“Do you like my pet?” a voice behind me asked.
I half-turned, keeping rubbish-man in sight.
Mage. I felt the power trickling from him. It was more than just a familiarity with the breed. There was a feeling down in the pit of my stomach almost any time I was around one, including Holgren, that hadn’t been there before Abanon’s Blade or before Thagoth. Not unless they used their magic on me anyway. I couldn’t really pretend any more that I hadn’t been changed by my experiences. Just how I had changed, and what it meant, I had no clue.
This one was tall, taller than Holgren, with close-cropped, silvery hair, a strong-boned face, sturdy frame. He wore a simple tunic and trousers and well-made boots. A few silver rings shone on his long fingers. His eyes were mild.
I stuck a thumb at the rubbish man, who was still inching toward me and making pitiful sounds.
“Is that yours?”
“Indeed. I’m rather proud of my handiwork there. It’s a tricky thing, keeping someone alive through such an extreme transformation.”
“You made that out of a person?”
“He deserved it, I assure you. Killing was too good for him. Literally.”
I shrugged. “Not my business.”
“You are a difficult woman to approach. I apologize for waylaying you. I mean no disrespect—or harm.”
I believed that about as much as I’d believe a tooth-puller who said I wouldn’t feel a thing. But I kept quiet and kept an eye on him and his awful pet. My hands itched for my knives, but I kept them loose and open.
“Did you know, Mistress Thetys, that powerful creatures are being birthed in Bellarius as we speak? That old things, long sleeping, are waking in dark places?”
“Can’t say that I did,” I lied.
“Many are already about. Many more will swarm, like flies to rotten meat, to feed at the trough of power the Knife has cut open. I’ve seen it, and what I see is never wrong.”
“That’s kind of a mixed metaphor, but I’ve been guilty of the same. Go on.”
He smiled. It was the least genuine smile I’d seen all day.
“The Knife wants you, Amra Thetys. I have seen it. Others will have as well. And they will try to use you to influence the Knife, to secure its power for themselves alone. Some will seek to partner with you, others to make you their slave. Some, of course, will simply seek to eliminate you.”
“Is that what you’d like to do?”
“I’ve already said I wish you no harm. I just want you to go far, far away and never come back.”
You and me both, I thought, but my mouth said something different.
“Now why would I do that? Bellarius is my home town.”
“Bellarius is a sty, and you hate it here. I’ve seen that as well. I am not enamored of the place myself—but I rather think there will be great changes very soon. You wouldn’t recognize the place, I assure you.”
“There’s a slight problem with the whole ‘me leaving and never coming back’ proposition. Maybe you noticed the light show last night? Nobody is going anywhere. Bellarius is locked up. Anyone who tries to leave gets dead very fast.” Well, except for me, apparently. But while I seemed to be safe from being killed trying to leave, I was as trapped as everyone else.
“Oh, dear. That is a problem. One I’m sure you will resolve in time though. I understand you are frighteningly resourceful. I wouldn’t take too long coming up with a solution, however. Say, by the end of the day?”
“You still haven’t told me what I want to hear,” I said.
“Which is?”
“What are you offering for my hasty departure?”
He smiled again and snapped his fingers.
The revolting thing in the alley shrieked and writhed, and a portion of its form distended. Rotting flesh shifted and thinned, revealing another face.
It was Keel. Maybe I had heard him after all.
He was imprisoned within the monstrosity, bound and gagged by ropes of intestine and crepuscular tentacles. He wasn’t moving.
“Completely unharmed, I assure you.”
I turned to face the mage directly. I wasn’t angry. What I was feeling was too cold to be called anger.
“Oh, see now, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“And why, pray tell, not?”
“Because now, I have to kill you.”
He smiled. Then, he laughed. He made a pass with his fingers, and the gibbering nightmare shrieked again. I glanced back. The ropes of intestine binding Keel were tightening.
“He is completely unharmed. That can change very quickly.”
I didn’t know if I could summon it again or control it if I did manage to call it up. It had only come to me the once, at South Gate, and then, to the best of my understanding, because it was reacting to something in the magic that had been thrown at me or maybe my rapidly approaching death.
I simply knew that I could never, ever allow anyone to control me through fear. Not fear for myself or fear for the safety of others. A mad mage named Bosch had tried that on me once, and I’d half-knuckled under. And he’d murdered his hostage anyway. I wasn’t going to bow to that sort of blackmail again.
I was willing to bet Keel’s life that if the mage that controlled it was dead, the monstrosity he’d created would die along with him.
Maybe that made me a not nice person. I don’t know. I’d consider it a gray area.
I sort of reached inside me and called out, and it was there, just like that. I could feel the rent now, down deep, deep under Mount Tarvus. I knew what it was now thanks to the God of Sparrows and the Hag. Pulsing power, for all practical purposes, to do anything I wanted. Absolutely anything. To reshape reality. I felt a deep, seductive temptation to…change things.
But whatever I did, I had to give it form. If I didn’t, if I didn’t take care to channel it, form it, constrain it, it would very likely scour me out of existence as soon as I tapped it. That much I knew instinctively.
So I did what I had seen Holgren do once.
I smiled as I’d seen Holgren do that night in Lucernis, the night Tambor’s arbor had burned.
Just like Holgren, I said, “My turn.” And I flicked my fingers just as he had, imagining the same destruction he’d visited on Bosch happening to the man in front of me, willing the power pulsing down in the rent to flow up through me, through my hand, and into the smiling, kidnapping magus in front of me.
That night, Holgren had turned his opponent’s body into a bloody mist. I’d actually been frightened of him then, of his power, of his absolute willingness to use it to end a life without a shred of hesitation. I hadn’t understood him very well back then.
What happened when I tried imitating his spell—it made me terrified.
Of myself.
An invisible but palpable wave of pure force leapt from my hand. The mage just disintegrated before my eyes, every eyelash and toenail.
So did the building behind him. And the one behind that.
And the one behind that.
I don’t know how many people I killed that day.
I stood there for a long time, horrified by the destruction I had caused. Long enough for shrieks of fear to start up in the neighborhood. Long enough for people to start running toward the strangely tidy destruction. Long enough for a haze of dust to drift into the alley, composed surely of masonry and furnishings and people—
Behind me, a ragged, gagging cough. I turned around.
Keel knelt in a vast pile of rancid meat, hacking and gagging and pulling intestine from around his neck and arms and legs. He looked up finally and saw me.
“What in hells is going on?” he said.
I just shook my head.
“Where are we?”
Finally, I shook myself out of the shock that I had fallen into and moved to help him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “We’re leaving.”
Chapter Eighteen
/> When we got back to the inn, Keel was still shaken. So was I. The horror of what I'd done, inadvertent as it might have been, threatened to choke me. But I put it away, buried it deep, ruthless with myself. I would deal with it later. When there was time. If there was time. If all of Bellarius went up in a cloud of dust, then three buildings full of Kerf-only-knew how many people was nothing—
Stop it, Amra. Just stop, I told myself.
“This kid needs a bath,” I told the innkeep as we passed him on the way to the stairs, “and I need something stronger than wine. Send both up as soon as you can.”
The man bowed sarcastically, which was an impressive skill, I had to admit.
As soon as I unlocked and opened the door, I knew something was wrong. The door connecting the sitting room to the bedroom was open, and there was a cold breeze blowing through both rooms. Which meant the balcony doors were open. I’d left them closed and latched.
I blocked Keel from entering the suite and drew my knives.
“You’ve got a nice view here,” came a Hardside voice from the balcony.
“Why don’t you come over here and let me get a view of you?” I replied.
I heard slow footsteps approaching. I brought up a knife, ready to throw.
That broad, farmer’s face was older now. A few wrinkles around the eyes and on his forehead had joined the freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. His hair was still blond but cut close to the scalp now; no cowlick sticking up from the back any more. His blue eyes were as intense and determined as I remembered them but not nearly as kind.
“Amra,” he said. “Been a long time.”
“Theiner.”
He smiled a little at that. “Not for a while now. These days, everybody calls me Moc Mien.”
He was average height and wore clean, loose-fitting, dark gray silks. I noticed his boots were soft-soled. I suspected he’d trod intentionally heavily to let me know he was approaching. Everything about his demeanor spoke of a cat-like grace. His hands were plainly visible and empty.
Theiner was Keel’s crew leader.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I told him.
“I know. Wish we could’ve met under better circumstances. Bottle of wine, good meal, reminiscing about the bad old days. All that.”
“Want to tell me what the hells you’re doing in my rooms?” I asked.
He sighed. “I came for that little bastard cowering in your shadow,” he replied.
“So. You’re Moc Mien?” I asked, not ready to delve into the issue of Keel just yet.
In reply, he gave me a shallow bow.
“Why the name change?”
“Theiner is a farm boy’s name, not one to attract respect, much less fear. Might as well be called Turnip Boy. Moc Mien, on the other hand…”
“Chagan, isn’t it?”
“It is. Means ‘peaceful life’ or some such. Not that anyone around here would know that.” He shrugged.
“I’m not calling you ‘Moc Mien,’ Theiner.”
“You can call me whatever you like, Amra, as long as you hand over the kid.”
“I’m not going to be doing that.”
He sighed. “We go back a long way. I don’t think I have to remind you that you owe me.”
“That’s why I’m here, actually. I got your present.”
He stared at me blankly. “What present?”
“Borold’s head.”
“Borold? What are you talking about?”
“Somebody sent me Borold’s head in a box. You’re about the only person who’d have reason to believe I’d want it.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t seen Borold in years. I certainly didn’t chop his head off and send it to you. I’ve got better, and less insane, things to do with my time.”
I sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” If Theiner hadn’t sent the head, that meant I had been lured to Bellarius. But for what and by whom? Exhaustion, both physical and mental, settled on me like a smothering blanket.
“I’m tired, Theiner. Really tired. Can we have this discussion another time? I had no sleep last night and a very rough morning.”
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“That you didn’t sleep last night, and your morning's been busy. I’ve been shadowing you since you left the Wreck last night. For a master thief, you’re not particularly aware of your surroundings. Maybe you're getting ol—er, complacent.”
“I was being followed. I knew it!” Paranoia? Kerf’s shriveled balls.
“Did you mean to destroy those buildings this morning, by the way? It seemed a bit…excessive.”
I was not going to talk about that.
“What do you want, ‘Moc Mien?’”
“I told you. I want Keel.”
“And I told you. You can’t have him. Sorry.”
He sauntered over to the couch and sat down. Leaned back, stretched his arms out behind his head. Laced his fingers, put his hands behind his head. Stared at me. “You know I can’t allow him to just leave the crew consequence-free,” he said.
“I know that wouldn’t play well,” I acknowledged. A crew leader couldn’t be seen to tolerate that kind of blatant insubordination, or they wouldn’t remain crew leader for long. But that wasn’t my problem. I knew, however, that Theiner was going to make it my problem. He didn’t really have a choice if he wanted to remain in charge of his crew.
“You can come in, by the way,” he said. It’s your room, after all.” I was still standing in the doorway. I wanted Keel out of his line of sight.
“Are you going to try and make a move on the kid?” I countered.
“Not for the length of this conversation, at least,” he replied, so I put away the knife and sat down opposite him. Keel walked in behind me and closed the door. He was obviously scared, obviously trying not to show it. He leaned against a wall, as far from Theiner as he could get without being too blatant about it.
A few seconds later, there was a knock on the door, and the innkeeper entered with a tray. On the tray was a carafe of water, three small glasses, and a bottle of root: clear, distilled spirits. He set the tray down and looked at me, pointedly ignoring Theiner and Keel.
“Shall I delay the bath?” he asked me.
“Yes, thanks. Did you know I had a visitor?”
“Not until I heard voices. I went back for an extra glass since I heard no screams of pain or bodies falling to the floor.”
“You are a consummate host.”
He rolled his eyes and left.
I poured myself a splash of root, threw it back, coughed and shuddered, then mixed a little more with water and settled back into my chair. I really was tired and not in the mood to deal with this. Theiner watched me with calm, cold eyes all the while. Keel was behind me; I had no idea what he was doing.
“Aren’t you going to offer me any?” asked Theiner.
“You helped yourself into my rooms. You can help yourself to a drink if you want it.”
As he mixed himself a drink, I asked him, “How much?”
“How much what?”
“How much to make this problem go away?”
“It’s not that simple. Keel didn’t just try to quit the crew. He got political,” said Theiner, disgust plain on his face and in his voice. “He mouthed off about how we should be trying to overthrow the Syndic rather than taking from our fellow oppressed citizens.”
I glanced back over my shoulder at the kid. His face was a little red, but his jaw was hard. Embarrassed but stubbornly sure of his belief.
“Ansen really has a way with words,” he muttered. “Probably because he speaks the truth.”
Theiner snorted. “Believe what you want, boy, but you were happy enough to join the crew when it meant a full belly and a roof over your head, you ungrateful little shit.”
“I was happy,” Keel replied. “That was before I knew better. The Syndic
and the Council of Three want us down in the mud, preying on each other. It keeps us from looking up and seeing who’s really keeping us from climbing out of the muck.”
“Yeah, well, when you figure out how to off the Telemarch, then you can talk to me about revolution. While the archmage takes the Syndic’s pay, things will remain exactly as they are, you stupid git.”
“Enough,” I said. “You two are giving me a headache. Keel, please shut up. Theiner, I understand your position, but I won’t be giving Keel up to you. And honestly, you and everybody else in this city have bigger things to worry about. Or haven’t you noticed the wall of death sealing the city off from the rest of the world?”
“That’s a problem I can do nothing about,” replied the crew leader who had once been my friend. “Young Keel, there, is a problem I can do something about. In fact, he’s right at the top of my list of chores.”
“If you’ve been shadowing me for the last dozen hours, you know there are some very bad things happening in Bellarius, Theiner.”
“There are very bad things happening in Bellarius every single day, Amra. I’m one of them.”
“Oh, gods, spare me the menacing patter. I’m not some pot-bellied shopkeeper you’re looking to intimidate into paying protection money. Tomorrow morning, the whole city is going to become a smoking hole in the ground. It seems very likely that I’m the only one who has a chance to stop that from happening. I don’t have the time or the patience to listen to your extortion speech.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I see why you and Keel get along so well. An idealist and a thief with delusions of grandeur. Tell me; how are you going to stop the supposed destruction of an entire city?”
“I don’t know if I can stop it, but I do know that I don’t have time to be dodging you and your crew while I go about trying.”
“Then give my wayward lamb to me, and get on with your heroics. I’ll applaud when you’re finished.”
I slammed the glass down on the table. My patience had evaporated. “Why don’t you cut me some Kerf-damned slack, Moc Mien, and put your vendetta on hold until lunch time tomorrow? Surely, you can keep your crew under your thumb for that long. If the city’s still standing then, we can revisit this conversation.”
Thief Who Knocked on Sorrow's Gate Page 14
