Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  An oak door banded with iron hung to her right, with a window high enough she hardly needed to duck, but she exaggerated her motion, making sure Ivin followed suit. They passed two doors on every level, all locked and holding some doomed soul.

  A cough from around the corner jerked her to a stop.

  Blasphemous bells. Boots paced ahead, and the feet didn’t reside behind some door. She motioned back up the stairs, and they stopped outside the first prison door. The breathing in this cell was slow and weak. She rose to tip toes and peeked inside.

  A bearded man lay in a heap of straw, shaking in his sleep. She slipped her lock picks from a pocket, opening the door so they could slip inside.

  “What the hells are we doing?”

  “A distraction. Kill that man.”

  “What?” The Choerkin’s eyes were wide; she’d misjudged him.

  “He’ll be dead soon anyhow, and we can’t have him give us away.”

  “I can’t kill some sick old man just like that.”

  “If he gets us killed… If he wakes up, you send him to the Forges before he makes a noise.” The Choerkin stared. “Agree?”

  “Aye.”

  She didn’t trust him to do what needed done and considered killing the man herself. The notion of blood on her hands made her gut clench, but she knew a quick prayer could overcome her qualms. She pulled the dagger from her pack, handed it to Ivin, and he nodded. Messier than I like, anyhow.

  Light flowed into her being with warmth and confidence, then came the niggling needles of fear Dark brought. She motioned for Ivin to stand to the side of the door and sent a thread of Dark into the hall. It floated as a wisp of smoke for a flicker, then moved as if carried by a swift wind.

  Meliu closed her eyes and pressed her back to the wall, envisioning the first door on the floor above, then the next, splitting the Dark, directing the energy into the cells. The first muffled scream proved her accuracy.

  Madness.

  Shrill screams erupted from above, then a second voice joined with a wail. Bodies and fists pounded barred doors, the cries maniacal.

  She opened her eyes to see Ivin standing over the prisoner, a welt blossoming on the fellow’s forehead. The calm of Light brought a smile to her face, appreciating his mercy, but the terrifying horror of Dark cinched her gut, begging to unleash wickedness upon the Choerkin for his weakness.

  She clamped her eyes and fought this surging urge. Feet sprinted past their door, two sets then a third. Meliu pushed the door open, exhaled and walked with prayerful calm into the hall with Ivin on her heels. Confidence and power flooded her being with every beat of her heart; no need to worry about guards, she’d destroy their minds before they knew her for an enemy.

  “What the hells are you doing? This is madness.”

  Her smile stretched her cheeks, and her voice was hard to recognize as her own. It was too beautiful, too perfect to be hers. “Not our own.”

  She strolled, a saunter to the rhythm of the bass drum the flow of Elemental powers turned her heart into.

  They strode from the tower into the keep and Ivin drug her to the side, men in armor rushing by. “Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

  The Choerkin stared into her eyes; she grabbed his shoulders and with unnatural strength pulled his lips to hers. The kiss was brief before he yanked away, and she flicked her tongue at him.

  “Your eyes are the color of night. Stop. Now.”

  She brushed his cheek with her fingers and smiled in a way she knew would melt most men. But this moment, he feared her. And for a reason. “Not yet.”

  She turned with cocksure strides.

  When she kissed him, the whites of her eyes had disappeared to darkness, black as a shark’s, and her lips held a power, a seductive warmth fraught with chills of terror. Ivin didn’t know much of prayer magic, but it didn’t take a wise man to realize whatever she was doing, it wasn’t with Light. And yet, a soothing heat rested in his chest. No way it was natural, it must be a gift from this priestess to keep his heart from exploding.

  Meliu stepped into the hall as if the keep owed her fealty. His feet froze to the stone floor, his mind needing to convince them to move. No choice. New voices rose in terror behind them as he caught up to her. He couldn’t guess the number, the way wails warbled, and he didn’t care to know the cause.

  The keep’s main doors opened to a flood of daylight, and a priest barreled into Ivin. But the man didn’t bother to look at him, even as he stumbled before charging toward the tower. They stepped through the exit.

  And just like that they stood in open air, without even having to open the doors themselves. Meliu’s cold predator eyes glanced his way and she led him northwest until finding shelter beneath a roof held aloft by a string of pillars. From the tower’s roof, she’d called this the Temple of the Virgin Moon.

  “Catch me if I should fall.”

  He didn’t have time to answer. Her eyes closed, her face flushed, and she slumped. Ivin put his arms beneath hers as Meliu’s knees buckled. Her body shook, but after several shuddering breaths she stood straight and adjusted her dress. Her eyes held their usual twinkle. “Straight out the front door.”

  “What the hells was that?”

  “Nothing.” She turned and pointed across a broad courtyard. “Follow my lead. Be frightened of what’s in the tower, not the priests at the gate. But whatever you do, don’t say a damned word.”

  She took hurried steps, then broke into a jog as they approached robed priests at the gate. Not a one noticed them, and Meliu sprinted the last hundred strides, her short legs out hustling his beaten muscles.

  Meliu yelled at a priest, and they all turned, their faces covered by silver wolf masks. She gasped for breath, leaned on her knees, pointed to the tower. Ivin kept his eyes down or on the tower. He didn’t understand a word they exchanged, but in a flicker all but the priest holding a book were trotting for the tower.

  Meliu shuffled through the gate, turned her gaze to him. “Pedovu! Pedovu!” And she waved for him to follow.

  But the priest put a hand to his chest. “Uun hilol.”

  Ivin cast his eyes to his boots, grunted, and shrugged his shoulders. In an instant Meliu was by his side, prattling so fast all her words sounded as one to him.

  The priest snarled back at her, his fist balling Ivin’s shirt, twisting hairs from his chest. They screamed back and forth, Ivin’s eyes flicking from one to another, straining against the man’s grip without starting a fight. A few faces in the street noticed the tumult, but so far common folk with passing interest. Their luck wouldn’t last.

  “Sorry for this.” The priest’s mouth froze at the sound of foreign words. Ivin grabbed the back of the man’s head and brought it down on the dagger in his other hand. Straight through the throat. Warmth flowed down Ivin’s fingers and wrist, and the man gurgled. A dozen eyes stared from the street, screams would follow in moments.

  “Shit! Now you kill someone?” The priest slumped to his knees. “Run!”

  Meliu was an arrow loosed, and Ivin tucked his dagger in his sleeve and ran after her, dodging down several narrow alleys, for a moment losing sight of her as she disappeared behind a horseless cart. He rounded the wagon and slid to a stop, his feet knocking into hers as she stood with her hand raised. Ivin gazed over her into a crowded street lined with barkers selling their wares.

  He glanced behind; no sign of pursuit.

  Meliu said, “My gut told me not to rescue you, I’m thinking it was right.”

  Ivin chuckled through catching his breath. “I said my apology.”

  Meliu’s head cocked. “I thought you apologized to him.”

  She was half right, maybe. “No, far as I know that bastard was one who beat me.”

  “True enough, I suppose. Still, I’m not accepting it until we make it out of this alive.” Meliu sighed. “It’s a big city, but that’ll stir up the hive a little more’n I planned. Keep your cool from here on. Wait for me and don’t open your mouth.”
She stepped into the bustling street, yelling something and throwing what must be a rude three-fingered gesture at a Tek who shoved past her.

  She stopped at a stall with linens hanging from pegs, and the woman tending shop unhooked a set of men’s clothes and held them up. The woman’s lips moved, Meliu threw her hands up and stomped to the middle of street before called back for the haggle.

  Ivin leaned on a brick wall, marveling at Meliu’s hand-to-hip tenacity. Not only had she tracked him down across foreign territory and broken him free from an imprisoning tower, from the victorious smile stretching her face, she could also haggle the boots off a dead man. Watching her strut across the street, he admired this girl as he’d admired only a few before. She had an unquenchable spirit which poked at his memory, dredging up thoughts, or at least a child’s aged and fading remembrance, of Peneluple. Mother would have adored you.

  Meliu must’ve caught the look he gave, her face twisting into a smirk. She led him several steps into the empty alley. “What?”

  “Why did you risk your life to save me? What am I worth to you?”

  She folded his new clothes and stuffed them in her pack. “Those weren’t your thoughts.”

  “You’re a mind reader now?”

  “I know men’s looks better than that. You aren’t letting that kiss mess with your head, are you?”

  He blushed, but kept his eyes on her. “I’m serious.”

  She huffed. “Yeah, well. I do dumb things like that, I faced demons for a book, as you’ll recall.”

  “The book was important.”

  She hesitated. “Maybe you are, too.”

  A second blush with a smile. “Now who’s letting the kiss get to her?”

  Meliu’s eyebrows sprang for her hairline. “Oh! Your lips are like a jellyfish.” She turned to the street. “You’re my poor, stupid cousin who got his tongue bit by a snake. You’re mute now.”

  A perfect way to end a conversation, stepping into the street where Silone words could get them killed. He grunted and mumbled nonsense, and her glancing smile told him he’d won his first battle after so many defeats from the tongue of this priestess.

  The damned Choerkin had grown on her, denying it was just a game to play with the man, not with herself. But he was still smitten with another priestess, and she couldn’t let herself forget that; love denied cannot be defied, or at least, so spoke many women over the years. Men always wanted what they couldn’t have. Meliu snorted at herself; maybe women too. A man in love with a woman encased in a tower of fire, was only one step more attainable than the woman herself.

  One Lash. No one bothered to call Meliu “Eleven Lashes”. If not for Eliles and Ulrikt, Meliu would’ve been the fabled one. One lash fewer than Lord Priest Andinik of Tehemnol. I was two generations late to become a legend.

  What the hells did it matter? Two generations late to living out her life at peace on Kaludor, that’s what mattered. Here she was, a Silone priestess wandering a city full of Tek who worshipped false gods. That’s what mattered. She glanced back at Ivin, the Choerkin oaf mumbling and striking at her with two fingers as fangs. She wanted to laugh, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He mattered, but how to get revenge?

  Meliu was pleased to find Shulaan tending the baths at the Raspberry and Rose. She twined Ivin’s arm with hers and led the big man through the arches with a broad grin. The woman stared up at Ivin, but Meliu wasn’t certain if it was because of his height or the filth he wore. Rinsing the man’s tub would be a chore.

  “My dear, Shulaan, I’d like you meet Tulk.”

  “My gracious, you are a big lad.”

  Meliu leaned in. “He’s a soldier with pap’s caravan. Sad story, I declare.”

  “Oh? Do tell.”

  “Only every chance I get!” She laughed. “He was the toast of the ladies every which town he went, but I never once gave him the time of day… Paps would’ve striped my hide. So, one day Paps had him guarding me down in Servuto.”

  “Oh, gracious, your father trades in Thon?”

  Meliu waggled her head somewhere between a nod and shake. “Now and again. But, so there we were, watching this snake dancer who’s flirting with me like an alley cat, when Tulk gets this brilliant notion to show off for me. He grabs this viper straight from the dancer’s hand right as the man is about to bite the critter’s head off!”

  “Noooo.”

  “Oh yes! Tulk here, he stomps his feet and dances like a dunce, and jams the critter’s head into his mouth to bite its head off, and guess who bites who?”

  “Noooo.”

  “Oh yes! The healer saved his life and tongue, but he lost his voice forever.”

  “Noooo. And the snake?”

  Meliu shrugged. “Oh, the snake slithered away, nary a tooth mark.”

  The woman laughed, then got hold of herself. “My apologies, sir. It’s quite a tragedy.” Her lips writhed to hide the smile.

  “As you can see, and I can smell, the man needs a bath. A private bath. A very, very private bath.” Meliu slipped two fingers into her belt and produced a tiny gold coin, glancing back at Ivin with a smirk. The Choerkin was beet red, despite the fact he couldn’t understand a word; she couldn’t tell if he struggled with confusion, anger, or mirth, but loved it no matter which way.

  “Very private. Mmhmm. He is a handsome boy.” She clucked and appraised the man. “Does his tongue still work for… other things?”

  Meliu drew her head back and fluttered her lashes. “Oh sweet Shulaan, that’s what I’m about to find out. I figure I owe him that.”

  “Mmhmm! Our most private bath, right away.”

  Now for the honey to push the sweet revenge. “Lavender and lilacs.”

  The hostess stopped in her tracks. “For a man?”

  Meliu pursed her lips. “I only care for the scent he leaves on me.”

  “You are a devil! Knew it the first time I saw you.” Shulaan led them deep into the bathhouse, to a private room with silver-gilt fixtures, and young girls already filled the oversized copper tub with steaming waters. In ten wicks they stood alone, the door locked. His stare didn’t once leave her, and she refused to break her smile with words.

  “This place smells like I crawled into a flower.”

  She breathed deep, giddy. “Don’t it?”

  “What the hells did you say to that woman?”

  Meliu leaned on a mahogany table set with a quality mirror as she gave him her most dastardly smile; it was a smile she often practiced at Istinjoln, but reserved for special occasions. “Oh, I explained how you were an idiot man who tried to finish the Dance of Uolvom to impress little ol’ me.”

  “The Dance of?”

  “It’s an old fertility ritual across many of the Hundred Nations, as I understand, performed by streets dancers. It ends with the dancer biting the head off the viper, only you didn’t bite so fast as the snake.”

  “Clever.” He looked less impressed than he sounded.

  “And of course, we needed a real private bath, for me to show you proper thanks for such a brave gesture.”

  Now his lips twisted with the proper respect for her game. “You and me?”

  “She was right curious whether your tongue still worked for… enjoyable things.”

  He turned quick, but not so fast as to hide the rush of a blushing grin. “I sure hope we’re no longer cousins, considering.”

  “Now that would be naughty.” She spun her back to him. “You get in that tub and wash your stink away. And wash the dagger in the hand sink.”

  The man grunted. “I’m going to smell like a bed of flowers.”

  “And the rest of the world will be grateful.”

  His clothes rustled to the floor, and she waited for the splash of water, but all she got was a grumble through gritted teeth: “Blazing forges… That water is hot.”

  “Just let me know when you’re covered in lovely, smelly bubbles.”

  “Sure they aren’t boiling me for dinner? You’re clear to t
urn around.”

  She turned and sat on a stool, watching as he ran a cloth along his shoulder; pale skin beneath the grime. “I pity the girl who scrubs this tub.”

  “I haven’t seen more water than to drink in a couple weeks. So, you got a plan beyond boiling me into soup?”

  Meliu sighed, not loving a single idea she had. “Killing the priest stuck us in the muck. They’ll be looking for you to leave the city.”

  “We hide, like we did in the tower, until the hunt moves on.”

  The notion was as sound as any other idea she had. “If they piece together what we did the first time, they’ll be expecting it again.”

  “They don’t even know there is a we; would they suspect what you did as part of the escape?”

  She cocked her head, the Choerkin might have a point. Who did the killing and why was only obvious from their perspective. “No, I suppose not. What I did in the tower… You couldn’t do, and no one would’ve heard our Silone.”

  “So we might be clear.”

  “Maybe. We’ll stay a few days, the inn here caters to wealthy merchants and nobles, damned near the last place they’d think to look.”

  “You can afford it?”

  “It’ll be painful, but yes.” She plucked a tiny gem from the hem of her dress. “I’m going to miss this little beauty.” She cast him a playful glare. “Now get that bath done, I’d like to smell nice as well.”

  The Choerkin leaned back, draping a soaked towel over his face. “A razor if you would. I think I’ll soak a while, I don’t want Tulk’s reputation sullied with a brief bath splash with such a fine beauty as you.”

  Meliu stared at the towel covering the man’s eyes. “Keep the beard to cover that Choerkin face.” Tempting, to slip from her dress and into the scented waters, but instead she filled the hand bowl with steaming water and washed the dagger of its red, dried to black, stains.

  31

  Dining in Time

  You’re late, but sated is your troubling fate,