Soulbinder (Book 3) (15 page)

“I’ll go with Kara,” said Joseph quickly. “We can start further up the street there.”

“Search the inns?” Maklavir cried indignantly. “But we haven’t even had any
flenshi
buns yet. Vorten is famous for them. Especially the custard-filled ones. I think I see some right up—”

“We can try all the pastries later,” Kendril said irritably. “Right now we search the inns. Maklavir, you’re with me.”

“Oh, goody,” the diplomat said with a roll of his eyes. “Man-hunting in the City of Light. This promises to be a simply
enchanting
evening.”

“Head up to the end of this street and work your way back,” Kendril said to Joseph. “We’ll meet you in the Central Plaza in an hour or so. If you find Galla, one of you stay and watch him. The other come find me.”

Joseph nodded. “Alright.”

Kendril moved off across the muddy street with Simon, followed a moment later by a very reluctant Maklavir.

“Too bad,” said Kara, looking wistfully up the street. “I would have liked to have tried a
flenshi
bun.”

Joseph looked over at the young woman, her face pale in the light of the glow-globe lamp. He glanced over in the direction Kendril and Maklavir had taken. The two had already disappeared from sight.

“Well,” he said as he scratched his beard, “I suppose we’d have to go through the Central Plaza
anyway
. There’s nothing that says we couldn’t stop a bit and look around.”

Kara looked over at him. “Just for a minute or two,” she said with a smile.

Joseph nodded, feeling a warm glow in his heart. “Just a minute or two,” he repeated.

Galla glanced at the wall clock in the inn for the hundredth time, his hands clasped nervously on the table before him. The beer mug beside him was practically untouched.

The woman should have been here by now. It was well past the time they had agreed on, and still there was no sign of her.

Galla craned his neck to catch another glimpse of the inn’s front door, hoping to prove himself wrong.

Still nothing.

What could have happened? Had the woman reneged on their deal? Perhaps she had not been able to get the money she needed?

Whatever the reason, Galla was getting more and more nervous. He did not like this, not one little bit. Something here was terribly wrong.

Throwing a few coppers on the table for the drink, Galla got to his feet, looked anxiously around him one last time, then threaded his way through the bustling tables of beer, food, and laughter towards the stairs.

As crowded as the common room was, no one noticed him leave.

And no one noticed the cloaked figure that followed him.

“Really, Kendril,” said Maklavir, “this is getting rather dreary, don’t you agree? I mean, shouldn’t we be finding rooms for ourselves? These inns will start filling up, you know—”

Kendril tugged harder on Simon’s bridle, leading the stubborn beast through the slush before them. He glanced down the side street they were on, his breath steaming into white vapor.

“There,” he said, nodding at a small inn tucked away on the side of the street. “
The Bronze Kettle
. We’ll try there next.”

Maklavir turned around in his saddle, trying to catch a glimpse of the main street through the twisting alleys behind them. “A bit out of the way, don’t you think? I mean, wouldn’t Galla have checked into one of the larger inns by the southern gate?”

“Maybe,” said Kendril as he sloshed his way across the nearly empty street. “Unless he’s trying to keep a low profile, like he did back in Stefgarten.”

Maklavir continued to look back, catching the last few whiffs of roasted nuts and smoked sausage from behind them. “All I’m saying, Kendril, is that it’s starting to get late. This makes, what, the fifth inn we’ve been too? Perhaps we could actually take a break and get something to eat here. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

Kendril handed Simon’s bridle over to a shivering boy standing outside the inn, then tossed him a copper. “Be back in a minute,” he explained tersely.

The boy stared at him. “You’re not staying, sir?
The Bronze Kettle
has a fine stable out ba—”

“One minute,” Kendril repeated, stomping the snow off his boots as he stepped up to the inn’s door.

“Don’t mind him,” Maklavir told the lad with a wink. “Woke up on the wrong side of the campfire this morning.” He dismounted, handed the boy the reins to Veritas, then followed Kendril into the noisy inn.

As soon as he was inside, Kendril tromped up to the front counter, his eyes scanning the common room carefully.

Maklavir ambled along behind him, wearing a mask of resigned patience on his face.

The tables around them were crowded with laughing and jeering guests. Bread, stew, and beer were flowing freely. No one even turned to look as they came inside.

“What can I get you?” The innkeeper asked, topping off a mug of ale.

“We’re looking for a Baderan,” Kendril responded, keeping his voice low. “A priest. Greased-back hair, lots of rings. Seen him?”

The innkeeper straightened. He pushed the filled mug to a nearby barmaid, who took it off into the sea of customers. “Who’s asking?”

Kendril tilted his head back ever so slightly, a dangerous gleam suddenly appearing in his eyes.

Maklavir switched his attention from the nearest plate of stew to the innkeeper, suddenly interested.

“Some old friends,” the Ghostwalker said vaguely. He tossed a couple of coins on the counter. “Know where he is?”

The coins were hardly on the bar’s surface before the innkeeper snatched them up. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, “I know the guy you’re after. He checked in here a while back. Top floor, third door on the left.” He nodded with his head toward the stairs.

“I see,” Kendril said, his gaze wandering over to the stairs. “He up there now?”

The innkeeper shrugged. “Could be. Don’t rightly know. I didn’t see whether he came in or out.”

Kendril nodded slowly, and stepped back from the counter. “Thanks,” he said.

The innkeeper went back to his work, shouting out another order at one of the barmaids.

Maklavir stepped up beside his companion. “We should find Joseph and Kara,” he whispered. “We might—”

“I’m not waiting that long,” Kendril hissed. “Watch the front door.” He pushed his way around a chair and made for the stairs.

Maklavir stepped behind him, casting a nervous glance at the busy tables around them. “You’re not going to
kill
him?”

“No,” said Kendril with a crooked smile. “Just have a little chat, that’s all.” He started up the stairs. His hand reached underneath the folds of his cloak as soon as they were out of sight of the common room below.

“Yes,” Maklavir stated dryly, “I’ve seen how your little ‘chats’ go.”

“I don’t have any idea what you mean.” Kendril pulled out a flintlock pistol and readied the hammer with a soft click. “I suppose you’re coming too?”

They stepped up into a long hallway. It was dark and empty save for the two of them.

“Only to prevent you from doing something that will get us killed or arrested by the local constabulatory.” Maklavir sniffed. One hand moved to the hilt of his sword. “Call it pure self-interest.”

“Keep your voice down,” Kendril warned. He moved along the side of the passageway, his pistol held at the ready. He stopped alongside the door to Galla’s room, and motioned Maklavir to the other side.

With a noiseless sigh, the diplomat complied, his hand still on his weapon.

Kendril reached out a hand to the door, then stopped.

From within the room came a muffled crash, then a thump as something hit the floor.

Maklavir gave his companion a puzzled glance, but Kendril didn’t return the gaze.

And then, from the other side of the door, they heard Galla’s voice, filled with more terror than they had ever heard before.

“Take it, just take it!” the Baderan was saying, his voice muted through the heavy door. “It’s yours! All I wanted was the money. Great Eru, don’t—”

There was a sudden, hideous screech that sounded loud and clear even through the closed door.

Maklavir wilted back, his face blanching white.

Kendril took a step back, then kicked the door hard.

With a crack it flung inwards, followed a moment later by the Ghostwalker, his pistol leveled.

Maklavir, against his better judgment, turned to look inside the room as well.

What they saw made both of them stop cold in their tracks.

Galla was lying on the floor of the small room, his sightless eyes staring past the small bed that was fixed against the right wall. A slow but steady stain of blood was seeping out from underneath him, covering the wooden floorboards beneath.

Standing over him was a figure cloaked in black. It turned as Kendril entered, the sputtering light of a nearby lantern briefly illuminating its face.

Maklavir gasped, his eyes wide.

Kendril took an involuntary step back, his pistol trained on the new threat.

It was a woman, young and beautiful, at least what they could see of her. A white mask covered exactly half her face, starting from her forehead and ending at her chin. She stared at them coldly through brown eyes, without the faintest trace of surprise or fear.

In one hand, the blade glinting dully in the lamplight, she held a long curved knife, the end crimson with blood.

And in the other, dangling from its golden chain, was the blood-red jewel that Galla had stolen.

Kendril leveled the pistol at the woman’s face. He looked down at Galla’s body, then back at the assassin.

“Don’t—” he started to say.

With a speed that surprised both men, the woman suddenly sprang back. She hit the floor for a brief moment before she twisted through space and propelled her body backwards.

Straight through the glass of the bedroom window.

Chapter 10

The glass shattered outwards with a roar of cracks and tinkles. A few stray fragments pattered down onto the wooden floorboards.

The assassin was gone before either man could react.

“Great Eru,” sputtered Maklavir.

Kendril dashed through the blood and glass-strewn floor, his pistol still in his hand. He looked quickly out the broken window.

There, not more than fifteen feet away, was the woman in black. Amazingly, she had landed on her feet. Even more amazingly, she had landed on the slanted roof of the building across the narrow alley from where they stood.

As the Ghostwalker watched in disbelief, she was already halfway up the snow-covered roof, dashing for the other side in a mad zigzag.

Maklavir skipped around the pool of blood on the ground. He stared over Kendril’s shoulder. “Tuldor’s beard! How did she—?”

Maklavir’s words were drowned out by the roar of Kendril’s pistol.

A tuft of snow erupted into the air by the escaping assassin’s feet, but with a nimble dodge she leapt aside, then scrambled dexterously over onto the other side of the roof and out of sight.

Kendril cursed and holstered the smoking weapon. He leaned forward and grabbed the sides of the window with his gloved hands. “Get Joseph and Kara,
now
!” he shouted back at the hapless diplomat.

“What? Aren’t you--?”

Putting one foot on the window sill, Kendril jumped.

For one sickening moment he was hurtling through empty space, the frozen cobblestones of the alley thirty feet below him.

The next he crashed onto the snow-covered roof on the other side of the narrow gap.

The spark of relief at his safe landing lasted only a fraction of a moment. He began slipping back, his boots scrabbling for purchase on the slippery roof.

Desperate, he punched out his hands into the crisp snow, trying with any means at his disposal to stop his fall.

He slid slowly to a stop, his left foot kicking the gutter at the edge of the roof. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself carefully up through the slick snow, trying to get some kind of solid purchase with his feet.

“You are completely insane, do you know that?” Maklavir’s voice came from the open window just behind Kendril, echoing in the space between the two buildings.

“Just find Joseph and Kara,” Kendril spat out between breaths. He clambered up the roof, slipping and sliding as he crawled on all fours. “I’ll catch up.”

He reached the summit of the roof and looked down the other side.

There, at the bottom edge of the long snow-covered slope, was the black-clad shape of the assassin. Even from this distance Kendril could see the dull sparkle of the necklace with the red stone hanging from her belt. As he watched in dumbfounded amazement, she sprang lightly across another gap between two buildings, and landed easily on the icy roof on the other side.

In seconds, she had vanished out of sight behind a solid brick chimney.

“Oh, yeah,” said Kendril under his breath. “This is going to be fun.”

He grabbed the top of the roof and pulled himself up.

“This isn’t bad,” said Joseph judiciously. He took another sip of the apple cider, mulling it on his tongue. “We had better in Kendrake, though.”

Kara wiped some custard off her chin and looked over at her friend. “When you were at seminary?”

Joseph nodded, and reached for some
flenshi
himself. “Yeah. Non-alcoholic, of course. Students weren’t allowed to drink.”

Kara sat back on the bench and glanced over again at the spacious Central Plaza.

On all sides were narrow shops and stores of every description, jammed in tightly one next to another. A large fountain, the water turned off for the winter, stood in the middle of the plaza, directly behind where they were sitting. Over their left shoulders was the massive shape of the Vorten Cathedral, dominating the northeastern side of the plaza.

“So,” said the redhead slowly, toying innocently with her pastry for a moment, “you never had
any
alcohol when you were at seminary?”

Joseph laughed, brushing a couple crumbs out of his beard. “I didn’t say that. Just that it wasn’t
allowed
.”