sandaled feet slapping against the black stone.
"What was that?"
"Go," Kendrick said thrusting a hand out to him. "Go now."
Neither of them wanted to be there for what might well come next. Kendrick fled with the guard only steps ahead of him. He would come back in the morning to see if there was anything to be salvaged, or if the dungeon had become a blood bath.
His mind ached, Warden decided as the world tiptoed and swung like a novice dancer. Worse, his body seemed to be both hot and cold in all places at one time. There was no peace. Kendrick's presence lit to him like a beacon from outside the door and Warden's anger at his confinement, his abandonment, his fate welled up within him as it warred with the oppression seeking to take over. He bodily threw himself at the door and felt some feral satisfaction as it rang against his body. It hurt, but at least he chose this hurt.
Then they were running away.
He couldn't see his eyes, but he felt them change, felt them reach beyond the shadowy confines of his cell to watch the two men as they pattered away like mice. Warden would clamp his teeth around their necks and make them wriggle with broken backs. Suddenly he shirked back from it. Murder for hire was one thing. Murder for pleasure quite another. He stowed those violent thoughts as best he could.
As soon as he did, another rose in their place, a sea monster from the depths of his consciousness. He needed Jalcina.
Not just needed to see her, needed to breathe her. The pricking and prowling of his thoughts crowded around that like flame
seeking moths. Yet he didn't know where to find her.
Her absence threatened him.
He would go to her. He would make her tell him how this could be true. It wasn't love. It would never be love, but it was something else. Something worthy of a title all its own and perhaps even ballads performed in its honor.
Warden threw his shoulder against the door again letting it vibrate his frame as it made noise. Outside of himself, he heard others gathering, preparing. Someone was going to come down the hall. Perhaps that someone would even get to go back up it again. It mattered little to him. He made his choice.
For a long time, no one came. Their fear offered him tastes of what he might be up against. Trained warriors against men, but monsters like the one they knew awaited them, they were not trained for that.
It reminded him of those men in Kerlan as the dragon laid its eye on them. How they quivered in their boots and thought of strategies for the best retreat.
Kendrick would not lead them.
Warden felt sleep touch his mind and after so long caught in the web of his own thoughts, it was a welcome reprieve. He laid down on the stones, feeling each one against his abused body, and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would come soon enough and he would find a way out. Once he was gone, there would be no stopping him.
What the men found when they resurrected their courage enough to come down and see was a single prisoner on the floor of his cell surrounded by what could only be called stripes of flesh. They did not try to figure out why, but shut and locked the abused door back in place. There were not answers enough in the world for the strange things becoming commonplace around the castle. Dark days had come since the Immortal's disappearance. Dark days indeed.
Execution
A blustery almost cold wind blew through Arathum on the day set for the executions. The sun refused to shine in the southern city, as if the Gods spat on the thought. Kendrick, along with others in their official robes, walked at the front of the procession with the prisoners carried along like sticks of firewood on the shoulders of their guards. It kept them from escaping and made it very clear who was going to be found on the pyre. People turned out, a mindless throng, awaiting a spectacle not unlike one they had seen before. There were those who remembered when the executions were frequent. The stories said they had once been so frequent the light of the pyres never went out in the sacred square where they were lit. Those were old stories though, from the time in the Immortal's early reign when many opposed her and found her strength of will to be equal to that of any previous king they thought of.
Ruins of Fate Page 8
