Sing the Four Quarters (24 page)

His mouth worked and she waited for the explosion. It never came.

"They'll have told Gerek I'm dead."

Oh, shit
. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
You and your big mouth
. "Pjerin, I'm sorry."

"We
have
to find out who did this to me." Every muscle of his body stood out in rigid delineation.

Annice sighed. Considering everything he'd been through, he was remarkably stable, but considering everything he'd been through, he had every right to go completely to pieces.

"Not now," she told him gently. "While a pair of traders arriving at dawn will attract no attention, that same pair of traders standing in the middle of River Road in a Command trance would give the whole game away." Linking her arm in his, she tugged him firmly down the street. "We'll need privacy and quiet and we'll have plenty of both before we get to Ohrid."

"… so I ask her what she's doing with my shield and she says that they're diggin' a hole in the commons and they don't got a shovel. She's gonna use my shield as a shovel. Well, I give her a cuff up the side of the head and tell her it's not
my
shield, it's the king's, and if she wants a shovel she can just hoof it over to her grandad's place. And she tosses her braid back over her shoulder, and I've got a good idea where she picked up that motion, and says ever so indignantly…" The guard lifted his chin and pursed his lips, continuing in a piping imitation of a small child's voice.

"… but, Papa, you wasn't usin' it."

Aliute grimaced and thanked every god the Circle contained that the night was nearly over. Guarding the door to the dungeons was a dull assignment at best, but spending it forced to listen to story after story about a five-year-old removed it from the Circle entirely. This wasn't what she'd expected when she joined up. She'd wanted excitement, adventure, and never in her wildest dreams did she see herself standing guard so that prisoners, who were both shackled
and
locked in their cells, could have no chance of escape.

Escape; yeah, right
. She rubbed an itchy shoulder blade against the rough stone wall and wondered if her partner was awake yet.
What am I thinking, the nun's up. The kids probably got her out of bed ages ago
. Her helm shifted forward slightly as she yawned.
At the risk of sounding dissatisfied with the job, it sure is boring being a guard
.

Footsteps sounded, coming down the spiral stairs that led to the upper levels of the palace. At first, Aliute thought they belonged to the drudge who came every morning to empty the pots, but there were too many of them and they were moving too fast.

The first set of feet that descended into sight wore boots and, over them, greaves enameled with the royal sigil of Shkoder.

The two guards stared at each other in shock.

Inspection
? he mouthed, eyes wide and near panick.

At dawn
? Aliute returned, shoving her helm straight.

As a second set of identical greaves appeared, they snapped to attention, pikes properly at rest, the effect somewhat ruined by identical expressions of disbelief. Ceremonial armor was worn only by the four members of the guard assigned to accompany the king.

Theron came down the last few steps, a second pair of guards on his heels, and acknowledged the two at the door. "I wish to speak with the Due of Ohrid," he said quietly.

"Sire!" As senior, Aliute set her pike against the wall and lit a lamp off one of the three tallow candles. Pinching off the smoldering end of the taper, she motioned for her companion to open the door. Shoulders back, head up, heart pounding, she moved into the passageway between the two rows of cells; however peculiar this visit might be, it was her chance to look good in front of the king and she wasn't going to blow it.

At the cell door, she set the lamp in the bracket and heaved up the bar. Motioned aside by one of the other guards, she watched as he picked up the lamp and went into the cell. He rushed back out a second later, his face pale, the flickering light illuminating the superstitious fear in his eyes.

"Majesty, the prisoner is gone."

"What!" Theron snatched the lamp from the guard's hand and charged forward. Just inside the door, he stopped. The shackle—closed and locked—was lying on the braided straw pallet which was lying flat on the bench. Although he knew it was ridiculous, he squatted and peered into the shadowed recess between the bench and the floor.

Off to one side, Aliute strained to see, her mouth dry, blood throbbing in her temples. If a prisoner was missing,
she
was responsible. She had no idea what the punishment would be. They'd never lost a prisoner before. Perhaps she'd have to take his place at the block.

"Spirited away," murmured a guard.

"Always knew those mountain folk were unenclosed," muttered another.

Yes
! Aliute grabbed at hope.
Spirits from outside the Circle took him! It wasn't my fault
.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Theron snapped, stomping back out into the corridor, nearly knocking over the two guards, who'd followed him in. "There's a perfectly logical explanation." His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. "During the night someone let him out and then locked everything behind him."

Five pairs of eyes turned to glare at Aliute.

She backed up a step, and then another.

"N-no one came in here last night, Majesty," she protested. "I swear it. No one."

Still holding the lamp, Theron half turned and pointed with his free hand. "You, Janyte, I want the Bardic Captain down here, now."

"Sire!" Janyte took off at a full run, aiming for the rectangle of light that marked the entry into the corridor.

"Karlis, go back and get the other lamp. Then I want that cell inspected for loose stones or some indication of an exit other than by the door."

"Sire!"

The two remaining guards flanked their sovereign and lowered their halberds, the implication plain. If Aliute had cooperated with a traitor, she herself was a danger to the king.

Aliute looked down at the weapons and swallowed. Like the ceremonial armor, the halberds were highly ornate, but not even the intricate engraving that extended nearly to the edge of the blades could make them look any less deadly.

Without intending to, she scuttled backward another three or four paces.

They let her go. They were, after all, between her and the only way out.

She was at the edge of the lamplight now, the shadows closing in around her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pale, translucent streamer against the wall. Her heart leaped into her throat.
The spirits
!

In spite of her terror, she moved toward it. If it
was
a spirit, the king would know she'd had nothing to do with the prisoner's escape.

Not a spirit. Something better.

"Majesty…" She licked her lips and tried again. "Majesty, I think I've found the answer."

Indicating that the guards should stay where they were, Theron came forward.

Aliute laid the end of the torn and filthy spiderweb carefully across Theron's palm.

Together, they turned and stared at the place it entered the wall.

"We've paid for it, you might as well eat it."

"I'm not hungry." Pjerin pushed his meal aside. All he could think of was the time they were wasting. Time that could be better spent by increasing their distance from Elbasan. "How can you eat eels for breakfast?"

Annice shrugged and swallowed. "I like eels. The Riverfolk eat them all the time."

"You're not Riverfolk."

"So?" She yawned, scraped the bottom of her bowl, and reached for his. "No point in wasting it."

"Something wrong with the food?"

"Not a thing." Annice smiled up at the innkeeper, "Jorin's just in a rush to get to Vidor. He's got a bet on with his cousin."

Dimpled arms folded over a featherbed bosom, the innkeeper clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "He makes a bet, and you've got to rush. And in your condition, too."

"Oh, I don't mind. After all, half the profits are mine."

"Health first, profits second," she declared. "Why didn't you wait for the river? Current'll be down and they'll be able to hoist sail by the new moon. You could go to the festival—there'll be a bard to Sing up the wind—then ride to Vidor in comfort."

"Riverboat passage costs coin." Pjerin opened his mouth and Annice kicked him under the table. She didn't know what he was about to say and she didn't want to. The story would be easier to keep track of with only her telling it.

"Besides, we haven't the time to wait."

"Traders. Rushing here, rushing there. When are you due?"

"Just into Second Quarter."

"So soon? You don't look big enough. When I was that far along, I was much bigger. And you're carrying too low.

You don't get enough rest, that's the problem." She turned a dark gaze on Pjerin. "You've got to see that she rests more. Look at those circles under her eyes. Now then, my sister's boy, Bartek the carter, he's heading for Vidor this morning. If you leave now—and I only suggest this since you seem to be in such a hurry—you can still catch him. It'll cost you coin, but you won't have to wait, and you," a sausage finger jabbed at Annice, "won't have to trot along under a double load."

"Thank you." Annice's smile had frayed a little around the edges. "That's a big help, believe me." She finished the last mouthful of what was supposed to have been Pjerin's breakfast and stood. "Good business, innkeeper."

"Good business, trader."

A few moments later, they were hurrying toward the carter's yards.

"I wish you'd stop telling people to believe you," Pjerin growled.

"Why?" Annice belched and began to think the second bowl of eels had been a mistake. "It's the easiest way to allay suspicions."

"I don't like you putting ideas into people's heads." He half turned and glanced behind them. "I know what it's like from the other side."

"This isn't the same thing."

"Isn't it?" In memory, he heard his mouth speaking with someone else's voice. How much difference was there between that and being charmed into a false belief? "Even you agreed that what happened to me
could
have been done by a bard."

"Yeah?" She was too tired to be diplomatic. "In balance, try to remember that it's a bard saving your butt."

"From the kigh!"

"So?"

"The kigh are controlled by the bards!"

"You
still
think the bards had something to do with this?"

No. He didn't. "I'm sorry." He brushed his hand over his eyes. What was his point? He suddenly realized he didn't have one. "Whenever I remember what was done to me, I get too tangled up in anger to think clearly."

She had enough energy left for half a smile. "Apology accepted."

Her smile suddenly reminded him of better days in Ohrid and where her smile had led them. He searched for a safer subject. "Why did you call me Jorin?"

"I don't know." They turned down a street of small shops—apprentices opening shutters for the start of the day's business, artisans calling greetings to neighbors—and Annice pitched her voice so as not to be overheard. "I had to call you something and that's close enough to your name you'll probably answer to it."

"Then what should I call you?" Without her skills, he felt exposed every time he opened his mouth and could only mumble, hoping her ears had been trained as well as her tongue.

"I've always kind of liked Magda. It was my grandmother's name."

"Think you'd answer to it?"

"Probably no… oh, boy."

"What's wrong?" Pjerin jerked around. The street behind them was empty except for a yawning teenager in a wrinkled smock and an equally disinterested black and white cat.

"Baby just stretched out its little pointy toes and booted me up under the ribs."

Releasing a breath he couldn't remember taking, Pjerin snorted. "It was probably the eels."

"It was
not
. It's just getting crowded in there."

"The innkeeper seemed to think you're too small."

"I am not too small!" Annice practically spit out the protest. "Everyone who's ever had a baby suddenly thinks they're an expert! I'm not too small, I'm not carrying too low, and of course I look tired, I've been up all night dragging your ass out of a dungeon."

"Why not tell the world?" Pjerin snarled. But no one appeared to have noticed, in spite of the vehemence. Sweat trickling down his sides, he turned and checked behind them again.

She shifted her pack. "What do you keep staring at back there?"

"They must know I'm gone. The drudge comes for the slops at sunrise."

Annice grinned at him. "But you vanished out of a locked cell. First they'll have to drag His Majesty out of bed and then they'll have to question the guards. We won't see any sign of pursuit for hou…"

The sound of at least three sets of shod hooves spun them both around. Pjerin flung out a hand to keep Annice on her feet as her shifting pack threatened to pull her over. Sight blocked by a curve in the road, the sound echoed between the buildings.

"You were saying!" Heart slamming in his chest, the sound of pursuit almost drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears, he searched for a place to hide.

"No!" Annice dug in her heels, throwing her weight against his. "Stay here! Turn your back to the road, the pack will hide you. You're a trader. Remember that!"

There wasn't time to argue. Pjerin turned just as three horses galloped into view, his hands closing around Annice's, her touch the only thing keeping him from running.

They were on them. They were gone.

"Nothing to do with us," Annice said soothingly, her voice trembling a little in spite of her best efforts. "Nobles."

Pjerin couldn't get his muscles to unlock. "Nobles?"

"Young ones. The kind who think it's funny to gallop through town and make everyone jump out of their way."

"Nobles," Pjerin repeated a second time. He remembered how to breathe.

"Assholes!" bellowed a candlemaker stepping out of his shop and shaking a scarred fist at the clouds of dust.