“You could have just told us the truth,” Landa told her. “That would have been better than nothing, dear.”
“I know. But I got scared. The walls felt like they were closing in. Eventually I’ll have to move on to another town, meet all new people—and hope they’re as wonderful as all of you. I thought that time had come.”
The crowd muttered to themselves and their neighbors. “I can kinda understand that,” a man a few meters away from Trent said.
“Just—I hope,” said the Lich; she had the grace to affect a tear falling from her face, “that you can all just give me a chance. I don’t want to lose what we’ve got here”—her voice warbled—“until we have to.” Her hands found their way to the small pockets on her pants, and she kicked at a rock on her porch.
More whispers came from the crowd. “Are you buyin this shit?” a woman said to another, hooking her thumb toward the witch.
“We won’t let that happen,” said a man from the middle. “Take as much time as ya need. Just don’t keep things from us. That’s all we ask.”
“I’m aware of that now,” said the Fleecer. A broom worked by itself behind her, sweeping dirt from her doorstep. “Thank you all for being so understanding. You’ll be the first to know when I get restocked.” She awarded what she said next with undue emotion. “May the gods bless you. All of you.”
But when her gaze passed over Trent, her eyes became slits, and she turned to step inside her house. The spell broke when she shut her door, and as the crowd dispersed, they grumbled amongst themselves.
“I’ll give her one gods-damned week,” an elder gentleman said. He walked with a limp on his left side and swung his arms to move. The button-down shirt he wore had lost a button over his round stomach and come untucked from the back on his pants. “But my fucking sciatica is killin me. I swear to gods if she doesn’t get that ass-piss in”—
“Damn,” said Trent. Not back to the start, but—Tanvarn’s a big place.
“Didn’t like what you saw?” the woman with turnips asked him. “I could show you something, if you’re looking for it right.”
“No thanks,” said Trent, his speech keener than he’d meant. “Trying to find someone.”
She raised her brow at him. “Come to Tanvarn to find a lost little witch, have you?” The woman tugged her scarf down from her face and looked at Trent, her lips pouted, her brow wan. “You know, for a minute there I could have almost believed her.”
A sound somewhere between happiness and incredulity escaped Trent, and he wrapped her in a hug before he thought of what he’d done. Relief painted his gut, and he lifted his old friend off her feet.
“Gods, are you sure there’s not something else I could help you with?” Kendra asked. A smile grew across her lips when he set her down. Her eyes scanned his weathered face from under her hat’s brim. “You got old.”
Trent laughed, a mix of ease and exasperation. The lines on Kendra’s face had barely etched into her skin. “You didn’t. And your eyes aren’t the same.”
Kendra passed her hand over her face, and her irises changed to their proper color. “Electric-blue is rather easy to find if you want to.” Her hand passed the other direction, and they changed back to umber.
“Goddess.” He marveled at her. “I don’t suppose I should ask how you found me?”
“A couple Karlians and a Priest come into town, and the Tower won’t spread that like mage-fire?”
A mild mask coated Trent’s face. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Call it a hunch, then.” Kendra stepped back and leaned against her cart while she looked at the rest of him, her face plain. “Has your armor always been this garish?” Where they stood, his suit heliographed in the late-afternoon sun. She shrugged. “Better than what the slugs wear, I guess.”
“Slugs?”
“You saw them, the men standing around with track pants and windbreakers, acting like it’s last decade. Disgusting. But if you wanted the Lich to know you’re here, I’d say it worked. What, in that case, was your next step?”
“Guess I’d knock on her door. Try to find—something—out.”
“And you assumed that would work? Who says the Lich would have wanted to see you? I mean”—she scoffed—“she probably expects you’re here to investigate her—services.”
“Then it’s her lucky day.”
“Not mine. A Karlian shows up trying to find you. That’s never good news.”
“Please. Like you’re not lookin for me.”
Kendra ignored his suggestion. “And you thought I was her, the Fleecer of Tanvarn, that I would open my door and see O Russell Hollowman, and swoon?”
“Not exactly,” Trent said, his voice run through with edge. “Had my doubts, but I couldn’t rule it out. I am here on an investigation ya know, but”—he nodded at the fleecer’s door—“she’s not worth much of my time.”
“Not worth much of anyone’s.” Kendra whispered, and behind her, the façade on the Lich’s house shimmered and revealed the worn wood and slanted architecture more like what Trent expected of a Leynar’s abode—unkempt and badly cared for shacks that looked run through the hells from ripping through space at their tenant’s leisure.
From between blinds, the Fleecer peeked on the small courtyard. Her gaze swept from stone to courier to a man passing by with a little girl on his shoulders to a carrier cutting through on a gravi-cycle. She settled on Trent, then snapped the blinds shut, and the exterior returned to its curated effect.
Trent returned his gaze to the woman in front of him. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Kendra snickered. “At least I’m good for it. So if not the Lich, what were you looking for?”
Silence hung between them for a second. “An old friend. You’re a hard person to find.”
“Hmm, especially when the person trying to find you lost track of you eighteen years ago.” She scratched at her nose with her right hand. A wrapping of bandage covered her palm. “You’ve got an excellent urlan, by the way.”
Trent frowned and cocked his head.
Kendra laughed. “Come on.” She shoved the covered cart a few feet, after which it continued under its own impetus. “My house is never far away.”
Trent followed.
“Just got back from a stroll through the Upper City,” Kendra said as cars passed on their right. A few drivers rubbernecked to look at Trent.
“Do turnips sell well this time of year?”
“They sell all the time so long as you know how. But the craic interests me up there more than anything.”
“Craic,” said Trent. “That the fancy word you all are using now for street gossip?”
Kendra shrugged. “Didn’t think it was uncommon. And street gossip is always closer to the truth than plain words. Do you prefer pan-beef or something with a little seasoning on it?”
“Making somethin more appealing doesn’t make it true. Ya like the seasonin more than ya do the beef.”
A toothy grin crossed Kendra’s lips. “Tell me about it.” She walked with an easy uncaring and weaved between foot traffic like a ghost, her hands in her sweater’s pockets. No one noticed her as she passed, and Trent wondered if his presence or her magic explained the oddity—perhaps both.
Halfway down an alley-street down which cars couldn’t go, Kendra touched the front door of an unassuming shanty and disappeared. Paint had peeled off its wood-plank face, the window above its door had dirtied with dust and scratches, and the curtain in the front room’s window hung off its rail. Three seconds later, the front door opened. Kendra already headed for the kitchen, tugging the scarf from around her neck.
Trent stepped inside. To his left, stacks of old communication devices—some of which didn’t even have touch capabilities—rested on a hearth, above which a screen covered half the wall. Its upper-right corner flashed black in intermittent error, and a network of red and blue and dotted gold lines intersected across a map of the entire city, from the wester
n suburbs to the Hills-over up north.
“Did you learn to bake?” Trent asked. The scent of fresh bread covered the subtler smells of tobacco smoke and burnt plastic.
“Gods no. Something Reight’s picked up.” Kendra finished her business with the cart and let it guide itself to an alcove in her kitchen, where it sidled into a slot that fit it well. She pulled her hat by its cord off her head.
A floating podium—a piece of steel with a rounded bottom edge—came from the hallway to Trent’s right and stopped a moment before it continued toward Kendra.
“Reight?” Trent said.
Kendra unwrapped herself from her cloak. “My urlan. He’s suggested I should eat more than just processed shit and take-away.” She noticed the podium. “I don’t need you right now.”
It turned and floated slowly away.
“Well, well, well.” An urlan came from the hallway, his body colored a polished bronze. “So you’re the guy behind that Sieku.” He appraised Trent. “Somehow I expected more.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Trent pointed at Reight with his thumb. “What’s his problem?”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not”—
“He’s just pissed about your urlan outsmarting him,” Kendra said. She stacked plastic food containers from her sink and left them on the counter. “Reight, what have I told you about getting the dishes put away? If we’re going to have them, and you’re going to dirty them up, then you have to clean and care for them.”
“Apologies, ma’am. I get distracted sometimes. And he didn’t outsmart me—I’ve told you that. Just got the jump on me is all. Huge difference.”
Kendra shrugged. “Looks the same to me.”
“Don’t feel too bad,” Trent said. “Even the Urlanmeister says Sieku is other-worldly.”
“He’s not,” said Reight. “He and I obey the same rules”—he gesticulated toward Trent’s chest—“and there’s nothing special about me.”
Trent nodded slowly. “If you say so.”
“Glad we settled that. If you get into contact with your little urlan buddy again, tell him to stay the hell out of my network.”
“Why don’t you just keep him out?”
“Oh, that—that is just so not the fucking point.” Reight stood in place for a few seconds. His eyes twitched when his gaze fell to the carpet. With only a scoff and a disgusted curl of his lip, he retreated to the hallway and turned out of sight.
Trent’s attention returned to his old friend. She pulled off her sweater, and with it came her shirt, which she tugged down as she set the pull-over on the counter behind her. Black hair hung in a braid down her back, and Trent noted flecks of gold in the brown of her eyes as her gaze passed between tasks. She grabbed a couple mugs from a shelf above her sink and turned a knob on her stovetop.
“Want some tea?” she asked. A puddle sloshed inside a kettle she picked up from next to her cart, and she filled it at the tap.
“Sure,” said Trent. “Ya know, I hadn’t figured out what I’d say if I saw you again. Didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”
“It’s been too long for us to hold anything against each other, Russ. That accent is change enough anyway.”
“I guess Keep rubbed off on me.” The light from the window above her sink illuminated Kendra’s fair face. The effect reminded Trent of the first time he saw her at a banquet between Karhaal and High Tower leadership, where they introduced their promising young people to each other. She’d entranced him that night and for a while thereafter, what with how her skin sparkled and the way her eyes smoldered over her straight nose and carefully set lips. And she always knew what to say. “You’ve not changed at all, though. You might look younger, even.”
She flicked her gaze at him from under her brow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“An observation if you’d prefer.”
“My magic’s been doing all right, thanks for noticing. And you’re welcome, I guess.”
“That’s kinda why I’m here. You’re aware, I’m sure, of all that’s gone on with the king and the Order.”
“And I’m sure you’ll get to it even if I am.” She stepped on nothing and lifted herself high enough to grab a box of tea from a cupboard and stepped back down.
“Officially, we’re here”—
“We?”
“Yeah. That other Karlian and Priest are here with me. We’re here to—officially—see about a few things Tanvarn’s become somewhat infamous for. Unofficially, this is where I figured I would start. But the Priest is a demonologist. She’s here for the Beast. Officially.”
“A demonologist?” Kendra said, dumping water from the kettle into the mugs. “That might be useful. You’re not a fan, but demons—well, they used to act in predictable ways if you understood them. Demonologists have a special perception of their behavior. At a price, though.”
“What”—
“I don’t know. I’ve only dabbled in it. You’d have to ask someone on its inside. All of it’s guarded by High Tower anyway, what with the exposure they get.
“But about Tanvarn, here’s a hot take if you need one: there’s nothing to investigate, certainly not now. The Fleecer’s a bitch, but she’s not doing anything illegal. Townspeople kept asking her to handle the Beast, which hasn’t been back since I chased the thing out of the city.” Kendra walked to the living room with the mugs and set one on the coffee table, around which a broken-down couch and a couple armchairs waited. She held the lip of her cup close to her chin. “Impressed?” She’d asked him that before.
“Hardly,” said Trent.
Kendra smiled and sidled into a spare seat in her living room. “And the whole Liscerring thing I haven’t even touched. Doesn’t seem worth my time to try to figure out corruption in a two-bit sports team.”
Trent moved around her couch.
“Take your armor off before you sit down.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll fuck up my upholstery if you don’t.”
Trent stepped out of his armor and pulled the breastplate over his head. “Gotten fussy in your old age, have you?” He removed his gauntlets as he stepped around the sofa. The couch sunk further than he’d guessed, and he tipped to his side when he sat. A pain shot through his hip. “Ow,” he said, grimacing, and he reached for what caused it. The soul stone Lillie had given him found his hand. It tumbled next to his tea when he tossed it and his gauntlets on the table.
“Not seen that in a while,” Kendra said, staring at his hands.
“I was elbow-deep in a demon a couple days ago.” He repeated their joke: “Impressed?”
“Didn’t know extracting a soul stone was impression-worthy.” Her attention turned to the stone, which flew to her hand when she reached for it. As with Trent, an orange stutter zipped across the obsidian while she studied it in soundless whispers.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d seen these new ones.” He waited for Kendra to talk. She didn’t. “So. What all do you know, then?”
“That’s—vague.”
“It’s also an honest question. What do ya want me to fuckin say?”
“Hi?” Kendra said, shrugging. She tossed the soul stone to the table. “How are you?”
“Been better, been worse.”
“Poor you. You had a lot of time to work through it.”
“Time is all I had.” Trent picked up his mug and sipped. He grimaced. “I never intended to stay like this. Just wanted to figure it out, no matter what that meant. But you know I never did, elsewise I’d have come outta hiding.”
“And here I thought you’d be out hunting demons in your spare time, you and your crusade.” A furtive smile played across her lips. “But you’re a farmer.”
“It got me around. And believe me, I didn’t stop hunting them. Been going harder if anything. They gained another use for me—other than destroying my crops and making my runes itch.”
“A use for demons? You?”
Trent s
aid nothing for a quarter-minute. He sipped from his mug again and coughed. The water tasted scalded. “Gods, did you get this in a woodshop?” He’d said nothing at first, hoping the flavor would grow on him, but it hadn’t, and he set the mug in its place.
“It won’t kill you, I promise.”
Trent puffed. “Anyway, my search eventually landed me in Yarnle, back after the Warlock crisis. By the time all my travel clearances went through, though, it was too late to find anything”—
“Got the itch, did you?” Kendra said. “And obviously you didn’t find anything, so what has happened? Or is it confidential?”
“Coming from the woman who sells—turnips?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “We don’t have the time to play a game of serren-and-trade, so I’ll be out with it. You can ask questions as I go along.”
“Fine,” she said, visibly annoyed by his nonchalance. “Don’t expect the same from me.”
“I don’t.”
Her features fell flat. ‘Fuck off,’ her expression said.
“A man approached me one day at market about a half-year ago…” He explained everything that had happened over the last six months, from the conspiracy at Arnin, to the mastered demon showing up at his house, speaking with Jeom, and what happened at Karhaal. But he left out Lillie. “And then I spoke with the new quartermaster. He told me, among other things, that demonic agents have infiltrated pretty much everywhere in the world. Karhaal, Arnin, our governments.”
“What happened to the guy?” Kendra asked from the kitchen. “At the start.” She’d finished her tea and gone to make another cup.
Trent shrugged. “Disappeared about a week in. Therrance told me it was normal outta castle-people.”
“Do you think he could be”—
“I dunno. I’ve been trying to work through it, but nothing makes sense.”
“Well like I said, at least we know where that passabridge leads—where this D’niqa pulled me from, where I spoke to the Beast, that dirty woman.”
The Demon's Call Page 33
