Dragon Stones (44 page)

"Wake her," T'Sian said.  "I am tired of waiting."

"I've a better idea," Diasa said.  She kneeled next to the bed.  Leaning in close, she whispered, "Tolaria?"

"Why are you talking to her?  She is asleep."

"Hush.  This used to work on my mother sometimes, so it might work on her."  Then, softly, her lips nearly touching Tolaria's ear:  "Tolaria?  Can you hear me?"

"Yes," the oracle murmured.

"Where can we find Qalor, the alchemist?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do," Diasa said.  "Where is Qalor?"

For a moment, Tolaria said nothing; then she whispered, "Across the square."

Diasa glanced over her shoulder at T'Sian.  "There are many buildings across the square," she said.  "Which one is Qalor in, Tolaria?"

"The tavern."

"What is the name of the tavern, Tolaria?"

Suddenly the oracle opened her eyes.  Her head lolled to the side and she looked at Diasa, then across the room at T'Sian, then back to Diasa.  "What are you doing?" she said.

"You were telling us where to find Qalor," T'Sian said.

The oracle looked confused.  "I don't know where he is.  He's probably in the castle."

"No," T'Sian said.  "You told us he was nearby, in a tavern, somewhere on the square."  She looked at Diasa.  "Make her tell us the name of the building, so that we can find him."

Tolaria's gaze also moved to Diasa, and her eyes narrowed;  T'Sian had been around men long enough now to realize that this meant she was angry.  Pushing herself to a sitting position, she said:  "You were asking me questions while I slept."

"Yes, I was."  If Diasa was embarrassed at having been caught, she didn't show it.  In some ways, T'Sian thought, the woman was more like herself than any other human she had met so far.  "You needn't look so surprised.  Your trances are not so different from sleep; I learned that much from my mother."

"You will not do this again without my permission," Tolaria said.  "If you would have me answer questions in my sleep, you will tell me ahead of time."

Diasa shrugged.  "If you insist."

"I do insist."  Tolaria shook her head.  "You are little better than the princes you so despise.  They also sought to use me against my will and without my consent."

"That's absurd," Diasa said.  "You hate Dunshandrin as much as the rest of us.  You would have readily consented to use your skills to thwart him."

"All the more reason you should have asked me first."

"Oh, very well.  I'm sorry if I have offended your delicate sensibilities."  She stood, turned to T'Sian.  "In any event, now we have the information we need to find Qalor.  We'll just have to visit all the taverns until we come to the right one."

"How many taverns do you suppose that will be?" T'Sian asked.

"Probably quite a few," Diasa said.  "In a town such as this, there usually isn't much to do besides drink."

By the time the torturer put away the switch, the various pointed implements, and the barbed hooks he'd been using in an attempt to extract information, Adaran felt like he'd been rolling around in a barrel full of stinging nettles, nails, and broken glass.  He'd tried not to scream, but eventually he had, his voice going hoarse from the cries ripped from his throat.

"He's telling the truth," the torturer told his masters, as he finished cleaning and packing up his tools.  The princes sat on royally carved chairs that they'd had brought into the cell so they could observe in comfort as their man did his work.  Adaran wasn't sure, but through the haze of pain, he thought he had seen them eating a meal at one point.  "He really can't remember.  If he did, he would have told us."

"Unfortunate," Tomari said.

"Someone has meddled with the fool's memory," Torrant said.  "We'll need something to restore it.  Once he remembers, I'm sure he'll be happy to tell us what we want to know.  Won't you, footpad?"

Adaran said nothing.

"Oh, yes," the torturer said.  "He'll tell us."

"Qalor will be able to brew something," Torrant said.  "A restorative potion to put his head back on straight and force him to speak the truth."

Why hadn't they thought of that
before
they'd tortured him?  They probably had, Adaran thought, but torture was more enjoyable to watch.

"Where
is
Qalor?" Tomari said.

"Probably at that tavern he bought," Torrant said.

Tomari snorted.  "Qalor, a tavern-keeper.  Can you imagine?  Who would drink his wine?  Who would eat his food?  I would be afraid he had mixed a potion into the ale that would make me grow ten feet tall or turn my skin purple."

"If Qalor wants to squander his pennies, let him."  Torrant turned to the torturer.  "Tell the stable-master to send a rider into the village to fetch Qalor and bring him here at once.  We must get at the truth before the wizard returns."

"As my lords command," the torturer said, bowing and backing out the door.

When the man had gone, the twins got up and stood side by side, regarding Adaran as if he were an unusual sort of small animal that they had run down with their carriage and were now attempting to identify.  At length, Torrant asked:  "Have you nothing to say, footpad?"

Adaran coughed.  His throat felt dry and cracked like old leather.  "Water," he croaked.

"I think we'll let you stay thirsty until Qalor comes with a potion," Torrant said.  "You'll be more inclined to drink it."

"Why don't you torture the wizard instead of me?"

Tomari stepped toward him, fist raised.  He had delivered a few punches himself during the interrogation, apparently just for the joy of it.  "You will not question your betters, oaf—"

Torrant put a hand on his brother's shoulder, forestalling him.  "A perfectly reasonable question," he said, pulling Tomari back.  "Orioke is not here.  He is in the field, ostensibly serving our purposes.  Unlike you, he is of use to us.  And, also unlike you, he is dangerous."

"Yes," Tomari said.  "Dangerous.  I should not like to be the one to try to chain him to a wall and extract information."

"I'm dangerous too," Adaran whispered.

Tomari laughed; Torrant cocked his head and gave Adaran a look of condescension mixed with a modicum of pity.  "Of course you are," he said, the way one might speak to a small child who was spouting nonsense.  "You are very dangerous, and we are both quite afraid of you."

Tomari guffawed and clapped Adaran on the shoulder, as if they were old acquaintances who had run across each other in some distant port; in Adaran's present condition, this hearty show of fellowship was quite painful.  "Yes, we are terrified!" Tomari cried.  "We beg you not to harm us!"

Torrant pressed his lips together, the corners turning up slightly in a mirthless smile.  "There is little danger of that," he said.  Then he turned to his brother and said:  "I grow weary of the dungeon.  Let us return when Qalor arrives and there is something to learn from being here."

"Very well."  Tomari looked at Adaran, then slapped him hard across the cheek.  Laughing, the prince exited, followed by Torrant, who pulled the door shut behind him.  Their footsteps echoed up the corridor outside and were gone.

Adaran coughed blood onto the floor.  Tomari's parting blow had knocked one of his teeth loose; he held it in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue.

Perhaps he could spit it at them when they came back, and put out one of their eyes.

The sign over the door of the tavern depicted a large grey eagle, similar to the ones that had been used in the attack on Astilan.  The creature's beak was open, evidently in a screech, and it clutched a small man in one of its talons as it spread its wings and soared over a distant landscape.  T'Sian eyed the sign with distaste, remembering the involvement of such creatures in her earlier humiliation, and then went inside.  The door resisted when she opened it and she realized that it had been bolted; evidently this establishment wasn't accepting patrons at the moment.  Perhaps that was why the place was empty of the sort of dissolute-looking men who had haunted most of the other bars, even at this early hour; here, the only occupant stood near the back, scrubbing vigorously at some old brass-work along the edge of a counter.  Turned the other way, head bent down over his work, he had not noticed her yet.

The place had a clean, sharp, unnatural odor quite unlike anything T'Sian had encountered before.  Even humans would be able to smell it, she thought; it would probably put them off their eating and drinking.  She took a few steps forward, stopping when the floorboards groaned and creaked beneath her.  Still, the man didn't seem to notice that he had a visitor.  T'Sian had never seen anyone so intent on cleaning.

She turned and slammed the door behind her.

The man paused in his work, shoulders tensing.  He tossed his scrub-brush at a nearby bucket, missing it; then he turned, giving her a look at his face.  This could only be Qalor.  Tolaria had described him well:  Tall and gaunt, sparse hair on his head, open sores on his face, eyes touched by the milk of cataracts.  He wore a stained apron and breeches beneath, but no shirt or tunic, revealing a sunken, hairless, pockmarked chest.  Thick, wet gloves covered his arms to his elbows.  "Who's there?" Qalor said, squinting in T'Sian's direction.  "We're closed.  Go away."

"I thought this was a tavern," she said.

"It is, but I'm still cleaning it.  It's not open yet.  The door should have been locked.  How did you get in?"

"The door opened for me," she said.  T'Sian looked around, seeing the tidiest place she had ever been in.  Every surface that could gleam, did; the woodwork shone with lacquer and polish; the floors were devoid of dust and grit, even between the boards.  "How much cleaner do you expect to make it?"

"Everything must shine," Qalor said.

"From what I have seen, whether or not the interior of a tavern shines is of little consequence to those who go there.  Just this morning I have been in several that were filthier than the foulest animal lair."

"I hope to attract a higher class of customer, people of more refined tastes.  Artisans, philosophers, thinkers.  Perhaps even members of the court, if they can be persuaded to leave the castle."

"Are there a large number of artisans and philosophers and thinkers here who are lacking places to go?"

"I don't know.  I haven't spent much time in town yet."  He gave the bucket a nudge, pushing it against the wall; foamy water splashed over the side, making a small puddle on the floor, but Qalor did not appear to notice.  "Forgive my earlier rudeness.  Who are you?  Not one of the common folk, I see."

"Only a traveler, looking for a clean place to eat, drink, and rest a while."

"I do have a small stock of food and drink on hand, and some recipes of my own creation that I haven't tried yet.  If you would care to sample my cooking or my beverages—"

Qalor broke off as the tavern door burst open and several men entered.  T'Sian turned and eyed them as they trooped in.  Not customers; these men wore uniforms and carried weapons.  Guards in Dunshandrin's service, she thought.  Without sparing a glance in her direction, one of them said: "Qalor, you are urgently needed in the castle."

"But I have a guest," Qalor said.  "I promised her a meal."

The soldier pursed his lips.  "Perhaps I was not clear.  The twins want you now.  Your guest will have to go hungry."

"What is so important that it cannot …"  Qalor sighed and shook his head, leaving his complaint unfinished.  "As my lords command, so must it be."  He snapped off his long gloves, tossing them to the floor beside the bucket, then gave T'Sian a little bow and headed for the door.  He paused there, turned to her, and said:  "If you would care to wait here a little while, I will be happy to cook for you when I return."

She gave a little nod and then watched him leave, unable to think of a way to accompany him without arousing suspicion; the soldiers followed him out, except for the one who had spoken.  He waited at the door, regarding her with curiosity.  "Qalor seemed even unhappier than usual," he said, once the others were gone.  "What were you two doing?"

"Talking."

"Talking, eh?"  The man stepped away from the door and closed it behind him.  "Well, perhaps you would like to talk to me instead."

Diasa and Pyodor Ponn had been shadowing T'Sian as she searched for Qalor.  Ponn was sure they must make a suspicious pair—a tall, pale, armed woman and a short, dark, obviously foreign man—but they attracted little attention; people went about their business as if the two of them didn't exist.  Perhaps Diasa's demeanor frightened them off.  She conveyed the impression that she would cheerfully impale anyone who looked at her the wrong way.  Especially now, as they waited for the guards to come out of the Screaming Eagle tavern; she had one hand on the hilt of her sword, fingers opening and closing, as if she were eager to draw the weapon and start hacking away.

A tall, misshapen man came out of the building, along with three of the four soldiers who had gone in not long before.  "That can only be Qalor," Diasa whispered.