by D. H. Aire
"Good," Andre replied, sounding somewhat uncertain before putting on the black Cathartan livery.
The girls had much to learn about Cathartan ways. Me'oh was heavy with child, the much younger Fri'il slightly less so. It was in helping them that Andre and Juels made themselves useful. Se'and and Cle'or alternately left the house for long periods of time. When they were near, they taught.
Cle'or, as ever, worked with them as a master of arms. Se'and's role, however, was much different. She told them the stories of her people. Why it was so vital that they protect their lords with their very lives, if necessary.
Andre found it very significant that she told them little about her own husband, the human mage.
Balfour, their foster-father, kept finding Juels underfoot. That girl seemed to delight in actually having a father again; having a real family.
However, Andre did not want a father. Though she could admire the loyalty of the Cathartans for one another, and their lords, she did not believe she would ever be truly Cathartan.
"Bal… husband, talk to her."
"Me'oh, don't you start now. I get enough of that from Cle'or," Balfour replied angrily.
"Andre needs you to reach out to her. Adapting to this is not easy for her. I know she doesn't feel she belongs here. Life in a Household is… very different from the life she’s led… You can help her adjust."
"I'll not have the pair of them sleeping in this room."
Me'oh touched his shoulder, "No, I understand that. Cle'or does take duty more literally than most... They are fine in the apprentice rooms for now, but that may need to be changed when Lord Je'orj returns."
"This House will not be big enough at the rate we are going."
Me'oh drew him into a hug and caressed her bulging middle. "Take pride in that, at least."
It was late at night. The front door opened without a sound. One of the Imperial guards stood unmoving, his gaze fixed and staring straight ahead. Upon his arm, lay a tiny dark unmoving form, which looked something like a spider but would never cast a silken web.
The web of this particular spider was similar to an active enchantment. It’s bite: nature’s spell.
His companion entered the house, pausing to orient himself in the darkened chamber, quickly crossing to the kitchen. He drew from his pocket the small pouch he had been so handsomely paid to bring here.
He did as he was bid, leaving with a thin smile upon his lips. The elf had told him he knew of his loyalty to the Empress. The man who ruled this estate, pretended to be a mage; fancied himself as a Highmage of all the Empires – the better to plan treason in the Dark One's service.
The guard had known that all along, but few of his bunk-mates agreed with him vehemently enough. The elf had offered him a drink at the tavern and sat down with him. He had refused the money at first, even refused the pouch. "Fool's errand," he had told the elf.
"That House is warded and guarded. Not even an assassin could make it through the door."
"True on all counts, a fellow using any form of magery would likely set off the wards. Even a stranger, setting foot on the grounds, would have no chance. Take these coins just to listen to my proposal. If it is sound, perhaps we have more to discuss?"
The guard returned to his post, then carefully removed the spider from the other man's arm. The cloth now had a thin threadbare hole where the creature had fed. The guard blinked a few moments later, never the wiser.
She had been asleep in bed in a fine bedroom. Dolls draped along the divan and shelves. She had not heard a sound, just felt a dark foreboding presence. She slid from her bed, sliding her pillows behind her beneath her lush blankets.
No sooner had she hidden in fright behind the bed than the door to her room creaked wide and a knife thudded deep into the cushions, kicking up feathers. Then the screams began and she ran – awoke.
Andre stared wide-eyed. Her heart pounding as it had not for years. The old nightmare still gripped her and she looked about hastily. She rose warily, not daring to wake Juels without knowing she was being less than foolish.
She glanced out the window and saw the guard stationed there, then turned away. The feeling was persistent. Something was wrong—very wrong. When she looked back out the window moments later the guards were still there. She shook her head, then went back to bed.
No sooner had her face hit the pillow than her eyes opened wide in realization. Beside her Juels stirred, perspiration beading her brow, likely due to having a bad dream. Andre sat bolt upright. One guard, then two. She clenched the dagger she had hidden beneath her pillow; sharper and more deadly now than the piece of pottery she had kept close at the Healer's Hall.
The door creaked wide. Andre rose and threw at the figure ever so faintly outlined in the doorway. The dagger was plucked right out of the air. "Good throw. Try a bit lower and to the left next time."
Andre almost fainted with relief, "Cle'or, don't do that!"
Juels woke blearily, "What's going on?"
"You hear anything strange?" Cle'or asked her.
"One of the guards left his post. He's back, but I don't like it one bit."
Cle'or groaned. "So they finally did it... Listen carefully. You are both to stay here. Do not go downstairs for any reason. Understand?"
Nodding, Andre watched Cle'or hastily turn away and heard her mutter, "Whatever has been planned for us, it's down there. I could not have missed it, otherwise."
Balfour was only able to forbid Cle'or's investigating in the dark downstairs by threatening to join her. It was full day light before Cle'or cautiously negotiated the steps, her lord husband standing at the banister; eyes closed stating that he could detect nothing amiss before her.
Se'and had kept Fri'il back as Cle'or had begun her mission, handing her the discolored blade that Lord Je'orj normally kept about his person. The blade had a strong aversion to magery, as did magery to it. Je'orj had left it with them, knowing it would do him little good at the Guild Hall.
Holding the blade before her, Cle'or tried to feel any fey resistance. Yet there was nothing. She grimaced thinly. This is what she had been trained for and understood. Rivalry between lords; intrigue against the Household was a way of life in Catha. The Empire, with all kinds of mageries, made matters more complex, yet she sensed this was not an attack through magery. This time she faced something more mundane, but no less deadly.
"Still clear," Balfour assured as she checked the main room carefully. How much time could the assassin have really had? Whatever was done had to have been quick and simple.
She paused and glanced at the kitchen. Poison, quick, simple, effective and likely nothing she could fight sword to sword, or with Je'orj's dagger. "Milord," she said, gazing up at him. "I think we should discuss plans for breakfast."
He quickly came down the stairs, pausing in front of the kitchen. "Poison?"
"Most likely... But what and exactly where, I think best left to you."
"You don't think this a trick?"
"In case it should prove to be, can you ascertain anything from here?"
Musingly, he frowned, "I'll try." Closing his eyes, he concentrated,
reaching out with his thoughts. He probed the spices: pepper, various herbs and seasonings, even the salt and sugars. Nothing seemed odd. Balfour moved on to fruits and vegetables, breads and cheeses, everything edible.
He shook his head. Nothing. Perhaps, no poisons were used after all. He considered moving physically closer as he psychically probed the wines, juices, and water for any trace of something that should not be there.
No luck.
Andre looked down at him from the edge of the top most stair. "Poisons do not have to be tasted."
What? He stared at her as Cle'or grinned, "That particular paranoid suggestion is worthy of a full Sister."
He briefly considered airborne toxins, closing his eyes he stood straight and reached out with his right hand. The cupboard opened, he imagined himself reach for each item they might need for th
e morning meal. His ethereal figures brushed something and recoiled. He hissed, there!
Balfour examined his find for a few more moments, then sought the taste elsewhere. He found it there, there, and there, but no further. The assassin had been assiduous. When he turned to Cle'or, his smile was thin, his gaze cold. "I believe we must invite our guardsmen join us."
"If I might suggest, Milord. I have an idea... Andre! Could you come down here, please?"
Imperial Guards were rarely invited to breakfast. Both men seemed ill at ease as the girl in Cathartan livery bade them enter.
The healer was dressed in a billowy blue robe as he came down the stairs. "Gentlemen, I am so glad you were both able to join us. I have plans today that I believe you should, at least, be apprised of."
"Lord?" one of the guards muttered inquiring.
Behind them Andre nodded to Cle'or, who arched an eyebrow. So this is the one. "Andre, would you be kind enough to pour us all a cup of tea?"
"That would be quite kind of you, malady," the other guard replied as his companion hastily claimed, "But completely unnecessary, malady."
Surprised, his fellow paused and demurred. "Your pardon, milady."
Balfour coldly said, glaring at the senior guard, who had gone so suddenly pale. "Ah, but I must insist." Andre's dagger point abruptly nestled tenderly against the man's back.
Astonished, his companion found that Cle'or had relieved him of his sword in a move so swift the guard had barely had time to react. "Milord, I demand an explanation!"
"Your sword will be returned to you soon enough, sir," replied Balfour, gesturing the disarmed guard to a seat. "But first, I must learn the name of the person who sent this man to poison my family." Cle'or stripped the sweating assassin of every weapon, then carefully saw to it that the almost empty pouch he had carried never loosed its remaining contents.
Balfour sent Andre back upstairs as Juels watched from the banister. "Go to my room and stay with Me'oh."
The girls obeyed without hesitation. It did not take Cle'or long to get the answers she needed. Balfour watched impassively as the other Imperial Guard gaped in horror. Finally Balfour said, "You will report this faithfully to your superiors, do you understand?"
"Uh, yes, Milord... I'm so sorry, Milord."
"See to it that nothing like this ever happens again."
There was a groan. Balfour made no move to ease the slumped man's pain, knowing what the poison would have done to anyone who touched it, given it even a moment to seep into their pores. It would have made most of them ill after first contact, only later would it kill them. No, that first contact would have merely ended the lives of the unborn children of this Household.
The Imperial guardsman looked at him, "My word, Milord."
Chapter
16
A month passed, soon enough almost two. In all that time, there was no word from the Conclave. Terhun had been given precious time to prepare for the worst. The Empress deserved no less from her spymaster.
By the time Cle'or had sought to trace the perpetrator of the attack on her Household, the elf had long fled. The hapless dupe of a guard was quietly sent to the Empress's prison. The other guard had been reassigned. He was given a week's leave, then encouraged to manage matters better at the Northern Border.
Terhun had set much in motion. However, his success on the Empress's behalf would ultimately depend upon thinking in the long term. And that needed preparing for now, not later. Thus, he came to the Dwarves Quarter. The underground room was the closest thing the Dwarves had to a secure meeting place. They ushered in their charges, then without urging closed the doors firmly behind them.
Looking over the more than sixty lads, Terhun saw their wary glances. Many bore scars of their battles, some far older than the catastrophe that had overtaken them. "I now represent the Empire's Law, gentlemen." That certainly got their attention. They remembered him as a painstaking teacher. Although, Cle'or likely gave them more bruises in her weapons practice.
"I know all the petty crimes the Empire can lay at your feet. Theft, robbery – you have been involved in deaths throughout this city." Some of the older boys smiled cruelly at him. He smiled right back; however, his eyes did not convey that smile. Those boys shifted uneasily. Remember that, he willed. "How would each of you like an Imperial Pardon for your past sins, whatever they have been?"
Still, the boys said not a word. But they did not have to. He knew that look and prayed they would prove to be just as loyal to him as they had been to Gallen and each other. The Empire would have great need of that in the future, rather desperately, he knew without a doubt.
He just wished he knew where Andre's Pack Rats had gone to ground. Se'and and Cle'or had each, in turn, told him that they were not his concern. He needed people he could trust and mold to the Empress's needs. He just wondered what plans the Cathartans had for them, considering the fact that two of the Pack Rats were being fostered in their care.
Fri'il tried to add fuel to the stove, but it was getting more difficult with each passing day.
"Let me help you with that," Andre offered, hastily taking the burden from her. "Master Balfour has asked for more towels, too."
Sighing, Fri'il noted how pale the younger girl dressed, in still rather ill-fitting Cathartan livery, looked. "Me'oh's only giving birth, child. Nothing worse. The towels are in the cabinet there."
Juels reached up, grabbed several, then raced back to the stairs and tried to take the steps two at a time.
Fri'il stared after her and shook her head. Andre was bringing the next pot of water to boil as Fri'il watched the youngster carefully. Had she ever been that young? Me'oh let out a shout. Cle'or, moments later, was yelling out the bedroom door, "Bring up that water now!"
Andre did not look very Cathartan as she ran out of the kitchen with the pot. Some spilled. Fri'il shook her head and got the mop. She had no intention of anyone slipping across this floor.
The former urchins, Cle'or's foster daughters, as she had convinced Balfour they must be, were certainly trying to prove helpful. Fri'il wondered if the girls had any idea just what Cle'or might be planning for them.
Then her baby kicked. Me'oh screamed upstairs and Juels was crying almost hysterically, "I know, I'm getting the next pot of hot water!"
Frowning worriedly, Fri'il muttered, "Je'orj, please come home for my time!"
Terhun finished. "That's the deal. Pay is in Imperial Silver to start. But no one, and I mean no one, is told about our arrangement without my say so. Understood?"
They nodded. Not one of them had taken up his offer to forgo his promise of a pardon and have nothing further to do with him. They were a suspicious lot, which endeared them to him more than he would ever admit.
"Good... Welcome to Imperial Service... Now there is someone I would like you all to meet." Terhun walked over and opened the door at the rear of the chamber.
A beautiful blonde-haired woman entered wearing a flowing red satin gown. Recognition was instant for Ruke and Clawd, who looked at each other.
Terhun grinned. "Our guest will henceforth only be referred to as 'the Lady.' She will serve as one of your primary instructors, particularly about matters outside the Empire's borders. A few of you will be working directly through her Special Projects section."
"Expect to see a lot of the world, gentlemen," Se'and announced. "We have need of trained eyes for the Empire and the human mage, who doesn’t always know what’s good for him..."
The girls wore simple clothes. The interior of the Temple of Unity looked polished. Old folk had long been his parishioners. His sermons on Unity had offered them hope for a generation now, yet, with the girls here, a funny thing happened.
Young men, adolescents mostly, began coming to his services. The older girls seemed able to deal with the attention in only one way. They knocked the boys off their feet when they became impertinent. Under the circumstances, the old priest did not particularly object to that.
Families
, poor as anyone could possibly be in the Seventh began coming. The hungry found food available here. The girls had a way with acquiring donations that might have given his few superiors pause. Yet, he was here in the Seventh Tier, and many of them lived more comfortable lives far away.
The old priest actually felt things were progressing rather nicely— until he noted a particularly grumpy old man one day during services. The man cracked his cane during the sermon and shouted, "Unity is your only hope! Embrace him who offers it! Beware, children, he who promises you anything less!"
The crowd grew quiet as the old man rose and began to march out. He abruptly paused before the pews of former urchin girls. "Destiny's plans... Judge fate not unkindly for there is always hope in paradox."
Feeling faint, the priest gaped, muttering to himself, "The prophet... By the Empress, the Dark One's eyes must be upon us all."
"It's a girl," Balfour announced, bringing his daughter into the world.
Cle'or clapped Andre on the back. "Our House grows!"
The adolescent marveled at the change in the battle-scarred woman's face. She no longer looked remotely human, grinning, she seemed almost pretty.
The elfblood healer settled his daughter into her mother's arms. Me'oh, clearly exhausted, said, "Balfour, she has your ears."
He laughed, "At least she has your eyes."
"Se'and."
"Fri'il, go back to bed," she said, poised by the bedroom door in the darkness. If they were to be attacked again, now would be the likeliest time. Balfour was practically euphoric over the birth of his daughter. Terhun claimed that elf behind the attack so many weeks ago had left the Capital altogether.
Would the Conclave never end? Se'and asked herself, dreading the day it was – the day Je'orj might be Highmage and able to use the Gate to return to his own world.
"I don't want to have my baby without Je'orj here," Fri’il said.
