The Obsidian Temple (3 page)

 

Chapter 3

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the streets of Illian, heading home after a morning in the sales hall. He barely noticed his surroundings as he flipped through the latest sales chart his uncle was having him review.

Kadar had been in town almost two weeks, and barely done anything but walk from the family home to the sales hall and back. Datura absorbed all his time at home, and his aunt and uncle had him managing the hall when he was there. Farrah had dropped in a few minutes every night to kiss him and Datura, but they'd hardly had time to converse. She looked well, if a bit tired, and they'd planned an afternoon together next restday.

A horse whinnied shrilly, and Kadar looked up to see a cloud of reddish dust burst in front of him. He jerked back as a horse reared a few feet to his left. A red-­cloaked soldier clung to the horse's back, and a second soldier shouted and drew his sword. Suddenly, Kadar was surrounded by jeering Forsaken, who swarmed the soldiers. He choked, and his eyes streamed as the wind blew his direction, bringing a whiff of capsaicin powder. Kadar flung an arm over his eyes, dropping his charts, and ducked into the nearest side alley as the horse screamed again. He barreled into another man standing back in the shadows.

“Steady now,” a familiar voice said, grasping his shoulders.

Kadar wiped his eyes one more time, glad he hadn't gotten the pepper full in the face like the horse and soldier had. He peered at the man.

“Severin?” he said.

“Kadar?” Severin said, sounding surprised. “Did Farrah send you here?”

“Farrah? No. I was walking home from the sales hall and got caught in this.” Kadar waved at the scrum on the main street.

Severin watched avidly as more soldiers arrived on foot and began engaging the Forsaken with clubs and fists. He looked strangely satisfied by what he saw.

“The spice powder worked well,” Severin said. “Better than anything we've tried, if you can get it in the horses' eyes and keep it out of your own.”

“You planned this?” Kadar said. “With the Forsaken? I thought you were in charge of the city guard.”

“I'm now second in charge of the guards, who are second to the soldiers,” Severin said sourly, jerking back into the shadows as the Forsaken disengaged, running down the road and melting into the crowds. The soldiers straggled after. He glanced over at Kadar. “Or hadn't you heard about my brother's return? I would have thought my downfall would be all the latest gossip.”

Kadar looked down. It
was
the latest gossip. He'd heard about the return of the viceroy's second son and the viceroy's fight with—­and disinheritance of—­Severin from several sources.

Severin laughed softly as two soldiers passed the alley escorting a man between them. “I see you have heard. My younger brother Jayce is back from military training, wife already pregnant with their heir-­to-­be. And since I have heretical notions that Forsaken women should not be trampled on the streets and my betrothed was stolen by a Temple
feli
, my father felt Jayce would be more acceptable to the Voices of the deities.”

“I'm sorry, Severin,” Kadar said. “My aunt and uncle told me how you helped Farrah. You should not be punished for kindness.”

Severin grimaced. “Ah, but they threw me a bone. My brother put me in charge of the city guard. Under his command, of course. Stupid of them, really. Now I have the guard's loyalty, the loyalty of the Forsaken, and nothing to lose.”

“What do you mean?” Kadar asked.

Severin studied him a moment, then reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a letter. “Ask Farrah,” he said. “I have some news for her, but you can move more freely in that district than I can.” He handed the letter to Kadar, then strode down the alley, paused, and turned back.

“I wouldn't be at the corner of Temple and Market tomorrow, noon,” he advised. “We're trying something new there as well.”

Kadar tucked the letter into his pocket and watched the man walk away, then retrieved his charts, now trampled and mud-­stained in the main road.

Kadar was still wondering about the encounter and rubbing sore eyes when he arrived back at the family home and grabbed a platter of breads and meats for midmeal. He paced by the courtyard door, wondering what Severin had planned for the city and just how involved Farrah was.

As he picked at a piece of journey bread with sausage baked in the middle, he thought he saw movement, then he heard a thump on the low roof. Curious, Kadar went to investigate, the roll forgotten in his hand.

An earsplitting squall sounded as he stepped outside. Blinded by the sunlight, he put both hands up to defend himself, dropping his food as a creature with claws leapt onto his back and shoulders.

The creature dug in a moment, then vaulted off, grabbed the bread from the ground, and pelted around the corner of the stables. All Kadar saw through watering eyes was a flash of cream-­colored tail as he rubbed his scored neck. His hand came away with just a trace of blood—­the creature hadn't done much damage, just minor scratches. It also hadn't weighed much, so it must have been a smaller animal. Kadar thought about leaving it for his uncles to deal with, but his cousins would be cleaning stalls when they came back from the merchant hall, and he didn't want a feral animal attacking the boys.

Kadar drew his long dagger and followed the creature cautiously around the corner, to the center courtyard of the stables. He didn't see anything at first. Then a bit of light in the shadows by the corner stall caught his eye.

The first thing that drew his attention was the roll sitting in the dirt in front of a pile of rags. Then, as the pile of rags stirred, he realized that it was a person, sleeping in the shade.

Kadar approached, his knife still ready. The pile was small, a child perhaps, eyes closed in a thin face under ragged, dirty hair. Kadar nudged the person with his foot.

“You can't sleep here,” Kadar said loudly, to wake him. “This is private property.”

Green eyes flew open in the pale white face, and the child sat up with a gasp. It was a girl, Kadar realized, just barely out of childhood. Terribly thin. And there was no sign of the animal that had stolen Kadar's food. As Kadar watched, the girl saw the roll in front of her and snatched it up.

“That's filthy,” Kadar protested, thinking of the manure he'd shoveled off the flagstones that morning. “Don't eat that.”

The girl shoved the food in her mouth, almost choking as she attempted to swallow the entire roll without chewing. Kadar sheathed his knife, and she met his eyes. Her eyes were wild, feral, and for a moment he wondered if the stories about shapeshifters were true. Was she the creature who stole the food, changed back into a human?

Kadar shook his head before his imagination got the better of him. She was just a shabby, starving girl. And One help him, he couldn't just leave her in the courtyard.

“Come on,” he said with a sigh, knowing that Aunt Raella was going to be furious if she found out he'd brought in a stray. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. He wondered if she even understood what he was saying. He wasn't going to try to manhandle her into the house, though.

“Food,” he said encouragingly, smacking his lips and making eating gestures. “This way, that's it.”

He had her attention as she levered her way up. Kadar wrinkled his nose as her scent wafted over. She needed a bath, maybe even a delousing, and those rags needed to be burned. She followed along behind him like a puppy following its mother.

She stopped inside the cool dimness of the house, staring around with wide eyes. Kadar pulled out a wooden chair and put a tray in front of it—­things she couldn't contaminate. He grabbed the dates from his own midmeal and put them on the tray.

“Here,” he gestured. “Food. I'll get more.”

She sat in the chair and started stuffing the fruit into her mouth.

“Wait,” Kadar ordered, and she stopped, one sticky hand in front of her mouth.

“Chew,” he ordered, pantomiming with his own jaw. “Then swallow.”

She obeyed, messily chewing her mouthful, and he darted into the kitchen and grabbed more dates, nuts, and another journey roll. He juggled that and a ceramic tumbler of cool water.

The girl dropped the dates to chug the cool water. Then, before Kadar could stop her, she dropped the tumbler on the stone floor to go back to her food. He winced as the pottery shattered, and he fetched a dustpan and broom.

“Kadar?” Aunt Raella asked from the doorway, her voice sleepy. “What is this racket?”

Kadar sighed and looked up. It was bad enough to alert Aunt Raella before he knew where to take the girl, and even worse to wake her from her afternoon nap. Aunt Raella had been severely shaken by Sulis's near death and the guards Voras had posted around their hall in the following months. She'd asked Kadar to try not to attract soldier attention now that he was back in Illian again.

“Sorry, Aunt Raella,” he said, as she stepped into the room. She stood next to the sales counter, a frown on her face. “I found this girl in the courtyard, and she was starving.”

Aunt Raella's frown turned to exasperation. “No, Kadar,” she said angrily, “Get her out of here. She can go to her own ­people. Honestly, don't you think Voras's soldiers would love to have a reason to investigate us? What if her family thinks she's been kidnapped?”

At her sharp tone, the girl gasped and drew her knees into her chest, rocking forward and backward in the chair, the food forgotten.

Aunt Raella gazed uneasily at the girl. “Just feed her and get her out of here. You have a child to think of now, Kadar. We're already under suspicion because of your sister; do you really want to bring more trouble down on us?”

Kadar felt a wave of grief and guilt, knowing how much his aunt and uncle had put up with in the wake of Sulis's transgressions. And how much they'd done to take care of Farrah in Kadar's absence. He opened his mouth to reassure his aunt when another howl sounded behind him.

It was like a cross between a croak and a woman's scream, and both he and Aunt Raella jerked around and stared at the open doorway. Kadar's hand went to his knife at his belt. A small, short-­haired, cream-­colored cat paced through the doorway and sat with its orange-­tipped tail twitching. It had orange stripes on its ears and feet and around its long bony nose and pale blue eyes. It let out a slightly quieter yowl as they watched.

Aunt Raella let out a shaky laugh, one hand on her chest as though to still her racing heart. “A house cat made that noise?” she asked, shaking her head.

Kadar snorted. “A Frubian Flamepoint. They breed them south of the desert and rarely sell them. They make good guard animals—­very protective. Those howls are better than a dog bark for waking up a household. This one jumped on my back and howled earlier, but I didn't recognize what it was.” And it fetched food for the girl, Kadar realized uneasily.

The cat paced sinuously toward them, its long, slender frame rubbing once against the chair the girl sat in before coming to them. A leap of its powerful hind legs had it on the counter in front of them. It couldn't have weighed more than seven pounds, at the most. It purred in invitation, and both Kadar and Aunt Raella reached out to pet the charming creature.

As his hand touched the cat, Kadar's mind was held by a force older and more powerful than anything he'd ever encountered.

Mine,
a voice sounded in his consciousness. Not loud, just firm and implacable. A rush of feelings followed. It impressed upon his mind a sensation of responsibility toward the girl in the chair, a sense of love. And a sense that this girl was important and must be protected at all costs.

With that, the presence left his mind, and his senses came back in a rush. His hands were still on the purring cat. He could feel a dull throb starting between his temples.

Aunt Raella gasped and snatched her hands away. She looked wildly from Kadar to the girl, who'd resumed happily eating, and back at the cat. Aunt Raella raised a shaking hand to her mouth, looking like she wanted to cry.

“You heard that, too,” Kadar whispered. Aunt Raella nodded, looking more unnerved than excited. “That was the One, wasn't it?”

Aunt Raella nodded. “I must send a message to your grandmother,” she whispered. “She'll know what to do.” She shook her head like she was trying to clear it, maybe feeling an ache like Kadar was. She frowned. “Why I married the son of the desert priestess, I don't know. It's not for the likes of me to be involved with the gods,” she said fiercely, brushing by Dana as she rushed out of the salesroom.

Dana looked after Aunt Raella, then at the cat, who was rubbing against Kadar's chest, shedding blond fur on his dark tunic.

“Is everything all right with the mistress?” Dana ventured, her eyes curiously taking in the girl in the chair, who'd finished the food and was sucking the juice off her fingers, humming tunelessly.

Kadar cleared his throat and tried to think of an explanation. “We were just . . .” He paused to find the words. “
Asked
to take care of this girl. By someone we can't refuse. She's under our protection.”

Dana's gaze softened. Kadar was learning that the
abda
had an overdeveloped maternal sense. She fussed over Farrah's sister and brothers when they visited, and seemed to be perfectly suited for the profession she'd entered. He glanced hopefully at her. “I don't know what to do with her,” he admitted, leadingly. “We don't even know her name. She seems to be a bit witless, to tell the truth.” The cat in front of him growled, and he snatched his hands away and stepped back. “She also comes with a guard cat.”