The Temple of Heart and Bone (35 page)

“
Stop it!
” Everyone looked
in shock at Chance, who had been silent the entire time. Her own face flushed
slightly from the effort of shouting, but otherwise her demeanor remained calm.
“Thank you,” she said evenly, touching her hair to make sure it wasn’t out of
place. “This isn’t helping anyone. What’s done is done.”

Petreus glared at Ythel and Ythel
stared back at him. After several long moments, the two men looked away from
each other. Petreus shuffled his feet like a schoolboy and Ythel straightened
his mantle. Drothspar looked at Chance but said nothing.

There was a loud, booming knock
at the doors to the chamber. Drothspar hurriedly raised his hood up over his
skull as Ythel raised himself from the floor. The doors swung open before
anyone could respond. Ythel looked with displeasure at the man sweeping into
the room. The man, uniformed in the scarlet livery of the Crown, took in the
odd scene, dagger, sword, and all, with one look. Unperturbed, he marched up to
Ythel and knelt.

“What is the meaning of this?”
Ythel asked dangerously. The red-garbed man stared at Ythel’s feet and
answered.

“My Lord of Ythel,” he began, “I
am commanded by His Majesty to summon you to a meeting of all nobles and
commanders at the Krenthorn Palace.”

“What is this about?” Ythel
asked, hostility ebbing from his voice.

“My Lord,” the herald replied, “I
do not know. I am commanded to summon you and to escort you to the King.” He
looked up at Ythel. “If I may speak freely, my Lord?”

“Go on,” Ythel allowed.

“My Lord, there was great urgency
in the King’s summons. Rumors fly that Æostemark has been razed, though no one
has either confirmed or denied such allegations. This, my Lord, is all that I
know.”

“I see,” Ythel nodded. “Wait
outside this chamber. Do
not
enter again unbidden. I will join you
presently.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The messenger
looked satisfied that all responsibility had fallen on Ythel’s shoulders,
turned and left.

“Cardalan,” Ythel called.

“Yes, my Lord?” Cardalan got to
his feet and snapped to attention before his master. Ythel leaned close and
whispered instructions to Cardalan.

“Do you understand?” Ythel asked
in a normal tone of voice.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You are dismissed.”

Cardalan bowed and turned to
leave the room. Slowly, Drothspar reversed the man’s sword and handed it back
to him. Cardalan stared at the sword and the apparition before him. He took his
sword quickly and nodded, curtly, to Drothspar.

“I have to leave,” Ythel said,
turning to Drothspar, Petreus, and Chance. “I suppose you will be returning to
the chapter house?”

“We will, my Lord,” Petreus
answered for them all. Ythel nodded.

“This has been a trying day,”
Ythel said earnestly. “I didn’t expect your visit,” he said to Petreus. “And I
was certain you were dead,” he said to Drothspar. “Believe me, son, I had truly
hoped otherwise. I have prayed with all my heart as a father that my daughter
had escaped to some far off place with you.”

Drothspar nodded.

“I hope that we will have a
chance to speak again,” Ythel continued. “If you are amenable, I will send
someone to the chapter house when this other matter is finished.”

“We will await your messenger, my
Lord,” Petreus said, bowing. His eyes, like Ythel’s, had lost their edge of hostility.
His brow, however, was still furrowed in tension.

“Good day, my Lord,” Chance said
with a curtsey. Ythel inclined his head, then looked at Drothspar.

“I never saw my daughter truly
happy until she met you,” he told Drothspar almost grudgingly.

“Thank you,” Drothspar said
simply. To his surprise, his father-in-law held out his hand. Drothspar
hesitated for a moment, then stretched out his own hand to take Ythel’s.

“Oh God,” Ythel exclaimed,
“That’s positively unique.” He took a deep breath and shook Drothspar’s hand.
“We will talk again soon,” he said, releasing the skeletal hand.

Drothspar nodded. Weeks of
silence had made him laconic. He was also keenly aware of the unnerving quality
of his unnatural voice. He bent to retrieve his dagger and followed Petreus and
Chance out of the chamber. They passed by the scarlet messenger, but Cardalan
was nowhere in sight.

There
was no escort waiting to lead them through the hallways, but Petreus was quite
familiar with the house. The priest stopped to shake hands with Dobbins, the
doorman, and slipped the man a few coins. Dobbins started to protest, but
Petreus closed Dobbins’ hand around the money. Petreus again led the way as
they started walking back toward the Cathedral.

“Is the dagger really cursed?”
Chance asked.

“Like I said,” Petreus answered,
“I’ve never touched anything cursed in my life. Something inside me, though,
tells me
that
dagger is cursed. I know it just as sure as the cock knows
the sun’s coming.” He looked carefully at his niece. “I don’t recommend
you
touch it, either,” he said seriously. She started to protest, but he looked at
her sternly. “I know how you are. It feels cold, Sasha, like ice. It feels like
its pulling the life from your body the same way ice pulls the heat from your
hands.” He rubbed his hands together absently. “So you keep your hands to
yourself,” he told her. “And you,” he said to Drothspar, “keep a close eye on
your dagger. She’s a little careless about things like personal property when
she’s curious.”

“Uncle!” Her voice was filled
with indignation and she looked at Petreus as if she’d been greatly insulted.
They were moving back into the press of the crowds. The sun was much lower on
the horizon, and great shadows of tall buildings loomed darkly over the
streets.

“This is impossible,” Petreus
complained of the crowds. He looked at the throng of people choking the street
in front of a baker’s shop. The scent of freshly baked dinner bread carried
sweetly in the brisk air. “Let’s go this way,” he suggested, leading them into
an alley in hopes of bypassing the bakery.

They turned off the street and
again behind the baker’s building. They were completely concealed from the
street when they heard the rushing of several feet. Three men in dark clothing
ran at them with weapons drawn. Drothspar stepped in front of Chance as the men
came to a halt.

“Out of our way, priest,” one of
the men said. He had scraggly hair and several days’ growth of beard. He reeked
of stale sweat and his mouth showed several missing teeth as he spoke. “We want
the girl,” the man said, dripping spittle down his chin. “Give her to us and we
might let you live.”

“You’re one of the beggars from
the Cathedral,” Chance accused him. It had taken her a moment to remember where
she’d seen the face before.

“‘At’s right, Missy, they said
you was a sharp one.” The man preened himself as if pleased to be remembered.

“What do you want with me?” she
said defiantly.

“There’s someone as willing to
pay quite a price for you,” he answered in a self-satisfied tone. “Wasn’t none
too concerned about how you was presented, neither. Me an’ the boys figure
you’re worth a bit of fun and cash to boot.” He moved toward Chance. Drothspar
stepped in front of him.

“I warned you, priest,” the man
said. He thrust his knife into Drothspar’s midsection just as his friends moved
to flank him. The knife passed through the robes with little resistance and
Drothspar caught the man’s arm. The thug gasped as Drothspar closed his
fingers. Pulling the assailant’s arm away, Drothspar drew the attacker’s knife
out of his robes and dropped his hood with his free hand.

“I think you’ve chosen a poor
target,
mortal
,” he said, drawing out his words to make his ghostly
voice more pronounced. The man tried to pull his arm out of Drothspar’s grasp,
but dislocated his shoulder instead. He let out a yelp and turned to watch his
friends dash out of the alley.

“There’s no one here to help you
now,” Drothspar pointed out coldly. He was filled with a chill fury. He knew
what this criminal had meant about “fun” with Chance. It had been one of his
final living fears for his wife, something he had died being unable to prevent.
He closed his hand more tightly around the criminal’s forearm and heard the
man’s bone
snap
in his grasp.

“Now,” Drothspar continued, “tell
me about the ‘someone’ who was going to pay you.” Petreus and Chance had
stepped back from Drothspar, their faces white. The criminal, too, had drained
of all color. The pain and shock of his dislocated shoulder and broken arm
reflected in his eyes.

“I-I don’t know nothing,” the man
stammered, his eyes darting back and forth.

“I see,” Drothspar drawled. “I
will find the answers on my own as I suck the very life out of you.” He drew
his rusted dagger slowly, letting the blade grate against his bone. “I have not
yet drunk enough blood today…” He moved the knife toward the man’s throat.

“Brenham,” the man sputtered,
“his name was Brenham.” Drothspar’s dagger stood rock-steady near the man’s
throat.

“Where did you meet him?” Drothspar
asked. The man clamped his mouth shut and twisted his head to get a look at the
alley, hoping to see his friends return. Drothspar grated the broken ends of
the man’s arm in his hand. White pain shot through the man’s eyes and he nearly
passed out. “Where did you meet him?” Drothspar repeated implacably.

“Boar’s Tusk,” the man gasped,
“issa pub on the Thord side.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “He was
looking for the girl, gave a good description he did. Flashed a bag of gold,
too, the real stuff.” He looked pleadingly at Drothspar’s vacant eye sockets,
retched, and looked at the cobble stones.

“If I
ever
set eyes on you
again,” Drothspar hissed threateningly, “I will kill you.” He grated the man’s broken
bones sickeningly in his hand. The criminal screamed sharply before his eyes
rolled back into his head. Drothspar released the unconscious man’s arm and let
him slump into the street. He turned to face Petreus and Chance. Their eyes
were wide and their faces still quite pale.

“What?” he asked them, more
harshly than he’d intended. Chance looked meaningfully at his dagger, which he
still held at the ready. “Oh,” he said, managing to sound slightly embarrassed.

“That was, uh, quite the performance,”
Petreus said tentatively.

“I don’t drink blood, Petreus,”
Drothspar told him, “at least I haven’t yet.” He looked at their shocked
expressions. “I’m joking. Joking… I was angry, I admit it.”

Chance nodded.

“The man did attack us…”

“You’re a lot to take in,”
Petreus tried to explain. “Your visage is quite startling enough,” he said,
“add violence and that gravestone voice of yours, and you’re, well, unnerving,
to say the least.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,”
Drothspar apologized.

“Quite all right, dear boy,”
Petreus said magnanimously, “just a bit shocking, that’s all. You certainly got
us out of a tight spot.” He smiled. “Besides, I’m rather fond of my niece, you
know.”

Chance looked at Drothspar, her
eyes flickering though various emotions. Over time, she had become accustomed
to his presence and his unique form. It had been quite a while since she’d been
afraid of him. This encounter had scared her. To have come face to face with
someone who had been hunting her confirmed the reasons she had started running
in the first place. Drothspar’s sudden turn to violence had also shocked and
frightened her. She remembered what Petreus had said about Drothspar having
once been a guard. Of course he would be familiar with violence.

He had, however, done all of this
to protect them, to protect her. He had been attacked. He had been stabbed. All
of which he could easily have ignored, because he simply couldn’t be hurt.
Everything he had done, he had done for their sake, for her sake. She felt her
cheeks starting to flush. Fear subsided, replaced with gratitude. She looked at
Drothspar as he pulled his hood back over his skull.

“Thank you,” she said shyly.

“Are you okay?” he asked her
seriously.

“Fine, thank you.” Her voice felt
tiny, even to her.

“That’s what matters,” Drothspar
said. “Let’s get going.”

“Right,” Petreus said, eyeing his
niece speculatively.

Drothspar didn’t notice the
difference in his friends’ eyes as he followed behind Petreus. He was too busy
thinking back over the exchange with their would-be assailant. He had been
angry, but it was unlike any experience of anger he had known while living. He
wasn’t breathing hard, his heart wasn’t racing. Either of these things, he
thought, would have been truly miraculous without lungs or a heart. His mind
hadn’t been clouded even at the peak of his anger. Everything about the
exchange had been lucid, clear. He could recall the feeling of the man’s arm
snapping in his hand quite clearly. He had held still as stone while the man
twisted and pulled wildly. He hadn’t wanted to kill the man, though he did
admit that the thought had crossed his mind. He had not been pushed to
excessive violence.

In his past life, the life before
marriage and the life before his novitiate, he had been a guard and he had been
in many scuffles. He recalled more than one occasion when he had caught himself
just on the verge of crossing the line between self-defense and murder. When
that had happened, his heart and lungs had burst into a frenzy of work. His
memory of such times was sporadic, as if he had been intoxicated by them. He
had always been afraid afterwards; afraid of what he might have done and afraid
of what he might yet do.

He once again felt the footpad’s
arm snap. He clearly remembered grinding the ends of the bones together to
coerce the man to speak. He had watched the man’s eyes closely to gauge how
much pain was too much. He had held the man’s life in balance. He had thought
of the pain the man was likely to inflict if he were allowed to live and
balanced it against what he, Drothspar, had learned as a priest. So long as the
man lived, there was a chance, however slim, that he might reform. In the end,
Drothspar had said a silent prayer and left the man unconscious. He could only
hope his decision had been the correct one.

He had frightened Chance and
Petreus, and he felt a little guilty about that. What had been a controlled, if
highly dramatic, experience for him had been terrifying for them. It hadn’t
helped that he’d forgotten about the dagger, he thought wryly. He’d try to
explain it all to them when they were back in Petreus’ cell. Hopefully, they
would understand.

The crowd in the Arle Square had
thinned as the day progressed. They passed through to the cathedral with little
trouble. Chance spent more time examining her surroundings, wary, Drothspar
suspected, after the earlier attack. Petreus led them up the broad steps to the
cathedral door and ushered them inside.

The interior was cool and dim.
Candles provided a warm glow that worked tirelessly to hold the shadows at bay.
Petreus breathed in deeply, taking reassurance from the very air. Drothspar
checked his hood to be sure it was covering his face.

As they walked to the sanctuary,
Chance spied the craftsman. She took comfort in the stone eyes that seemed to
look back at her wherever she stood. She smiled to herself and followed Petreus
and Drothspar. She noticed a handful of people praying and watched them
carefully. She looked over her shoulder as she walked through the rear door and
out of the main hall, but no heads rose to mark their passing.

The warm glow of the dormitory’s
windows spread over the bushes in the courtyard. They marched eagerly toward
the light in the growing darkness of the short, autumn day. Stepping through
the front door, Chance commented on how quiet the place was.

“Everyone’s at dinner,” Petreus
explained. He led them back to his cell but stopped them just outside his door.
“Need to be a little careful,” he said, examining the door closely.

“Why’s that?” Chance asked.

“Steadword,” Petreus said, as if
the name explained everything.

“That priest?”

“He tends to be a bit
vindictive,” Petreus snorted. He pulled a small cloth kerchief from his pocket
and carefully touched the handle of his cell. He looked closely at the cloth to
determine if it had wiped anything from the metal. Noting that it was clean, he
used the cloth to slowly open the door.

The candles were all out in the
room but a faint light seeped in through the window. Petreus examined the floor
meticulously as he crossed to his desk for a candle. He took the candle outside
and lit it from one of the sconces in the hall. Drothspar and Chance waited
nervously, uncertain when the first resident would return from dinner.

“It’s clear,” Petreus called seriously
from the cell. Drothspar and Chance moved inside. “I’m sure he’s done
something,” Petreus added, “so just be careful.”

Drothspar and Chance sat at the
desk while Petreus inspected his cell. He searched his cabinet and inventoried
all of his clothing. He checked the contents of the desk and knelt to look
under the bed. Borrowing Chance’s chair, he even checked his window. The more
things that turned up normal, the more worried Petreus became. Finally, tired
from the inspection, he sat down heavily on his bed.

A strange look passed over
Petreus’ face. It was a combination of disgust, relief, and “I should have
known.” He touched the feather-filled mattress gingerly and closed his eyes.
When he stood up and turned around, his friends were surprised to see a dark,
round spot covering his bottom.