King's Man and Thief (11 page)

The Blesser entered, fussing about as he lit the few torches that provided illumination. The flickering lights seemed to actively struggle with the shadows, which retreated but did not flee. The floor was hard-packed earth. A circle was drawn in the center, made, if Marrika remembered correctly, from the ground bones of Vengeance's animal sacrifices. It was not a complete enclosure, however. The circle would be sealed later, as part of the ceremony. Inside the sacred ring was Vengeance's altar. Marrika couldn't quite identify the items on the altar this far away from them, but could make a good guess as to what they might be.

There were no windows at all.
The Blesser followed her gaze to the altar and started abruptly.

"My apologies," he said, "but I... I truthfully wasn't expecting anyone to attend tonight. It's not one of the High Holy Days, you see, and ... well.. ."

"Vengeance is not honored as he was in earlier times, is he, Blesser?" Marrika's voice was cool, and her dark gaze pierced him. He stared back, like a rabbit caught by a snake.

"No, lady. Sadly, he is not."
"That is a loss to Braedon, not to Vengeance."

The little priest flushed with pleasure, his eyes glowing. "You understand," he breathed. "Have you come to be taught, my dear?" The thought made him breathe harder, and he clutched the folds of his simple black robe so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

Marrika was on her guard at once, although she still felt in control of the game. Should this little man, in the grip of either religious or physical fervor, try to overwhelm her, he would not enjoy the welcome he received.

"Regretfully, no, Blesser," she said softly. "But I am looking forward to the ritual."

"Then by all means, let us proceed!" He turned and went back to the still open door, peering first right, then left. Grunting with the effort, he pulled the door to. "It would seem that you are the only one attending the service tonight, lady. I will be able to grant you my full attention." The words were calm, assured, but the quiver in the man's voice and his rapid breathing betrayed him. He stepped closer, his hands nervously playing with the tassels on his belt.

He indicated the circle. "If you would enter, we may begin." The ritual words seemed to calm him, and some of his high-strung mannerisms began to abate. He stood straighter, though he was still not as tall as his lone parishioner.

Nodding, Marrika stepped into the center of the circle. She could go through the motions well enough, and feigning devotion to a god was more to her liking than soiling sheets with Freylis. She sat down cross-legged on the hard-packed earth and gazed up at the Blesser, waiting.

He followed, moving with surety now. From a pouch that hung at his waist he withdrew a handful of white powder. Muttering words that Marrika could barely hear and could certainly not understand, he sprinkled the ground bone on the earth, closing the circle.

The temperature within the sacred ring plummeted. Marrika inhaled softly, startled. It was like stepping from summer into winter. Fear began to seep through her, ever so subtly. She hadn't bargained on this priest having true power.

For a brief, wild instant, she wondered at the wisdom of the course she had impulsively decided to pursue. Vengeance, like the beautiful Lady Death, was not a deity to be trifled with.
But I'm not trifling,
she thought, grinding her teeth in an effort to control the trembling engendered by mixed fear and cold.
My desire is true
—
and so is my offering!

And what is that, lady?

Now Marrika did gasp aloud, her gaze flying from the floor to meet that of the Blesser. He was sitting across from her with a slight smile on his unattractive face. The bastard had mind magic! Hard on the heels of her startlement was the realization that the priest's talent didn't run very deep, or else he would have known her true thoughts.

Her eyes searched his face, and she relaxed. He enjoyed catching her off-guard, but he'd exhausted his bag of tricks. Marrika, though, was just beginning.

"Tell me what you want."

He spoke the words aloud. It was a lovely phrase to Marrika, and one she had heard often. Utterly cool, Marrika leaned forward. She emphasized her cleavage as she brought her face close to his.

"I want justice. Vengeance's justice."
"What is the offense?"
"Betrayal of my affections. And the usurping of power by one who does not deserve it."

The Blesser clucked his tongue sympathetically. Marrika could actually see sweat on his pale brow. She dared not let her contempt show. For all his training, all his magic, she still had the upper hand. If she played this right, success would be hers.

"Those are grave offenses indeed. How do you wish them to be punished?"
"Death," answered Marrika swiftly. The man went even paler.

"My dear lady, I cannot ask Vengeance to kill for you! That is Lady Death's domain, and she will not murder at a mortal's whim!"

"I know this is not an ordinary request. Therefore, I do not offer an ordinary sacrifice," said Marrika. She rose and moved purposefully toward the dark-enshrouded altar. She heard the Blesser hastening after her, but did not slow. Marrika stopped within a foot of the altar, looking at it coolly. A knife, encrusted with dark red fluid, lay on a black silk pillow. The corpse of a rabbit, recently killed, to judge by its appearance, was suspended from the ceiling. It dripped blood into a small bowl.

"M-my own offering to Lord Vengeance," stammered the priest. "As I said, I didn't really expect anyone ..."

The feeble excuse trailed off. Marrika ignored him, her gaze on the rabbit. It hadn't been quickly and cleanly killed, as was the habit with every other sacrifice she'd seen offered to the god. Its ears, tail, and all four of its small legs had been sliced off and the creature had been permitted to bleed to death. There was blood on the floor a good distance away, mute evidence to its futile struggle.

Two shivers, neither born of the unnatural cold, shook her body. The first was caused by the realization that Vengeance's Blesser here in Braedon was a man who was excited by pain and suffering. The second was due to the understanding that this little, perverted wretch could perhaps give her absolutely everything she wanted.

She turned around. "I understand," she said gently. "Vengeance does not demand just the blood of his victims. He wants their pain as a sacrifice, too."

"When I was a young Tender, they thought I was wrong," the man said softly. "They didn't see — they didn't understand. But you understand. You must have been sent by Vengeance to me, to show that he approves of my worship of him!"

"Perhaps," Marrika agreed cautiously. "I believe we two think along the same lines, Blesser ...?" "Kannil," he said. "And your name, O favored one?"

"Marrika. And as I have said, I offer no ordinary sacrifice for my favor. I will bring you ... a human sacrifice, Kannil."

The excited color drained from Blesser Kannil's face. "There has been no human sacrifice in Vengeance's temple for... for decades,
centuries!"
Mixed fear and anticipation was in his voice. "I, I cannot... the laws of Byrn ... it would be murder!"

"Exactly," purred Marrika, moving even closer. She couldn't let him turn back now. If he did, well, she would have no compunctions about sending Vengeance an offer of his own Blesser.
"No! "
wailed Kannil, whirling away from her, his hand outstretched as if to physically keep her back. "I cannot! They would kill me!"

"Only if they knew," persisted Marrika, laying her strong climber's hands on the man's narrow shoulders and turning him around to face her. "And I won't tell. I'm bringing the sacrifice, remember? I'd be just as guilty of murder as you would be!" She had no intention of telling him that she had performed murder many times before in her young life. "I want this. Vengeance wants it, too—you know he does. You hear the call in your sleep every night, don't you?"

Trapped in the snare of her dark gaze, the unfortunate Blesser could only nod.

She'd thought as much. A quick flash of loathing shot through Marrika. She wondered how many of the animals, pet or livestock, that went missing in Braedon had fallen prey to this pathetic, depraved man. She squelched the thought at once. Keeping her voice low and seductive, she murmured, "And I think you want this, too, Kannil. Don't you." It was not phrased as a question, and his answering nod was almost unnecessary.

"When?" he asked, his voice dreamy.

"Soon," Marrika promised. Soon enough to satisfy her anger, and this twisted man's lust for pain.

And the Dark Knight turned over his cards, but lo, they were not what they had been! And he knew fear such as had not been his to know, as he looked at She who smiled at him and said, "None shall cheat Lady Death."

—
from the folktale, Cheating Lady Death

Deveren was in high spirits as he rode Flamedancer into the bustling crowd that glutted the marketplace. At age ten, the gelding was well into his adult years, but he still had the fiery spirit which had inspired the first half of his name.

The wind was coming from the west, bearing with it the strong, familiar scent of fish and seawater. The salty tang of the ocean mixed with the similarly salty but not so pleasant tang of human sweat. Deveren grimaced slightly. Summer was indeed well on its way; he didn't like to imagine what Market Day would smell like two months from now.

From his elevated perch atop his steed's broad back, Deveren had a good view of all the market stalls. He found what he was looking for—a sign that stated "Griel's Apothecary," with smaller letters proclaiming "Herbs, Incense, Teas, Baths, Cures For All Manor of Ailmints." Griel was intelligent, no doubt, but he couldn't spell worth a copper penny. Smothering a grin, Deveren urged his mount through the pressing crowd of people. The animal, uncomfortable around so many humans, laid his ears back resentfully but complied. The great chestnut horse picked his way through the throng, lifting and placing his powerful hooves down with the surprisingly delicate grace that had earned him the second part of his name.

Deveren dismounted, letting the animal's reins trail in the dust. No one would steal Flamedancer. Deveren was known in these parts, if only as Fox rather than Lord Deveren Larath, and that was enough to ensure the horse's safety. No thief in his group would touch the beast, and they were well aware that they would probably make more money reporting a theft to Deveren rather than aiding a would-be horse stealer. He gave Flamedancer an absent pat on his sweat-darkened neck and went inside the building.

"Good morning, Griel," he called, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He saw the thin, elderly man assisting several customers. Griel turned at the sound of his name, and the expression on his face when he saw Deveren changed from slightly annoyed to apprehensive.

"Oh, good morning, Lord Larath. I'll be with you in a moment, sir." He turned directly back to his customers. "For your son's respiratory problem, I would suggest this tincture of sundew and hyssop. Mix one drop with ten parts water and have him drink it twice a day before he eats. It will ease his breathing." He glanced again at the boy, a thin, wheezing child with large dark eyes. The boy glared back sullenly, his little chest heaving. "Mix it with a little honey," Griel added. The boy brightened a bit.

The mother smiled warmly, fished a few coins out of her pouch and handed them to Griel. The older man's thin fingers closed over the money as he waved his patrons politely toward the door. He shut the door behind them and leaned against it.

"Fox, you know I can't do anything to help you. You must complete the Grand Theft completely without aid from any the rest of us."

Deveren feigned innocence. "Sweet Health, Rabbit, can't I patronize a fellow thief without being accused of ulterior motives?"

"You've never bought from me before," Rabbit said, still suspicious.

Deveren shrugged his shoulders lazily. "I happened to be passing by. But, if you're convinced that I'm trying to enlist your aid in my Grand Theft—or Thefts, I should say— then I'll take my business elsewhere. There are certainly other apothecaries in Braedon." His voice wasn't angry, and in fact he was speaking the truth. If Rabbit proved recalcitrant, he could always go somewhere else. He took a step toward the door, and the herbalist's cupidity won the battle.

"All right, all right, but if you
are
going to use anything I sell to accomplish your task, I didn't know about it. So, what do you need?"

"First of all, some pine soap."

Rabbit raised a thin eyebrow. "Bit early for hunting season, isn't it? No, don't tell me —I don't want to know. 'Spensive, too. I suppose I should have known you'd prefer the best," he said. He trundled over to a shelf where a variety of soaps, sorted by scent, were piled. Pine did not grow well this far south and this close to the ocean. It had to be imported from the northern climes and was only occasionally made into soap. Its primary users were wealthy landowners who enjoyed hunting; the strong, natural odor of the pine completely obliterated human scent and gave them an edge over their prey. Few cities south of Kasselton had any pine at all, but Braedon was a major port city. Everything in Verold had passed through here at one time or another. If you looked hard enough in the town, you could find just about anything.

Finally Rabbit found a lone cake wrapped in dark green cloth. "You're lucky. That's the last one, but I'll be getting more in toward the end of the summer."

"Excellent," Deveren approved. "Next, I've been having trouble sleeping lately." Rabbit's thin lips twitched in a slight smile. "Guilty conscience?"

"Not in the slightest," Deveren responded, chuckling a little himself. "I suppose I'm a bit tense, with the Grand Thefts coming up. What do you recommend?"

"I have a special tincture for sleeplessness already made up. It contains vervain, chamomile, mugwort, a few other similar herbs. Ah, here it is. Mind, this is an extremely strong preparation, so you don't need much. Just a spoonful about an hour before bed should work just fine. Don't increase the dosage."