The Blood King (40 page)

“Over here,” she called in a weak voice. Tris turned, his ears ringing painfully, and saw his bedraggled companion a few paces down the river-bank. Jae strutted on the wet bank next to Kiara, hissing his concern. “Whatever that was,” she said shakily, “I don’t want to meet another one.”

“How did you…” Tris began, and Kiara pro-duced a small dagger with a golden hilt from her belt.

“The Sisters gave me it when I began my Journey. They told me it would turn the undead, and in the hands of a mage, destroy their soul. I wasn’t sure it-would work on a magemonster, but I thought it was worth a try.”

“Lady be,” Nyall swore. “What are ye, that you’ve got mage-made daggers and talk of the Sisterhood?” The river pilot made the sign of the Lady in warding.

“Well, whatever it was,” Tris said, sidestepping the captain’s question, “it worked. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Kiara managed a grin. Jae perched on her shoulder and nuzzled her ear. “Be pointless if we get to Margolan without you, now wouldn’t it?”

“That’s all the horses,” Vahanian said, striding up. Tris looked downriver to see Sakwi secure one of the panicked beasts to a tree, stroking the animal’s neck to soothe it. “Glad to see you’re breathing,” he said curtly to Tris and Kiara. “Looks like you had a few friends down below. You know, after traveling with you, I’m starting to think there’s a body under every rock. Nice work, Spook,” he said to Tris. Abruptly, Vahanian stopped and looked worriedly at Nyall. Where are the others?”

“I thought they were with you,” Nyall replied.

“What’s wrong?” Kiara asked, still wiping grit from her face. Jae hopped from foot to foot on the riverbank, hissing and squawking. Sakwi sat near-by on a fallen log, shivering and coughing.

“Carroway and Carina,” Vahanian replied, start-ing out at a brisk pace down the riverbank. Nyall followed him. Tris and Kiara, still lightheaded from their near drowning, waited nervously for the two men to return.

A candlemark’s search turned up nothing. Vahanian planted his hands on his hips and sur-veyed the dark, swift water. “They’re not here.”

“I never saw them after we went over,” Nyall said. “Maybe they floated further downriver. The current’s swift.”

Vahanian shook his head. “Not alive, they didn’t. Water’s too cold. We were lucky to get out. There wasn’t time to go further.”

“Can you call for them?” Kiara asked Tris, strug-gling to keep her voice steady.

Tris felt a lump in his throat, understanding the assumption implicit in her request.

“I’ll try,” he said. Ignoring Nyall’s open-mouthed astonishment, he closed his eyes and slipped into a trance. He could sense the river spirits, to whom he sent warm thoughts of gratitude. Up and down the river, he felt the flickers of restless ghosts. But to his great relief, neither Carina nor Carroway answered his call.

“They’re not dead,” Tris said, opening his eyes.

Kiara exhaled in relief. “Thank the Lady.”

“You’re a Summoner,” Nyall said in an awed voice. “By the Dark Wench, you’re a spirit mage, aren’t you?”

Tris nodded.

“We’ve got to get some shelter,” Sakwi said. The land mage’s lips were blue.

Vahanian stared down river at a distant building cantilevered over the water.

He turned to Nyall. “Wait a minute. I know where we are. That’s Jolie’s Place down there, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” Nyall began.

Vahanian gestured impatiently. “Come on. We’ve got a place to stay.” He headed through the brush. Tris refused help, although his lungs ached from the water that he had coughed up. Sakwi leaned heavi-ly on a makeshift staff he had made from a fallen branch. Tris slipped an arm around Kiara’s waist, steadying her when she looked as if she might fall.

“I really don’t think—” Nyall started, then shook his head and gave up, following them through the tangle of branches as they made their way down-river.

The sounds of raucous music reached them above the rush of the river, along with the scent of spicy roasted fish. They could hear laughter and a jumble of voices as they climbed the twisting wooden steps toward the door, Vahanian leading the way. A burly man blocked their path.

“You’re not welcome here,” he said roughly, tak-ing in their bedraggled appearance. “Off with you.”

“I have a message for Jolie,” Vahanian said in the Common tongue, then repeated it for emphasis in the river patois.

“What message is that?”

“Tell her Jonmarc is here. Tell her now.”

The guard gave him a skeptical glare, but shuffled off toward the doorway. He called aside a passing man whom he dispatched with the message. They waited in silence, chilled and shivering in the wind, for what seemed like forever.

Then, from inside, came quick footsteps.

“What are you using for brains, river sludge?” a strident woman’s voice sounded.

“You kept them outside, in this weather? Move, move, I’m in a hurry.” With a flash of crimson, Jolie burst through the door. “Jonmarc!” she exclaimed, embracing the smuggler. “Come in, come in,” she welcomed them, with a glare to the burly guard, who shrugged his innocence.

One of Jolie’s servants brought an armful of blan-kets, which Tris and the others gratefully accepted. Jolie and Vahanian dropped into a barrage of the river talk, punctuated by Jolie’s flamboyant ges-tures. Walking a step behind the pair, Tris sized up their new host. Jolie was in her middle years, with the figure of a young woman and wild, flame-red hair that cascaded to her shoulders. Her gown, Tris noted, was in fashion several years ago at court, its fabric expensive and opulent. Gold glittered at her throat, on her fingers, and stacked in bracelets up her thin arms. Heavy gems danced in her earrings. A dusky perfume clung to her, like incense for the Dark Lady, permeating the room.

“Where are we?” Kiara asked under her breath. Gaming tables packed the room filled with foppish-ly dressed men and revealingly clad young women.

Minstrels played raucous tunes, with an impromp-tu chorus from several of the guests who were well into their ale. In the back of the room, a tavern master did a brisk business, slipping patron’s drinks around the shapely young woman perched on the bar who sang along with a minstrel.

“Someplace Jonmarc thinks is safe,” Tris replied. “Question is, safe from what?”

“Your friend must have connections,” Nyall said from behind him. “Jolie doesn’t let just anyone in.” They followed Vahanian and Jolie through the bustle of the gamers, toward the back of the crowd-ed room. Jolie talked continuously to Vahanian or to the players and their ladies who jostled together in the crowd. Finally they reached a small door in the rear of the noisy gaming area, which Jolie opened with a key she withdrew from her bodice.

They filed inside and she shut the door behind them. Jolie locked it and replaced the key with a pat.

“Now, Jonmarc, tell me what brings you here looking like a river rat.”

“I was taking a group down the river to Margolan when something tossed us into the water. We made it to shore with our horses, but we’re missing two of our party.”

Jolie eyed him for a moment. “Water’s ice cold. They’re dead by now.”

“They’re not dead,” Kiara said.

“Swordswomen aren’t common on the river,” Jolie drawled in heavily accented Common. “And that one,” she said pointing to Sakwi, “is a mage, or I’m a virgin. That was a nice start to the story, Jonmarc,” she said, her accent softening the conso-nants into a deceptively lazy blur. “Now the rest, cheche, if you please.”

“It’s not my story,” Vahanian said ill-humouredly. “Ask them if you want it.”

Tris glanced at Vahanian for a signal. You can trust Jolie,” Vahanian said and their hostess glowed. “If she couldn’t keep a secret, she’d have been dead a long time ago.”

“Secrets are my business, cheche” Jolie said in a throaty voice that spoke of strong liquor. “People leave them with me, and I keep them safe. Now what could you possibly have offered Jonmarc to bring you through Nargi territory?”

“Jonmarc is guiding us back to Margolan,” Tris replied evenly. “I’m Martris Drayke, Bricen’s son.”

“You’re going to challenge the king?” Jolie asked skeptically.

“And his mage.”

“A mage called Arontala?” Her accent made the sorcerer’s name a purr.

“Yes.”

“Bold words for one so young.” Jolie looked at Vahanian. “But Jonmarc, I thought you swore off hopeless causes years ago.”

“He’s a Summoner, ma’am,” Nyall spoke up, wide-eyed. “Saw it myself I did.

Called spirits from the river to save himself and the lady here.”

Jolie returned her scrutiny to Tris. “A true Summoner?” Tris nodded, and her light-brown eyes regarded him from beneath heavy lids. “And you?” Jolie said, looking now to Kiara and appraising her carefully. “You’ve said little, swordlady. What is your role?”

Kiara drew herself up tall. “I’m Kiara Sharsequin of Isencroft,” she answered.

“Jared Drayke and his mage have threatened my lands. I go with Tris to set things right.”

“Um hmm,” Jolie looked back to Vahanian, who was clearly impatient with her questioning. “You’ve got your own little revolution brewing here, Jonmarc.

That’s not like you.”

“There are two people out there we can’t find,” Vahanian snapped. “Damn the reason we’re here. We’ve got to find them. If they’re alive, and they’re not on our side of the river—”

“Then they’re as good as dead already,” Jolie retort-ed coldly. “They’re in Nargi hands. Give them up.” “No!” Kiara said. “We can’t!” “Jolie, I need your help,”

Vahanian entreated. “To commit suicide? No, cheche,” she said, shak-ing her head. “I won’t do that.”

“We need a safe place to stay until the horses are ready to ride,” Vahanian continued, undaunted. “Dry clothes. Provisions for the ride.”

“You’re not thinking of going after them, are you?”

“I have to.”

“Have you forgotten everything?” She turned to Tris and Kiara. “Jonmarc came to us eight seasons ago, running from the Nargi. He managed my gam-ing tables, tended my bar, and was the best ‘peacekeeper’ I ever had. I will not support you if you want to kill yourself, cheche. No. Not Jolie.”

Her tirade had no effect on Vahanian. “It’s a heal-er and a bard,” he said tersely.

“A woman healer.”

Tris saw a flicker of something in Jolie’s eyes. “So? They’re in the Lady’s hands.

Leave them to Her.”

Vahanian’s jaw clenched, making the cords on his neck stand out in anger.

“Damn you! You know the Nargi. You know what happens to prisoners.”

“You seem to have forgotten,” Jolie said. “You’re not talking about a smuggling run, Jonmarc, in and gone. They haven’t forgotten you. You won’t come back if you go marching into one of their camps.”

“Let me worry about that,” he retorted, only a hand’s breadth from Jolie’s face.

“Will you give sanctuary?”

Jolie’s eyes narrowed. “What is this woman, that you would die for her?”

Vahanian looked away. “They’re friends.”

“And for these ‘friends’ you would sacrifice your-self?”

“She saved my life. What would you have me do?”

“I taught you to survive,” Jolie snapped. “I took you in when you ran from shadows, taught you to smuggle, gave you the contacts you needed to live on this river.”

“And what did you expect for that? Or did you think you owned me, too?”

“No,” she said in a deep, bitter rasp. “Nobody is owned here. Not in my house.

Not while I live.” The rage drained out of her. “Go then, if you must. Your friends will be safe here. When Arontala is done hunting mages and vayash morn, he’ll come for my kind. They always do.”

“Thank you,” Vahanian said raggedly.

“Sometime, the fledgling flies, hmm, cheche?”

Vahanian gave her a peck on the cheek. “You’re first class, Jolie.”

“Damn right,” she rejoined, and turned her atten-tion back to Tris and Kiara.

“Don’t mind the little family spat. Jonmarc is used to my temper. Come. There are rooms upstairs where you can sleep safe-ly.” She eyed Kiara. “Unless you’ve got objections to an upstairs room at my house.”

“I’ve marched with an army and camped with mercs,” the Isencroft princess replied, settling her hand on the pommel of her sword. “I doubt your house will rival that.”

Jolie threw back her head in throaty laughter. “At last! Someone else with a proper attitude!” She slipped an arm around Kiara. “I think we’re going to get along just fine. Come with me.”

next

contents

DAYBREAK FOUND JOLIE’S place altogether dif-ferent. The gaming tables stood silent in the morning sun. Where the musicians had played two servants slept in chairs, while a third gathered debris into a basket. Jolie’s girls, so elegantly dressed and festive the night before, came to the long breakfast table dark-eyed and yawning, dressed in simple shifts with their hair in plain braids.

Nyall and Kiara sat with the girls, already eating breakfast. Jae perched on the table beside Kiara, much to the girls’ delight, eagerly accepting bits of food from any hand that would offer. Even with-out her armor Kiara could never be mistaken as one of them, Tris thought as he joined them, the smell of breakfast luring him from his sleep. Tanned and lean, Kiara’s stance and walk revealed her training even before her sword came into view.

He noted that her sword hung at her belt this morning, a reminder that she felt only somewhat at ease here. Tris guessed that worry had kept her from getting much sleep. She looked haggard and preoccupied. Beside her, Jae nudged a roll toward Kiara’s hand as if entreating her to eat, but she ignored the gyregon.

“You don’t look like you got much sleep,” Tris said as he sat down.

“Hardly any. Not with Carina out there,” she said, looking toward the river.

“We’ll figure out something. Jonmarc won’t have to go after her alone.”

“I’d already decided to go with him. Thank you.”

“That’s out of the question.” They turned to see Vahanian.

“We’re in this together. We’re going,” Tris replied.

“No you’re not,” Vahanian repeated, as Jolie forced a plate into his hands. “For one thing, the only mages in Nargi are priests. They’d spot you and Sakwi before we even crossed the river. And princess, don’t take this too hard, but women don’t carry swords in Nargi.” He swung one leg over a chair and sat. “They’ve got too many brats clinging to their skirts.”