“Yes, m’lady,” Nevin replied resignedly.
The lady then lifted her skirt an inch off the sand and carefully made her way down the trail that led to the small stretch of beach, far below.
She stopped as she reached the base of the cliff, where the trail ended in a small circle of up-thrust rocks. The rocks were carved with ancient, intricate designs. In the center of the protected spot stood a large stone basin that had been sculpted from a single boulder. It too, bore elaborate carvings. It was a solemn place, where the weight of the ages could not be ignored.
The lady stopped before the basin and removed her gloves. She offered up her prayer as she dipped her hands into the water and withdrew them cupped full of the hallowed liquid. As the ancients had done, she took a sip, and then scattered the remaining water in a circle about herself. The ceremony performed, she continued on.
At the level of the ocean itself, the sounds of the waves were either tremendous or muted, depending on where one stood. The rocks caused odd echoes, and small caverns abounded. She walked on slowly, expectantly, and as she came onto the beach, she saw before her, a few yards away, a lone figure. Not wanting to intrude too quickly, she approached cautiously.
She spoke his name softly. “Dyluth?”
Morticai turned. His lopsided smile came slowly, ruefully.
She moved closer and knelt beside him on the sand, abandoning her concern for the dress she had so carefully tended on the trail. She touched his face lightly, turning it, and frowned as she inspected the bruise on his left cheekbone.
“I’m glad you were able to come, Heather,” Morticai said. “I wasn’t certain you would be able to get away.”
She released his face and gave his hair a single, soft stroke, letting her hand linger at the back of his head. “I would have come under any circumstances. It has been a long time since we have met here. What troubles you, Dyluth?”
Morticai sighed, and then an ironic smirk crept onto his face. “Heather, you’re going to tell me that you have warned me of this for years.” The smirk faded. “Just don’t tell me that I deserve it. Please?”
He looked away and gathered his thoughts. She remained silent, her face filling with concern.
“I have come upon a Droken plot. What would you think if I told you that it is the Droken who have driven Watchaven and Dynolva so close to war, and that the Droken doing it are Watchaven nobles?”
“Were it anyone else,” she answered, “I would laugh. But you, my love, would not lie about such a thing. Do I know them?”
Morticai shrugged. “I suppose so. Lord Aldwin, Lord Valdir, Sir Ellenwood?”
Heather nodded solemnly. “I could see such a thing from Aldwin, but Valdir? How odd. I do not know the other. But wasn’t it the Dynolvans who assassinated Aldwin?”
“I don’t know how that happened,” Morticai admitted. “I do know for a fact he was Droken. Maybe their plans to stir up the Dynolvans worked too well. I don’t know. I was kind of tethered down at the time.”
“Tethered down, as in … ?” Heather asked.
Morticai sighed. “Well, it’s part of why I asked you to meet me here. Do you remember Burnaby Manor?”
She smiled seductively. “How could I not?”
“Yeah,” Morticai said. He returned the smile. Becoming serious again, he continued. “Well, I was wounded in the alley outside the tunnel by a corryn knight of some kind—at the time, that was what I thought he must have been. Well, I’ve been told that the ‘knight’ was Prince Luthekar. Ever hear of him?”
“No,” Heather answered slowly. “It is familiar somehow, but I don’t know why. Where is he prince?”
“I don’t know if there is a ‘where,’ but he’s a prince of the Droken.”
Heather stared at him a long while, horror slowly filling her eyes. “Now, I remember where I’ve heard the name. I’ve heard the court bards tell stories about him. Oh, Dyluth! He is a foul, wicked creature! And you fought him?”
“Yeah. Almost died, too.”
“But Dyluth, the stories say that no one can survive against him!”
“Well, the Inquisitor tells it a little diff—”
“The Inquisitor!”
“Uh, well, yeah … Heather, let me get through one thing at a time. Please?”
“Very well, Dyluth.” She shuddered involuntarily and shifted her weight to sit beside him.
Morticai continued. “Anyway, this Inquisitor told me that it’s Luthekar’s sword that no one is supposed to be able to survive. Y’see, Heather, my problem isn’t the Inquisition. They came to investigate and are generally on my side of things. In fact, I’m kinda’ working for them now. My problem is the Droken.”
“You are working for the Inquisition?”
“It was either that or move to a monastery somewhere. See, the Droken are after me because I survived that damned sword. A Northmarcher tried to kill me, for Glawres’ sake! Of course, he turned out to be Droken. But I can’t go back to Northgate—at least, not until this is over. I wanted to talk with you because someone at the palace has put out an order to have me picked up, and I want you to find out who ordered it.”
Heather cradled her face in her hands and shook her head. “Oh, Dyluth!” she said disgustedly.
He looked away. “I thought that would be your reaction,” he said glumly.
Heather moved to kneel in front of him. She took his hands in hers, bringing them together before her. She waited until Morticai looked back at her before speaking. “Dyluth, what are you going to do? If the Droken have truly singled you out for death, what can you do?”
“Gee, nice of you to put it so clearly,” Morticai replied cynically.
“Dyluth, listen to me! Don’t you understand? I know what it is like to be hunted! You should remember, too—you helped me hide. You should run from here—far, far away.”
“I am hiding, Heather! That’s why I didn’t meet you in town.”
“What of the Arluthians? Have you heard from Nelerek?”
“Yes, I have heard from Nelerek.”
“And?”
Morticai sighed. “He thinks I should leave town.”
“See? Even Nelerek agrees.”
Morticai looked away. When he turned to her again, unshed tears brimmed up in his dark blue eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking? I … I don’t want to leave Watchaven.” He blinked the tears back. “I don’t want to run again! I’m old enough now to do something I couldn’t when they killed my parents, Heather. Now I can fight back!”
It was Heather’s turn to look away. The certainty had left her voice when she spoke again.
“Dyluth … Morticai,” she began and then stopped. She turned back, catching his eyes easily with hers. “Moranekor,” she said softly, using his birth name, “I know that we have had many differences. But there is much between us that cannot be denied, either. I would not have you fall to the Droken!”
He stared at her a moment before he pulled her into his arms. She cried softly as he rocked her back and forth.
“Heather.”
“Please, we can leave here, Dyluth,” she said. “We should have done it long ago. I will go with you. We can begin a new life. I am ready to find out the truth about my heritage. We could go to Tradelenor while I learn about things in Lorredre. If I could clear my family’s name, I would have all the money necessary to protect you. We could even be matched. Let us be gone from this human place where corryn are not welcome.”
Morticai held her away from him before replying. “Heather, are you crazy? ‘Be gone from this human place’? And go to Tradelenor? You can’t get any more human than Tradelenor!”
“Then, we’ll go to Cuthedre! Anywhere but here, Dyluth! As long as we go together.”
Morticai shook his head. “No!” He let her go, and she continued to sob, softly. “Heather, really now
,” he chided her, “think about it. Think about us. You know it wouldn’t work. The first time I got into a fight, you’d be gone. And if that didn’t do it, you’d leave when your fine clothes wore out and I couldn’t replace them for you.”
She stopped sobbing and looked at him, hurt. “Is that all you think I care about?”
He sighed. “No. But I won’t have you match with a dead man, either.”
She fumbled for the slit in her outer skirt. Finally locating it, she retrieved a lace-edged kerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. Afterwards, she laid her hand along Morticai’s face.
This time, it was his eyes that filled with hurt.
“So now I know what it takes for you to agree to matching,” he said. “Finally, I know.”
“That’s unfair,” she said, dropping her hand away from his face.
“Probably. I’m sorry.” He picked up a pebble and threw it toward the water. Frowning, he continued. “Besides Heather, there’s more to it, I think.”
She looked confused. “More to what?”
“More to what’s going on. I’ve felt odd about this. Ever since it started. It’s like, it’s like it’s something I’ve got to do.” He paused awkwardly. “Y’know, the Inquisitor said that it was a miracle that I lived. He said that it was only by Glawres intervening that I could have survived. I still don’t know what to think about that.”
Heather looked at him, her tears dried now. “This Inquisitor really said that?”
A smirk came over Morticai’s face. “Yeah, he couldn’t figure it out either.” He laughed openly, throwing his head back. “Miracle performed on Watchaven street urchin—maybe it does sound like Glawres. Aluntas knows, the patron of the sea has never been predictable.”
“You underrate yourself, Dyluth,” Heather replied. “You always have. Glawres should be proud of you. After all, you have never been predictable, either.”
Morticai smiled weakly. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I didn’t want to meet with you to argue.” He looked down.
She lifted his chin. “I am sorry, too. I’ll get your information—and fret myself sick worrying about you, I am certain.”
“Y’know,” he said slowly, “I still love you.”
She smiled. “And I, you.”
They embraced again, and this time allowed the embrace to turn into long, remembering kisses.
* * *
Morticai glanced at the threatening sky. Dark clouds billowed in rapidly from the southeast, a sure sign of rain. He grabbed his hat as a gust of wind tried to snatch it from his head. The first drops of rain began to fall as he entered the side door of Carlton’s Cabinetry Shop.
Inside, amid the benches and wood crafting tools, a corryn was busy lighting the oil lamps that were already chasing the darkness from the dim corners of the shop. The Northmarcher removed his hat and cloak and placed them on a carved wooden cloak stand.
“That’s some storm,” Morticai observed.
In the lightening room, Nelerek’s features became visible. “I’m not surprised,” he said, lighting the last lamp. “Word from the docks has it that it hit Menelcar first.”
“I’m glad it didn’t come ashore here,” Morticai responded. Outside, the rain began to pound against the door.
A table set with two mugs and a bottle stood in the center of the room. Nelerek sat and began pouring their drinks.
“Aye, we don’t need bad weather,” Nelerek agreed. “Aluntas knows we corryn have enough problems at the moment.” He glanced up then, and scowled at Morticai.
Morticai blinked, and then realized that Nelerek was scowling at the bruise that was still fading from his left cheekbone.
“Uh, City Watch,” Morticai said.
“Ah,” Nelerek nodded, as though it was sufficient explanation. “Speaking of trouble, have any more Droken come to visit?”
“No, thank Glawres,” Morticai replied, taking a seat.
Nelerek raised his mug, “Here’s hoping it remains that way.”
Morticai joined him in the toast.
“I have spoken with the council,” Nelerek announced.
Morticai leaned forward expectantly.
“You will be pleased to know,” Nelerek continued, “that they have officially approved of your current, ah, connections, with the Inquisition.”
“Thank you,” Morticai replied, sinking back in the chair. “It would have been tough if they hadn’t.”
Nelerek nodded. “Agreed. Of course, the Arluthians are as eager as the Faith to defeat the Droken. The council’s main concern was whether our Brotherhood would be compromised should the Inquisition decide to ‘test your merits.’”
Morticai blinked in surprise. “You mean, as in ‘hurt me’? Do you truly think they would do something like that?”
Nelerek shook his head. “No, I think they’ll leave you alone. These three seem to mean you no harm, but I have had experience with other agents of the Inquisition who were not so gentle.”
“Three?” Morticai asked, tilting his head.
“Aye, you heard me—three. Y’see I’ve done a little of my own research. That new man that recently joined your squad, Richard, is also working for the Inquisition.”
Morticai considered the new information.
“But,” Nelerek continued, “they seem to be an honest group. By the way, the council was very interested in what you’ve uncovered and were quite pleased that you’ve used your skills so effectively. You just might gain a rank—if you can survive long enough,” he added, with a wink.
“You’re as cheerful as Heather,” Morticai said, shaking his head.
Nelerek raised an eyebrow. “Are you two—?”
“No.” Morticai snorted. “She’s going to help me do a little research, that’s all.” Morticai solemnly studied his drink before taking a slow, deep swig.
“Well, as expected, Luthekar seems to have vanished,” Nelerek replied, changing the subject, “but I have learned that the haunting of Burnaby Manor began over a month ago. I’m afraid that is all I’ve discovered so far.”
“That’s all right, Nelerek,” Morticai said glumly. “I don’t want to drag you into this, anyway. It’s bad enough that they’re after me—no sense endangering you further.” Morticai drained his mug.
Nelerek reached across the table and grabbed Morticai’s free arm. “Is that self-pity I hear, Dyluth? Y’know, just because you’ve finally locked horns with the Droken doesn’t mean they’re going to take all of us. And if you don’t get rid of such ridiculous notions, I’m going to give you a good flogging, the likes of which you haven’t had since you slept in doorways.”
Morticai’s mouth opened wordlessly. Then, dropping his gaze, he sat silently, his thoughts in obvious turmoil.
“Hit the mark, didn’t I?” Nelerek said gently.
“There have been more ‘ridiculous notions’ than I care to think about,” Morticai admitted.
“I’m not surprised—I suppose it’s normal. But if you continue thinking they are going to get you and all your friends, they will get you,” Nelerek admonished softly.
Morticai sighed and settled himself for the coming lecture; however, his Arluthian advocate did not give the expected litany.
“I always knew that you’d be up against the Droken sooner or later,” Nelerek said. “What happened to your parents sealed that fate. I’m just glad that it waited this long. Y’know, I’ve put a lot of effort into your training, and not just because you’ve got talent. I chose to train you because you are an idealist, a true Arluthian—and because I knew that someday you’d have to fight the Droken. Everything I’ve taught you can be used against them, and to ensure your own survival.
“You’ve given me a lot of pride, y’know. Think about it—you’ve passed each Arluthian trial by a grand degree. Hell, you’ve never even been scratched!�
�� He sat back down and leaned across the table.
“It’s a sign that you can take the Droken on—that you’ve got the skills to do it. There’s a lot of training in there,” he said, tapping Morticai on the head. “It has kept you alive this long—there’s no reason for it to fail you now. This doesn’t have to be any different from the Arluthian ordeals you’ve already passed through.”
Morticai smiled weakly. “The ordeals don’t last day in and day out, Nelerek. They only last a few hours. This is different.”
Nelerek nodded. “But they are life and death—just like this. Give it time, Dyluth. A day will come when you’ll realize that keeping an eye open for the Droken has become second nature. Just like your knives or your rope work, practice will make it seem simple.”
Morticai smiled again, this time with a little more conviction. “Yeah, I guess so. I hope so.”
Nelerek smiled. “That’s better. So, just what, exactly, do you and the robes plan to do about this plague of Droken infecting our two beloved cities?”
Morticai sighed. “Well, Inquisitor Glaedwin has sent for more help, but we don’t think it’ll get here before war breaks out. He’s already met with King Almgren.”
Nelerek raised his eyebrows. “My, my.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t do any good,” Morticai complained. “King Almgren wants solid proof, and my deciphered notes aren’t enough. And now that Aldwin is dead, the notes carry even less weight.”
“So?” Nelerek asked, refilling both of their mugs.
“So, Rylan and Geradon are both shuffling through Trade Council voting records to organize some sort of report they can show King Almgren. I don’t think it’ll help.”
Morticai took a swig from his mug. “I’ve been layin’ low and putting out all the contacts I can, but so far nothin’s turned up. My other choices are to sniff around the Snake Pit some more, go back to following people, or maybe break into Ellenwood’s or Valdir’s to see if I can locate more evidence. All I know is I’ve got to do something, or I’ll hang myself and do the Droken’s work for them. Just sittin’ around is driving me crazy.”
Morticai's Luck Page 16
