“Then there’s Evriel,” Jael said, nodding her agreement. “If that was an assassination, it was an awfully clumsy one. What kind of assassin takes the time to gut the body and roll it into a rug, then has to carry it through every back alley in the city to get to Rivertown? And maybe that spot wasn’t even where they meant to take it, since Nessle seems to have surprised them.”
“Then Merchant Daral,” Tanis said thoughtfully. “Anyone throwing a head into the Brightwater likely meant to be rid of it entirely, but as you say, the swamp would’ve been even better.”
“It’s hard to think of the incidents as related,” Jael sighed. “But who uses a thin, serrated blade? And all the victims elves and merchants—except for Nessle—and all within the last few days. They must be related somehow, even if the same person didn’t kill them all.”
“All merchants, all elves, all in a few days, all left in or near Rivertown,” Tanis mused. “Were there any other similarities? Did they all work in the market, perhaps?”
Jael shook her head.
“Daral had his own shop in the Mercantile District, and he wasn’t in the market on the night he vanished,” she said. “Najel’s shop was in the district, too. Evriel sold through Lasic’s shop in the Mercantile District, although she spent time in the market. Garric and Crow were minor merchants, probably had stalls in the market. Aliss sold wine through local people in the market.”
“Different wares, different types of trading, different locations,” Tanis said, sighing frustratedly. “But as you say, they must be related somehow.”
“What if Ankaras was dealing with a group of elf-haters, as we supposed before,” Jael speculated, “and that group was killing elves? Let’s start with that.”
“All right. Elves, because they hate the elves as Ankaras does,” Tanis agreed. “Elven merchants, because they’re competition to our merchant worshippers.”
“If the same people did some or all of the killings, that would explain the same blades being used,” Jael said slowly, “but not the different methods.”
“Perhaps they were trying to disguise the similarity,” Tanis suggested. “Or perhaps more than one member of the group had the same type of blades.”
“Still, why kill them in such strange ways?” Jael argued.
“Spectacular killings make a better example,” Tanis said. “Aliss may have been a hasty killing, or perhaps interrupted.”
“You don’t drain all the blood out of someone hastily,” Jael said, shaking her head. “And it looked like the killers at least tried to get rid of Aliss’s body and Najel’s. That doesn’t fit in with your ‘example’ idea. And what about Daral? He disappeared entirely.”
“I don’t know,” Tanis sighed, giving in. “I can’t think of any way that it makes sense. I suppose you’d better find a way to help Aubry and his necromancers.”
“And in the meantime, you can keep following Ankaras,” Jael said, “and learn if he’s actually conspiring with the Dyers’ Guild or anyone else. And I’ll find out where they’ve put the—the bodies.”
Tanis settled himself a little more comfortably in the alley, nibbling on another skewer of meat.
“It must be exciting to have friends in the Guild,” he said wistfully. “Tell me about it.”
The Guild was one thing Jael knew a great deal about, through her own experience and from Shadow’s stories, and Tanis was gratifyingly interested in everything she could tell him.
“I used to daydream about joining the Guild,” he said shyly. “Of course, it would never have been possible—even if my father hadn’t wanted me bound to the temple, he would never have allowed a son of his House to become a thief. But I used to think about it sometimes. It sounded wonderful, living by your wits with no one telling you what to do or when.”
“I don’t think it’s all that wonderful,” Jael said with a chuckle. “At least not for apprentices and new thieves. I mean, Aunt Shadow could walk into the market empty-pursed and walk out with her sleeves so full she couldn’t lift her arms, but Aunt Shadow’s been in the profession for centuries. Most thieves I know are poor and dirty and have fleas in their clothes. A lot of them are missing fingers or a hand from being caught when they were young and not very good at stealing. Some end up in the dungeons or dead, too.”
Tanis shivered but looked undaunted.
“Have you ever wanted to join the Guild?” he asked.
“Only twenty or so times a day most of my life,” Jael admitted. “But I suppose I’d talk myself out of it even if I weren’t the daughter of the High Lord and Lady. I’m clumsy and unlucky. I wouldn’t make a very good thief.”
“Well, you’re not much of a warrior yet, nor a mage, and I know you don’t want to be High Lady,” Tanis said thoughtfully. “What do you want?”
Jael gaped at Tanis, then chuckled.
“Do you know, nobody ever asks me that?” she said. “I really don’t think anybody ever cares what Jael the Unlucky wants.”
“I care,” Tanis protested. “I just asked, didn’t I?”
“I’d like to travel,” Jael said shortly. An image appeared in her mind, unbidden, of long sweeping plains, of dark snow-cragged mountains.
“You should’ve been a merchant, then,” Tanis laughed. “They travel all over the world, city to city, always trying to find new trade goods and new markets to trade them in.”
“But I don’t want to be a merchant, and I don’t want to go from city to city,” Jael said unhappily. “I want to go to far places, lonely places, places people have never seen.”
“That sounds uncomfortable,” Tanis said, smiling.
“That’s what Aunt Shadow says,” Jael sighed. “But it’s as unlikely as you becoming a thief. Even if Mother and Father don’t declare me Heir, I couldn’t go traveling like that. I can’t even hunt.”
“Then you’ll have to take someone with you,” Tanis suggested. He took Jael’s hand.
Jael laughed.
“Tanis, have you ever dug a fîrepit or gutted a fish?” she asked. “Or spent a single night sleeping on the ground instead of in a wagon?”
Then Jael stopped laughing, surprised at the hurt in Tanis’s eyes.
“No, I haven’t,” he said quietly. “But then I don’t imagine High Priest Urien has, either.”
Jael felt her cheeks burning. “I don’t know what Lord Urien has to do with it,” she said. “Tanis, I didn’t mean to insult you. You’re my friend. I just meant—”
“But you don’t go on private little carriage rides and picnics and suppers with a friend,” Tanis said bitterly.
This statement so shocked Jael that she was silent for a long moment, staring blankly at Tanis.
“What’s the matter with you, Tan?” Jael asked amazedly. “You know how that sounds? You sound like you’re jealous.”
“Jealous? What in Baaros’s name do I have to be jealous of?” Tanis snapped. “I’m just your friend. Good night, Jaellyn.” Before Jael could recover enough to answer, he was gone, out of the alley and lost among the crowds of the market, leaving Jael gaping after him.
Jael shook her head and stood slowly. Gods, all these months that she and Tanis had been such close friends. How long had she been overlooking his feelings as blindly as her elven kin had overlooked her soul-sickness? That was almost more embarrassing than his knowledge of her meetings with Urien.
The market was still full, but Jael’s memory of Evriel’s body lying white and gutted in the alley so close by had changed the market for her. She had always thought it an exciting place, bustling and cheerful despite the many arguments, some quite loud, going on all around her. Every bargain seemed like an old and familiar game with strict but never-stated rules. Even the thieves, skilled or unskilled, or the street urchins, snatching fruit from the carts more openly and vanishing into the crowd, the red-faced merchants shouting after them, seemed a part of the game.
Now it was different somehow. Now the shadows cast by the oil lamps or light globes seemed threate
ning, the bargains hushed and secretive, the faces furtive and sly. For the first time Jael found herself scrutinizing the people around her, wondering what weapons a fold of the cloak or a too full sleeve might conceal. She felt reluctant to push her way through the crowds of strangers; she remembered the ill-tempered vendors and wondered whether she shouldn’t try to find some of Aubry’s people and ask them to see her home.
Gods, what a coward she was! Jael shook her head defiantly, touching the dagger at her hip. She was the eldest daughter of the High Lord and Lady of Allanmere, not some frightened fawn. No, by the gods, she was going back through the alleys as she always used to do. That way, she could look at the spot where she and Tanis had found Evriel, and see how far it was from there to the Fin and Flagon, where Garric and Crow had been found.
The alleys, too, were frightening, although there was enough moonlight that Jael could see clearly enough. She proceeded much more cautiously than she had two nights before, peering around corners before she turned, her ears twitching as she strained to listen for any sound that might signal danger.
She easily found the spot where she and Tanis had literally stumbled across Evriel. The mud of the alley was so riddled with tracks, likely left by the guards, that Jael knew she’d learn nothing there. She shivered, fancying she could still smell blood, but that was ridiculous, of course; there’d been hardly any blood, even on the body or the rug.
This time, instead of turning north toward the eastern Noble District, or east, back to the market, Jael hurried westward. Although she didn’t know this section of alleys too well, she thought it was possible that she could avoid Rivertown proper, skirting the southernmost edge of the Noble District. From there it was only a short distance to the Fin and Flagon.
As she wandered farther westward, however, Jael found that the maze of alleys led her farther south than she would have liked. Abruptly she turned and emerged onto River Road, and realized where she was; if she had followed the alley just a little longer, she’d have been at the vacant house she and Urien had seen. She’d have to go back east just a little, then south to the Fin and Flagon. River Road was full of unsavory types this time of night; even the alleys were safer.
Back in the alleys again, however, Jael found that none of the passages seemed to turn in the directions she wanted. After a few wrong turns, she found herself nearly back to River Road again, and stopped in disgust to unroll her map, peering worriedly at the parchment in the moonlight.
A slow, deliberate footfall broke the silence. Jael gasped and glanced around her fearfully, her ears turning to try to locate the sound.
Someone—something—emerged from a doorway. Jael froze, her mind insisting desperately that her eyes were lying.
The thing stood twice Jael’s height and at least three times her bulk. It stood upon two legs, and some sort of eyes gleamed yellowly in its head, but there all resemblance to human or elf ended. Four taloned arms with too many joints sprang from its heavily muscled shoulders, and its head seemed all muzzle and dripping teeth. Its scent was the rank, coppery odor of spilled blood.
Jael shivered, her throat straining to scream, her legs straining to run, but unable to move as the creature shambled toward her. She felt the familiar tingling inside her that signaled the presence of magic, and a part of her thought bitterly, Here I am, paralyzed by magic, and for once I CAN’T break a spell.
The clawed hands reached out, and Jael wished desperately she could close her eyes—would she have to watch while the thing ate her alive? The thing stopped, its muzzle only inches away, its breath hot and foul in her face; then suddenly, miraculously, it retreated. Jael, unable to move her head, could not see where it went, nor did she care; as soon as the paralysis released her limbs, she fled blindly, colliding with the alley walls, tripping over offal and rough spots, falling to her knees and scrambling forward until she could regain her feet.
Then there were lights ahead, and the market, so sinister and frightening only a short time before, had never looked so welcoming and friendly. Jael collapsed beside an empty wagon, shuddering and panting until she regained some fragment of her composure.
Gods, had she only dreamed the thing? If not, why had it spared her? No, surely it had been an illusion of some kind meant to frighten her, or to warn her out of the area. No creature like that could be wandering Allanmere, not even in Rivertown, without being discovered. The thought reassured Jael tremendously, and her fear slowly faded. No, she’d been fooled and fooled well, but nothing more. Still, now she definitely would find some of Aubry’s thieves to see her home. She stood and brushed the dirt from her trousers, stepping resolutely into the crowd.
“Jaellyn!” Urien’s familiar voice startled Jael just before she collided with him. Urien steadied her, his hands clutching her shoulders anxiously. “What in Baaros’s name are you doing here in the market alone at this hour?”
“I—uh—was here with a friend,” Jael stammered. Would Urien be angry if he knew the friend was Tanis? Better not to say.
“Quite a friend, to leave you here alone at night while elves are being murdered in this city,” Urien said, scowling. “No matter. I have purchases to make, but my carriage will take you home and then return for me.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Jael protested. “I’ll be safe.” She was lying; his offer relieved her tremendously.
“Indeed you will, in my carriage with my guards outside,” Urien told her firmly. “I could never forgive myself if any harm came to you through want of such a small effort on my part. Go home, Jaellyn, and don’t come to the market at night with friends who will abandon you.”
This sounded suspiciously like a dismissal to Jael, and she settled back into the carriage, fuming. If Urien didn’t want her hanging on his heels as he bargained, he might have said as much rather than bundle her into his carriage like a naughty child out too late. Apparently it had never occurred to Lord Urien that she might very well have further business in the market herself!
Jael ground her teeth and slouched lower on the carriage seat. Human men! If they weren’t treating a woman like an irresponsible child as Urien had just done, they were pouting and mooning like a neglected pup as Tanis had. Guildmaster Aubry himself treated her like an adult with at least a few clever thoughts to shake around in her head, and any elven fellow worth the points on his ears would’ve simply said, “I’m fond of you. Want to rumple the furs?” instead of waiting nearly a year and then getting all prickly and jealous. Not that Jael had any natural desire to rumple the furs, of course, then or now, but still—
The carriage stopped, and Jael bounced out the door before the footman could lower the step or assist her, utterly glad to be home. Whether the illusion she’d seen had been a warning or just a horrible joke, she wanted nothing more than to forget it immediately.
Jael was far too agitated to sleep, so she searched out her parents. She found Donya soaking in one of the bathing pools with a chill-spelled mug of ale in hand, and Jael quickly stripped off her clothes to join her mother. A hot bath and her mother’s reassuring presence was just what she needed.
“You did well in your lesson today,” Donya said, pouring Jael another mug of the ale. “Much better than I would have expected in such a short time. The sword, and letting you work out your own style—it seems to be working for you.” She shook her head. “Maybe we’ve all gotten too dogmatic, too sure that what we’ve been taught—and the way it’s been taught—is best. I already knew that any good warrior develops her own style that’s different from any other, an instinctive adjustment—relationship, if you will—between warrior and weapon that evolves its own style. I don’t know why we all assume that a new learner can’t do that.”
“It’s not as obvious as that,” Jael protested. “I mean, forming a—uh—relationship with your sword is hardly the same as trying to do it with a chunk of wood for practice, just like striking at a big wooden pole is different than practicing with a live opponent. Even the blade guard or the
dull edge makes a difference, doesn’t it, in your mind?”
“There’s that,” Donya admitted. “A warrior loses some of her edge when she knows there’s no real danger. But still, you’re doing well.”
“I’m glad,” Jael said, sighing relievedly. “I thought I’d spend all of my life dropping swords and stumbling over my own feet. If I could actually learn, really be good—”
Jael stopped, not wanting to finish the thought— I could protect myself when I leave Allanmere.
“—I’d worry about you a good deal less,” Donya finished firmly.
Jael sipped a little ale for politeness’ sake, although her stomach didn’t approve, while she tried to think of a good way to ask the question she wanted answered.
“I was wondering,” Jael said at last, “whether there’d be a death ritual for Evriel and the others. I mean, I knew Evriel a little. Is the—uh—will she be sent back to the Heartwood?”
Donya patted her hand.
“That’s a kind thought, Jael,” she said, smiling. “But I’m sure her kin in the Heartwood have already held her ritual. They know I can’t send any of the bodies to the Heartwood for return to the earth until I’m certain my mages can learn nothing more from them. When my mages are finished, we’ll hold a public ritual here in town before I send the bodies back to the forest.”
“What can a mage learn from a dead body?” Jael asked curiously.
“Sometimes a divination spell cast on the death wound will show the weapon used,” Donya told her. “Although in this instance the serrated blade could be surmised just from the appearance of the wound; anyone proficient with a knife could have seen it. Sometimes if there’s dirt on the clothing, another kind of divination can be performed to show where the dirt came from. Or a blood trace can be done using a little blood from the corpse to scry out the location where death occurred. I was hoping that would work in this case, especially since the heart and entrails were removed. It should have left a good strong trace.”
Dagger's Edge (Shadow series) Page 20
