Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts (16 page)

“You get him?” Brug asked, rushing down the stairs after him.

“He’s badly burned, but he might live,” Tarlak said, looking left to right as he briefly thought of chasing. But he couldn’t even guess whether the man had fled out the window or the front door. Haern was the tracker in their group, not him.

Furious, he punched a wall, then again, tempted to tear the whole building down with his magic in an attempt to accommodate the overwhelming anger he felt.

“I don’t get it,” Brug said, sheathing his daggers and then gingerly touching his bruised nose with his fingers. “He was dead, wasn’t he? Where was he all this time if not?”

“I don’t know,” Tarlak said. “And honestly, I don’t care. All I care about is that the next time I see him, he dies, and this time, I’ll burn his damn body to make sure if he does come back it’ll have to be as an actual ghost.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Brug said.

Tarlak chuckled.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to the tower and out of this awful city.”

T
here was nothing special about the town of Trass, at least to Haern’s eyes. They were traveling south, following the Rigon River’s western bank, and had passed through many such towns. All around were well-tilled fields, and many towns had shops set up to sell plows and repair nets, and barter away the day’s latest catch or harvest. But apparently, Trass had what they wanted, for when Thren led them down the street toward the ramshackle inn, he beamed.

“Truth be told, I didn’t think it would take this long,” Thren said to them as he headed toward the inn’s door.

“I’d be inclined to believe you if I knew what we were looking for in the first place,” said Haern. He felt uncomfortable as he always did when walking the open street in daylight. His attire, with his long cloak and his low hood obscuring his face, would earn him strange looks in Veldaren. Out in a land of farmers and fishers? He and Thren were oddities, and ones people knew to rightly fear. Men and women veered away from them when they passed. If not for Delysia accompanying them, dressed in her priestess robes and with the symbol of the Golden Mountain clearly showing on her chest, they might have openly demanded their departure.

“Information,” Thren said as he opened the door to the inn and stepped inside.

The inn was small, and down the corridor past the innkeeper, Haern saw what he guessed were only two rooms. An older man with sores on his face sat on a wooden chair beside the corridor, arms crossed over his chest as he slept. Thren walked up to him and kicked the chair.

“Wake up,” he said.

The innkeeper startled, and seeing Thren, he glared.

“Five copper a head,” he said. “Though I should make it six for waking an old man so rudely.”

Thren chuckled.

“The sun marks the sky,” he said. “And I wish to talk to someone unafraid of its light.”

The innkeeper narrowed his eyes.

“So, you’re one of them?” he asked. Thren nodded. “All right, then. Go to the commons and ask for Maneth. If you’re looking to talk, he’s the one best at it.”

Thren dipped his head in thanks, then turned and strode past Haern and Delysia and out the door.

“I take it we’re meeting an informant?” Haern asked, hurrying after.

“Something like that,” Thren said, looking left and right in search of the commons. “The Sun Guild’s been steadily moving east over the years, and even the smaller towns have someone to collect modest dues in return for guarantees no one else will try to muscle in on their trade. Such protection is easily worth it, for it also deters any bandits from trying to rob the place. No one of intelligence willingly makes an enemy of the Sun.”

“Except us,” Delysia said.

Thren cast her a smile.

“Yes, except us,” he said. “Now let’s go find this Maneth.”

It took only a few minutes of wandering for them to stumble upon the commons, a large expanse with only a single ancient oak growing in its center. In its shade were several groups of people talking, women holding babes as their children played, along with many tanned men drinking, most of them naked from the waist up. As Haern approached, he felt all eyes turning their way.

“Well met this fine day,” Thren said to a group of three men drinking. “I’m looking for a man named Maneth. Might one of you be him?”

“I’m Maneth,” said a man leaning against the oak. He was also bare chested, his shirt wrapped around his waist. Unlike the others, his tan was lighter, his arms less toned. “Care to tell me why three strangers odd as yourselves have come traipsing through our town?”

“I have four reasons,” Thren said. “Each one a point, and each one made of gold.”

Maneth grunted.

“Get out of here,” he told the others.

“But we were…”

“Out!”

The men muttered but wandered away, and the women quickly beckoned their children to their sides before they could carry them off. Haern watched them leave, and there was no denying the fear in their eyes. It wasn’t much, just a hint. Maneth didn’t command power himself, but they feared what he represented.

“Well, then,” Maneth said once they were alone. “Care to tell me your names and why you’ve come all this way to seek out the Sun Guild? Any idiot can tell you three aren’t from around here.”

Thren grinned.

“My name is the only one that matters. I am Thren Felhorn, of Veldaren.”

Maneth didn’t even try to hide his surprise.

“Thren?” he asked. “You’re not lying to me, are ya?”

“Not many men are brave enough to pretend to be me.”

Maneth let out a dismissive snort.

“If you say so. Still, you match the stories I’ve heard, most of them, anyway. Must say, you traveling with a priestess of Ashhur doesn’t quite fit. Care to tell me why you’re with this barbarian, sweetheart?”

He likely thought Delysia would blush or appear flustered by the sudden question, but she only flashed him a smile.

“Someone must keep the barbarian in line.”

Maneth laughed, loud and boisterous.

“Indeed, indeed. Well, Thren, let me formally introduce myself. I’m Maneth Trout. I grew up here, believe it or not, then trundled all the way north to Mordeina thinking to make myself a fortune. Joined the Sun Guild only to find myself sent back home to keep an eye on things. If you’re looking for information in these parts, I’m sure I know a little something about everything the heir of Muzien might need to know.”

Heir of Muzien?

Haern looked to his father, curious as to what that meant, and it seemed Thren wasn’t too keen on the title, either. Haern caught his brief flash of disgust before he smoothly smiled it away.

“Let’s find out,” Thren said. “What do you know of the Stronghold?”

It was the second time for Maneth to laugh in surprise.

“The Stronghold? I know you don’t mess with it, Thren. That’s the dark paladins’ home. Unless you want to walk in bowing your head and carrying a bagful of gold in offering, I’d stay far away.”

“We have no plans to do either,” Haern said. “There’s a man inside we need to kill.”

Maneth glared at him.

“Thren, tell your lackey to stay out of our business,” he said.

Haern’s hands were moving for his swords when Thren reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

“Now’s not the time for a temper,” he said.

Haern let go of the hilts, did his best to ignore Maneth’s ugly grin. As he stood there seething, he felt Delysia’s hands slip into his, and she leaned up to his ear so she could whisper.

“That’s right; behave, lackey, or no dessert for you.”

He heard her choke down a laugh, and Haern found himself unable to remain angry, not with her so close.

“Listen,” Maneth said, turning his attention back to Thren. “We don’t mess with servants of Karak, and they don’t mess with us. It’s a nice agreement we’ve reached in Mordeina, and thankfully, it’s made its way down here to little old Trass. If you’re thinking of infiltrating their home, you’ve come to the wrong guy.”

“You know I’m not buying that,” Thren said. “Muzien has a plan for anything and everything, and taking out the dark paladins in their home will certainly be one he’s prepared for.”

Maneth shrugged.

“If he has, he sure as shit hasn’t told me. You’re on your own with this.”

Haern could see his father’s displeasure, but at the same time, neither did he look surprised. Apparently, contacting a member of the Sun Guild had been at best a reach.

“Thank you for your help, however little it was,” Thren said. He turned to Haern and Delysia. “Let’s go.”

“Hey,” Maneth said, taking a step after them. “Just because I don’t know how you’d get into that damn place doesn’t mean I’m empty of ideas.”

Thren looked back over his shoulder.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“About ten miles south of here along the river is a town called Leen. There’s a paladin of Karak who preaches to the people. I’ve met him a few times; his name’s Jorakai. If you were hoping to find out any weaknesses or vulnerabilities of the Stronghold, well…” He shrugged. “Perhaps you can have a nice, long, painful chat with Jorakai.”

Thren nodded but said nothing. As the three left the commons, Haern moved in step beside Thren.

“What next?” he asked.

“Next, we refill our supplies,” Thren said. “And after that, we head south.”

They’d traveled only a few miles before night fell and they were forced to make camp. Haern and Delysia prepared a fire, cooked some of the fresh meat they’d purchased prior to leaving Trass, then ate in silence. Thren, as had been his custom over the past week, let them be, always saying he preferred solitude whenever asked. Haern was never sure if he lingered about, watching, or if he truly did want to be away from them.

Delysia tossed aside the bones from the leg of a chicken, the remnants of her meal. That done, she slid closer to both Haern and the fire, both of which were in the center of the matted grass that served as the seldom-traveled road.

“This plan is reckless,” she said, stirring him from his thoughts. “You do know that, don’t you?”

Haern took another bite, tossed a bone into the fire.

“Of course it is,” he said. “The whole idea is reckless, but what else could possibly work? One nice thing about insanity is that no one can predict it.”

“You’re going to torture a man for information, a man who’ll be trained to withstand it. This won’t be quick and it won’t be easy. Is that something you can do? Something you
want
to do?”

“What do you want from me, Delysia?” Haern asked. He kept his irritation out of his voice, but she no doubt sensed it anyway. “No, I don’t want to, but this is a paladin of Karak we’re talking about here. They aren’t good men. They aren’t noble. They’re killers of a mad god, and if Luther’s using them as his own personal bodyguards, then we need to find out what they know. We have to discover any secrets, any weaknesses, and yes, that means we’ll have to shed blood.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and curled her arms around them.

“Hours,” she said. “It’s going to take hours.”

“I’m better than that, Delysia. He’ll talk, no matter his training. I learned from the best, remember?”

Her face darkened.

“And that is something to be proud of?” she asked him.

To that he had no answer. Was he proud of it? It was a skill, one he’d rarely used but learned nonetheless. Part of him wanted to be proud, to brag of how no punishment could break him, yet all would break to him if given the time. He was the son of Thren Felhorn, and he’d learned many things from his father and his cavalcade of tutors.

“And when you’re done,” she asked, “after you’ve tortured and beaten this man, what then will you do?”

Haern lifted his hands in surrender.

“We cannot have him warn the Stronghold of our approach,” he said. “Which means I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Delysia stood, went to her blanket, and wrapped herself tight atop her bedroll.

“Good night, Haern,” she said. Her back was to him, and he knew it was intentional. Haern watched her, let out a sigh, then tossed the rest of his own meal.

“Maybe you should have stayed home,” he whispered.

Haern stood and wandered north, following the road. He wanted a moment to himself, to think without anyone’s presence. He’d been a loner all his life, needing times of solitude even when a child. Patrolling the rooftops of Veldaren used to give him all he could possibly want of quiet and isolation, but traveling with Thren, and now Delysia, had worn on him over the weeks. So, upon the path he walked, short grass crunching beneath his feet, as he gazed up at the stars.

“I do this for hundreds of thousands,” he said to the sky, imagining Ashhur up there among them, gazing down. It made his presence feel more real, made it seem as if his questions were heard, even if he expected no answer. “Hundreds of thousands, and all I have to do is kill a few evil men, men who worship your brother. Will you judge me for this?”

“Ashhur might,” said Thren from behind him. Haern felt his neck flush, and he turned to see his father approaching from farther down the road. Embarrassed at having such a private moment overheard, he didn’t know what to say, only kept walking as his father quickened his pace to catch up.

“You have no reason to feel guilty for what we are to do,” Thren said. “Especially not because of what you think some god in the stars might say.”

“You know nothing of my beliefs,” Haern said. “And I will not listen to you mock them.”

Thren looked his way, his face lit by the moonlight. As he often did, he looked disappointed.

“I do not mock, but neither am I ignorant of what you believe, not if you confess Ashhur as your god. Though you must forgive me for my surprise. Much of what you do seems contrary to his teachings, so it seems odd to me that you might question him now.”

Talking of gods with his father stirred dozens of buried memories, each one making him grow angrier. He thought of Robert Haern, executed for teaching little Aaron Felhorn of Ashhur. He thought of Delius Eschaton, stabbed in the chest for daring to speak out against the thief guilds and demand a better way. Worst, though, was of that single arrow piercing Delysia’s chest in a moment of prayer.