The Traitor and the Chalice

by Jane Fletcher

  Horzt was the first taste of familiar civilisation for those returning from the wildlands. It was also the last that those heading north would get for months, maybe years, maybe forever. Danger was always present in the wildlands. Some would never return, and their bones would rest forever in a wayside grave.

  Travellers indulged themselves in Horzt, aided by the sizeable proportion of the local population who made a living by catering for them. As long as the road beyond was passable, the nights in Horzt were one continuous party. The excesses had frequently shocked Tevi. Her month in the militia had finished off what little naiveté she had possessed on her arrival. There was small wonder that the Horzt militia had needed to acquire their reputation.

  By now, Tevi was inured to the debauchery, and other worries claimed her attention. She reached a quieter street, lined with the shuttered shop fronts of tanners and cobblers. The smell of leather vied with stale beer on revellers. A group blocked the road and forced Tevi to squeeze through. One man, too drunk to register her uniform, shoved her and cursed. Tevi regained her balance and glared at the offender, but his companions were already hauling her assailant away, with a chorus of nervous apologies.

  Tevi let them go. She wanted to get back to Jemeryl rather than waste time improving the manners of a drunkard. All afternoon, while trailing Levannue through city and camp, Tevi had refused to worry about Klara’s non-appearance. Levannue certainly had not acted like someone who had just defeated a major adversary. However, each minute was eating away at that confidence. As the inn came into view, Tevi’s tension solidified painfully in her stomach.

  Light from the inn’s open doorway glinted on water flowing from the lion’s mouth. The gentle splashing was incongruous in the decadence of Horzt by night. Then rough voices erupted in the bar, drowning out everything else. The cacophony was singing but hardly inviting. Fighting her way through to the rear stairway would be a slow job, not least because the innkeeper clearly regarded Tevi as his personal police force.

  There was another route to their room. A side alley gave access to the inner courtyard. In it would be empty beer barrels, broken furniture and, frequently, drunkards sleeping off their beer. It was quicker, but not Tevi’s favourite passageway. The stench of urine lay thicker than the shadows. Tevi held her breath until she emerged into the marginally fresher air of the courtyard.

  A rickety stairway climbed the walls. Decaying timbers revealed years of neglect. Tevi stood and listened. Horzt had its share of footpads, but nothing stirred, except maybe a rat.

  As Tevi stepped into the open, a small shape leapt from between the mounds of trash. Too late, Tevi realised that it was not a rat.

  “Laniss. Laniss. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Tevi jumped even as she recognised the shrill voice of Rill, the innkeeper’s young daughter. The child was awake, as usual, long past a sensible bedtime for someone her age. The girl grabbed Tevi’s hand and swung back and forth. This did not unbalance Tevi, but it prevented her progress.

  “Have you been in any fights? Have you killed anyone?”

  “No. I’ve told you, the militia isn’t like that. I just walk around and shout.” Tevi’s patience with the girl had been tested on many occasions.

  “I wish I was grown up and could join the militia. I’m going to join as soon as I’m big enough.”

  Rill let go of Tevi’s hand to practice wild swings with an imaginary sword. Tevi suspected that another twenty years would see Rill as an overweight and overcautious barkeeper.

  “Is my grandmother all right?” Tevi skirted around the prancing child.

  “Oh, she’s been asking about you all afternoon.”

  Tevi’s heart leapt at the reassurance. She reached the stairs, with Rill tagging after. The child’s chubby legs made hard work of the uneven steps. Tevi wished there were some easy way to shake off the jarring hero worship. However, help was at hand. The kitchen door was flung open. Candlelight played among the courtyard shadows.

  “Rill! Is that you? Get yourself in here. Haven’t I told you...” the innkeeper’s voice boomed.

  Rill scrambled crablike down the stairs. She scuttled quickly past her father but was only partially successful in ducking the swipe aimed at her ear. The innkeeper scowled at Tevi, made a token effort at a nod of acknowledgement, and then slammed the door.

  Darkness reclaimed the courtyard. Then Tevi was aware of a new light falling from above. She looked up. Jemeryl’s disguised form was framed in a doorway at the top of the stairs.

  “Tevi. You’re safe. I’ve been...” Jemeryl was too agitated to use the false name. Fortunately, there was no one to hear.

  Tevi did not answer. She leapt the remaining stairs and shepherded Jemeryl back along the corridor and into their room. Once the door was shut, she held Jemeryl tightly, unperturbed by her seventy-year-old appearance, and soaked in relief from the rhythm of Jemeryl’s heart thudding against her own.

  “What happened? I couldn’t see Klara. Did something go wrong?” Tevi asked.

  “Levannue had a watch ward on the sixth-dimensional channels. It must have taken her weeks to construct. Probably why she’s so late getting here. I didn’t dare let Klara get within one hundred yards of her. She’d have spotted the link at once. But what happened to you? I was expecting you to come back so I could give a description of how Levannue looked. I’ve been so frightened.”

  “And I’ve been worried about you. You are all right, aren’t you?”

  Jemeryl grabbed Tevi’s hands and held them to her lips. “Yes, now I know you’re safe.” She raised her eyes to meet Tevi’s. “What have you been doing? We’ve got to find Levannue. She was—”

  “The nondescript middle-aged woman wearing the large grey cloak.”

  Jemeryl looked stunned. “How did you know?”

  “By the way she stood. It’s something I learned on the docks. How to read someone’s posture. It had to be her. She looked so ineptly guilty. She was obviously doing something wrong but wasn’t a professional criminal.”

  Jemeryl studied Tevi with surprised appreciation. “So I suppose you’ve found out where she’s staying, when she’s leaving, where she’s going, and what colour underclothes she’s wearing?”

  “I didn’t make any progress on the underclothes, but I got answers for the rest.”

  Tevi threw herself onto one of the two lumpy mattresses that took up most of the floor and were the only furniture in the room. The walls were greasy and damp-stained, the woodwork was rotten, and the bedding was filthy. Even these facts failed to diminish Tevi’s self-satisfied grin.

  Jemeryl joined her. “When does Levannue leave Horzt?”

  “First light tomorrow, with a caravan bound for Uzhenek.”

  “That makes sense. She left the dog-root until the last moment. It leaves less time for alarms to be raised.”

  “But why is she going north? Why isn’t she returning to the Protectorate?”

  “Perhaps she wants more time to master the spell. Or perhaps, even with it, she doesn’t think she can tackle the whole Coven. Maybe her ambitions lie with claiming an empire outside the Protectorate.”

  “So what’s our next step?”

  Jemeryl rested her shoulder against the wall. “I don’t want to challenge her in Horzt. There are defences against magic built into the walls. Wards to counteract anyone tinkering with the higher dimensions. They attempt to nullify spells or turn them back on the caster.”

  “You mean magic can’t be used here? I could have taken Levannue prisoner on my own?”

  “No, you couldn’t!” Fear made Jemeryl’s voice sharp. “The wards wouldn’t stop a sorcerer. I could blast through them, and so could Levannue.”

  Tevi swallowed, taken aback by the vehemence of the response. “Oh.”

  Jemeryl’s expression softened. “I don’t want you doing anything stupid. The wards are merely an inconvenience to sorcerers, and some passive types of magic aren’t affected, like my bond with Klara and my disguis
e, although it only goes unnoticed as long as I don’t alter it. If Levannue or I were to shape-shift, even by reverting to our true forms, the wards would react. They wouldn’t stop us, but they would alert the mayor. And neither of us wants to attract attention.”

  “I thought you were just being overcautious in keeping disguised all the time.”

  Jemeryl laughed and scooped up Tevi’s hand, interlocking their fingers. The back of Jemeryl’s hand was uppermost. The swollen red knuckles and blotched skin contrasted with Tevi’s smooth fingers. “I can’t wait to change back.”

  Tevi looked sideways at her lover and grinned mischievously. “Don’t be so hasty. Has nobody ever told you wrinkles add character to your face? And I’m not sure if teeth really suit you.”

  “Thank you!”

  Tevi’s face became more thoughtful. “If the mayor controls the wards, perhaps he would help you. I know Horzt is keen to assert its independence from the Protectorate, but I’d bet he’d rather keep in the Guardian’s good books if he could.”

  “He might help if he were able, but the mayor has no control over the wards. They’re purely reactive devices built into the foundations of Horzt. They were a gift from a sorcerer long ago. The mayor has artefacts that let him monitor the wards, but as for making them attack someone or even turning them off...” Jemeryl shook her head. “He can’t do a thing. Not that you think it from the way he talks. By all accounts, he thinks he can defend Horzt against anything and doesn’t need the Coven’s assistance. The wards keep out minor threats, such as basilisks, but nothing more.”

  “Surely the rest of the population know they’re at risk?”

  “The rest of the population know the Coven won’t allow a belligerent sorcerer to carve out an empire south of the Barrodens, whether they pay taxes to Lyremouth or not, and on the whole, they prefer not.”

  Shouts and whoops cut through the night. Tevi leaned against the wall and grimaced at the chill of damp plaster. She would not be sorry to leave. “I’m still not sure why you don’t tackle Levannue here. Won’t the wards affect her as much as you?”

  “It would be dangerous. Wards are Levannue’s speciality. Even if she can’t control them, she’ll know what to expect. I’d be more vulnerable to surprise, and in sorcerer’s combat, any distraction can be fatal.” Jemeryl shook her head. “No. We’ll let Levannue get away from Horzt and wait until she starts to think she’s safe and relaxes her guard.”

  “What about my contract with the militia?”

  “You’re going to have to desert.”

  “The guild masters won’t like me breaking a contract.”

  “Your chief guild master personally assigned you to this quest, which will take priority over other tasks you’ve taken.”

  “I suppose so, but—”

  “If you want, I’ll command you to desert. As an ordinary Protectorate citizen, you’re supposed to obey Coven sorcerers.”

  Tevi could not stop herself tensing. There was nothing condescending in Jemeryl’s tone, but it raised uncomfortable issues for her.

  Jemeryl must have seen the reaction. She leaned over and kissed Tevi tenderly on the lips. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of ordering you around.”

  “But you could if you wanted.”

  “Believe me, I never will.”

  Chapter Eleven—Prisoner and Escort

  The drumming of rain on canvas was loud inside the cramped wagon. The lack of space forced Tevi to adopt a half crouch. She peered around the jam-packed interior in the dull light of another wet dawn. The three passengers huddled in whatever niches they could find amidst the cargo. Two watched Tevi with anxious expressions; the third was in a state far beyond mere anxiety.

  Tevi observed Levannue out of the corner of her eye. The renegade sorcerer looked as if her nerves were trying to crawl out of her skin. The pulse in her neck was racing visibly, and despite the chill, sweat glossed her forehead. It was lucky that no other militiaman was witnessing Levannue’s blatant display of guilt. Tevi could almost have pitied her, were it not for the attempt on Jemeryl’s life.

  At that thought, Tevi touched the hilt of her sword. Levannue looked so helpless. It was tempting to think that a surprise attack might work. However, Jemeryl had made her promise repeatedly not to make any rash move, and Tevi knew it was not the militia uniform that was frightening Levannue, but the imagined approach of a dozen Coven sorcerers. Tevi’s lips tightened. How much easier it would be if such a force were on hand.

  For the sake of appearances, Tevi made a few militia-style grunts and prodded the baggage. She treated the passengers to a last suspicious glare before leaving. Once out on the tailboard, she straightened her legs with relief and viewed the scene.

  The drizzle had returned with dawn. The wagons stood forlorn in the dismal light. Tracks through the encampment were ankle-deep in mud, and the pennants over traders’ booths hung limp. Tevi tried to identify some firm ground before jumping down; even so, her feet skidded. Only a colleague’s hand saved her from ending up in the mud. Tevi smiled her thanks as she regained her balance.

  Some yards away, the caravan master was watching them hopefully. A nod from Tevi’s companion was taken as permission to leave. With loud shouts and the creak of timber, the first team of horses surged forward. Motion rippled along the road. Tevi stepped onto the low embankment and watched the caravan pass. The fifteen wagons squelched by. Mud oozed in waves from under their wheels and clung to the horses’ fetlocks. Outriders flanked the caravan, cloaks wrapped tightly, hoods pulled up.

  The other militiaman stood by Tevi’s shoulder. He studied the leaden sky and said in a deadpan tone, “They picked a nice day for travelling.”

  “Tell me, does it ever stop raining in Horzt?”

  “It will in a couple of months.” He wiped a dangling raindrop off his nose. “Then it starts snowing.”

  The caravan left the outskirts of the encampment. Tevi watched it ford a river and turn north through the sodden farmlands. The road headed straight for a break in the mountains. The high pass. She and Jemeryl would not be far behind the caravan. At that moment, Jemeryl was packing their belongings and paying the innkeeper in preparation for their departure.

  “It’s the mountains that do it,” the militiaman observed.

  Tevi took her eyes from the dwindling wagons. “Pardon?”

  “The rain. In autumn and winter the wind comes from the southeast, carrying lots of water from the Eastern Ocean. The clouds rise to get over the mountains, so they drop all their rain. Right here. Twenty miles farther north, and you don’t see rain from one week to the next. I reckon they built Horzt in the wrong place. It’s a wonder we don’t grow webbed toes and fingers. And how’d we put our gloves on then?”

  Any further thoughts on the climate of Horzt were curtailed by a shout behind them.

  “Hey! Laniss!”

  Tevi turned to acknowledge the name. Two other militiamen were headed towards her.

  “What is it?”

  “The captain wants to see you in the gatehouse.”

  “Could it wait? I’m on my way to do something.”

  “She wants to see you now.”

  The tone left no room for debate, and Tevi could guess the reason. Her absence from her post on the previous evening must already have been reported. Although expected, the summons was unwelcome. Not that Tevi foresaw any problems. She had a plausible story prepared, and she would have left Horzt before it was disproved, but she hated lying.

  Tevi shrugged and started to pick her way through the morass. The two messengers fell in beside her.

  “It’s all right. I’m going. I know the way,” Tevi protested.

  “We were told to accompany you.”

  No other words were spoken until they reached the doorway set just inside the massive arch of the gatehouse. Tevi was directed to the stairway leading to the office over the gate. The two militiamen took up positions at either side of the entrance.

  Something about their
actions sent a ripple of disquiet through Tevi. It seemed an excessive precaution for a minor misdemeanour. There was, however, no time to consider it further. Tevi tugged off her helmet and combed her fingers through her hair before knocking. A loud voice answered immediately.

  Tevi marched in and came to a bewildered halt in the middle of the room. The militia captain was standing by a window. A scowl made her weather-beaten face look even more threatening than usual. Her eyes raked over Tevi. The captain’s expression was worrying enough, but in addition, seated at the desk, was Mayor Gunather. His flabby bulk was held in a pose that was probably intended to look commanding but was more reminiscent of indigestion.

  This summons was not about a missed duty. Without thinking, Tevi took a step backwards. She heard the door behind her slam before her foot had left the ground. Tevi spun around. Three unfamiliar mercenaries lined the rear wall.

  The tallest was a mountain of a man with a ruddy complexion and hands that looked as if they were hacked from granite. The man beside him had the solid build of a professional warrior but seemed delicate by comparison. He was the oldest by a decade or more. A scar ran across one weathered cheek and disappeared beneath greying temples. The third was a woman with cropped blond hair and sharp hazel eyes. She stood balanced lightly with the deadly grace of an experienced scout. All their hands bore the double swords of vouchsafed guild mercenaries. Tevi was sure that none had been in Horzt before that day.

  “Sit down, Tevi.” Mayor Gunather reclaimed her attention. He gestured to a round stool. Only after she had complied did Tevi register the name he had used. She met the mayor’s self-satisfied smile. “So Tevi is your real name.”

  “No, it’s just a nickname. But I’ll admit I’ve been known by it before,” she said defiantly—and truthfully.

  “Then you’ll be the person we want. We’re not bothered by what your parents called you,” the oldest mercenary said cheerfully.