Uneasy alliances - Thieves World 11 (21 page)

The hellspawn was wearing the gluemaker down. He was untouched, but he was getting tired and winded. Sweat trickled into his eyes and the

salt stung. He slid the Ilbarsi knife into its sheath and shifted the axe to a

two-handed grip. He blinked and continued to block and counter and attack. He knew he would have to change tactics before exhaustion caused him to err.

Damn, he thought. I've given him enough blows to kill a squad of men. but his fiendish magic heals him every time. If he was mortal I could take

him apart.

Cholly smiled.

Changing back to a one-hand grip on the axe, he used his free hand to reach for the talisman. Yanking the chain over his head he said, "That's

enough. This is what you're after. Take it. I can't fight any more. Just take the damned thing and leave me alone. I know when I'm beat."

"That's more like it, Fatso. Youse is good, butcha ain't no match for da ol' demon. Now gimme."

He caught the medallion in the palm of his webbed hand. Now he was going to kill the fat bald man, since there was nothing to restrain him. He

looked over to the wizard and apprentice wizard, holding the bauble aloft

and smiling. He looked back just in time to catch a sparkle of light reflecting from the gleaming blade descending. Realization flashed in his

beady little eyes just before they rolled back into his head. Cholly picked up the medallion from the lifeless fingers, returning it back around his neck. Next he placed a foot upon the fiend's face and worked his axe free from the skull. Slipping the haft through its ring, he

sat back down at the table.

"That was thirsty work." He drew his long knife and placed it between himself and the magicians. He poured himself another goblet of wine and sipped it. He paused long enough to get out his pipe, fill it, and light it

from the candle on the table.

He took his time, seemingly ignoring the two prisoners. He would take a puff or two, blow a few smoke rings, and sip at his wine. All the while

he kept smiling, sometimes idly playing with the Ilbarsi blade.

"What am I going to do with you?" he said, breaking the tense silence.

"If I let you go we'll be right back where we started, except I'll know who you are. I've got better things to do than play hide-and-seek with your hired flunkies and conjurings. I have to work for my living.

"Have you ever seen glue being made? We start with a body. First we strip it naked and inspect for obvious disease. Next we lop off the hands

and cut the throat and hang the body head-down to drain the blood. Are you following this? Oh yes, if the client has a nice head of hair—yours would fetch a pretty price, Marype—we scalp it before we hang it up." He paused to pour himself another serving of wine. Markmor looked nervous and Marype was quite pale.

"Then we hack off the arms and legs and dump 'em in a big kettle of scalding water and render them down. We sell the fat to make soap, and dry the bones for firewood."

Markmor looked nauseous and Marype's countenance was paler than his hair.

Cholly sipped at his wine, inwardly smiling at achieving the desired reaction. He continued, "Look at it from my point of view. The only way to be sure I'm safe is to get rid of you. My way you can not only remain dead, but serve a useful purpose. I guess you know I don't like magicians

much.

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"On the other hand, I could spare your lives. The problem is: how do I know you won't attack me again? I suppose I could chop off your hands and cut out your tongues. Feet too, so you can't leam to use them for hands like a beggar I once saw. The eyes, naturally would have to go. Can either of you wiggle your ears? No? I'll leave them, then." Markmor stared at the man, unsure whether he was bluffing. If it were the other way around he knew what he would do.

A combination of beer and fear finally took its toll upon Marype's bladder. Markmor turned to glance at his apprentice with disgust. Setting down his goblet, Cholly smiled. "Look on the bright side. You'll get to wear the Theban Talisman—for a few minutes at least. Isn't that what you wanted? Look at it from my point of view. Silverlocks here

—acting on your behalf—has tried to kill me already. He did kill the fellow who had it before me. This chunk of gold is too powerful to give to

the likes of you, and at the same time I have a living to make. I have to

have some assurance you won't bother me again."

Cholly knocked the dottle from his pipe, refilled it, and took another light from the candle while Markmor reflected upon what he had said.

"Nature calls," he told his prisoners. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere," he snickered, sliding out of the booth. He sheathed the Ilbarsi knife and stepped across Rubigo's carcass.

Cholly returned several minutes later. Behind him came the big bartender, and behind him a bearded man even bigger, carrying a staff. The last man, largest of the three, was dressed in blue and seemed to radiate

power.

The wizards were trying unsuccessfully to escape.

"Nicely done, Cholly. What are you going to do with them?" Strick asked, chuckling,

"I haven't figured that one out yet. I can't let them go, but I'd rather not kill them unless I have to. Any ideas?"

"There are a couple of things that could work. First, to a mage knowing someone's true name gives you power over him."

"That's why he wouldn't tell me the demon's name."

"Right. Second, there is only one oath he cannot break: one sworn on his powers. All you have to do is make him tell you his true name and make him swear by it and on his powers to leave you alone. If he breaks that vow, at the very least his powers shall be forfeit for eternity." Markmor stared at the stranger. Only a magician could have spoken so certainly, yet this man was not known to him. He knew the few remaining Ilsigi mages, and the ones in the Mageguild, and the outsiders like Enas Yorl and Ischade. Whoever this upstart was, there would be a score to settle later.

329

Ahdio spoke up. "How do you know if he is telling the truth?

Wouldn't it be more likely he'd lie?"

"A good point, my friend. I can be of some assistance there. This staff I

carry is not just a walking stick. It is a Staff of Truth. Whoever touches it

may not lie and live."

Cholly puffed at his pipe, weighing the idea. Finally he asked, "What will it be, gentlemen? Will you take a vow to stop seeking the medallion and to leave me in peace?"

Strick touched the staff to Markmor's head. He nodded. When it touched Marype's head he too nodded. Markmor growled into his tankard.

"I'm going to free Markmor first. This will taste awful, and it will sting, but it will free your lips in a couple of minutes." Cholly reached under the table and withdrew a leather satchel. From it he removed a stoppered bottle and a brush. He kept brushing the liquid from the bottle onto the sorcerer's lips until they were freed from the tankard. The Staff of Truth rested upon his head.

"Faugh! What was that unholy liquid?" he sputtered.

"Trade secret. Just be glad it worked. Are you ready'to give me your name?"

"Yes, damn you." Markmor gave his secret name.

"Now, do you swear, upon that name you have just spoken and by your powers, to never again seek the Theban Talisman and to leave me and mine forever in peace?"

"I so swear."

"Say it, all of it."

He said his name once more and swore on it and his powers. Marype was more difficult, mainly because he had drained his tankard and was not entirely sober.

Finally Markmor growled, "Oh, for Anen's sake, take his bloody oath so we can get the hell out of here!"

Cholly freed the younger man and received his vow and name.

"May we leave now?" Markmor asked impatiently.

"In a minute. I just thought you ought to know that if your fair-haired boy there had simply come to me this morning and made me a reasonable cash offer before I found out what it could do, you could have bought the

talisman outright. Too bad you didn't try straight dealing, because when somebody tries to push me around I have this tendency to push back. You can go."

Markmor's face was almost as scarlet as his silks. "You mean you never made the man an offer?! You mindless dungheap, where was your brain? You were dealing with a businessman. What do you think he does?

330 UNEASY ALLIANCES

He buys and sells things, that's what he does. At times like this I could

almost justify destroying you, talented or not. Brain damaged is what you

are. Brain damaged . . ."

He was still ranting as he and Marype faded from view, leaving their clothing still glued to the booth.

Tears were trickling down Ahdio's red cheeks and Strick was gasping for breath. Three big bellies jiggled with uncontrollable laughter. Ahdio was able to speak first. "I haven't laughed so hard in ages. Did you see the look on his face when he found out he could've bought it for a

few soldats?"

"Yes, and when he sobers up the silver-haired one is going to catch seventeen hells," Strick added.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer fellow," Cholly giggled.

"I have a special bottle of wine I've been saving for a special occasion.

Share it with me. This calls for a celebration," Ahdio declared. Strick asked Cholly, "If they hadn't agreed, would you have killed them?"

"No, but there was no way they could know that. I let them worry once I brought up the possibility. As soon as Markmor put himself in my place he was convinced I would kill them both. It's only human to think other people would act the same way you would in the same situation. Since Markmor would kill me without a second thought, of course he believed I would do it, just more reluctantly. After all, he had already seen me split his pet demon's skull."

"So it was all a bluff," Strick marvelled. "What if he called you on it?"

"I'd have waited him out. He wasn't going anywhere. Sooner or later he would have to give in. That's lot of beer in those mugs," Cholly chuckled.

"Remind me never to gamble with you."

Three large bellies began shaking with laughter.

Eventually the gluemaker asked, "Is that Staff of Truth for real, or was it a bluff too?"

"Does it matter? Markmor believed it was real."

"How am I going to clean up this mess?" Ahdio wondered aloud.

'There's several bottles of solvent in my satchel. We can toss the demon out the back door and I'll pick him up in the morning. I wonder how good a glue he'll make."

Robin Wayne Bailey

Tiana struck a brazen pose, turning her back to the small bust of the Rankan goddess Sabellia on its stone pedestal. The full moon shone overhead through a break in the trees, filling the small garden niche with a sublime light that revealed her full, pale breasts as they strained against

the too-tight fabric of her green dress; a light bright enough, she also hoped, to lend luster to her deep green eyes so carefully kohled and her lovely red tresses.

She rumpled her hair with one hand and thrust her hip a bit further to the side, feeling the perfect vixen. She stretched, lifting her arms until the

material of her bodice threatened to rip. She faked a yawn and dared another glance down the white-pebbled pathway that snaked through the Promise.

The man still stood there. She knew he'd seen her. What was wrong with him, anyway? Didn't he like women? Maybe he was one of those Stepsons, there were a few left in town; that would be just her luck. She stepped back into the niche out of his sight and bit a fingernail. Perhaps she should have chosen a darker spot tonight. With the moon so full maybe he could see how faded her dress realty was, how the rose in her cheeks was only rouge, how skinny and bone-rough she'd become, despite the size of her juggles. Curse the fates that had brought her to this

miserable town, and curse the lying, womanizing stonemason who had lured her here with his promises and sweet words, only to throw her into the streets the moment he found someone prettier.

She had no experience at this kind of work. She had to eat, though, and desperation emboldened her. This stranger down the path seemed to 332 UNEASY ALLIANCES

be the only man in the park tonight. He'd better have coins, though. Just

last evening some wine-soaked fool had offered her a bundle of smelly hides for her service. What was she supposed to do with hides?

Tiana stepped onto the path again. The pebbles were smooth and cold under her bare feet. The air felt crisp; she would have to earn enough for

shoes and a cloak, and soon. Food, too. She couldn't afford to let this man get away. Feigning an expression of boredom she rubbed her right breast, teasing the nipple. Then, she looked down the path. Damn, damn, damn! He was gone' Into the bushes with some other woman? Her shoulders slumped, and tears welled in the comers of her eyes. She looked down at her toes, pushed a few of the milky stones around. Hadn't he liked her looks? Maybe she'd acted a little too whorish. But gods, she was so hungry! How did the other women in the park do it? What was the knack she lacked? A whole week in this sad, silly place,

and she had yet to break into the ranks of the professionals!

Tiana squeezed her stomach, trying to ease the emptiness as she leaned against Sabellia's pedestal and slowly sank down to sit on the grass at its

base. Pressing her back to the fluted stone, she drew her knees close and

hugged them.

She feared the night. The quiet solitude seemed like a menacing thing. The darkness engulfed her, swallowed her in a black maw, chewed and choked her down all in a preternatural silence. Even the gods whose busts and statues lined the walkways held their tongues in this unfortunate park. She looked up into Sabellia's face. The moon itself seemed a weak and helpless emberglow in the vaster dark.

Tiana felt small and alone. She wanted to go home, but that, too, took money. She thought again other stonemason lover who had lured her so far from Ranke, He had treated her kindly and promised her heaven. Well, he'd given it to her. That was what the locals called this park where she now tried to ply her charms: the Promise of Heaven. She rested her head back against the pedestal and at last let go the tears she'd held in check for so long. Each one seemed a precious thing to