The Alabaster Staff (33 page)

“This—these—those who follow this path are the most vile of conspirators,” he blustered. “And we have one such assassin in our very midst? Why, nothing is safe! Knowest thou the name of this perfidious rebel?”

“Me,” said Demok, stepping in close so that his nose touched that of the former priest.

Ekur’s eyes went wide in surprise, but Demok couldn’t tell it if was from hearing the sudden confession of his true allegiance or from feeling the cold short sword that pierced upward through his diaphragm and into his black heart.

Truth be told, Demok didn’t care.

Kehrsyn huddled in a recessed doorway in a dark, narrow alley a few blocks from Wing’s Reach, precisely where Demok had ordered. She’d easily escaped the guards. In the end, she’d followed the guards themselves as they chased her phantom feet back to their home at Wing’s Reach.

Once there, she’d circled around them as they made their follow-up plan, and watched with no small relief as they departed back in the direction of Ekur and Demok. Spotting the landmarks that Demok had drilled into her, she’d found their rendezvous per his instructions. Despite her confidence, however, the cold weather teamed up with her exhaustion, both mental and physical, to make her a sodden, unhappy wretch.

She abandoned all intent of subterfuge. She stamped her feet on the paving stones, relatively dry beneath the arch. She let her teeth chatter fully, and the noise overcame even the heavy rain, at least to her ears. She wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around her and shivered uncontrollably.

She stared out at the rain, feeling entirely alone. No one was stupid enough to be out in such bad weather, and certainly no one was stupid enough to be out without a cloak. No one except her. She found herself missing the relative dryness of the crawl space beneath the back stairs of the Tiamatan temple, but she dared not move anywhere, because Demok had told her to meet him exactly there.

She was too cold to be mad. She just wanted to stop
waiting, hoping her torment would end before she surrendered herself to the tears dammed up behind her eyes. How long could it take a veteran like him to kill a fat old priest, anyway?

At length, she heard the clop-clop of approaching horseshoes. Demok loomed out of the rain, leading his horse by the reins.

Kehrsyn forced a single word past her numb lips and chattering teeth, “Ekur?”

In answer, Demok walked up close to her, filling the doorway’s arch.

“You realize,” he said as he drew his short sword, “that you cannot enter Wing’s Reach alive.”

D
emok rode up to the front door of Wing’s Reach, the splash of the collected rainwater in the streets almost drowning the clop of his horse’s hooves. He had one arm wrapped around Ekur, who sagged in the saddle in front of him. Behind his saddle, Kehrsyn’s lifeless body dangled across the horse’s back, her dark hair swaying with the horse’s stride. A slight curtain of excess rainwater dripped from her fingertips with every step.

“Ho the house!” Demok shouted.

Four guards burst out of the front door, wet and tense and tired. The sergeant looked up at Demok, while the other guards scanned the rainy darkness.

“Ahegi’s hurt,” Demok said. “Bad. Massedar’s room. Now.”

“What happened?” gasped the sergeant.

Demok gestured over his shoulder with a thumb and said, “She got him. I got her.”

“Good job,” said the sergeant, casting a bitter
glance at Kehrsyn’s body. He grunted as Ekur’s limp body slid into his arms. “Gimme a hand, boys,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. “He’s a hefter.”

Demok watched the four of them struggle with Ekur. Between the chill, the rain-slicked steps, and Ekur’s porcine build, he knew it would take them time to get the body up the spiraling staircase. He dismounted and held the front door for the foursome. Then he cast a glance in and motioned to another guard who stood by, chatting quietly with a few comrades.

“Stable my horse,” he said in a tone that demanded immediate compliance.

He trotted back down the stairs, walked over to his demoralized mount, and unceremoniously heaved Kehrsyn’s inert body over his shoulder. He walked back inside Wing’s Reach and ascended the stairwell across the foyer from the one the guards were using to port Ekur.

He reached the third floor, his breath heavy from the exertion of carrying an extra hundred-odd pounds of meat over his shoulder. He moved down the hall, Kehrsyn’s hand batting against his legs. He reached Massedar’s room and pounded on the door. Massedar opened it after but a moment’s pause.

“Here’s one,” said Demok, stepping in and lowering Kehrsyn’s body to the floor, face down. Massedar started to say something, but Demok cut him off. “Other’s coming.”

After a moment, a foursome of guards shuffled in, panting and puffing, and dropped Ekur.

“Here y’are, sir,” wheezed the sergeant.

Massedar stepped closer to the old priest and stared at his lifeless face. He kneeled and pressed his fingers into the fleshy neck, looking for a pulse he knew he wouldn’t find.

“I fear the hours of his life are spent,” he said with measured sadness. “Nothing remaineth to be done, save only the final rites of passage. These shall I do for my old friend, alone. Let the doors be closed and the news be
borne to the others of the house that Ahegi hath fallen.”

The guards nodded and backed out, closing the doors behind them.

Massedar rose, stepped over, and kneeled down beside Kehrsyn. He took her cold hand in his, and a curious, chuckling sigh of longing escaped his lips.

He turned to Demok and asked, “What hath come to pass here?”

Kehrsyn awoke with a groan.

“What happened?” she slurred.

She tried to sit up, but her vision swam. It seemed like a huge, heavy stone was rolling around inside her skull, whipping her head back and forth on her weak, noodle neck. She started to cry out in pain and despair, but a hand clamped over her mouth. Fortunately, whoever it was also cradled her head and shoulders in one arm and lowered her gently back down.

“Rest easy,” said a terse, rough voice.

“Demok?”

“Sshh, quietly,” he answered, pressing a flask of warm liquid to her lips. “Drink this.”

She took a few sips of the bitter, musky tea, then drank several heavy swallows once she got used to the flavor. She sighed and sank back, only then realizing that she lay on a comfortable mattress with a pillow beneath her head and warm woolen blankets tucked around. She heard a fire crackling and the incessant drumming of the winter’s rain on the roof over her head.

“Where am I?”

“Massedar’s suite.”

“But—” she began, and memory returned to her. “What did you do?” she asked, suspicious, but too weak to do anything about it.

She turned her head toward his voice and stared with bleary eyes.

He sat beside her, cross-legged on the floor. He ran one knuckle back and forth across his lower lip, his palm facing Kehrsyn so that his hand partially shielded his face. He looked back at her from beneath his brows, not an intimidating expression, but rather one of discomfort and shame.

“I … struck you. Base of the neck. Pommel of my sword.… I’m sorry.”

“Why?” she asked, and the pain of betrayal leaked into her voice.

Demok’s eyes flickered, almost a wince, and he said, “Ahegi’s order still stood. Kill you on sight. No questions. You couldn’t enter Wing’s Reach alive.”

“So you knocked me out?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Why not change Ekur’s order?”

“Might be accomplices. They must think you’re dead.”

“I could have snuck in,” she said.

He drew his mouth into a grim line and replied, “Couldn’t take the chance. The guards are alert. Besides, it helps for them to see your corpse.”

“Well, why hit me like that? I could have pretended I was dead.”

“Would have shivered. Or twitched.”

“You could have at least asked before you did it,” she groused.

“Would have been harder,” replied Demok. “For both of us,” he added, more quietly.

“Well, I still think there must have been a better way.”

Demok turned the cold compress over and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.

“I know,” he said.

He rose and stepped over to the fire. Kehrsyn heard some clinking, as of coins, and after a few moments he came back holding a burlap bag that looked like it had
something the size of a cat in it. He shook it. It jingled.

“Silvers, warmed by the fire,” he said. “They’ll help.”

He sat back down beside her, pulled back the blanket from her shoulder, and gently placed the bag of heated coins at the base of her neck, tucking some behind her and draping the others across to her collarbone. The burlap was scratchy, but the warmth radiating from the coins suffused her neck with a welcome ease.

“Do you have some more of that tea stuff?” Kehrsyn asked.

Demok held the flask and she drank some more. The aftertaste was an unusual bitter flavor, and left her mouth dry.

“I think it’s helping,” she said, smacking her lips.

Demok smiled, though only for a second, and said, “Herbs from Sespech. Potent.”

Kehrsyn lay back, closed her eyes, and listened to the fire for a while, drifting in and out of sleep. She felt the pain slowly recede, vanquished between the warm tea within and the warm coins without.

“Where’s Massedar?” she asked, her voice dreamy and slurred.

“Waiting next door. When you’re ready.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

Demok laughed, nothing more than a tiny snort through his nose, and said, “Least I could do.”

“It’s almost worth it to get hit like that just to relax in a bed like this.”

“Kehrsyn, I’m—” began Demok.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kehrsyn interrupted. “It just kind of scared me that you’d … you know … nah, just forget about it.”

Another long pause filled the room, broken only by the occasional pop from the fire. Eventually, Kehrsyn started flexing her fingers and toes to get her circulation going again. She stretched her arms and legs, exhaled wearily, and lay still again.

“If you’re ready,” Demok said, “he’s waiting.”