He just hoped Bergren—and the others—realized that the pressure he applied to the guards would find other ways to escape when attacks on Bergren's property and efforts to find Reandn both failed.
And when Reandn left.
Standing watch at the tavern turned out to be the harder task of the day. He had time to think, time to chafe, and to waver over his decision about claiming Wolf Rights. Ania came out to chat with him as often as she was able, although Melly, an easily frightened young woman, stayed out of his way.
Hurley had taken to claiming an hour's shift in the afternoon, his arm immobilized and swathed in already-dingy bandages. Reandn understood his need to keep a suspicious eye on his place with the tavern, and took himself to eat a meal when Hurley arrived.
On this day, he would have preferred to be out and moving, assuaging the drive from within and restless feet. Instead he sat at his usual corner table, leaning back against the light blond wood. A gut whisper of warning jerked his head up from his meal in time to see Farren approach.
Farren ignored his cold stare of greeting. "May I sit?"
Behind him, Melly approached, bearing two glasses of cool water. She waited for Reandn's short nod and left both glasses while Farren pulled out the chair opposite Reandn.
"I don't want to talk to you," Reandn said abruptly.
Farren's eyebrows rose. "Then why did you tell me to sit?"
"Because a simple no wouldn't have sent you away. Not for good. I'm hoping this will: I don't want to talk to you. Not now, and not ever. Go away." He took a sip of the sweet water and carefully set the glass back down in its sweat ring, watching the wizard from beneath his brow and wondering what was hidden behind the handsome, aging face as light blue eyes watched him back.
"Do you suppose," Farren said, "That we could at least pretend to have a civilized conversation? I'm only looking for the answers to a few questions, friend Wolf. Answers it won't harm you to give."
"That would mean something if I trusted you. I don't."
Farren frowned. "I've done nothing to deserve your enmity since your arrival. I took you in when you were sick, I gave you your weapons, I made no attempt to detain you."
"I'm sure you had your reasons."
The wizard took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his patience visibly thinning. "I need to know how you come to be in Maurant. I need details."
"I guess you have a problem."
"It's going to be everybody's problem if you don't cooperate with me," Farren said in annoyance. "There's no magic left in the world, yet you hop from one end of Keland to the other. I need to know how that happened."
Reandn snorted. "No magic left?" he said, his mind full of memory—of hands holding him down while Farren's magic raged around him. "I know better. It was magic that brought me here, and magic you used on me once I got here. Lies hardly beget trust, Farren."
"I have not lied." Eyes that had been bright now darkened in the shadow of lowered brows. "Lonely Hells, can't you see past your own petty concerns? Someone out there has power, and I must find out where it's coming from!"
Power. Reandn saw Ronsin's face, heard his words. Justice is return of power, and power had taken Kavan and Adela away. What would Farren do with it?
Reandn looked across the table and grinned, a fierce expression. Startled, Farren's anger faded; he seemed to be looking at Reandn anew. Wolf justice, Farren. That's what waits for wizards who lie for their power.
Whatever Farren might have said was lost in the shrill scream from the other side of the tavern. Reandn bounded to his feet before the sound faded, running toward it, shoving aside chairs and customers to reach the source—and discovering the delicate balance of madness and sanity. He came to a stop so sudden that someone bumped up behind him; he ignored it.
A young man sprawled on the floor against a table leg, arms splayed, blood splattered and dripping, and throat cut so hard the gaping edges of his windpipe jutted into air. Three horrified people huddled on the other side of the nearby table—an older man clutching his wife's arm, and a young woman. Her sooty eyes were stark against a pale face; a crimson path of blood etched across her forehead, eyebrow, and cheek before arcing onward across the blond wood walls. It dripped from the sleeve of the fourth adult—a man backed against the wall. His expression was crazed and his sticky knife pressed against a child's throat—a boy with wide, terrified eyes, whose sobs were stifled only because he was too stiff with fright to draw a decent breath.
Reandn raked a calculated gaze over the man's fine clothing, over his well-made knife with jewels sparkling under the bloodied hilt. A dandy—maybe a Highborn. Insane, but not highly trained. He took a step forward.
"Get back," hissed the killer, shifting his grip on the boy, knuckles whitening around the knife.
"Nuri," moaned the woman, reaching for the child with a trembling hand. Her husband gathered it in again, holding her tightly, protectively, but he couldn't stop her pleading. "Koby, let him go, oh, Bright Lady, let him go."
Reandn took another deliberate step —mostly sideways, to get a better angle, but a little distance closed in there, too.
"I've already killed once!" Koby looked at his victim on the floor with anger, mad anger. He spat over the boy's head, scoring on the dead man's leg. "Come closer and Nuri dies too!" His eyes were wild, his gaze darting from Reandn to the kitchen door, and not missing it when Reandn eased forward again. "I mean it! I'll kill this one, too!"
"You're not leaving here as long as you have him," Reandn said. "You want a hostage? Fine. Take me." Arms outstretched, he took another step, a deliberate one. "I'm the only one here who can stop you—take me, and you can get away. But you try to leave with that boy, and I'll kill you."
Behind him, footsteps sounded up close, came to a stop; Kelton's heavy breathing nearly obscured Ania's gasp. Koby's grip tightened, so hard the boy yelped. Uncertainty touched the man's voice. "You'd have to go through Nuri first."
"I can do that." Reandn grinned at him, challenge. "The only way you're safe is if you have me. Now let the boy go." Another step, just barely close enough to touch. "Let the boy go, Koby. Or die right here."
Koby stared at him in disbelief. Then he shoved the boy, hard, and yanked at Reandn's outstretched wrist. Reandn allowed it, let himself be pulled into Koby's grip, the blade suddenly against his own throat. The odor of blood, thick on Koby's sleeve and hand, hit Reandn's nose like a threat; the man's chest heaved with his frightened panting. In front of Reandn, the patrons of the Forgotten Unicorn were frozen in shock. Ania clutched Kelton's arm; Farren stood off to the side, quiet and self-possessed.
"Clear the kitchen!" Koby shouted, so suddenly they all flinched. Spittle sprayed Reandn's cheek; Koby's arm trembled against Reandn's chest and throat. Losing control. Carefully, Reandn pushed against the pressure, increasing the force gradually, unnoticed, while Koby unconsciously compensated.
The Unicorn's kitchen crew gathered at the doorway, hesitant; at Kelton's terse nod, they dashed from the room in a flurry of skirts and flashing white limbs, Damone's heavy tread the last of them. Koby immediately sidled toward the door, taking Reandn with him. Reandn, still pushing, moving just as fast as he had to, because he had no intention of going anywhere with this man. Because—
Abruptly he reversed his hold, pulling with Koby's push, taking control of the motion and twisting wildly aside as the knife slid up his neck, stopping for an instant against the bone of his jaw before skidding up along his face. Warm blood coursed down his skin, accompanied by Ania's short, horrified scream and his own strangely remote thought that it was his life's blood running down his chest. Yet he pivoted, bringing himself around to face Koby with the knife between them—and now at Koby's throat.
There they trembled, inches apart, while Reandn pushed, teeth bared, mind a haze of intent. Pushed harder.
A gentle presence at his side. No, love. Leave him. Startled, Reandn whirled, crying, "Adela?"
Hurley rushed in, latching onto K
oby with a talon-fingered grip. Reandn left them there, taking another step toward a crowd that was suddenly noisy again, talking and crying and holding on to one another. "Adela?" he whispered.
No answer. Of course not. Had he really heard her? And why was he still on his feet? He looked down at the blood soaking his vest, realized for the first time that the wound wasn't arterial...wasn't enough to kill him.
But it could have been. Almost blindly, he found one of the pillar supports for the Unicorn's high ceiling. Slumping against it, he stared at the knife; its red-rimmed blade cried accusations. He hadn't cared. The hand began to shake. He'd been foolhardy, he'd nearly gotten himself killed—and he hadn't cared. Reandn slid down the pillar until his bottom hit the floor, knees drawn up before him. Ania whisked by, the sobbing, sooty-eyed young woman enfolded in her arms; her eyes were wide, looking at him with amazement and uncertainty.
I'd have been with Adela.
The scullery boys brought in buckets and mops and immediately went after the drying blood on the floor planks; it'd take sanding, no doubt, to erase the stains completely.
Together. Together in Tenaebra.
The Locals arrived and marched briskly into the kitchen, causing a short outburst from the prisoner there. Weeping, the suddenly aged woman followed the body of her older son as two Locals carried it from the tavern.
Is it really so easy to let go? Does Adela wait for me, or is it priestly nonsense?
Farren paused at a distance for careful consideration, then left without speaking. By some tacit agreement, no one confronted Reandn, no one asked what the Hells he thought he'd been doing. Which was just as well, for the moment.
No, it's not that easy to let go. Not yet. There is still Ronsin. There, he'd found his focus again. Revenge. Ronsin was still alive, and that meant Reandn still had things to do.
"Reandn," said Kelton, awkwardly crouching to touch Reandn's unsullied right shoulder. "Come, Reandn. Ania will wash your face."
Without comment, Reandn followed the proprietor to the kitchen. There was no sign of the dead man, the mad man, or the boy—no sign of any of it save Hurley, who hulked in a corner looking dangerous, broken arm or not. Looking, if possible, guilty—a fact which Reandn observed but did not understand.
Ania pointed to a stool, beside which was a hastily cleared cook-table laden with a basin, cloths, and a jar of salve. Reandn sat, wincing as she went after his stained shoulder with a wet cloth. He could only hope she'd be more considerate when she reached the actual damage. At his expression, Ania's face softened, her movements gentled.
"You don't even know what it was all about, do you," she said. He couldn't shake his head while she worked but she continued anyway, her words running anxious. "Koby—that's the man who cut you—has always had a liking for Ciandra. She never thought much of him, but his boat's always been a little unsteady. When she and Gervase announced their betrothal, I guess it tipped over. They were in there making plans for a new house—that was Gervase's family with them. And Hurley let Koby in, knowing it all!"
"I'd have done the same," Reandn said, trying not to flinch away from her unsteady hand.
"Maybe, but even if you didn't know about it, I bet you wouldn't have let that surf-foam-for-brains Koby in here. Not the way he was acting." She worked carefully around his face, her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration, her eyes reflecting her opinion of what she saw.
"If it was really bad," Reandn said at her expression, "I'd be dead. There's not a lot of leeway there."
Ania shook her head. "Surely there was another way, Reandn!"
"The boy is safe, isn't he? The mad man captured and sent away? What's the problem?" But he didn't meet her eyes. She was right.
She stepped back to look at him, taking another swipe at his vest as she moved. "The problem is, I'm not sure they took the mad man away."
The problem was, she was probably right about that, too.
"Reandn?" Ania asked, giving him a worried look; she dug two fingers into the salve and set the jar aside. When she saw she had his attention again, she said, "This is much too awkward to bandage, though I think that spot on your jaw needs a stitch. Otherwise, it's mostly...well, it looks like you've been skinned, there."
"Wish I'd seen it," Hurley said. "Got there too late."
"I'm glad you didn't, you'd have plunged into the thick of it," Ania said firmly, smearing the salve on Reandn's face—ouch, dammit—and stepping back. She brandished the salve pot at Reandn and said, "I want you to put this on twice a day, and don't make me run after you to do it—otherwise that pretty face of yours might scar up."
Absently, Reandn said, "All right."
"Reandn," Ania said, capturing his attention once more. "Are you sure you're all right?"
He found her patiently holding the pot of salve out for him to take. He took it, held it, looked at it.
She gave him a pensive look and abruptly, brusquely, turned around and shooed Hurley out of the kitchen with a great deal of arm waving that seemed the only way to convince the giant she was serious.
When she came back she stood squarely in front him and took his hand. He glanced up in surprise, and she said, "Reandn. What's wrong?"
He didn't respond, distracted by the throbbing of his face, distracted by answers that he could never tell her.
She shook his hands in gentle admonishment and said, "It's true we haven't known each other very long. But I'd like to think of myself as your friend. And, friend or not, it's obvious to me that you're bothered by what's happened. Dark Lady, it'd be strange not to be a little shook—no matter what you're used to getting into."
"Dark Lady," Reandn repeated, searching her face in the late afternoon gloom of the hot kitchen.
"Did I say that?" she asked, nonplussed. "Well, it's not the best language, but I've certainly heard you use it often enough. That's hardly the issue."
To Reandn, it was. "What do they believe here, in the South?"
"You mean...Tenaebra and Ardrith? Hardly different than you Northies, I'd think."
Never a man to put much stock in the babbling of priests, suddenly Reandn found the wondering intolerable. "Do they say that even if your death comes from the different Sisters, you can find your loved ones on the borders of the death-worlds?"
"Borders?" Ania responded with some difficulty.
"Between Tenaebra's realm and Ardrith's," Reandn said impatiently. "What do they say about that down here? What do they say about the Lonely Hells?"
Ania regained her footing in the conversation and released Reandn's hand to step back and tilt her head at him. "To tell you the truth, it's a fairly private matter down here, Reandn. We get family schooling when we're young and after that, usually discuss things with our local priest. But..." She looked into his eyes, and seemed to relent.
He waited, finding it absurdly important that she confirm what little he knew, the bits he had picked up from more privileged comrades who'd been schooled...or at least had had family interested enough to teach them. Adela had had that family, and that schooling, and had come to him with her quiet, firm faith. His most solid example, and now he now wished he'd asked more questions.
"I think, Reandn, that if you were to go to a Faith House here, you wouldn't find things so very different. Not from what I've heard you say." She smoothed the light material of her skirt, and looked away, clearly uncomfortable—evidence enough that her talk of privacy was not feigned. But she continued anyway. "I think...what you want to know...is that I have been taught the Sisters each have their own realms. Ardrith has those who leave life in sleep, in quiet sickness, and Tenaebra...." she shuddered. "Tenaebra has Gervase. And for those who deeply care for one another and die under different Sisters, there are the borders, though they can mean a long search. And," she concluded, "for those such as Koby, there are the Lonely Hells, where you may find no one. Ever."
Reandn swallowed in relief and closed his eyes again. It was what he thought he knew, and it helped assuage
his sudden doubt that he'd turned away from his chance to join Adela. That now he could mold away into old age and still, eventually, be with her again. Although he doubted this had been his last opportunity to go with Tenaebra.
But it didn't change the fact that he wanted to be with her so badly he didn't care what he might lose by leaving this realm so early.
"Suicides," Ania said, her voice scared as she suddenly took his hand again, "belong to no one but themselves, Reandn. Neither Sister will take them."
Her concern touched him. "Don't worry," he said, almost absently. "And as far as Koby is concerned...he's mad, you said so yourself. His..." he searched for the colloquial phrase she'd used, "boat's tipped over. Maybe even a goddess doesn't hold you responsible for what you do then."
He hoped it was true.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 10
The moon rose early and bright, only a handful of days from full. Reandn's face throbbed; his concentration had scattered, and the herbal scent of Ania's salve obscured any other scent. Freshly broken pine branches, the smell of men unwashed—staying alert to such clues had helped Reandn prevail during the nights at the market. He eyed the storm clouds moving in from the southeast as he entered the marketplace, silently encouraging them. Rain would be miserable, but it would provide cover and keep the guards quiet.
Tanager trotted over from the tie-ups with purpose as Reandn reached the stock area; his eyes opened wide as he came to a stop just out of reach—or what he probably thought was out of reach. "I know Pa-farren was going to talk to you. What happened?"
Reandn grinned in spite of the pull on his face. "Son," he said, "the way you ask that question makes me think you figure your grandfather clobbered me."
"Well...yeah," Tanager said.
Reandn shook his head, the grin was slow to fade. "You go home and ask him what happened. "
Touched By Magic (The King's Wolf Saga) Page 12
