Grayshade, page 14
“Grayshade?” a voice suddenly said from behind me, and I almost jerked around until remembering a split second later who was speaking.
“I thought I told you to stay outside,” I said, turning the body over. The mark of the cucuri, swift and final, told the story. The face itself, young and clean-shaven, seemed untouched . . . almost peaceful.
“Sorry,” Caron replied. “I was—curious, I guess.” They took a step closer to me. “Do you know him?” they asked after a long moment of silence.
I sighed and nodded. “He’s one of my Order. Everen, I think, though I haven’t seen him for some time—I thought he had been assigned outside of the city. He was an Apprentice not too long ago.”
“But where is your teacher?” Caron asked.
I lifted my head slightly. “Unless he’s been taken, he’ll be downstairs,” I said as I stood. Not looking at Caron, I picked my way carefully through the debris, toward and down the stairs leading into the basement.
At the bottom of the stairs we stopped short. If the scene upstairs had been chaotic, this was a battleground; a fitful, flickering light from a few lanterns hanging on the wall revealed metal, wood, and glass strewn everywhere, and the far end of the room seemed like it had been touched by a whirlwind. Seconds later a foul smell hit my nostrils, and I couldn’t help recoiling slightly.
Suddenly I caught sight of something on the other end of the basement: two bodies, one face down and the other face up. The facedown body was cloaked, the other—
No.
I sprang forward and half ran, only vaguely registering the sound of Caron stumbling after me as they tried to navigate the debris on the floor. I reached the faceup body and knelt down.
A trickle of dried blood ran from the corner of his mouth down his cheek, and as I shifted the body his left arm fell back, revealing the wounds of his killing, vicious and without honor. In the torchlight his robes glistened red, and the stench was overpowering.
“This is butchery,” I said, my voice short and tight as I cradled Caoesthenes’ limp body. “Hells. I was too slow.” I pulled him slightly closer, feeling his body’s weight settle into my gloves.
“Nothing is certain, lad.”
I closed my eyes.
“Someday, we’ll know all the answers to your questions—at least the most important ones. But there are some you’ll have to answer for yourself.”
“Why? If we fulfill the will of Argoth, our fate after we’re gone is certain, isn’t it? That’s what Father Esper always said.”
“If there is anything age has given me, Grayshade, it’s that nothing is certain. Maybe Esper is right, but predicting the future is always a dangerous job. Prepare yourself for the present the best way you can, and the future will take care of itself.”
“Or you,” I laughed. “You’ll always be around to take care of yourself.”
Caoesthenes did not laugh in return. “Nothing is certain,” he repeated, “except uncertainty. Get that through your head as soon as possible and you’ll be much better off.” I looked at him in surprise, but he had already turned away, a faintly sad expression on his face.
I opened my eyes to find that, as always, the past had stayed right where it was, and I the same. A deep quiet pressed in on me as I looked down at the dead man, but I said nothing to break the silence. A strange thing, silence; let it linger long enough and it could be oppressive, almost painful. Perhaps that was a weapon I had never learned to use. Perhaps, if I waited long enough, the silence might crush me down too, press the last breath out of my body until there was nothing left to say, or think, or even feel.
“I’m sorry, Grayshade,” Caron said at last, their voice harsh and too loud in the foul stillness of that place. I still said nothing, my head bowed. Finally they spoke again. “On the wall—behind you.”
I looked up to see a faint scrawl on the wall right behind us, written in a shaky, dark script:
Four came two dead
Saw Ravel
leave Cohrelle
TRUST ONLY YOURSE-
It was written in blood.
I carefully lay Caoesthenes down again and looked in the inside pocket of his cloak. Inside was the crescent-shaped niscur . . . and a small iron key. Somehow they had escaped the attackers’ notice, I assumed because Caoesthenes had hidden them in one of his many concealed compartments in this room and then, before writing his message, was able to retrieve them . . . though the effort of doing so must have cost him much of what was left of his remaining life. My mind drifted back to the assailants. Ravel—my Apprentice, and now my betrayer. I suppose we’ve both chosen our sides now, haven’t we?
Silence reigned for a few long seconds before Caron spoke again. “What will we do now?”
Nothing is certain.
I still did not answer, but as I turned my head to look at the leader of Varda’s people I saw their eyes widen slightly in surprise. Perhaps they could sense what I was feeling . . . or perhaps they could simply see it in my face. A child should not see these things, I thought. Perhaps no one should. “First,” I said, struggling to pull myself away from my merciless thoughts, “we need to get you into safety. And second . . . ” I trailed off, letting my eyes drift down to the key I held in my hand before refocusing on Caron. “Second,” I said, speaking slowly, “I need answers.” I put the key and niscur inside a pocket of my cloak.
“Answers from whom?” Caron asked.
I looked at them steadily, heart beating quickly, muscles tense. “From Argoth,” I replied. “I need answers from my god.”
CHAPTER TEN
-
A quick search of Caoesthenes’ destroyed home revealed that almost everything of any real value had been destroyed by the attackers; only the niscur and the key were left. I was more surprised by the key, actually; I had never thought Caoesthenes would follow up on what he called one of my silly fairy tales, yet here it was all the same. But I had no time to consider the implications now. I had to get Caron to safety somehow, though where I was going to do that was another question entirely. Just before leaving the basement, I paused at the foot of the stairs, looking toward the body of Caoesthenes.
No time, Grayshade. There never was any time, after all.
I waited a moment longer, then turned and passed swiftly up the stairs, Caron in tow.
I stopped us right outside the huge hole in the wall of Caoesthenes’ home. After a moment of thought, I turned and knelt in front of the entrance.
“What are you doing?” Caron asked, but I paid no attention as I pulled some reventir from my cloak and placed it on the ground. The black, tarry substance sat in a wet heap.
“Weshella,” I muttered. “Weshella ariven, reventir.” The reventir flared in answer, light sparks and flickers beginning to criss-cross its surface. After a few more seconds I rose and turned. “Let’s go,” I said before striding away.
Caron hurried to catch up to me. “What did you do to the house?” they asked as they reached my side. A second later there was a loud bang, and as we looked behind us we saw a thick white smoke obscuring the end of the street.
“Finished the job before they do,” I replied shortly, turning away again.
Caron walked along for a little longer in silence, then: “Where are we going?”
“A safe place,” I said. “Or at least the safest place left I can think of.”
“Your teacher said we should leave Cohrelle,” Caron said.
I stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. “Yes, he did. But I can’t leave until I know more about what Jant is planning, and you can’t leave without me.”
“Jant?”
“The Head of the Service of Argoth, my . . . ” I trailed off. “He was my superior,” I said after a moment. “Before.”
Caron nodded. “I understand. But what would he be planning?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I need to find out.” I looked down at the child. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe, Caron, but you need to know that nowhere is completely safe for us anymore. I can’t promise anything.”
Caron smiled. “Well, you didn’t promise not to kill me, and I’m still alive. Maybe doing your best will be enough.”
I raised my eyebrows, then shook my head and looked away. I was still too angry to smile back, but I hoped Caron knew that the rage was not for them.
~
Caoesthenes had not been dead long when we found him, so it had only been a few hours since the attack on his home. That meant it had happened while I was still in Varda’s Chapel—and that meant this had to have been planned beforehand, perhaps in case I failed in my mission to assassinate Caron. Or perhaps I was intended to fail. Either way, plans about which I had no knowledge or control were now in motion, and I had few ideas about how to stay ahead of them.
I hurried us through the darkening streets of the Residential District, again taking a winding course of every back route and shortcut I knew to speed up the travel time. Given what had just transpired, this was even more dangerous than it would have been several hours ago, but I could think of no alternative; I had to get Caron into hiding as soon as possible, and this was the fastest way to do it.
Not that I would know. What good did my judgment and planning do for Caoesthenes?
I winced at the sudden reminder and immediately dismissed it. There would be time enough to grieve—and berate myself—for the loss of my Trainer. Until then, I had to focus my attention where it belonged, and that was away from me. And toward . . . whom?
This was, of course, the problem. With my own home and all of my contacts through the Service out of the question, Rumor dead, and Caoesthenes gone, there were precious few places for me to seek shelter for Caron. Even supposedly neutral residents of the city would be unlikely to help an Acolyte of Argoth, either through fear of reprisal or anger over previous missions of which family members or friends were the targets. City officials would be a better choice, were not half of them beholden or at least somewhat connected to the Order of Argoth, with the other half more interested in prosecuting various past crimes committed by a veteran Acolyte than helping him.
We reached the end of a small alley leading onto Redeemers’ Street and stopped as I peered out in both directions. What about Jarrett? I mused. If most city officials were untrustworthy, at least the Governor seemed fair. I drew my head in again and put a finger to my lips as a warning for Caron as two guards strode by, chatting but alert. I sighed inwardly as I watched their figures recede into the darkness past the flickering lantern light. Hopeless. Getting to Jarrett would be a near impossibility at the moment, certainly with Caron having to follow me wherever I went. No, everything pointed to one solution, and it was an uncertain one at that—one which relied on being able to convince someone to do something I myself was incapable of.
Forgive me.
More self-indulgence, probably; certainly she would think so, and she would be right. We had divided our lives from each other long before, and I had kept thoughts of her from my mind ever since . . . more or less. To reconnect now was desperate, and dangerous, both to me and her. I’ve already lost Caoesthenes; can I lose . . .
I shook my head as we quickly crossed the street, heads low, and entered an alley almost directly on the other side. Maybe I should try to talk to the Governor after all. Hells, even a frontal assault on the Cathedral would have a better chance of working than this plan. But no; deep down I knew there was no better option, and the place wasn’t much further, right on the edge of the Merchant District.
I glanced down for a moment at Caron, face serious as they concentrated on not tripping over the debris littering the narrow alley. Maybe you’ll forgive me to help them, I thought. Argoth knows it’s not likely to work any other way.
~
It took a few more minutes and twists and turns to reach our destination, the far end of the Route of Prosperity, so called for the number of stores, barter stands, and lending houses lining the road, which ran from one side of the Merchant District to the other. To my mind the area had contributed as much to poverty as prosperity; lenders here enjoyed nothing more than offering loans to desperate borrowers at low rates of interest, only to triple the rate when some deadline of repayment was missed—a deadline of which most borrowers were, of course, previously unaware. Still, as we crossed the nearly deserted street while I scanned the area for unusually interested observers, I had to admit there were benefits to being located in the midst of this profligate greed, if one was not swept up in it. Security, for one; anonymity, for another. Few people asked questions on this street so long as the money was good.
“Is this the place?” Caron asked as we stopped in front of a small, simple building, its wooden walls cracked and stained after years of unrepaired abuse from the elements. Above the brown wooden door, rough and unevenly painted, hung a small and unimpressive sign on which plain black letters read: The Journeyman’s Closet.
I nodded as I stepped up to the door. “Leave the talking to me, Caron,” I warned as I raised one gloved fist. I knocked on the door three times, waited three seconds, then knocked twice more and waited. Seconds passed with no reply—indeed, without any obvious sign that anyone had even heard the knocking. I frowned, then tried again. A few more seconds of silence passed before we heard the sounds of movement inside; a moment later, the door opened a little more than a crack.
“We’re closed,” a low voice said. “We’ll be open tomorrow at the ninth bell, same as always.” The door began to close.
“We’re not here to buy anything,” I said, and with a jerk the door stopped. There was a long pause before it opened again, wider this time, and after a moment a head looked out, black-haired, eyebrows set in a stern line—quickly rising as they caught sight of me. It was her.
Hells take it all.
“Well, I’m . . . ” she began in a slightly husky voice, then stopped, staring at my dirty, bloodstained clothes. “I had a feeling this was going to be an odd evening,” she went on after a moment, “but I’ll admit it—I wasn’t expecting it to be this odd.” An uncertain expression passed over her features, pale in the reflected light of the lanterns flanking the street.
I nodded. “It’s been an odd couple of weeks in Cohrelle, Rillia. I thought you’d have heard about it.”
Rillia chuckled without mirth. “Me? I’m a shopkeeper, Grayshade. All I hear are excuses why the people who owe me money won’t be able to pay for a few weeks. Beyond that, what’s going on in the city isn’t my concern.”
“It used to be,” I said quietly.
Rillia stared at me for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what mission brought you my way again, Grayshade, but whatever it is I don’t want any part of it. You shouldn’t have come, and if I’d had any sense I wouldn’t have opened my door in the first place.” She withdrew as if to close the door again, but my arm shot out to block the way.
“You don’t know why I’m here,” I said. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
“Trust you?” she fired back, drawing herself up. “I’ve got every reason not to. You know that better than anyone.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “I know, Rillia,” I said. “But I need your help.”
She laughed again, an incredulous expression on her face. “You. You need my help?” She looked at me for a moment. “Interesting—I wouldn’t have expected you to be drunk, too. You’re slipping, Grayshade. It’s too bad I don’t care enough to find out how much.” She pulled back again, but my arm did not budge.
“I’m not asking you to help me,” I said steadily. “I’m asking you to help them.” I nodded down at Caron, and with a quizzical expression Rillia peered around the edge of the door to see the child standing in the street.
“Hello,” Caron said with a smile. Rillia looked down at them, her eyes taking in Caron’s appearance, and then looked back at me.
“Even for you, this is a stretch,” she said, her voice sounding a little strained. “What game are you trying to play, Grayshade?”
“I never play games,” I replied, removing my arm from the doorway. “We’re in danger, and I’m putting you in danger by being here. I couldn’t think of any other choice. If you let us in, I’ll explain.”
Rillia said nothing for what felt like minutes, her intense gaze shifting from me to Caron and back. Finally, she slowly shook her head. “Of all the . . . ” she started, then trailed off as she looked back down at Caron. Suddenly her mouth tightened, and with an angry gesture she sighed and closed the door shut.
We heard the sound of metal clanking, and the door opened wide. She stepped into the opening, her gaze fixed on me. “Come in,” she said, “and make it quick.” Without looking back, she turned and entered the building, and I nodded to Caron, taking one last look around the nearly dark Route of Prosperity before following them into The Journeyman’s Closet, closing and locking the door behind me.
The inside of the store looked no more impressive than the outside. A simple wooden counter divided the rear of the fairly small room from the rest of the space, on the walls of which hung various bags, items of clothing, and other odds and ends: a small lantern with visible cracks in the glass, a set of empty flasks tied together with a rough leather strap, an array of spices and garlic cloves in a small mesh bag. A simple wooden walking stick leaned against the rear wall behind the counter, flanked by what looked like sheets of paper nailed in rows on one side and an open doorway leading into another room on the other.
