The Harpers - The Night Parade Part 5

Zeal shook his head. He knew that was a lie, and even if it were true, he valued her counsel and the audacious fire that burned within her. Glancing at the alley once more, he saw that the humans were leaving. The a.s.sa.s.sins that Zeal had sent against the humans had been his Inextinguishables, the elite of his enforcers. Many of his kind could be killed with a simple knife thrust; they were as vulnerable as any human. How would it look if he allowed the killers of the Night Parade's finest to go free?

"We should kill them," he said. "It would be a simple matter for us. Even the mage-"

"Let them live," she urged. "The edicts of our kind tell us that we are to avoid direct confrontation whenever possible. This scene will draw attention."

"They will not stop," he said.

"They must. There is nowhere left for them to turn."

Zeal's hands bunched into fists. "They know we exist."

"Who would believe them?" she said as she kissed his throat and licked a single bead of sweat that descended along the hard, glistening muscles of his neck. Below, the humans on the street were quickly out of view.

"You are certain they will stop?" he asked.

"Of course," Tamara said as she turned the red-haired man to face her. "What choice do they have?"

With a pa.s.sionate cry, she threw her arms around her husband, kissing him full on the mouth. He returned the kiss greedily, roughly caressing her hard, trim flesh. The call of the flames rose up within hisbody.

As they kissed, small piles of trash burst into flame on the rooftop.

Five.

Temples with healers who were not above taking a healthy contribution to the church in return for treating heathens were not difficult to find in the financial district. Reisz's wound appeared worse than it actually had been and when the healer was finished with him, a new layer of bright pink skin had appeared on his arm and he had regained the limb's full use. Several of Ord's minor cuts and bruises were removed by the healer before they left the temple and walked back toward the stables.

Burke admonished Cardoc for his independent ways, ordering him to stay visible at all times and keep close to the party. The Night Parade would be most worried about him, and his visible presence might cause them to stay away rather than move in for a second attack. Reisz eyed everyone on the street with suspicion. The Night Parade's members had expertise in disguising themselves as human and he stood ready to attack anyone who made the slightest move in his direction. Varina had stayed close to her husband, who was overcome with shame. He had done nothing in the fight, and his wife had almost been killed. The incident had weighed more heavily on the strongly built warrior than on his lover, who was grateful that they had made it out of the ambush alive.

At the stables, Myrmeen found the stable boy once more. He gazed at her with distress, but respected her privacy and did not ask what had happened. He led her to the small office, where she changed back into her warrior's attire. She emerged to hand the boy the remains of her dress with a straightforward command: "Burn this."

Myrmeen returned to the others, who were gathered near Cardoc's sleek black mount. Burke had been severely shaken. He looked at Myrmeen with a tired, haunted expression. "Last night I dreamt that if we didn't leave this city by nightfall tonight, we would all die here. My dream nearly came true this day."

"When I was little, the other children said that the Night Parade could make you have strange dreams," Myrmeen said. "Some would come true. Others would not."

Burke shook his head. "Vfe've taken a vote. The consensus is that we should take what we've learned to the local authorities then flee this nightmare-infested city."

"There are five of you," Myrmeen said quietly. "Did anyone vote to remain?"

"My wife and the mage."

"You didn't ask me," she said, angered at the thought of being forced to give up on the child she had never seen.

"Wfe're asking now."

"I can't go back," Myrmeen said. "I picture the girl in my mind. I wonder what her first words were. I need to know what they did to her, Burke."

Reisz cleared his throat. "I have something to say to Myrmeen in private, if that's all right."

The others nodded and Myrmeen allowed the curly-haired fighter to lead her to another part of the stables. Once they were alone, he ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and stared at her with hard, dark eyes that had witnessed more death and brutality than Myrmeen would ever believe possible.

"I must speak plainly," he said.

"Yes."

"You know that I have feelings for you. I always have. You are the only woman I have ever loved."

"Reisz, please," she said, her tension drifting away as she caressed the side of his face with a compa.s.sion she had worried was lost after the day's horrors. He tensed and gently forced her hand away. Her touch was more than he could bear.

"I was married for a time after you left us," Reisz said. "The woman loved me. I found that I could say, 'I love you,' easily enough, but the words were meaningless. After a time, she understood this andturned elsewhere to find the love I could not give her."

Myrmeen's compa.s.sion suddenly flared into anger. "Reisz, I don't know why you feel it necessary to bring all this up now, but I'm not going to accept the role of the woman who ruined your life. I never led you on and I never lied to you. You can forget it right now if you-"

"Shut up," he said painfully. "That's not it at all."

She stood before him, chest heaving in anger, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm telling you this so you understand that what is in the past is not always buried as deep as we would like to think," Reisz said. "You left us behind because we were reminders of what you had lost.

Then you found yourself in the arms of a man who could give you what no man had offered you before: peace of mind, a chance to stop running, an opportunity to reinvent yourself. But none of that was what you really needed, was it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Did you love Haverstrom Lhal?" he asked.

"He was my husband."

"That does not answer my question."

She hung her head low, then looked away. "In my way, yes, I felt love for him. But after what Dak had put me through, I knew that I could never give myself completely to another. My body, my loyalty, and affection-these I could give. But my ability to love died with my child. It died that night, during the storm."

"Lost, perhaps, but not dead. If that were the case, you wouldn't be here. But there is a danger to what you are doing, a danger beyond the threat to our lives. Myrmeen, you have always been more interested in the quest, in the hunt for the prize, than in dealing with the rewards and the consequences of what you bring about. What will you do if we find your daughter? She will be a stranger to you, and you to her. You will have to try to love her, Myrmeen. It will change your life forever. Do you think you can do that?"

"I don't know," she said, a single tear threatening to fall from her eye. "But I need to ... I need to find out, Reisz. I need to know if I'm really dead inside, or if I have something left to give."

Reisz nodded and tried to draw her into a comforting embrace. Myrmeen placed her hand on his chest to stop him.

"No," she said. "If you want to help me, you know what you have to do."

He touched her face gently, then turned away. They returned to the group. Burke and Ord were talking with the stable boy, getting the best directions back to the city's main gates.

"You won't be needing them," Reisz said. "I've changed my vote. We are Harpers, sworn to protect the Realms. I see no greater threat now than the villains we faced today. I say we stay and try to find them. After we've forced them to tell us what they know of Myrmeen's child, we will bring their organization to the end it deserves."

Burke looked at his wife and understood that he would receive no support there. Ord shook his head, anger and fear coursing through him. "Where do you suggest we start looking?" the boy spat. "Our dreams or the shadows that gather when the sun falls from the sky?"

Myrmeen glanced at the stable boy and held out another coin. "Tell us the name of the most disreputable house of criminals in this vile city."

"Keep your money," he said with a laugh. "That one's too easy. All you need do is go to the Gentleman's Hall. Ask for Pieraccinni. He's the one in charge. If you like, I can draw you a map. . . ."

By nightfall the Harpers once again were near the docks. They had found lodgings nearby and had dined and rested. The directions that the stable boy had produced were perfectly accurate. The Gentleman's Hall was an abandoned temple that had been converted into a surprisingly stylish and restrained meeting place for thieves, hired killers, and others with similarly low aspirations. The Harpers were stopped at the door and politely requested to check their weapons by a young, golden-haired mannamed Alden, who possessed soft green eyes and a rakish smile. He raised an eyebrow when Cardoc approached.

"You reek with the stench of magic," he said brightly. "I've been requested to inform all mages that there are wards throughout this establishment whose sole duty is to capture any magic that is discharged and turn it back upon its sender twofold. Now that you have been warned, please try to enjoy yourselves without causing any trouble. There are gambling rooms, musicians, poets, and women and men of severely loose morals if anyone is feeling in need of company."

Myrmeen said, "We would like to speak to a man named Pieraccinni."

The name caught the young man's attention. "Who should I say is calling?"

"The mistress of pearls," she said, holding out a handful of platinum coins.

"Remember our restrictions," Alden said as he waved a finger before her, then turned and motioned for her to follow. The Harpers were led past several rooms where men and women who would normally be found hiding in shadows, nervously waiting for fresh prey to arrive, were openly laughing and trading stories over drinks. Others played good-hearted games where the stakes were kept low for the enjoyment of all. A dark-eyed serving maid winked at Ord, who strained to look over his shoulder at her pa.s.sing form until Burke grabbed his shoulder and reminded him to stay alert.

Soon they stood before a great set of double doors that had been painted blood red. Figures had been chiseled from the marble door, representations of many G.o.ds, including the hawk-nosed lord of the dead, who once had been a man in Myrmeen's employ. Alden used both hands to manipulate the heavy knocker. Only when he had heard an invitation lost to the hearing of all the others did he move to the side of the door and throw a lever. The doors swung inward, revealing a s.p.a.cious office that contained a gigantic four-poster bed, a wealth of statues, a small kitchen, and a desk, behind which sat a hulking, bald man who rose to greet his visitors with a disarming smile. The Harpers moved to enter the room and Alden's hand shot up.

"Only her," the young man said. "She will be safe, I a.s.sure you."

Myrmeen entered the chamber and heard the door swing shut behind her. Pieraccinni was not handsome, but his features were bold and strong. He wore a sleeveless teal frock, with an ornate belt made of gold and covered in rubies. Similarly designed bands graced his thick upper arms and wrists.

The man was strongly built, but the muscles of his bare arms and partially revealed chest were not meticulously defined. He walked barefoot upon the floor, which was carpeted in a fine, eastern-style weave, and paused before the red silk curtains of his black marble four-poster bed. He wriggled his fingers at the curtains, and a slight, feminine giggle sounded. Myrmeen suddenly became aware of movement behind the silk and the hushed whisper of conversation.

"Twins," Pieraccinni said proudly, "from the desert of Anauroch. Incredibly talented lovers and highly efficient a.s.sa.s.sins. Would you like me to bring them out for you?"

"No," Myrmeen said. "I have other needs." Pieraccinni linked his hands behind his back and nodded with a forced compa.s.sion, his smile still in evidence. "I see," he said. "And what might they be?"

"Information. On the Night Parade." The bald man's stride did not falter, nor did he seem surprised as he stopped before Myrmeen and crossed his arms over his chest. "I could give that to you, I suppose.

Charge you some outrageous fee, so that you feel you've gotten your money's worth. They'll kill you, of course. I'll feel regret for at least a second or two, then go on to my next bit of business. Yes, I suppose I could do that, Mistress Lhal."

Myrmeen tensed, worried that she had walked into another trap. Sensing her distress, Pieraccinni allowed his hands to fall to his sides, palms forward, in a gesture of acquiescence.

"There is no harm to be found here," Pieraccinni said. "These hands and my heart contain no malice for you." "You must be mistaken-"

He raised his hand, his features twisted in distaste. "Please. Don't insult my intelligence. You've been making inquiries in violent and extremely public ways. That gets people talking. I always listen when people talk. Not two months ago, your former husband, Dak, lay on that bed with an acquaintance of mine, a delightful young lady. Some wine, the pleasure of her rather athletic abilities, and he was ready to tell me everything of his plans to extort funds from you for the information concerning your lost child. Hewas a thoroughly unlik-able man. I hope you don't mind me saying as much."

"That's fine," Myrmeen said. "Are you aware that Dak was killed in Arabel?"

"Oh, yes," Pieraccinni said as he looked at her strong arms. "It takes great strength and terrible desire to sever a man's head with a single blow. You seem to possess both, in great abundance."

"Win you help me find the Night Parade?" "There's no need," Pieraccinni said as he retreated to his desk, drawing Myrmeen deeper into the room as she moved to follow him. She glanced back at the bed and rested one leg on the edge of his desk so that she would not have her back turned to the women behind the curtains.

"What do you mean?" she asked, suspicious.

"I have something more valuable. Once I had learned that poor, foolish Dak had been married to you, I urged him to think about anything he knew about the fabled ruler of Arabel that could be used to blackmail her. Not that I would have, you understand, but I enjoy this type of thing. The entertainment value. You understand."

"Go on."

"I have found your daughter," he said as he scratched a set of numbers on a sheet of parchment, then slid the paper toward her. "That is my price for what I know."

Myrmeen let out a deep, ragged breath as she thought about the figure. "You must know that I would not carry this kind of money with me."

Pieraccinni shrugged. "After you have the girl, come back here and pay me what you can as a show of intent. I will be happy to take payment on the rest after you go home."

Myrmeen thought about his offer. "How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Well, you don't, of course. But I think you can see that I am a businessman. I see a need, I fulfill that need-for a price. Your needs are considerably more apparent than you seem to realize. That is why I ask for nothing up front and trust you to follow the terms of our agreement, provided this information proves to be of value."

She cupped her face in her hands, thinking it over, then she locked her gaze with his. He did not flinch or look away. She would have to wager that he was telling the truth.

"All right," she said. "Tell me how to find my daughter."

Six.

Cyric's Hammer was one of the few significant landmarks in the vast Calim Desert. Djimon, the leader of the highly successful band of desert raiders known as the Black Scourge, knew them all. The towering spire of rock was a particular favorite of the short, powerfully built man. His unusual brown hair and soft blue eyes had marked him as a pariah in his own culture, a b.a.s.t.a.r.d child who had been abandoned because of impurity in his blood. He did not know his parents and so he did not know if the stigma he had suffered under had been warranted or not. What he did know, however, was that once he had reached adulthood, no man or G.o.d had been safe from his wrath.

During the time of Arrival, Djimon had slain a man who claimed to be the human avatar of Malar, the Beastlord, the G.o.d of bloodl.u.s.t. The man's random attacks along the trade route that Djimon had clearly staked as his private territory had made a challenge inevitable and the man's continued existence extremely bad for business. In truth, Djimon's nemesis was an insane, murderous wizard with delusions of grandeur. Nevertheless, Djimon had earned the name "G.o.dslayer" among his people. His band of killers and thieves had gained a taste of even greater notoriety, for which they were grateful. Keeping his underlings happy had been the single most important aspect of his continued success in an enterprise where death was often the ultimate reward.

Djimon turned at the sound of the familiar, piercing shriek that he had been forced to put up with for the past week, ever since his last excursion into the city. It was midafternoon, and he was sitting atop Cyric's Hammer, a dangerous perch that boasted only one safe path from its base to its wide, flat head.

Rumors had it that a hundred men had died trying to find a nontreacherous route to the top. When theymere inches from achieving their desire, the stones would s.h.i.+ft to dislodge all who were foolish enough to challenge the rock, sending them screaming to the sharp rocks at the base. The pillar had earned its name when a wandering sage p.r.o.nounced the rock accursed by the G.o.d of misery and death.

Djimon had shrugged off all rumors and had scaled the five-hundred-foot pillar without trouble, further adding to his near-mythical standing. He now looked to the horizon and saw the portents of what would be a terrible storm when it finally arrived. A tiny flicker that might have been lightning flashed in the heart of the deep gray clouds, a rare sight in the Calim Desert. He decided that he would give the buyers another half hour to appear, then he would give his men the order to abandon the Hammer. The storm troubled him. Last night he had dreamt of a storm that carried with it a collection of piercing, merciless eyes; there were eyes everywhere in his dream, and they were always in sets of three, groups of six eyes.

What did they signify?

The scream came again. "What?" he shouted impatiently.

A voice that he instantly identified as belonging to Jurgon Rutsche, his tall, swarthy-skinned second-in-command, called, "She tried to leap off again. The child seems to think she can fly!"

Djimon sighed. A part of him wished she had succeeded, though her death would have been difficult to explain to the buyers. There was no sense in trying to avoid his duties. The girl had lived, and so it was time for his daily speech. He screwed his most nefarious expression into place, spat twice, then gestured for his second-in-command to bring the girl to him.

The child was young, just past the age where she would have experienced her first bleeding. She wore the traditional wrappings expected of a woman in their nomadic society, though she refused to keep her face covered. He stared into her devastating blue eyes, studying the unusual slivers of gold he found there. The child was a brunette with a trim, athletic build. Her cheekbones were high and strong, and her lips were full, a rich scarlet without augmentation. Jurgon Rutsche had pinned her arms behind her back and was shoving her in front of him with considerable effort. She had lost one sandal by trying to dig her heels into the unyielding stone and was now struggling like a creature possessed to free herself from Jurgon's hold. There were chains around her wrists and ankles, but they barely restrained her.

The first thing out of her mouth that was not a high-pitched, eardrum-rattling scream, was a curse she had learned in Dji-mon's language, linking his parentage to goats, demons, and wh.o.r.es.

He struck her with a backhanded blow that caused her head to whip around with a sharp crack.

She looked back at him with a wicked, triumphant expression as she licked the blood from the corner of her mouth. "Now I'm damaged goods."