by Rob Scott
‘I’ll have the same,’ she told the barman, ‘and another flagon of that too, please.’
Hoyt reached for his goblet again, and said, ‘I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t hear me. I’m not interested. And I am not buying you dinner.’
She tossed a leather pouch onto the table which jangled with the unmistakable sound of Mareks – a bold move, showing off that much money. Despite the fact that no one appeared to have noticed, Hoyt was uncomfortable with such a public demonstration of wealth.
‘I’m not a prostitute; so relax,’ she said softly. ‘I can pay my own way. I was just looking for someone interesting with whom to have dinner.’
Hoyt raised an eyebrow. She was straightforward; he appreciated that quality, and as he sneaked a longer look he realised that she was not unattractive. Her curly hair was closely cropped, her eyes were large and wide-set over a narrow nose. Her face was scarred – beneath one eye, across her chin, and through the gentle incline of her upper lip; Hoyt found that curiously endearing: the perfect women who cavorted with Malagon’s generals or lived in his palaces could learn something from a woman like this. Maybe this woman’s scars came from a rough-and-tumble childhood; maybe from her more recent past – either way, she had captured his attention.
He pushed his chair back and turned to order more wine for himself, and as he did so he caught sight of her tanned deerhide boots rising halfway up her calves, the soft double-wrapped type popular with those who spent much of their time on their feet. In one was stashed a bone-handled knife, sheathed in an inside flap for quick access, not the type of blade one used to slice bread or cut meat from a spit.
Hoyt smiled. His attractive dinner companion smiled back. Her teeth were straight and clean; she had obviously grown up in a privileged community, probably somewhere in Malakasia. ‘So no chance I can get you to leave?’ he said, this time bantering.
‘Oh no, not now I’ve just ordered dinner. That looks delicious. How is it?’
‘One of the best tenderloins I’ve eaten in Middle Fork.’ This was the first time Hoyt had ever tasted it, anywhere in Eldarn – but it was undeniably delicious.
‘Are you celebrating something?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I just enjoy good food. It’s my one vice.’
She laughed, and to his surprise, Hoyt found he desperately wanted to hear it again.
‘Do you want to know what my vices are?’ she asked.
His hand started to shake. ‘No-’
‘Why not?’ Her seductive manner was difficult to resist; Hoyt moved his hand to keep it from rattling the plates. He enjoyed the charade of being a wealthy man, and he hoped she was enjoying her role as the temptress, but it hadn’t taken him long to know who she really was.
‘Because I am too busy tonight to spend time on silly pursuits.’
‘Since when is love silly?’
‘Since the very first time it was mistaken as love by someone – probably a man – in the throes of lust.’ His hand had stopped trembling now and he deliberately picked up his fork and speared a piece of meat, then popped it into his mouth and savoured the taste.
‘What a negative outlook on human emotion.’ She reached across the table and took his hand, and in spite of himself he felt his heart race. Perhaps there was something to be said for a full-blown case of raging lust. She toyed with his fingers, almost absentmindedly. ‘You need a strong woman to take you to heights of pleasure you will remember for the rest of your life.’
‘Ah, now I understand.’ He withdrew his hand. A half-aven of pleasure followed by two hundred Twinmoons of wishing I could recapture it, even once. Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound like a terribly appetising offer.’
Her food arrived, and as she sorted out coins from her purse, the barman tried to steal a clear look down her tunic.
A withering glare from Hoyt sent him on his way. ‘You ought to close that up. People kill for that much silver.’
‘I’ll be all right.’ She slipped it back inside her tunic. ‘You realise my offer doesn’t have to be just one night.’ As much as Hoyt wanted to feel the woman’s fingers entwined with his again, he kept his hands busy with his cutlery.
‘Ah, but it would be, wouldn’t it?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Her voice had dropped again and Hoyt felt it resonate in his bones, stirring him from within. He wanted to clear the table and take her right there, in the tavern – but that was what she wanted him to feel; she had been manipulating him from the start. His body responded to his desire, playing into her hands.
Hoyt smiled, it had been a thoroughly enjoyable game – and now he had to end it.
He leaned in close to her, enjoying the triumphant smile that crossed her lips. ‘Because, my dear, you are a thief,’ he whispered, enjoying even more the sudden change of expression. ‘Your entire persona screams I am a thief, louder than if you were standing on top of this building, screaming it out to all of Middle Fork. You have a knife tucked into a hidden sheath in your boots, which in turn are tough but more importantly, silent. You’re wearing a tight-fitting skirt, but I would guess your loose-fitting tunic has sleeves filled with all sorts of nasty sticking and stabbing devices. Your hair is short – quite attractive, I would add – but short enough to stay out of your way when you’ve tucked it beneath a hood or a mask. You have exceedingly strong hands and fingers, a quick wit, and three scars on your face that I very much doubt came from playing chainball with your older brothers. You are obviously not a prostitute, and obviously not a businesswoman, but you’re carrying enough silver to buy much of Middle Fork.
‘So unless you’re a Malakasian general’s wife holidaying in the southern territories, amusing yourself with a bit of local colour, you’re a thief. Probably quite a good one.’
A brief look of horror passed over her face, replaced almost immediately by a look of fear. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, unobtrusively sliding one hand beneath the table.
Hoyt liked her other voice much better. ‘I am the one who is going to break that hand if you don’t keep it up here where I can see it.’
She complied, and he added, ‘Good. Thanks. You should have listened when I asked you to go away, but I guess I was about the only target here – and I did enjoy the seduction routine; you’re very good at it.’
‘Pissing demons,’ she said, staring at him. Without looking down, she stabbed a piece of meat and bit it off the blade, then chewed slowly. ‘You’re a thief,’ she said finally.
‘Nice to meet you. I’m Hoyt. I’m from Southport.’
Knowing she had been bested, at least on this occasion, she smiled. ‘I’m Ramella. I’m from Landry.’
‘A pleasure, Ramella of Landry.’ Hoyt offered to pour her a goblet of wine, but she took the flagon from him and helped herself.
‘You must have done well today.’ She gestured towards the meal.
‘Ramella,’ Hoyt decided to take the risk, ‘I have had one of the most glorious days of my life, and I will be completely honest with you, I don’t have a heavy purse, but I do have enough for this meal, and a bit left for my room upstairs. If you actually meant what you said, I would be very happy to take you up on your offer – we have, after all, moved beyond that awkward “getting to know you” phase, so why not?’
Ramella leaned back in the chair, sipping her wine and fiddled with the leather thong tied loosely about her neck. Nothing dangled from it, no charms, jewellery or icons; it was just a leather tie, but Hoyt couldn’t take his eyes off the way the leather strip caressed the soft skin above her tunic.
Smiling her seductive grin, Ramella leaned forward, and gestured for him to do likewise. As he did so, Hoyt could feel her breath on his cheeks, could smell the heady aroma of wine and venison. He held his breath, not wanting to cloud the air with anything but her scent. He waited, expecting her to kiss him and praying she wasn’t about to knife him beneath the table.
When she spoke, he was confused – her words were nowhere in the long list of po
ssible replies to his invitation.
Ramella of Landry leaned across the table, breathing pungent fumes into Hoyt’s face, and said, ‘I think he’s coming out of it.’
‘I think he’s coming out of it,’ Hannah repeated, working some of the stiffness from her shoulder. The querlis had helped – Hoyt rewrapped it each morning with a new poultice – but her arm remained immobile. She felt stronger, though, and was desperate to try going without her shoulder wrapped or her arm in a sling.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Alen said, ‘and it worked blazingly fast. Great rutting lords, but this is a remarkable substance.’
Hoyt blinked to clear his eyes. Instead of a beautiful thief, Alen and Hannah were staring back at him. Hannah’s shoulder was wrapped, and he recognised his handiwork. Cold, confused, and utterly surprised to find them here, outside, he asked, ‘Where’s Ramella?’
Alen laughed. ‘I’d like to know that, too, Hoyt. You never mentioned her before. She sounded quite intoxicating.’
Hoyt thought his head might crack open. ‘Is she here? Where are we?’
Hannah sat beside him. ‘We’re in Malakasia, north of the Great Pragan Range and moving towards Welstar Palace. Do you remember any of that?’ There was a concerned look in her eyes.
In a rush, everything came back to him: their journey, the forest of ghosts, the pouch of bark Churn had found on the Malakasian corpse – and his crazy decision to test it out. As his memories washed over him in a wave, he started to tremble. Hannah put her good arm around him, and he revelled in the warmth of her touch.
‘Unholy whores, but that was real!’ he cried. ‘I was there, Alen, there in your house. It was like yesterday – there were details I would never be able to remember now, not even on my best day with my clearest recollections. I saw it all: your house, the fireplace off that little room you called your study, the one with the green and brown rug on the floor – I haven’t seen that rug in a hundred Twinmoons, but I could weave it for you, today, without missing a detail. I don’t remember you smoking, though, or having a dog, but the rest of it was so real.’ He paused, shaking his head as if to clear it.
‘It was the day you gave me the first books in my collection. I never told you what happened afterwards, but I left your place that night and I met a woman. She was a thief, and gods, but I was in love with her.’
‘Sounded more like lust from where we were sitting,’ Hannah said.
‘Call it what you like,’ Hoyt chuckled, ‘but she was the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. I asked her to stay with me that night. I couldn’t help it; my whole head was caving in just looking at her. I couldn’t-’ He paused, considered his rambling storyline and ended with, ‘I don’t suppose you need all those details, do you?’
‘We need a few,’ Alen said. ‘I don’t recall smoking, and I have never had a dog.’
Several tumblers clicked into place in Hoyt’s mind. ‘The dog. Hannah, you remembered a dog, too, both when you came through the forest of ghosts, and again when I set the bone in your shoulder. Isn’t that right?’
She nodded. ‘It was more than remembering him. When I was in the forest, it was as if reality had changed. I was there with my parents, and the dog was there too – that dog was there at my parent’s house in Denver, but we never had a dog. I spent a long time wondering which were my real memories.’
‘How very odd.’ Hoyt shook the last of the fog from his mind. ‘What do you think, Alen? Is it just some strange effect of the narcotics in this bark?’
‘It must be,’ Alen said. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s clear that we all experienced the most memorable times in our lives, and whether they were a highest high – collecting that medical library in Middle Fork – or a lowest low, like Churn’s family massacre or my leaving Reia in England, the memories are as vivid as any dream we’ve ever experienced. And they’re repetitive and very real – and captivating, in that none of us have been able to escape them without some outside intervention.’
‘What happened to me?’
‘You were out all day, so we cut the strip holding the piece of bark around your neck. It wasn’t long after we took it off that you started to come back to us.’ Hannah held up the thong on which Alen had carefully affixed a piece of the bark.
‘A leather strip,’ Hoyt said under his breath. ‘That’s another detail.’
‘What?’ Hannah asked.
‘It’s nothing, but Alen is right, some of the details are things we seem to be adding. The dog is one. I don’t know why you added it to your memories, and I can only guess that I added it because you mentioned it after your last episode, so you must have put the idea in my head. The dog appeared in my memory as an added bonus, just like this leather strip: I knew you had attached the bark to my neck with it, and as a result it appeared in my memory as an exceedingly seductive piece of jewellery Ramella was wearing the night we met. But I can’t remember if she really was wearing a leather thong around her neck the night we met.’
‘She probably wasn’t,’ Hannah said. ‘I am convinced we had a dog at the house in Denver, but I know we never did.’
Hoyt turned to Alen. ‘Well, let’s document that as a side-effect.’
‘Added details and embellished memories?’
‘Ramella’s breasts didn’t get bigger, if that’s what you mean, but yes, the dog and the leather thong both seem very real to me now – yet I know you never had a dog when I used to visit in those days.’
‘Right, and I didn’t smoke, either.’
‘There’s that, too. The dog sort of makes sense, in an odd, shared way between me and Hannah, but the smoking? I can’t figure it.’
‘I don’t know either, but we have learned a few things. We’ve discovered that the bark appears to work on everyone – you went under in moments, even though you were unaffected by the forest.’ Alen was trying to tally a mental list before any elusive details escaped him. ‘That’s why you volunteered, because we already knew it would work on the rest of us. You looked as though you’d go on reliving that one day over and over again for the rest of your life if we didn’t cut the strip from around your throat. And like Hannah, you added details to your memories. Neither Churn nor I can recall adding anything to ours.’ Alen looked to the big man, who nodded in agreement.
Alen went on, ‘You were under its spell all day, like we were, but you were able to communicate with us – at least to hear us.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Look,’ Alen said, and stepped aside to reveal a stack of firewood, enough logs to keep a significant blaze going for several days.
Hoyt didn’t understand; he signed to Churn, ‘Pissing demons, did you think we were going to stay here all Twinmoon?’
Churn smirked and signed, ‘You did it.’
‘I did this?’ Hoyt walked over to the pile and took a log from the top. He looked at it uncomprehendingly, then dropped it into the fire, as if to confirm that the stack was real. ‘How did I do this if I was back there all day?’ Hoyt gestured into the past as if it existed somewhere on the other side of their camp.
Churn went on, Alen asked you to get some firewood. You did.’
‘But- This can’t be. Alen, I was there with you. It was a conversation we had for maybe half an aven. We ate, then I left to steal a wheelbarrow. It took an aven, start to finish, if that.’
Alen crossed to his friend. ‘You collected firewood for nearly four avens today, Hoyt. One of us was always with you, but you worked nonstop until we made you sit down and cut away the bark.’
‘But I don’t feel tired,’ he protested. ‘Look at how much wood there is: I’d be flat on my back if I worked that hard! And look at the size of those logs – I could barely lift one of those on my own, never mind pile them up like that!’
‘That’s another interesting detail we need to consider as we analyse this bark and examine the forest of ghosts more closely – I think I’ve an idea of why Nerak wants so much. Imagine what he could make the people o
f Malakasia do… Hoyt, we hung this around your neck and the bark took you – it was quick and painless, and you were gone. I protected my fingers as I fixed this piece to your throat, Hoyt, and it barely touched your flesh all day, but you didn’t break from your memories for four avens and you worked steadily the whole time. Imagine what might happen if Nerak uses this on his army, or his servants – and what if he gives it to them internally, what might happen then?’
‘But I’m not tired,’ Hoyt repeated, still unwilling to believe the evidence.
‘Still,’ Hannah said, ‘we should take rooms in the next town. We don’t know what might happen once he starts travelling again. He might pass out or fall asleep. We should be someplace warm and safe tonight.’
‘I agree,’ Alen said and began packing up.
‘Alen, are you suggesting that Nerak would be able to make these effects permanent?’
‘I shudder to think that, but yes, he might. Imagine the workforce he would have-’
‘But would Hoyt have been able to make us do things when we went through the forest of ghosts? Gather firewood or build mortar outhouses or sack Sparta?’
‘I had trouble getting you to walk most of the time,’ Hoyt agreed.
Alen looked up from the saddle bags. ‘That is precisely why I believe Nerak wants the bark. He can refine it, or do something to control it, I’d bet my bones on that.’
‘But he already has the occupation army, the taxes and tariffs – what more could he squeeze out of Eldarn that he would need a village full of hysterical, screaming, babbling slaves?’ Hoyt still wasn’t convinced.
Alen frowned. Was it obvious only to him? ‘Nerak wants what Nerak has always wanted, my friends: supreme power, power and control over everything. He wants life and death in his hands. He wants to reign like a god over all he can see and all he can imagine. There is an awesome evil waiting out there for Nerak to open the door and when it arrives, it will bring down death and devastation, and Nerak will finally have what he wants. He will have brought about the end of all things.’ And he wants Pikan. But he cannot have her, not any more.
