Gods above, he deserved far worse than he’d gotten…and those eleven men far better than he’d delivered them. Poor victims of his misjudgment—how naïve he’d been!
Trell recalled his conversation with an ailing Raegus and saw portent veritably shouting his name, yet he’d been deaf to its warnings. And now eleven men had lost their lives because of his own misguided sense of invincibility. This truth cut deeper than the wound burning his side.
Madaam Chouri finally lifted the last piece of the bandage from Trell’s wound. He felt a tug, and then the draining warmth of blood spilling free. She pressed a dressing over his wound and looked to Rami. “Make yourself useful for more than noise, child, and fetch that bottle and the honey beside it.”
He rushed to retrieve said items from a near table. As he walked back across the room, he sniffed at the bottle and made a face. “Are you sure this is fit for our A’dal, Madaam Chouri?”
“Calendula, chamomile and garlic for cleaning, bird pepper to thicken the blood, juniper, lavender and honey for healing. A potent mixture.” She took the bottle from Rami and held it close to Trell’s wound. “Are you ready, A’dal? Perhaps you’d like that stiff drink the boy spoke of first?”
“I’ll be fine, Madaam Chouri. Do what you must.”
“Loukas,” she lifted her gaze to him, “hold the A’dal’s shoulders and keep him still. This is going to burn—there’s no way around it.”
Loukas pressed down on Trell’s shoulders. As his eyes met Trell’s, his anguished look said clearly, I should’ve been there for you.
Then Madaam Chouri poured the fiery astringent over his wound and Trell was swallowing a muffled cry. He closed his eyes and thrust his head back against the cot, listening to the roar of his heart as she continued pouring liquid fire into his flesh. Would that her treatment could cure him of misjudgment!
While Trell was trying not to pass out, the Healer said, “Do you see how quickly the bleeding stops, child? That’s the bird pepper doing its work.” She dabbed around the wound with a damp cloth.
Trell eventually found his breath again and opened his eyes. Loukas was still standing over him, still pressing down on his shoulders, still looking tormented. Trell met his gaze and managed, “I’m all right,” yet the words came out strained, regretful in a way he hadn’t intended.
Loukas released him, but his eyes kept straying to Trell’s side, and each time he looked, his expression became more twisted.
“The honey now, Rami.” Madaam Chouri held out her hand for the jar and proceeded to coax the thick fluid slowly and liberally into Trell’s wound. Then followed new bandages, expertly applied. Finally she washed her hands and sent Rami away with the bowls and other things. Her gaze found Trell’s again. “That will keep the fever off until my Healing can take its full effect.”
Trell swallowed, nodded. “Thank you, Madaam Chouri.”
Her blue eyes gazed upon him with concern and apology. “I would I had the Lady Jaya’s power to Heal you overnight.”
“I’m grateful for your aid in any capacity.”
“As I am to Jai’Gar for the grace of His Healing power. If you’re ready, we’ll begin that process now.” She settled her hands on Trell’s head and closed her eyes.
“Madaam Chouri.” Trell’s tone summoned her gaze back to his. “You should know, for several months I was tortured by a mor’alir Adept.”
Into the startled silence following this pronouncement, Raegus and Rolan exchanged a glance, Loukas hissed a muted oath, and Rami murmured a prayer. Everyone stared at Trell, but no one stared harder than Tannour.
“You’ll find the scars of those months upon my life pattern.” Trell held the Healer’s gaze soberly. “I just didn’t want you to be shocked when you came across them.”
Madaam Chouri’s brows lifted so high they vanished beneath her headscarf. She sat back to gaze wonderingly at him. “Only a Healer could know such things. How can you?”
A smile softened Trell’s strained expression. “Because I’m bound to one.”
Rolan barked a disbelieving oath. “Bound to an Adept! You never cease to amaze, A’dal. Blessed of a goddess, confidant of dragons—you couldn’t invent a better story if you’d all the genius of the Immortal Bard himself.”
Raegus shook his head and pointed at Trell. “Remember what I said about that sheikdom.” Then he clapped Rolan on the shoulder and encouraged him towards the partition. “Let the Healer do her work. Valeri, n’Abraxis—both of you, out.”
Loukas squared his shoulders. “I’m staying.”
Raegus glared at him. Then he shifted his glare pointedly to Tannour, who was standing in the corner.
Tannour crossed his arms. “If n’Abraxis stays, I stay.”
Raegus’s hands twitched at his sides as if itching to give both of them a good paddling with the flat of his blade.
“Let them stay.” Trell didn’t want to be the cause of more friction between the two men, or provide fodder for whatever feud was already driving them.
“There,” Rolan tugged on Raegus’s arm, “the A’dal has spoken. Let’s share a drink to the gods, you and I. Much better use of your arm than the wasted effort of trying to flog insubordination out of that pair.”
“Fine.” Raegus gripped the hilt of his sword as if it was a lightning rod for his frustration. “You two can guard the A’dal for the rest of the night.”
“That’s the plan,” Tannour remarked coolly.
Trell heard Raegus growl to Rolan as they were departing, “Will anyone miss him if I turn him in for the bounty on his insolent head? Surely I’ve earned it…”
Then Madaam Chouri placed her hands on Trell again, and he felt elae’s warmth channeling into him. A lulling sleep settled over him, encouraged by the tingling in his side and Trell surrendered to her ministrations.
Fifty-two
“He endeavors to know absolutely nothing about as many things as possible.”
–Cassius of Rogue, on Fynnlar val Lorian
“This isn’t exactly inspiring confidence.” Alyneri tightened her grip on Carian’s right shoulder. All she could see while standing upon the Pattern of the World were the blurred outlines of indistinct shapes, but she could feel the kinetic current sawing through her readily enough.
“Torture Tuesdays,” Fynn grumbled from Carian’s left.
Carian grunted. “I’ve got it all in hand. Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, Princess.”
“It’s not my head, it’s my arse,” Fynn complained.
The pirate took Fynn’s hand from his left shoulder and Alyneri’s from his right, and moved his two ‘passengers’ around to stand in front of him. “Just a little further now…and here we are. Off you go…”
Alyneri stepped off the node into a wide courtyard lined in climbing roses. “Oh, how lovely.” She smiled at all the bright pink flowers.
Arriving beside her, Fynn looked around, scrubbing at his arse. That is, until a guard stepped out from behind a trellis and took him roughly by one arm.
Alyneri drew up stiffly. “Kindly unhand Lord Fynnlar val Lorian!”
Her tone, if not her affronted glare, drove the guard into indecision. He released Fynn but kept a hand on his sword while he looked them up and down. “Which is the Espial among you?”
Fynn indignantly brushed at the sleeve of his coat. “Grammatically that should be ‘who is—”
“I am, mate.” Carian sauntered off the node jingling the coins in his pockets.
The guard’s gaze tightened on the pirate while his hand tightened on his sword. “Show me your ring.”
“You must be blind, man.” Carian extended both of his hands, which were so covered in rings that Alyneri could barely distinguish his fingers beneath the jewels and gold. “Come closer then, my handsome. Have a look-see.”
The guard studied him like a shopkeeper eyeing a dirty street child. He warily inched closer—
The pirate grabbed him around the neck and dragged him acro
ss the node, choking off the guard’s half-uttered yelp as they vanished.
Alyneri turned an accusing stare on Fynn.
He raised both hands. “I had nothing to do with it this time.”
The sound of running feet turned them both around.
Fynn drew his sword and placed himself in front of Alyneri just as four armed men came rushing into the nodecourt. He shot her a bemused look over his shoulder. “Did they have a bell on that other guy, or…?”
Carian reappeared behind them, sans guard, saw the new guards and opened his arms beneath a saucy grin. “Now, now, poppets, I think we started off on the wrong foot—”
Abruptly he drew his cutlasses and laid out two guards before they realized his intention. The remaining two backed away with their swords upraised, but they looked very uncertain about using them.
Carian pinned both of his blades together beneath one arm, pulled a leather pouch from within his vest and began rolling himself a smoke. “Now, you both look like bright mice—brighter at least than these bilge rats here,” and he kicked at one of the fallen, eliciting a low moan. “I’ve just claimed them in the name of the Admiral of the Nodefinder Rebellion. If you don’t want your blood joinin’ theirs in a pretty mosaic on these here stones, you run back to Big Rat Niko and tell him the rebellion controls this node now, like the other nodes we’ve taken from him.”
Carian puffed his roll alight via some means Alyneri couldn’t discern and exhaled a cloud of smoke in the guards’ direction. “You got all that?”
They nodded vigorously.
The pirate nodded towards the exit.
They bolted. The two fallen men helped each other up and hobbled after them.
Carian clenched his smoke between his teeth and sheathed his cutlasses. “See?” He grinned at Alyneri around the smoking weed. “Told you I had it all in hand.”
Fynn glowered at him. “Just go get the coach, will you?”
Carian gave him a saucy salute and strolled back across the node to retrieve their carriage and driver, who was waiting at the other end of the node until Carian had ‘cleared’ the path for travel.
Alyneri meanwhile regarded Fynnlar beneath an arched brow. “Remind me again why we’re doing this.”
“Politics.” He shoved his sword back into its scabbard.
“I misspoke. Remind me again why I’m doing this.”
Fynn gave her a wan smile. “Benevolence?”
“Benevolence feels strangely unscrupulous.”
“I’ll tell you what’s unscrupulous.” He waved emphatically towards the node. “All of this in and out, off and on, climb-up-climb-down, now-it’s-time-to-fight-again-Fynnlar nonsense. When’s a bloody man supposed to sleep?”
The horses came clomping across the node, so Alyneri and Fynn moved out of the way to make room for the animals, coach and Carian, who was hanging off the step.
The pirate jumped down and opened the door as the coach swayed to a stop. “Your Grace.” He gave Alyneri a surprisingly debonair bow.
“Captain vran Lea.” She eyed him circumspectly as she climbed back into the carriage.
Fynn followed after her, grumbling, “I thought the point of hiring a coach was to let a man sleep, vran Lea.” He threw himself onto the seat across from Alyneri. “You make me pay to hire the damned thing, but I might as well have been riding my own bloody horse for all the rest I’ve gotten.”
The pirate swung inside and onto the seat next to Fynn. He rapped on the partition for the driver. The coach started off with a lurch and a sway.
“The sooner you secure Cassius’s participation for the rebellion, Fynnlar, the easier our return.” Carian opened a window and blew smoke in its general direction—mainly because Alyneri was glaring pointedly at him to do so. “This journey would’ve been a lot smoother if we could’ve used Cassius’s nodes to get to his estate.”
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Fynn propped his feet on Alyneri’s seat, crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
She pushed his boots off. They hit the floor in a thump of heels. It had become a constant battle of diligence for her, keeping her cushion free of dusty boots.
Fynn adjusted himself into the corner.
Carian grinned and blew smoke towards the window.
Alyneri sighed.
The driver continued driving.
“Remind me again why I agreed to do this?” Alyneri leaned closer to her window to better see the countryside passing by. Veneisea’s Rogue Valley was known for its beauty, and while she highly doubted this excursion with Fynn and Carian would prove the best use of her time, she couldn’t complain about the scenery.
She’d gotten to see much of the countryside, in fact, since Carian could only use the nodes to get them as far as Veneisea. He claimed that was as close to Cassius’s estate as he dared, being that he wasn’t currently in Cassius of Rogue’s good graces. Fynnlar had pointed out that Carian had never gained Cassius’s good graces, in reply to which the pirate had launched into a lewd exploration of possible ways that Fynn had acquired Cassius’s ‘graces’…and the conversation had devolved from there. Alyneri had been ignoring them for most of the drive.
Fynn roused himself to answer, “Niko’s mandate means a lot of money for the vested interests, Your Grace—loads of money to the Nodefinder’s Guild.” He sounded uncharacteristically sedate now that they were closing in on Cassius’s estate. He kept staring out the opposite window with his unruly dark hair shadowing his eyes. “But entire fortunes lost by merchants who can’t afford Guild rates to hire ringed Espials to move their wares; livelihoods lost by Nodefinders who can no longer make a living plying their Maker-given trade.” He aimed a sidelong look at her. “The rebellion aims to circumvent all that.”
“Think of it like a game of Shari.” Carian pushed hands behind his head and propped his boots on Alyneri’s seat. “You’re trying to not only take your opponent’s stones but also ensure your own stones occupy the majority of the board.”
“Yes, I understand that part.” Alyneri pushed the pirate’s boots off her cushion. “But how does Cassius of Rogue fit into it?”
“Well, see—” Carian reached for his pouch of tobacco.
“I said no more of that in here.” Alyneri gave him an uncompromising look. “Not if you want my assistance with this charade, or whatever wool you’re planning to pull over this poor Cassius person’s eyes.”
Carian barked a laugh. “The man’s more of a pirate than Fynn and me combined, Princess.”
“Cassius of Rogue runs his own mini-guild, Your Grace.” Fynn rested his chin glumly on his hand. Alyneri couldn’t imagine why he was so morose except to suppose it was because he didn’t have any more wine. “If the rebellion can gain the use of his network of nodes, our Nodefinders can travel up and down the Middle Kingdoms, avoiding Niko’s goons completely, and the continental commerce can carry on unimpeded.”
Alyneri shifted her gaze between the two of them. “The surprising altruism in all of this aside, it still doesn’t explain why you needed me.”
Carian gave Fynn one of those Go on, tell her kind of grins.
Fynn glowered at him. Then he turned and glowered out the window. “Cassius has a soft spot for Healers. We thought you could, you know…butter him up a bit.”
Alyneri arched a mistrustful brow. “Just how are you expecting me to butter him up, my lord?”
“Just…you know…” Fynn winced a little, “try to be nice to him.”
“Nice.” Her tone was somewhat lacking for warmth.
Carian grinned at her. “Some people do manage it, Princess.”
She speared a look at him. “I’m perfectly capable of being nice to those deserving of…” she waved for a word, found nothing better, “niceness.”
The pirate propped his feet on her seat again. “He won’t make it easy for you.”
Alyneri shoved his boots back onto the floor.
“The man’s only profession is tormenting people,” Fynn muttered. �
��He’s richer than the Empress and has all the scruples of a Dane in raiding season.”
Their coach trundled between a pair of wrought-iron gates and plunged into the darkness of a tunnel beneath the wall. Alyneri felt a moment of disorientation as the coach jolted in the darkness, and then they emerged onto a promenade lined in cherry trees.
After an impressively long drive, the coach pulled to a halt before a mansion. Carian clambered out and started rolling himself a smoke. A morose Fynnlar stepped down and helped Alyneri outside into a bright afternoon.
“Ah, Lord Fynnlar!” A liveried manservant with the nut-brown coloring and rounded nose of a Bemothi came down the steps from the mansion. “I didn’t recognize your coach at first. My master has been eagerly anticipating your visit.” His gaze shifted to Alyneri. “And who’s this, another of your—”
“No, she’s not one of them.” Fynn waved the man irritably away. His mood seemed only to have blackened since turning onto the drive.
The pirate exhaled a bluish cloud from where he was leaning against the coach. “This is Alyneri d’Giverny, Duchess of Aracine, mate.”
“Ah, Your Grace, you honor us with your visit. Please follow me at your convenience.” He snapped his fingers at a pair of grooms, who rushed over and started unloading their baggage from the back of the coach.
As Alyneri was making to follow the manservant, Fynn said in a low voice, “I would advise Your Grace to be careful what you share with Cassius. Give him an inch and he’ll have you girded up by the balls, or…” he frowned at his choice of phrase, “well, you know.”
“He doesn’t much stand on ceremony,” Carian said by way of agreement, his words floating to her out of the bluish haze surrounding his head, “and he ain’t easy to read.”
Fynn grunted. “He’ll take your measure in a glance and thereafter try to throw you from your horse.”
Carian flicked ash from his smoke. “And never, ever make a bet with him.”
Kingdom Blades (A Pattern of Shadow & Light 4) Page 81
