Authors: Ellen Porath
They found a table by evicting three torpid traders who were too drunk to protest. The barkeep didn’t argue; clearly these new customers had more room for ale than did the sodden trio that now sat propped, forgotten and snoring, against a wall.
Wode said nothing, but Tanis, Caven, and Kitiara had to shout over the din of arguments and occasional fistfights.
“Where’d you get the money the kender stole?” Caven yelled, taking one swig of ale and then another. He now seemed inclined to believe Kitiara’s tale about Drizzleneff Gatehop. The swordswoman, using gestures almost as much as shouted phrases, sketched out the details of the previous night’s battle with the will-o’-the-wisp. Then Caven launched into ideas for the three of them to band together and make some real money. Grandiose ideas, Tanis thought with a yawn. But he listened politely, realizing that Kitiara took Caven more seriously.
Both of them were getting drunk at a record pace, the half-elf realized. Wordless, Tanis considered his untouched tankard, then the pair of mercenaries.
They made a formidable duo. Kitiara was slender but muscular, her dark hair especially curly in the unseasonable humidity, her eyes luminous with—what? The alcohol? Caven, with the massive, toned body of one who devotes much time to his body’s care, dwarfed her and the half-elf. The two humans shared black hair, dark eyes, pale faces—and at the moment, a greedy look of eking whatever they could from their pathetically short human lives, at whatever cost.
Caven waved to summon the barmaid, a plump, blonde teen-ager with pink skin and a bovine look. Wode, who must have been a year or two younger than the girl, sat up a little straighter, thrust out his thin chest, and gave her a leer. She appeared unimpressed. “Yah?” she asked Caven.
“Another pitcher of ale.”
“Ya kin pay?”
Caven glared at her. “Of course we can pay.”
“Show me th’ money.”
When Caven bridled, the girl said, “Place like ‘is, ya got yer travelers what guzzle but don’ pay, yah? I never seed ya before. Y’ dress nice, sure, but ya mighta stole yer duds. So ya show me th’ money now, all righ’?”
Caven slammed his last coin on the table. The girl, expressionless, picked up the money with a dirty hand and studied the coin. “Looks good,” she said, pocketing it, picking up the pitcher, and turning away. Moments later, she returned and placed the filled pitcher before the four with a thump that slopped liquor onto the table. Wode rose and followed her back to the bar.
“This place reminds me of the Sandy Viper in Kernen,” Kitiara commented. “Smoke, sticky tables, and drunks in the corner.”
Caven snickered and refilled Kitiara’s glass. “Remember
the night Lloiden threw the pitcher of beer into the fire?”
The swordswoman chortled in response. “He thought he could prove they were watering the beer. He said watered beer would put the fire out,” she explained to Tanis. “Instead, he practically burned the place down.” When the half-elf failed to smile, Kitiara spoke instead to Caven. “Tanis isn’t in a mood to be amused tonight, Mackid,” she said with mock gravity.
Abruptly Tanis got up. He joined Wode, who was now lounging at the bar, his lustful gaze following the barmaid, who studiously ignored him. “Ah, what a woman!” the lad said wistfully. He stuck a skinny hand toward Tanis. “Name’s Wode. Caven’s my uncle. My mum’s his big sis. I’m ’is squire—have been for a year now.” Tanis shook the proffered hand.
The teen-ager pointed at Kitiara and Mackid, who were roaring with laughter and pounding each other’s shoulders. “Might as well give up on ’em tonight, half-elf. I’ve seen ’em like this before. Once they get going on the ol’ stories, they’re set for the night, drinkin’ and talkin’.… At least they don’t have much in the way of money, or they’d still be sitting there in the mornin’.”
“But Mackid threatened her with prison. Didn’t he mean it?”
Wode nodded with a wise air. “Oh, he meant it, all right. Maybe he don’ remember it right now, ‘course, bein’ as he’s been swilling ale like a pig. But he’ll remember in the mornin’. And my guess is that she’ll remember, too—in the mornin’. But that’s the way the paid soldiers is, half-elf. Kinda changeable, like the breezes. Everythin’s forgiven while they’re in their cups. Least, Caven’s that way. Captain Kitiara can get a bit snappish with more’n a couple under her belt.”
The barmaid swept by them without a word. Wode sniffed the scent of fried onions, spilled beer, and grilled beef that hovered in her wake. “Wonderful,” he sighed.
“She’s not your type,” Tanis advised him.
“Eh?” Wode turned a bright green gaze full on the half-elf. Then he frowned as the barmaid swept by again, nose high in the air. “I suppose you’re right.” He sighed again.
“How long have those two known each other?” Tanis indicated Kitiara and Caven.
Wode mused. “There was two weeks for the siege, a month to get ready for it, plus another bunch of months of gadding about after the rout. Then Kitiara lit out on Caven, and Caven lit out after ’er. Ah, you shoulda seen him when he found out she’d nipped his coins!”
Tanis tried to divert the lad into more fertile areas of information. “The rout?” Kitiara had let drop the information that she had been up in Kern—“soldiers for hire,” as she put it. But she had been reticent on the subject of the campaign. This might be a chance to learn something.
The boy sighed. “It was awful. Magefire burnin’ from the sky, and people screamin’ and dyin’. Then Kitiara comes runnin’ up and grabs her horse from me and tries to take off, but Caven catches her and makes her wait for him, and the two of ’em head west outa Kern, and I follow, of course.”
“So Kitiara tried to leave him behind?” Tanis was glad of that news, at least.
The youth assented. “But Caven’s a stubborn one. He was set on goin’ with her, ‘specially as the Valdane is known for treating losin’ troops sort of bad, if you catch my meanin’.” He looked at Tanis, who raised his
eyebrows questioningly. “Kills ’em. Or rather, has the mage do it. But, gads, he pays well when he does win, so the paid soldiers, being gamblin’ types anyhow, are willin’ to chance it.” The lad sketched in what little he knew about Kern and the Valdane and his mage, Janusz. “Some say they’ve got a—” The boy paused and looked around—“a bloodlink.” He winked and nodded significantly.
If Wode was expecting a certain reaction from Tanis, however, he didn’t get it. “A bloodlink?” the half-elf asked, not bothering to lower his voice.
Wode shushed him with a panic-stricken look to each side. “Quiet, y’ idiot! Don’t they have ’em around here?” Tanis shook his head. “ ’Course,” the lad continued, “they’re not supposed to have ’em at home, either. They’ve been illegal in Kern since my great-great-grandpa was a cub. But rumor has it the Valdane’s father, the old Valdane, had a rogue mage who was willin’ an’ not afraid of what the Conclave of Wizards would do to ’im, so he went ahead and set one up with the Valdane—the current Valdane, that is; the one who was a boy then—and another boy who turned out to be Janusz, the current mage.”
Tanis’s head was starting to spin, but he urged the boy on. “There was rumors all over Kern,” Wode said, “ ‘specially when the Valdane’s parents—that is, the parents of the current Valdane, who was a boy then—died right after the bloodlink—the one we think was set up—was set up. But it’s death to talk about it in Kern, so don’t repeat anythin’ I said if you ever go there.” He stopped for air.
Tanis nodded, so thoroughly bewildered that he couldn’t have repeated a word of what he had just heard. He sorted through the youth’s jumbled sentences. “What’s a bloodlink?” the half-elf managed to
ask, remembering to lower his voice.
Wode managed to look self-important and surprised at the same time. “Where you been living, half-elf?” he finally choked out.
“I grew up in Qualinesti,” Tanis replied.
Wode pursed his lips and nodded, as though that explained everything. “Ah. A rustic. Well, a bloodlink—which may or may not exist, now, y’understand, except everybody in Kern believes it does because—”
Tanis interrupted.
“What is it?”
Wode cast him a reproachful look but, swelled with importance, went on. “They link two people, usually one of ’em a mage and the other one someone from the nobility. The lower one—usually the mage—takes the knocks for the highfalutin one.” Wode nodded haughtily, then continued irritably when it became apparent that the half-elf still didn’t comprehend. “All right, say you and I got a bloodlink—if there is such a thing, but I bet there is …”
“All right,” Tanis said a little dispiritedly, “say we have such a link.”
“Well, if I’m the one with the power, then anything bad that’s supposed to happen to me happens to you.”
Tanis lifted one brow. Wode released a heavy sigh. “All right. Say a hobgoblin belts me in the gut with his mornin’ star.” The half-elf waited. “I ought to be practically dead, right? But you suffer the injury instead, and I get off without a scratch. Or so the story goes. There’s some that says it’s just a myth, but I think …”
He continued to rattle on. No longer heeding the youth, Tanis leaned back against the bar. If Wode’s blather was to be credited, a bloodlink with a mage would give a nobleman quite a powerful edge in the world, to say nothing of a considerable hold over the
wizard. No wonder the Conclave of Wizards had banned such practices. Wode said this Janusz had been a boy when the bloodlink was set up. Assuming, of course, that the bloodlink even existed …
Tanis shook his head; he was starting to think like Wode. The half-elf focused again on Kitiara and Caven. They were leaning confidentially on the table, starting their third pitcher of ale, talking furiously at each other. Neither appeared to be doing much in the way of listening.
Tanis was in no mood to stay up all night listening to stories of camaraderie between Kitiara and Caven. Tanis and Kitiara’s room at the Seven Centaurs, thankfully paid for in advance, seemed more inviting than a smoky tavern in the bowels of Haven. Kitiara knew how to get back to the inn on her own.
He left the Happee Ohgr without saying good night.
* * * * *
Three hours later, Kitiara pushed herself away from the table and rose unsteadily, making sure to grasp the pack that, even after her ninth tankard of ale, she’d kept safely under her feet. Caven raised a bleary head from its resting place on the sticky table. “Whazzup?” he murmured. “Wanna refill?” He reached for the pitcher, found it empty, on its side, and grimaced. Then, blinking slowly, he groped about on the table. Kitiara guessed his intent.
“There’s no money left,” she said softly. As his hand continued to search through the detritus on the table, she added, “We’ve drunk our quota, and the barkeep is giving us the eye. I always could outdrink you, Mackid.”
Caven grunted. “Tell ’im to put it on a bill. I’m good for it.”
Kitiara laughed too loudly, then watched with a lopsided grin as Caven winced. “You tell him, Mackid. It’s time for me to leave.” She stepped over a sprawled dwarf and headed for the door, avoiding the nastiest spots on the floor.
“Where’re you stayin’?” Caven shouted back, his face red. “You’re not getting away without paying me, y’ cheat!”
At this time of night, in such a place, such epithets were routine terms of endearment. The few patrons still conscious paid little attention to what no doubt seemed to be a typical lovers’ quarrel.
“The Masked Dragon,” she lied. “I’ll see you there in the morning.”
“I’m going with you. It’ll be a lot better than sleeping in the stable with Maleficent.” While Kitiara wondered whether such a remark was worth a challenge, Caven leaned on his arms and straightened. When his focus returned, he gazed slowly over the room. “Where’s Wode?” he snapped. “That lazy—”
“Wode left an hour ago with the barmaid. Or rather, the blonde cow left and the boy followed.”
“Hot on her trail,” Caven said, satisfied. “Good lad. Which reminds me …” He maneuvered carefully over the dwarf, nearly falling headlong when the sodden creature hiccuped and rolled over. The room stank of stale things—food, beer, and breath. “I’m going with you,” he repeated. “To the Masked Dragon.”
“Tanis is already there. I doubt there’s room for three.”
“Then tell ’im to leave,” Mackid said mulishly. “I can flatten any elf any day.”
“Half-elf,” Kitiara corrected. “And don’t count on it.”
Caven gestured magnanimously, which threw him off balance. “Tell him to get lost, then go along with me.” He winked. “I’ll generously forgive your debt.” He caught his balance against the doorjamb.
Kitiara looked up, eyes skeptical but clearer than most others in the room. Caven Mackid was a splendid physical specimen of a man, but not exactly irresistible in his current state. And she wasn’t tired of the half-elf yet.
“I’m leaving, Mackid.” She turned away and walked up the three steps to the street.
It was raining. The cobblestones, slippery even in dry weather, were oily slick. Kitiara put one hand on the wall of the Happee Ohgr and moved quickly down the street, paying attention to her footing and trying to ignore the growing damp of her clothing. Behind her, she heard Caven’s muffled oath as he emerged on the street into the wet weather. “Kitiara!” he bellowed. But she went on without stopping, rain trickling through her curls onto her face.
At this time of night, practically no one was left on the streets of Haven but a few drunks and an occasional bored town guard. Kitiara took a sharp left turn and found herself in a side alley devoid of life and light; it led in the general direction of the Seven Centaurs and was made of packed ground rather than slippery cobbles.
Caven appeared some distance behind her. “Kitiara?” He peered into the gloom.
“Leave it, Mackid,” she snapped, and doubled her pace. At that moment, however, thunder crashed and the drizzle turned into a downpour. She leaped into a doorway with an exclamation. Caven joined her moments later.
The doorway was wide, protected, and dry. Locked
double doors led into what was a warehouse of sorts. Caven stood motionless between Kitiara and the street, an air of expectation about him. She shivered, realizing that her short skirt and light blouse, while okay for freedom of movement and for attracting admiring stares in the Haven market, were less than adequate for a chilly downpour.