Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) (37 page)

“This tea,” Yuer said, “is a lovely white rose hip from the edge of the Ugly Swamp. I find it helps my digestion and eases stress.” The wrinkles around his mouth moved as though he were smiling.

“Merchant Venepe has—” Dasin began; Yuer raised a withered hand, shaking his head.

“No business yet,” he said mildly. “Tea first. One cup each.” He lifted his own cup and took an ostentatious sip, his gaze steady on Tank’s face.

Tank leaned forward and collected the small cup of nearly colorless liquid. All three sipped without speaking for a few moments. The dark-haired girl sat mute and motionless, staring at nothing in particular. Tank didn’t need any warning that he had to ignore her for the moment.

He won’t scrap. He’ll kill you.

Tank sipped tea and kept hands and shoulders relaxed. The tea held a delicate perfume that seemed to rise from the back of his throat into his nose, reminding him of sunny days and lush flowers. Dasin’s breathing steadied and lengthened, his nerves visibly settling.

Yuer watched them from under drooping eyelids. While the ruin of his face generally made expression hard to read, Tank suspected the old man was tremendously amused by the situation.

He knew. Somehow, he knew we’d be forced into his service.

Wian slipped from her chair, collecting and refilling empty cups one by one. When everyone had a fresh cup of tea in their hands, Yuer took a ceremonial sip, then said, “Now. What brings you back to my door, barely an hour after I asked you to leave?”

While his tone remained polite, the underlying danger put a razor edge on the words. Dasin shot a quick sideways glance at Tank, then dipped his chin toward his chest and said, “We talked it over, and we’d like to sign with you after all. I’ve ended my contract with Venepe.”

Yuer took another sip, seemingly unimpressed. “What makes you think I’m interested in signing you on as a merchant? You’re barely old enough to shave, the both of you. Why would I trust you with my reputation and my goods?”

Dasin opened his mouth, looking indignant; then shut it and drew a long breath through his nose.

“Never mind my age,
s’e,”
he said steadily. “I can do the job. I’ve been personally trained by the merchant-master of the Aerthraim, and I’m her top student. I wouldn’t have been sent out on my own otherwise, would I?”

Yuer laughed, a grating chuckle without much humor to it. “The Aerthraim lie like a fish breathes water,” he said. “Even to their own people. I don’t find that connection much by way of recommendation, I’m afraid.”

His gaze moved to Tank’s face and stayed there for a long, thoughtful moment, then returned to Dasin.

“I might be inclined to give you a trial run, if you do me a small service first,” Yuer said. “As it happens, this young lady is from Bright Bay. She needs to return to her home, and I’m short of escort staff at the moment.” His mouth twitched.

The dark-haired girl’s shoulders moved a little, and her chin dipped to her chest. She shut her eyes.

“She doesn’t look like she
wants
to go home,” Tank said bluntly, ignoring Dasin’s warning hiss. “Do you,
s’a?”

She made no answer.

“She has nowhere else to go,” Yuer said in a way Tank
really
didn’t like. “And it’s really not your concern what she wants, either, Tanavin.”

“Tank,” he said absently, still studying the girl.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s calling himself Tank now,” Dasin said when Tank didn’t answer.

“I see. That’s certainly interesting.” Yuer’s tone indicated he found it anything but. “Regardless of the current moniker, Wian’s
wants
are still none of your concern. She will be returning to Bright Bay, and staying there; you can either accompany her to ensure she comes to no harm along the road—”

Tank looked again at the fading bruises on the girl’s face and set his teeth together hard.

“—or I’ll have to send one of my friendly doormen along.”

The cup cracked in Tank’s hand. A splash of warm liquid ran down his wrist and onto his trouser leg.

“No,
you
won’t,”
he said though his teeth, and barely stopped himself there: reined in more by the memory of Rat’s earlier warning than any sense of his own.
He doesn’t scrap. He kills you.

Dasin sat still, white-faced and stiff, staring somewhere past Yuer’s left ear. The girl hadn’t moved nor opened her eyes.

Tank drew in a shaky breath and jerked his head in mute apology, then focused on setting the remains of the cup down on the table and picking small ceramic splinters from his palm.

The girl rose, wordless; collected the cup and left the room. She returned with a thick hand-towel and a small knife, then knelt beside Tank’s chair and motioned for him to give her his hand. He glanced at Dasin, then at Yuer; both seemed to be staring off into space, ostentatiously ignoring him.

She tucked the towel under Tank’s hand and began delicately scraping the sharp fragments from his skin onto the cloth. He held still with an effort, not at all comfortable with someone holding a knife that close to his wrist.

Nobody spoke while the girl worked to clean Tank’s hand. He glanced at Yuer and Dasin uneasily, feeling more and more like a lumbering fool with every passing breath. It seemed like hours before Wian tugged the cloth free, bundling it up around the knife, and retreated from the room again.

This time she returned with a replacement cup. She set it on the table and glanced at Yuer; he offered the faintest ghost of a nod. She filled it, set the cup on the table in front of Tank, then returned to her seat, sitting as mute and withdrawn as before.

Tank picked up his cup with a trembling hand and took a sip he really didn’t want.

Dasin breathed out in a near-sigh and said, “My apologies, trader Yuer. You were saying?”

“Take Wian to Bright Bay,” Yuer said, his gaze on the girl now. “Her family will give you a reward of sorts: a package for me. Bring me that package, unopened, undisturbed in any way, and we’ll discuss whether you’re able to handle an actual trade route without a caretaker.”

Tank bit his tongue. He dearly wanted to ask:
And what if we decide we don’t want to work with you?
Rat’s dire prediction that he was stuck rankled almost as much as taking orders from Dasin.

“That’s a long trip on no coin to prove ourselves,” Dasin said.

“True.” Yuer smiled. “Wian will have coin for you to spend.”

Dasin shot a quick glance at the girl, then at Tank. Tank jerked his head at a slant, not quite a yes or no:
Don’t argue it,
that meant, in the code Allonin had drilled into both of them. Dasin exhaled hard once more, then said, “Very well.”

“You may leave in the morning,” Yuer said. His gaze moved to the packs at their feet. “I have no guest rooms available here, unfortunately, but if you give my name at the Traveler’s Rest, they’ll find a room for the two of you. It’s a street over, on the corner of Sand and Copper.”

“Thank you,” Dasin said, his tone muted.

“Wian will be returning to the Fool’s Rest Tavern in Bright Bay. She knows the way. I will provide horses and trail supplies. It should go without saying, but I’ll say it regardless, that I’ll be severely disappointed if the horses return in poor shape, or not at all.”

“We’ll take good care of them, trader Yuer,” Dasin said, not looking at Tank.

“Indeed. Good night, then. Be here at dawn.”

Dasin set his nearly empty tea cup on the table and rose. Tank set his nearly full cup on the table and followed suit.

“Good night, trader Yuer,” Dasin said; then, as if testing, he added: “Teth-kavit.”

Yuer said nothing, gave no visible reaction: his gaze as compassionate as that of a hungry lizard watching the fluttering of a nearby insect.

Rain poured down from a thunderously black sky. Wind howled past the edges of buildings and beat bushes sideways. Ellemoa smiled as she eased through the downpour. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she would have been running and laughing, as she had in childhood whenever the Elders called in storms to ease the seasonal droughts in Arason.

Mustn’t get caught. Mustn’t let them know I’m still alive.

Eredion
was
an enemy. He’d known Ellemoa would come for him. He’d set up the trap. He’d been
calling
her: her decision to hunt him hadn’t entirely been her own. It had come from him. He’d
allowed
her to eavesdrop for that critical few moments. He’d
dared
manipulate a ha’ra’ha!

Eredion will find his victory over me hollow when he finds his gravekeeper friend,
she thought savagely.
He walked away without a second thought as to what I’d do after he drove me away from my son. He could have come after me and stopped me. Risked
his
life to protect his vulnerable human gravekeeper friend, not a hundred feet away. But he didn’t think of her at
all
. Humans. They keep no faith with one another.

And now he’s using my son as bait. He thinks he’s clever. As though my son hasn’t been through enough! They see me as a dangerous monster, and they’re using him to draw me out. Me! I’m no monster. They’re the ones using an innocent child as bait.

I just want my son back.

She stood against the side of a building, invisible, cloaked by the rain, and sorted through the presences around her. Her son
—Idisio—
a strange name he’d taken, or more likely been given by the humans. She wondered if it meant anything. Humans tended to assign names with meanings, which seemed, to her, very odd: a name was a
person.
How could it be more than a single identity? That only confused matters.

She dragged her thoughts back to the moment. Her son stood, huddled and miserable, under the minimal shelter of a tree-shaped statue—another example of human thinking, that: building a statue, duplicating something that already existed; using
rock
to craft a
tree—
the very concept was insane.

Her attention went back to her son. Her baby. He was wet, and cold, and
scared—
all because of the humans, because of these
desert lords—
they would
suffer
for doing this to her son....

Focus,
she told herself, and reluctantly tore her gaze away.

There were three... no, four... She paused, eyes closed,
listening.
Four desert lords: Lord Eredion and three others. Lord Eredion was remarkably good at hiding himself; she had almost missed him. He wasn’t far from where she herself stood, but all four had a line of sight on each other and were on full alert. She wouldn’t be able to get to Eredion without being attacked by the other three.

But they didn’t know she was the one controlling this weather. They had no skill at redirecting the torrential downpour, or they would have done so already; which gave her a distinct advantage.

She shaped wind and drove rain sideways into alcove after overhang until, cursing audibly, each one emerged from his secure spot and sloshed noisily into a new hiding place. Eredion emerged last; she aimed the wind to drive him steadily in her direction. True to human weakness, he followed the easiest path and put the wind at his back.

She smiled and began to raise her hands, ready to pull him in, pull him apart—

For a handful of heartbeats, as she focused on him, Eredion’s grumbling thoughts pierced the rain as though he’d spoken aloud:
Wish I could raise my body temperature the way Deiq does—he’s probably sitting in cozy comfort over there—dry, even, damn him—

Ellemoa paused, her eyes narrowing. The
over there
in Eredion’s thoughts had been to her right, in an area she hadn’t sensed anyone occupying. She withdrew into complete stillness and let Eredion pass by as she searched the rain-shrouded darkness to find the presence she’d missed—it had to be there—

It was. A deeper, darker, very solid presence; she’d taken it for another pointless statue, in fact, until Eredion’s grumbling had made her look at it more closely. She focused on the motionless form, listening closely, avoiding any pressure that might alert him to her inspection. A scattering of thoughts floated by:
there’s a chance, just a chance... hate this rain and cold... have to try. Have to try. Damned rain. Wish I dared try redirecting it, but the storm’s settled in too solidly... It’s kin. Whatever it’s done, it’s kin. I have to try... have to reach it, have to take the chance.

Ellemoa began to relax a little. Another ha’ra’ha. She was safe. Like the Elders, he was here to protect her, to serve as intermediary with the humans, to keep them from misunderstanding—

And if this thing does attack Idisio, I can let loose and kill it before anyone gets hurt trying to stop it themselves....

Her blood went as cold as the rain thundering down around her.
This thing. Kill it. Kill me? He sees me as a
thing
. As an it. He’s willing to kill me to avoid harm to the humans. He thinks I’d attack my own son!

Ice turned to fire as rage narrowed her vision.

He’s willing to break the oldest Law and kill his own kind.
He was no child, himself; the solid mass of his presence told her that. He was old, and as strong as
teyhataerth.
He could kill her; and unlike
teyhataerth,
who, even under Rosin’s twisted direction, had never dared cross that line—this one, this
Deiq,
would.

For the sake of the
humans.

She put a hand to the wall behind her and funneled rage through her fingers. Her hand sank into the granite with a soft crackling sound. She wouldn’t break the Law. She wouldn’t kill him. But he was a threat—more of one than Eredion, who had walked past her with no notion of her presence. Deiq needed dealing with, and then she would take her son and get out of this horrible place. Vengeance wasn’t as important as her son’s safety.

She’d go home. She would take her beloved son home, and they’d live in peace at the edge of the Lake, where nobody would dare hurt either of them ever, ever, again.

Withdrawing her hand, she balanced a fist-sized chunk of rock on her palm for a moment, then smiled and started forward.