Death Comes To All (Book 1) (18 page)

"How
old were Goldstone's children?"

"According
to the story his son, the elder of the two, would have been about
thirteen. His sister was perhaps two years younger."

Roland
wanted to know more, but could see that his companion didn't want to
go on any further.

Perhaps
the story is something close enough to Malik's own hidden past to
dredge up memories he feels are best left forgotten,
Roland
surmised
.

Certainly
it seemed that he had some personal grudge with the mages, though the
man said so little about his past that there was no way to know what
the reason for that animosity might be.

He
had even told Roland to hide his past.

Those
things left behind in your past, family and friends, could be used
against you by your enemies.

Roland recalled that lesson well. It was the very reason
he had decided to change his identity.

After
the two had walked for nearly a half an hour Roland noticed that the
buildings they passed were no longer the same as those he had seen
when they first entered. Newer buildings of wooden construction, many
of them recently painted, took the place of the dilapidated husks
found in the old city. The buildings were set up in a squared,
grid-like pattern, with streets spaced roughly at regular intervals.

Some
streets seemed to be designated as merchants shops, while others
seemed to be domiciles for the people who lived in the city. The
homes in this part of the city seemed to be set up for the low income
residents. Roland wondered where the richer part of the city might be
located.

Probably
no where near the main roads,
he thought.

Lights
were just starting to be lit, in preparation for the coming dark.
Directly ahead of them to the west the setting sun blazed a brilliant
crimson along the edge of the horizon. Young boys with torches ran
down the streets, sporadically lighting small oil lamps placed at
intervals along the main roads.

The
sun had nearly disappeared completely before Malik finally stopped in
front of a small, two story building painted a light blue. The sign
above the white wooden door indicated that the occupant was an
herbalist, though Roland thought that the building looked more like a
home than a place of business.

Still,
many people are said to work out of their homes,
he
recalled
. Perhaps that was what this herbalist did.

"I
thought you were going to your client tonight and that you were going
to the market to sell your herbs tomorrow?"

Malik
smiled. "This is the client," he answered. "I'll give
him some of the herbs we gathered, mostly to give us a reason for
being here. Our true business others would know nothing about.
Tomorrow we'll be going to visit my gem dealer if I have the time."

He
walked up and knocked rather softly on the door. Enough time went by
that Roland began to wonder if whoever was inside hadn't heard the
knock; it certainly wasn't very loud.

Is
he really even home at all?

He
was about to suggest that perhaps Malik should knock a little louder
when the door opened, just a crack, and a white feathered face peered
out at them. He looked at Malik for several seconds, and Roland could
see the recognition in his eyes dawn before he spoke.

"Please,
come in," the man said, stepping aside to allow them to pass.
"We don't often get visitors this late, however in your case I
can make an exception. Nice to see you again, Mr.?"

"Malik,"
he replied. Roland understood the exchange well enough to understand
that the man knew at least enough about his companion to know that he
didn't always travel under the same name, and was being careful not
to refer to him under the wrong one. "My associate here is
Roland. Roland, this is Lark."

The
room they had entered was brightly lit, considerably brighter than it
had been outside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the
light. The room was lightly furnished with small decorating tables,
each holding a colorful vase filled with flowers, a different one for
each table.

The
walls were painted light blue, similar in color to that which painted
the outside of the building.

As
if to imitate the sky,
Roland thought.

Only
a few paintings decorated the walls, mostly paintings of flowers of
every color imaginable. At the back of the room was a small counter.
It was obvious to Roland that this was his place of business, however
he suspected the rest of the building was also the man's home.

The
man who stood before him was an avian, and every part of him appeared
little different from the birds his race had originated from. His
feathers were a bright white, covering every visible part of him save
the palms of his hands and his long orange beak. Much longer feathers
hung down along his exposed arms and connected all the way to his
waist.

Roland
had only heard of avians from his mother. Most of the avian species
had retained the ability to fly. They frequently lived in places
other races could not follow, high in the mountains or in the tops of
trees in dense forests. Their hollow bones made them lighter than
other races, which made them more vulnerable to assault. Because of
this they generally stayed away from the rest of society, preferring
their lofty, hidden homes. Roland had never expected to actually meet
one.

"Who
is it dear?" came a high, musical voice from one of the other
rooms. A woman, another avian who looked almost identical to her
husband though clearly feminine, glided gracefully from a doorway
that led from the back of the building.

"You
remember Malik, don't you love?" Lark said as she came in. It
was clear the woman didn't recognize the name. When she saw Malik's
face however recognition came quickly enough. "His friend here
is named Roland. Roland, this is my wife Wren. Wren dear, perhaps you
could bring us something cold to drink?"

She
doesn't look like a wren at all,
Roland thought,
regardless of
her name. They both resemble storks more than any other bird.

He
was polite enough not to mention it. He didn't know anything about
avian society, and didn't want to offend the couple accidentally.

In
only a few moments she returned with four clay cups filled with a
dark red liquid. Roland sipped his drink gingerly, expecting some
sort of fermented wine, but was relieved to learn that the cups were
filled with nothing more than berry juice. It had a light sweet taste
that Roland didn’t recognize. The drink was pleasantly cool,
though Roland didn't know how the couple might have chilled it.

"Please
tell me sir," the woman said to Malik in a pleading voice as
soon as the drinks were served. "What news do you have of my
brother?"

"Darling,
don't be rude to our guests," Lark admonished. "I'm certain
they are weary from their journey."

"It's
alright," Malik said quickly. "I would be the same way if I
was in her position. First I must apologize. I traveled to Port
Dayton as quickly as I could, but I'm afraid I was too late to save
him. Prisons aren't kind to anyone, but they are particularly harsh
on avians, who are meant to fly free."

"I
understand," she said sadly. "I know you did everything you
could. What about the trog that imprisoned him? Did you at least get
revenge for what he did?"

Malik
nodded. "I won't go into the details of that creature's demise.
They would only serve to harm you more than the beast himself already
has. It is enough to say that he is dead, as I promised. He won't
harm another soul as he has harmed you and your family."

"Thank
you," Wren cried through tear filled eyes. "Here is the
coin I promised you. I know it's not much considering what you've
done for me, but it's all I have to give. I know my brother would be
glad that the beast won't hurt anyone else."

She
reached underneath the small counter in the back of the room,
retrieving a small leather bag from a hidden compartment concealed
there. She tossed the bag to Malik, who caught it deftly. "You
can count it if you like. It's all there."

Malik
tested the weight of the bag in one hand. Opening it, he emptied the
entire bag on the counter. In seconds he had split the coins into two
separate piles. One pile he put back into the bag, then stepped away,
leaving the other half.

"Keep
that half for yourselves," He told the couple. "This is
enough."

"I
don't understand," Lark said in confusion. "We had agreed
on two thousand. That was the price, whether you could get her
brother back for her or not. Why do you want to change it now?"

"I
never planned on taking your life savings from you. I knew before you
hired me that two thousand was everything that you had. Paying to
have a man killed isn't something that you can do arbitrarily. You
have to be fully committed to it. I had to know that doing this was
worth everything to you. Otherwise it wouldn't have been worth
anything at all. This is more than enough payment, and it's helping
far more people than you could ever realize. I wouldn't even take
this money from you if I didn't have to. Unfortunately even I have
expenses."

"As
long as that monster is dead, it's worth everything I have,"
Wren replied solemnly.

"He's
dead. I know that for certain," Roland told her, though he knew
that Malik had wanted him to remain silent. "I was there when he
died. He won't bother anyone else ever again."

For
a moment Malik looked nervous about something, but seemed to relax
when Roland finished. Roland didn't know what bothered him. Maybe
Malik was just worried that he would say too much and upset the
woman. He had noticed how his companion was very cautious about what
he said about the trog's death.

With
sudden clarity Roland realized that, while they might wish death on
someone who deserved it as much as that trog had, it was completely
different than knowing the intimate details of a murder, regardless
of the reasoning. He had grown used to the idea only because he had
been there when the deed was done.

"Where
is that beautiful companion you were with the last time we saw you?"
Wren asked unexpectedly, changing the subject. "Nothing has
happened to her I hope."

"No,
she's fine," Malik answered. "We will meet up with her
again later on tonight. She wanted to send her greetings. She wished
she could be here herself, but we are busy people after all. I'll
tell her you asked about her when we get back."

Roland
didn't remember Tara mentioning anything about it, but supposed that
this was one of those times when it was best to stay quiet. There
must have been a reason for Malik to lie to the avian woman after
all, though he couldn't guess as to what it might be. There was too
much going on here that he didn't know about; too much that he still
needed to understand.

"You
should stay with us tonight," Wren said seriously. "You're
more than welcome to."

"I'm
afraid we can't do that. We have some dangerous enemies after all,
and I wouldn't want to take the risk that one of them might follow us
here. I brought herbs to sell, so it would make sense for me to go to
the buyer as soon as I get into town. How else would I pay for my
room at the inn? This way you don't have to worry about us being
followed back here somehow. I don't think that it would happen
anyway, but I like to keep all of my bases covered. You wouldn't
offer to put up one of your other suppliers, would you?"

The
woman shook her head. Roland had to stifle a laugh. Malik had
maneuvered the woman into agreeing with him, even though she had
planned on acting completely differently. His companion had been
doing the same thing to him, he realized, but found that he really
didn't care. Malik convinced him to do what was best, even if it
wasn't what he thought was the best thing to do at the time.

"As
much as I would like to stay and talk longer, we really should be
getting back to our companion," Malik said, putting his empty
cup down on the counter next to the coins he had left there. "She'll
be worried if we are too late."

The
two men left the home and the two avians behind, Malik leading the
way. By then the sun had faded away completely, however the streets
were still bright and cheerful with merry light from the oil lamps
that Roland recalled the young boys of the city lighting earlier. He
wondered briefly how long the oil in the lamps would last.

Most
likely they only put in enough oil to last until a certain time in
the night, then they refill them again with more oil before the
following night,
he guessed
.

He
couldn't imagine how much oil they must go through each day, but he
was certain that if he asked Malik he would be told that the mages
charged far more than they paid for it.

It
didn't take them long to reach the Gatortooth Inn, Malik expertly
leading the way. Roland wasn't certain he would have found the place
on his own.