Sword of the Bright Lady (32 page)

“No, of course not, my Lady.” But then he had to ask, “Um . . . how much does it cost?”

She pinched her lips in disgust. “You should already know that. You can settle with the clerk. He's got other fees to charge you, as well. We're not a warehouse for your business ventures.”

“Of course, my Lady. I am more than happy to pay my fair share.”

She sighed, finally running out of steam. “It seems I cannot remain angry at you. Although every step you take discomforts me, you do not act out of malice or stupidity.

“I cannot fathom Krellyan's design,” she complained, but not really to him. “The only future I see is you hanging from a noose and your chapel in flames. No, don't explain. If Krellyan hasn't told me, then I don't want to know. But understand, if I show you any kindness, it is out of pity for your eventual fate. Only your imminent destruction makes the disturbances you inflict on my daily life bearable.”

He winced involuntarily, thinking of disturbances yet to come. He was reasonably certain nobody had told her yet about the deed he held to the Old Bog.

But she misinterpreted his flinch, responding with, “Now sit still, this won't hurt a bit,” in the manner of all medical professionals who are about to inflict unspeakable agony on some helpless patient. She put her hand over his blind eye and cast a spell.

It didn't hurt, though it was quite disorienting when his eye blinked a few times and suddenly the other half of the room came into vision. He hadn't realized how nice stereo vision was until he'd lost it.

“Thank you,” he said.

She handed him a mirror. They hadn't let him look in one before, and now he could see why. He had a nasty scar from his temple to the bottom of his nose. The sword had cut absurdly deep.

“How is it I lived through this?” he wondered aloud.

“Because your head is harder than stone,” Rana growled. “Like all men who would be famous.”

He was struck by her compliment, if that's what it was. “Do you think I'll be famous?”

“Or dead,” she said sourly. “Those are the only options open to you. You do not have the personality to live simply in the world, accepting it for what it is.”

“I wasn't famous back home, where I came from,” he mused. “And no one ever expected me to be.”

“That was there, and this is here. The seed grows differently in different soil.”

He joined Cannan and Karl in the tavern, wondering if this was how Luke felt meeting Han Solo. Private meetings with rough and dangerous men in dark taverns, discussing violence and treasure, should have been unnerving, but instead it was uncomfortably intriguing. Maybe he'd been spending too much time in the company of excitable young men.

“Our deal is done,” he told the knight.

“Aye, it's over,” Cannan agreed. “Nobody dares to challenge Black Bart's ghost in front of your chapel.”

“But I have another proposition, if you are interested.”

Cannan looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You are full of propositions, priest. Do you hatch them like eggs in your funny long coat? But I have one for you.”

“Tell us yours first,” Karl said.

“I want to go to Kingsrock and see if anybody there has more courage. I've decided to take up dueling as a career, for a time, and having your sword as a prize would attract more customers, so to speak.”

Christopher felt like he was betraying Niona, but it wasn't his place to tell the man what to do with his life. “What do I get out of it?”

“What should you get out of it?” Cannan growled. “You stake an ordinary sword, and run none of the risk.”

“Not exactly, Ser. I run the constant risk of the Invisible Guild. And I'm staking the reputation of my sword, not just the steel.”

“I'll not give you a quarter,” the knight declared.

Christopher didn't particularly want to profit from Cannan's killings anyway. “How about you help us with our task, and we'll call it even?”

“Depends on the task, doesn't it? Let's hear it, then.”

“I'm going on this trip to invite the Guild's attack, but I'm worried they might take me up on it too well. I want you to travel with me, disguised as an ordinary guard. Karl's borrowed some chain mail and a coat for you. You'll have to leave your horse behind and act like a commoner, not a noble, but I'll still pay you five gold a day.” Although that would be another hundred gold, Christopher felt the continued benefit of being alive was worth the price. “It's only for two more weeks, while we tromp around the Church fiefs. I'll give you the same split on any tael we take from the thieves, one share for me and three for you.

“With your ring, which hopefully the guild doesn't know about, you'll be armored well enough to defeat any number of thugs, even in no more than chain mail. And with you leaving for Kingsrock to be my champion there, no one will suspect another common guard in my retinue. At least, that's the idea.”

“The guild will never expect it,” Karl said. “No ordinary knight would pretend to such a low rank. Yet I think you are more interested in taking heads than turning them.” They were hoping that Cannan's strange adventures to the south might have made him less fashion-conscious.

But the knight surprised them both with his reaction. “What does Niona think?” he asked.

“Um, we didn't tell her yet,” Christopher admitted. “We figured she would stay in the village and take care of Bloodfire.”

“He's a horse. Give him feed and room to exercise, he'll be fine. But I don't underestimate my wife's value in a fight, like you do. She's a lot more dangerous than that horse.”

“Can she pass as one of the boys?” Karl asked. “In a coat and helm, she wouldn't draw much attention. No more than one-finger Charles, at least.”

“If I do this, then you'll let me be your champion in Kingsrock? For how long?” Cannan pressed.

“Until the end of the year. Then I go out to the draft, so I think Faren will have to admit the sword isn't magical. He can't misrepresent me to the government.”

Cannan nodded in agreement. “Long enough, then. Get my wife a coat and another horse. She'll want to leave hers to keep Bloodfire company.”

“We can't pay her, though,” Karl cautioned. “It's five gold for both of you.”

Cannan shrugged, accepting their limited finances. “What about her share of the tael?”

“She can have three shares too,” Christopher said, “but then I'm going to claim a share for my troop.”

Karl looked troubled, and Cannan looked pleased, at least for a few seconds. Then they both worked out the math. “That comes to the same thing, then,” the knight complained. “You get two shares out of eight, instead of one out of four, but that's the same.”

Christopher grinned. Apparently these people could do math—when they really cared. And they always cared about tael.

Cannan and his wife would leave for Kingsrock the next day and then secretly return to the village to deposit his armor and warhorse. When Christopher warned the knight to make sure he wasn't followed, Cannan laughed at him.

“Nobody follows Niona,” he finally explained, “unless she wants them to. You churchmen have forgotten all your druid lore.”

That left Christopher to get ready for tonight's demonstration. He was nervous, suffering a touch of stage fright. It wasn't the fireworks he was worried about. He had a speech to give, and a lot depended on his getting it right.

First he settled accounts with the church clerk, starting with the five gold for his eye. A large sum to a peasant's purse, but the huge stacks of gold and tael he'd been dealing in lately made it seem cheap. He deposited all of the tael he'd gotten from Bart, and most of the gold, keeping a fat purse for expenses. Actually, he kept two, and another one for Karl, because he fully expected to be pickpocketed. In a world where a King's ransom could literally be contained in a golf ball, pickpocketing had to be a popular skill.

When he went to beg some food from the kitchen for lunch, he was surprised to see Cardinal Faren doing the same.

“I've come out to give Rana a hand with her catch of cut-purses,” Faren explained. Christopher knew that couldn't be the whole reason. The way Faren fortified himself with several mugs of ale suggested that his task was to placate the angry Vicar.

“She doesn't seem too happy about catching so many,” Christopher said, playing along.

“We can't hang them for stealing,” Faren glowered. “So there's no profit in it. Not like cracking rich black walnuts.”

“Say the word, and I'll stop,” Christopher shot back.

“No. Honesty compels me to admit a certain satisfaction in the events of the past week,” Faren said, though he didn't seem very happy about it. “Now I go to take my share of the lumps, though I suppose I won't sport such a scar for it.”

“I wouldn't bet on that.” Christopher gave him a weak smile. Rana was furious, and Faren didn't have sheer ignorance as an excuse.

So he spent the afternoon alone, reviewing the work Fae had left stored in the church. He was impressed, but he didn't want to go visit her or Tom. They didn't deserve to share the black cloud of doom he was trying to stir up.

With twilight came the moment of reckoning. He picked up the box of printed paper and wound his way through the church, followed discreetly by a growing tail of curious clergy. He could hear the noise from inside the main hall. When the guards opened the doors the volume was stunning. The public square at the foot of the church steps was packed with people.

“Did I not promise you numbers beyond reckoning?” Lalania smirked, springing up the steps and flourishing at the crowd.

“No, actually, you didn't,” he said. “But I'll be more impressed if you tell me where all of these people came from.”

“Mostly just your outlying villages,” she said. “But it's a good turnout. I don't know why you insist on visiting each village. They're all used to coming into town for important events anyway.”

Because he wanted to give the guild plenty of chances to attack him, but he could hardly tell her that. Also, because he wanted to show his strength to the common people, to lay the groundwork for his future plans and win their trust.

What he could tell her was, “I want to get a feel for the land. Looking at a map doesn't cut it.” Especially when the map was as primitive as the local technology provided. “Those people aren't from a village.” He pointed to some jugglers and acrobats. They were everywhere, small dogs leaping through hoops, puppet shows, dancers and tumblers, a veritable circus of freelance entertainers.

“What did you expect?” Lalania asked. “You summon a crowd, and the mummers flock. It's their livelihood, after all.”

“Oh no,” he groaned, “they're not going to follow me around, are they?” How could he win points with the village locals if he brought this plague of locusts in his wake?

“Not all of them,” she cheerfully conceded. “The better acts will only be in the towns you're visiting. But the poorer ones will be waiting for you at every village. I hope you already made reservations at the inns.”

“How many cut-purses and pickpockets are out there?” Every gold coin they stole would be one less bond he could sell.

“Not that many. Such pursuits are frowned on in these lands. Well, they are everywhere, of course, and usually much more harshly. But not all towns have truth-spells so readily at hand. Your police will likely be waiting at the gate tomorrow, with a priest at their back, to question every stranger leaving town. A simple ‘What did you steal?' can be hard to answer when you think they might have lie detections cast. And of course, stealing a few coppers is a minor offense, but lying to a priest can get you in serious trouble. Next thing you know, you're in a tiny room, answering questions about your affiliation and your past.”

Christopher could see how a functioning lie detector would have a big impact on jurisprudence. He could only imagine what effect it would have on Earth.