Well of the Damned (34 page)

Inspired by her new purpose, she
turned the horse back the way she’d come and circled around the
central merchant district to avoid the traffic while she formed a
plan in her mind: to hide in the temple until she was sure it was
safe to leave the city. Yes, it was risky, but the payoff was well
worth it. The chances of Kinshield looking for her there were slim.
She pulled off the mail shirt, stuffed it into her knapsack and then
rode to the temple to scout the area.

The
Spirit of the Savior Holy Temple of Asti-nayas was one of the most
beautiful buildings in Ambryce with its tall, arched roof and four
bells in the belfry that rang the hour from dawn until midnight. Its
reddish bricks stood out against the dull beige and gray of the
surrounding shops and houses. The casement windows were made from
different colored glass, arranged in patterns that resembled symbols
of the faith. Before she could get started, she needed a place to
keep the horse for a few days.

Just
down the street, a sign reading
The Good Knight Inn
hung by
one corner from the eve of a small, dilapidated building, and swung
in the breeze with a rhythmic squeak of its rusty chain. She tied her
horse to the hitching post, jogged up the porch steps and opened the
door. A musty smell assaulted her nose, and the floor creaked under
her as she approached the counter.

A
man pushed past an ugly brown curtain. He was average height with
graying hair, and his right arm ended just below the elbow, probably
from crossing the wrong person. “Help you, Lady Sister?”
he asked.

“I
need a room for a couple of days,” she said, ignoring the
erroneous title. She should have taken Calinor’s warrant tag
from his body so when she wasn’t wearing the mail, she would
have another badge to win people’s trust. That was a problem
she could address later.

“You
got a horse?”

Cirang
nodded.

“Then
that’ll be five pielars per night.”

She
paid the man for three nights and held her hand out for the key.

“We
got no keys here. Take whichever room you like. They’re all
empty. Bar the door from the inside. If you got somethin’
valuable you want to keep safe, you can leave it with me.”

He
followed her outside and whistled for the stable hand. A boy of about
twelve sprinted over, gave the horse’s neck a pat and untied
the reins. “What’s his name?” he asked.

She
didn’t know. It had a broad, golden face with a white streak
that went halfway down, and a neatly trimmed forelock of darker gold.
The first name that came to mind was Calinor. Naming the horse after
the ’ranter who’d hunted Tyr for so long was a symbol of
her domination over the slain battler. She settled on a shortened
version of it. “This is Calin,” she told him as she
untied the saddle bag.

“Come
on, Calin,” he said softly. “Let’s get you some
hay.”

Cirang
chose the room farthest from the inn’s office. A rope dangled
through a hole in the door up near the top, and when she pulled it,
the bar on the inside lifted, and the door swung open.

It
was about ten feet square with a wide bed, small table with a pair of
candles atop it, and two stools. With the door barred shut, the only
light came in through the cracks between the door and its frame and
the gap around the rope pull. She set her knapsack on the stool and
saddlebag on the table, unstrapped her weapons, and lay down. The bed
was straw-filled and lumpy, but better by far than any bed in a gaol
cell.

Chapter 38

Uncaring
about the rain tapping his head, Gavin stormed towards the stable,
with Daia and Brawna following behind. Gavin grabbed Golam’s
reins, mounted and started off, with the others scrambling to catch
up.

“If
we hurry to the market,” Daia said, catching up to him on her
horse, “perhaps you can find Cirang before Queen Feanna even
arrives.”

He
nodded, having already formed the same plan. It gave him comfort to
know Daia understood him well enough to anticipate his thoughts, his
plans, even his words.
Should have married her instead,
he
thought angrily.

“Rikard,”
he yelled as he approached the gate. “That woman who left the
message. She’s a traitor, murderer and thief and needs to be
brought to justice. I need whatever armsmen you can spare to search
the city and apprehend her.”

Rikard’s
jaw dropped open. “But she was wearing your colors, my liege.”

“She
murdered a true First Royal Guard and stole that armor. Arm your men
with a description of her and send as many as you can.”

“Yes,
sire. Most of us are preparing for the queen’s outing, but I’ll
awaken those who guard at night. Oh, and sire? You asked whether—”

Calinor
rode up on the white mare and reined in.

“Ho
there,” Rikard said, holding his sword to block Calinor’s
approach. “Move back.”

“He’s
with me,” Gavin said. “Treat him as you would a First
Royal Guard.”

“Oh.
Yes, sire. You asked whether that woman has come to see the queen —
and she hasn’t — but someone else has. I thought you
should know, in case—

Gavin
cocked his head. “Who?”

“Two
women. Twins. They didn’t say their names, and so we refused to
request an audience with her on their behalf.”

Alarm
made him stiffen. They must have been the twins Adro had seen
wandering in the palace. “What did they look like?” Gavin
didn’t know what business those women would have with the
queen, but their business with her was also their business with him.

“They
were more erstwhile ladies with gray in their black hair. Blue eyes,
angular faces. Nicely dressed but not wealthy. They arrived on foot,
as near as I could tell, but I didn’t actually see them
approach.”

“How
was their demeanor? Angry? Friendly?”

Rikard
looked into the distance for a moment. “I’d say more cool
than friendly, but not angry. No more so than some of the merchants
or department directors who come to meet with the lordover.”

“I
want to know what business they have with my wife,” Gavin said.
“If they return, detain them, but be cautious. At least one of
them might have some skill with magic.”

“Yes,
sire.”

Outside
the guarded gate, they were met by the throng of eager citizens, now
crowded around. Though he understood their excitement at seeing the
first king in more than two hundred years, Gavin’s mood was
already soured. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with
them but didn’t want to leave them with a poor impression of
him.

“Make
way,” Daia shouted, taking the lead. She parted the crowd for
him.

He
held his left hand out and downward as he followed, letting the
people touch him as he passed. A few tried to grab his hand, perhaps
to shake it, but Golam moved steadily forward, ripping his hand from
those tenuous grasps. At last, the crowd thinned, and the horses
broke into a trot on Daia’s lead.

“Calinor
says we should take Brewer Street to Worsted,” Brawna said from
behind him. “The lordover’s guard told him they cleared
that route so Queen Feanna’s carriage can get to the orphanage
with the fewest delays.”

Gavin
turned in his saddle and grinned. “Good idea.” The crowd
had fallen behind, and most had given up the chase, though the people
on the street ahead were beginning to notice his presence. They
turned onto Brewer and met three soldiers blocking the road.

“The street’s closed,”
one of them said.

The
other two gaped at him. “K-King Gavin?” one said, a young
man about Brawna’s age with a wide-eyed, slack-jawed gape.

“The
same,” Gavin said. “Let us pass.”

At
that, they snapped to attention and saluted, flattened right hand
against the chest, before stepping aside for him.

“Begging
your pardon, Your Majesty,” said the first one. “I didn’t
recognize you.”

“You
won’t make that mistake twice,” Gavin said with a grin as
he rode by. The street ahead was lined primarily with houses, with no
one on the street. Behind him, two of the soldiers teased the other
for forbidding the king’s passage. “Let’s stop a
minute to check Cirang’s location.” He hadn’t yet
mastered using his hidden eye while also doing something else, even
something as natural to him as riding his warhorse, and doing so
would have been like riding blind.

He
sent his hidden eye up over the tops of the buildings. Below, he saw
his own haze and those of his party. He continued searching towards
the crowd gathered to await Feanna’s arrival. All the hazes
were normal human hazes of white, yellow and blue. He expanded his
search and found Cirang’s dark haze in the western part of the
city, away from both the orphanage and the shops where the people
gathered. Cirang wasn’t moving. In fact, she was in a building,
and judging from the stillness of her haze, he would swear she was
asleep.

He
released the hidden eye and nudged Golam forward again. “She’s
on the west side o’town.”

“Leavin’
the city?” Calinor asked.

“No,
stopped. Maybe at an inn.”

“Wouldn’t
it be odd if she was at the same inn where you and I first met?”
Daia asked.

He
snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I’m certain of
it.”

“Seriously?”

“Maybe
she’s resting now so she can travel at night,” Brawna
said.

“She’s
got to be exhausted,” Gavin said. They all were. He realized
then they all looked as haggard as he felt.

“And
she’s injured,” Daia added. “If not for the crowd
following you everywhere, we could take her by surprise.”

“How
about me and Brawna go to the inn while you go get your book?”
Calinor whispered. “We don’t have to take her alive,
right?”

He
had a point. There was no need for all four of them to go, and the
crowd following him would surely awaken Cirang and give her another
chance to slip away. He hated leaving the responsibility to others,
especially when it was just the two of them. Cirang had already taken
Calinor by surprise once and nearly killed him, and Brawna was a less
experienced and skilled battler than Cirang was. “You’re
right. I’ll be in the way if I go, but take those three guards
with you.” He tossed a thumb back over his left shoulder. “The
innkeeper’s name is Trayev. Ask him if she’s there afore
you break down the door.”

“Where
should we meet you after we’re done?” Brawna asked.

“Good
question. Guess that depends on when you’re done.”

Calinor
grinned. “No reason to let her sleep. I’ll have the
innkeeper pound on the door, sayin’ something’s wrong
with her horse. When she comes out, she gets two swords in the ribs,
one from each side.” He nodded at Brawna, and she smiled back
at him.

Gavin
clapped Calinor’s shoulder. “Then we’ll see you at
the lordover’s for supper.”

“Be
vigilant. She’s crafty,” Daia said.

“No
one knows that better than I do,” Calinor whispered, pointing
at his scarred throat.

Chapter 39

Cirang
lay on the lumpy mattress for what seemed hours, turning first onto
one side, then the other, unable to shake the nagging feeling
something was wrong. She tried to sleep. The gods knew she was
exhausted and needed about three days of doing nothing but sleeping
and sitting on her arse, not to mention a half hog, a dozen loaves of
bread and a barrel of wine. Or ale. She wasn’t picky.

Once
or twice she started to fall asleep but jerked awake with visions of
blood and claws and a sharp gasp of death.

The
demon’s gone, Cirang. Kinshield’s just a man, and not
even a fearsome one.

With
a sigh, she swung her legs over and sat on the side of the bed, head
hung, listening but hearing nothing out of the ordinary.

She
put on the mail shirt, strapped on her weapons and slung the knapsack
over her left shoulder, but just as she put her hand on the bar to
slide it across, something made the fine hair on her arms and the
back of her neck stand up. She couldn’t have said what it was
other than instinct, the warrior’s intuition honed by years of
fighting.