Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (37 page)

ass!"

Weir Saur dug into the pocket of his robe and drew out a silver coin. Tossing it on the table, he stood,

turned once more to the men at the next table, and met each one's gaze in turn. “I'd be very careful, my

sons,” he suggested, “if I were the lot of you."

“Careful of what?” Andrew Spiel asked in a hushed tone.

“Not to get in the way of the NightWinds,” Weir replied in a chill tone. “I'll wager they've come after one

of yours."

“NightWinds!” Dano Dunne, the only Chalean in the tavern gasped. “You say them is NightWinds on

board that there ship?"

Weir nodded slowly. “That's what I've heard, friend,” he agreed. “And you know what they say of the

NightWinds, don't you?"

Dunne's hand shot up to cross himself. “Aye, I sure as hell do!"

Andrew Spiel and Kerm exchanged a look, but it was Bryce Heil who asked what the stranger meant.

Weir locked gazes with Heil and lowered his voice to a throaty monotone. “The Talespinners say if you

get in the way of a NightWind and his mission, you'll end up in the Abyss for all eternity, but..."

“But if'n you help them,” Dunne interrupted, “they'll leave you alone and might even come to your aid

when you're having troubles of your own!” He wrapped his arms around him as though he had suddenly

developed a severe chill. “I sure as hell intend to leave them alone!"

Syn-Jern Sorn's brother-in-law leaned over the table, bracing his hands on the slick top. His hooded

scrutiny moved from Heil to Dunne to Spiel, then settled on Kerm Gill. “If I were you, I'd do everything I

could to help the NightWinds, my friends. I'd make gods-be-damned sure no one gets in their way and

no one should come between them and the man...” He narrowed his eye. “...Or woman they've come

after.” He arched one thick dark brow. “That'll hold you in good stead with Them and I can't help but

think that might be a good thing, don't you?"

“Surely!” Dunne was quick to agree. “Surely it would!"

“You know a lot about them things,” Heil grumbled. “How come you know so much?"

Weir straightened. He did not answer the question, but turned and limped slowly to the tavern door.

There he reached for a heavy staff that rested against the wall.

“You didn't answer him, Brother!” Fiels called out.

The captain of the newly christened ship, The Revenant, stopped at the door. He looked around, his

silence bringing every eye in the place to him. When he knew he had everyone's attention, Weir replied,

“Mayhaps that's because I am one of Them, Stanton Bryce Heil.” Then he slowly smiled with such evil

intent, it made the hairs on his listener's arms stand to attention. The men were so taken aback by that

leering grin, not a one of them moved as the tall stranger opened the door and hobbled out into the foggy

evening.

Absolute silence filled the smoky tavern as all eyes remained on the door. The fog from the harbor began

to drift in through the open portal and the chill of the late evening finally brought the proprietor from

behind the bar to close it. Before he did, he bravely ventured outside, turned this way and that, then

hurried back inside, closing the door with a firm snap.

“Weren't a soul walking out there,” the proprietor told his patrons. His thick lips trembled. “Not a living

soul, anyways!"

“Sweet Merciful Alel,” Dano Dunne finally breathed. Slowly, he crossed himself again and scrubbed his

hands over his face. “The gods help us."

“I ain't gonna get in their way,” Spiel stated, pushing from the table. “I sure as hell ain't gonna get in their

way!"

“You'd better believe I ain't gonna do it, neither,” Kerm echoed.

Heil's attention was still on the door. “He was as much flesh and blood as you and me, Gill,” he

snapped. “And I don't believe all that mumbo-jumbo he was spouting."

“Believe what you will, Stanton Bryce Heil,” Dano Dunne hissed. “How did he know your name,

anyways?"

Bryce owned the local livery, but few people knew his first name and no one in Wixenstead who did

know it ever called him by it.

“If'n we help them,” Spiel said in a low voice, “they'll do right by us.” He looked at Dunne. “Ain't that

the way of it, Dano?"

Dunne nodded slowly. “So's I've always heard."

“What is it we can do?” Kerm asked.

“Help ’em,” Dunne stated.

“To do what?” Heil grated.

Dano Dunne glanced around, knew every manjack in the tavern felt as he did about the man out at Holy

Dale. “We all know what he did."

“Can't prove it,” the bar's proprietor spoke up.

“Mayhaps not,” Dunne acknowledged, “but we all know just the same."

“The Sorn boy will have been out of there by now,” Heil objected.

Kerm frowned. “You know that for a fact, do you?"

“Well, no, but...” Heil stopped, feeling the animosity of the others in the bar. “Hell, it ain't nothin’ to me,

but didn't a one of us stand up for the boy when he was accused."

“What if the boy died in that hellhole?” Spiel asked.

“We'd have heard of it,” the bar's proprietor, Vin Ruck, put in.

“Mayhaps not,” Dunne repeated. “Why would we have? His old granny done be gone and her ashes

scattered to the Four Winds. Who else is there ever been to care about the boy one way or t'other?"

“That's the truth of it,” Spiel agreed, nodding. “Surely not that witch out to Holy Dale. She stood up

there and swore the boy's life away and her contracted to have been his wife at that!"

“You ‘member what the stranger said?” Kerm asked in a near whisper, his eyes round in his ruddy face.

“He said: ‘no one should come between Them and the man or woman they've come after'."

“How'd he know about her?” Spiel whispered.

“Good question,” Dunne remarked and his gaze went to the door once more. “A gods-be-damned good

question."

“I ain't buying none of this!” Heil snorted. He scraped his chair back and stood. “Not a bit of it!” With

that he stomped across the room, flung open the door, and left, banging the portal behind him.

“Fool,” Spiel labeled their friend.

Dunne and Kerm nodded their agreement then the three men lowered their heads and began to discuss

the evening's eerie events.

Bryce Heil strode briskly down the wooden planks that served to keep the villager's from walking

through the mud in the streets. His boot heels made explosive little pops on the planking, the sound

magnified in the fog-laden night. Pausing beside the undertaker's establishment, he fished in his pocket for

his pipe.

“How did it go?” a voice asked from the dark alley between the undertaker's and the shipping office.

Heil struck a lucifer on the seat of his gabardine britches and stuck the flame to the bowl of his pipe. He

puffed the tobacco into life before fanning out the lucifer and flicking it aside.

“They bought every haunting word of it,” Heil said through the restriction of his teeth clamped on the

stem of the pipe. He squinted against the smoke rising up from the bowl and leaned against the side of the

undertaker's building. “They won't give you any trouble, Lord NightWind."

Syn-Jern Sorn smiled. “My thanks to you, Bryce."

Heil shrugged. “The least I could do, Milord,” he replied. “I'm with you in this every step of the way."

“Good man,” another voice spoke from the shadowy confines of the alleyway and Heil recognized the

stranger's Serenian accent.

“I am only following the McGregor's orders,” Heil said, pushing away from the building. “He says your

cause is just and because he does, I'll follow you to Abyss if needs be."

With that said, Heil sauntered away, a plume of smoke following in his wake.

“Nice to be appreciated,” a third voice quipped.

Syn-Jern draped an arm around Prince Tiernan McGregor's shoulder. “Have I told you how

appreciative I am of your help, Cousin?"

Tiernan shrugged. “I didn't have anything better to do, Syni,” the Serenian chuckled.

“Not until later this week,” Weir reminded the Prince.

Tiernan sighed as deeply as any Chalean ever had. “I wish you hadn't brought that up."

Syn-Jern clapped Tiernan on the back, then lowered his arm. “We need to know who this accuser is

who's going to the Court of Storms, Tier. If it's Trace, we can deal with that, but if it's someone I don't

know, then we may have to re-think our plans.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Of course it won't

make a gods-be-damned bit of difference with what the NightWinds are going to do."

Tiernan grinned, his white teeth glowing in the darkness. “By the gods but this is gonna be fun!"

“Not if your father catches us,” Weir warned. “The king might not look kindly on his son and heir

causing mischief over here in Virago."

“My father doesn't give a Diabolusian warthog's arse what happens in this godawful place. Any trouble

we can make for Innis Hesar, the better!"

Syn-Jern wasn't so sure, but he kept his opinion to himself. He needed the help of Tiernan McGregor

and McGregor's good friend, Rhian Brell, one of the best—if not the best—swordsmen of his day. He

was grateful for Rowena Shimota's help to put him in touch with McGregor and Brell.

“They will aid you, Milord,” Simply Rowena had assured him. “They are consorts of two Daughters who

would make their lives miserable otherwise!"

“The Daughters,” Syn-Jern said aloud.

Tiernan grunted. “The Daughters,” he repeated on a long sigh. He sighed again. “I've a feeling we're

going to need all the protection they can give us!"

* * * *

Thousands of miles away in the palace at Binh Tae, Rowena Shimota looked up from her scrying mirror

and smiled. “And you shall have it, Lord Northwind,” she said, calling Tiernan by the code name chosen

for him by Syn-Jern Sorn.

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King Innis Hesar frowned sharply at the tall man who bowed so elegantly before him. “What is this

matter of utmost importance?"

Taeli Masarawa inclined his head. “It is in regard to a mortal enemy of yours, Highness,” he said

smoothly.

Hesar's frown deepened. “I have no enemies,” he snapped . “Every enemy I ever had is moldering in his

grave."

The Chrystallusian warrior knew better. The man had more enemies than any ruler of his time and no

friends. “This is a man you sent to a living grave,” Taeli quipped. “A man who has returned."

The Viragonian King was not particularly sharp of mind and riddles annoyed him since he was never

able to solve them. He always surrounded himself with men of low intelligence and dull wit so he could

shine in his own eyes. When anyone presented something to him that he did not understand, he became

even more hateful than was normal for him.

And when he became hateful, he became ruthless.

When he became ruthless, he became deadly.

“Come to the point!” the king ordered. “I don't have all day."

“Syn-Jern Sorn,” was all Taeli had to say. He saw the king sit bolt upright on his throne, his dark brown

eyes wary.

“What of him?” Hesar asked in a low tone.

Taeli knew he had the king's full attention now. “He has escaped the Labyrinth, Your Highness, and is

on his way here.” The Chrystallusian lifted a single black brow. “To kill you and take back what he

considers his."

Hesar sucked in a quick breath. “That can not be! I extended his sentence so he...” He stopped, looking

at the ministers of his court who were scattered about the throne room. It would not do to have them

learn he had circumvented Viragonian law so he could spend one less than memorable weekend with

Trace Edward Sorn. He cleared his throat. “So he would be punished for the mischief he was causing on

Tyber's Isle,” he finished.

“What mischief was that, Your Highness?” Prince Tiernan McGregor asked. The Serenian delegate from

the Court of the Winds disliked Innis Hesar and hated his assignment at the Court of the Storms in

Virago. But for once the appointment given to him by his father as punishment would prove to cause Innis

Hesar untold trouble. For that reason, and that reason alone, Tiernan was now suddenly taking his job

very seriously, much to the surprise of his fellow court appointees.

Innis Hesar waved an imperious hand. “You should not concern yourself with Viragonian matters,

McGregor.” He turned a vicious scowl to Tiernan. “You have a hard enough time as it is handling your

duties here."

Tiernan shrugged. “There is so little for me to do, I get bored.” He smiled nastily at the King. “I miss the

mental exercise my father, brothers and I engage in at Boreas."

A few of the ministers exchanged amused looks. McGregor hadn't come right out and accused the King

of being slow-minded, but he'd come close to it on several occasions. The trouble was, Innis Hesar didn't

know he was being insulted.

“I'll see if I can find you something to occupy your time, then,” the king snapped.

“That would help immeasurably,” McGregor replied, winking at one of the ministers.

Taeli Masarawa was a very intelligent individual and his quick wit homed in on the interplay between the

obnoxious Overlander king and the Serenian nobleman. Under other circumstances, Taeli might have

sought out the one called McGregor; he could well imagine the enjoyment of sparring mentally with him.

But there were more important matters at hand.

Such as revenge.

“I am told Syn-Jern Sorn has also sworn to kill the man responsible for sending him to prison,” Taeli

said, gaining the king's attention once more. “As well as the woman who was to be Sorn's wife."