King's man and thief

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Why in the Nightlands didn't you let me kill him, bitch?" grunted Freylis, shifting his burden as he spoke.

Marrika turned cold eyes upon her lover. Wait, she told herself silently. You need him. Wait just a little longer. Then…

"You do not understand vengeance," she said icily. They walked alone in the night, their path paralleling the winding road that would take them from the Square and the Garden into the heart of the city. She'd feel safer there, among the back streets and dark ways that they both knew so intimately. This road was open, exposed, and although she and Freylis had scouted out a parallel path the night before, it was too close to the main road for her liking. It would not do to be questioned or stopped, not even by their fellow thieves, not with the unconscious body of the girl lying limply in Freylis's ox-strong arms.

They had wrapped her in a blanket, of course, and bound her hand and foot in case she awoke sooner than was convenient. A dirty rag shoved into her mouth made an effective gag. Still, Marrika's eyes flitted about nervously. This was what she had promised the Blesser, and that she could combine her own burning desire for vengeance with the sacrifice formed a pleasantly dark symmetry in her mind. But others would not see it so.

"What do you mean, I don't understand vengeance?" spluttered Freylis, panting a little at the rapid pace. "I wanted to kill the little slug."

"I don't want him dead," she snapped, her patience finally cracking. "I want him to suffer." A muscle in her face twitched. "He seemed fond of her. What we do with her will hurt him far more than a dagger in the gut. You have no subtlety about you, Freylis, none at all."

Freylis growled menacingly. Time was when that tone would have frightened her, but that time was gone. Ahead and slightly below them, the city opened up, the street system becoming more convoluted. Marrika's heart lifted. Almost there-almost to safety. Not for her the open sky and road. She felt far more comfortable in close quarters, where she could get her back against a wall, or where she could hide in the overlooked corner or shadow.

Khem, known as "Hound," would be waiting for them at the first intersection. The dim moonlight revealed nothing so far. She waved Freylis on, following the deserted road-deserted for how long, she wondered-and moved toward the rendezvous point.

Now they saw a darker shadow in the shadows. Khem raised an arm and waved. "There he is," said Marrika. They were approaching safety now, albeit a safety that was unpleasant and arduous.

Khem was small and wiry, but the little muscles that knotted his arms and legs were powerful. He had a scar from a recent knife fight that zigzagged across his already ugly face. He flashed Marrika a yellow grin.

"Not sight nor sound of guards so far," he assured her.

"Excellent," approved Marrika. "But let's not take any unnecessary risks."

None too gently, Freylis put the limp body on the ground and went to help the sinewy Khem move aside the iron grate that opened up into Braedon's sewer system.

Few cities could boast a sewage system as fine as that of Braedon, and fewer still had one a third as old. Two centuries ago it was discovered, as the result of a tragic cave-in, that the city of Braedon rested atop an extensive natural cave system. Beneath the city streets, the ocean reached its long fingers well into the land. After the cave-in, in which an enormous sinkhole opened up to swallow the first Council site, Braedon rebuilt with an eye toward using this natural gift.

Over the long years, tunnels were dug, continuing the existing caves far back toward the mainland and eventually linking up with the several freshwater runoffs that poured off the encircling mountains. It was a good century and a half in the making, and building the sewer system had taken the lives of not a few men. The work had been hard and simple-convicts and prisoners of war, many of them Mharians, had inched their way through stony earth with plain picks. Cruel experience taught the architects that while the earth was solid, it did need some help now and then if it were not to cave in along the entire sewer route. Therefore, large beams, coated with pitch to resist water, were used to shore up the surface. Cobbled stones lined the bottom and crept well up the earthen sides to prevent erosion.

After the first few disasters, the system had worked wonderfully. Every merchant and landowner was responsible, by order of the Council, to attend to the waste around his area. Several interconnecting tunnels led up to dozens of holes in the streets, carefully covered by heavy grates, into which the citizens of Braedon diligently dumped their refuse. Richer folk even had drains specifically built to carry off waste from garderobes and kitchens into the sewers.

A feat of technical engineering perhaps it was, but as Marrika peered down into the depths, she thought only of the filth that awaited her and Freylis when they descended. Fortunately, it hadn't rained for several days. The sludgy waters that flowed sluggishly some twenty feet below the surface would at least be shallow.

She wrinkled her nose as the stench wafted up. Grunting and heaving, Khem and Freylis managed to shove aside the grate. Moving quickly, Marrika opened the pouch at her waist and withdrew the leather-covered grappling hook. Freylis and Khem had been able to push the grate far enough aside to admit the passage of a human body, but the grate still covered much of the hole. Marrika snagged the hook securely onto the grate, tugging and twisting it a little to make sure it would hold. She sat down, her legs dangling into the hole. Gripping the rope, she lowered herself hand over hand down into the sewer.

The smell grew worse, but she forced herself to endure it. She knew from experience that she would soon grow used to the stench. Marrika had traveled these dank, filthy, subterranean paths before, as had most of the thieves of Braedon. The tunnels made for wonderful ways of getting around guards and search parties, and more than a few corpses of those who had "disappeared" had found their way to these surroundings, to be washed out to sea and never heard from again.

Her boots squelched ankle-deep in filth; the dirty water reached to the middle of her calves. It was pitch dark, save for the faint square over her head. That would shortly be remedied, for no sooner had Marrika landed safely than Khem lowered a bundle. Marrika grasped it and unwrapped it. Thick beeswax candles-donated from the temple of Vengeance-revealed themselves to her questing fingers. There was something else, too-a small box carefully wrapped in fabric. Marrika tucked the candles in her pouch to free her hands and, working by touch, opened the little box. Nestled inside, a small ember glowed steadily. She smiled to herself, then lit a single candle.

She lifted the burning taper and moved it back and forth across her face, signaling that she was ready for Freylis to descend. She watched as the big man prepared himself, shifting the unconscious young woman over one shoulder and anchoring her with a meaty arm. With the other, he grasped the rope in his leather-gloved hand and slid down. Marrika steadied him as he hit, taking care that the girl didn't fall into the muck. Marrika didn't want her injured-not yet.

There was a groaning, scraping sound as Khem, alone, slowly forced the unwieldy grate back into its place. Marrika didn't wait for the familiar clang to indicate that he had succeeded. In silence, she moved forward, lighting a second candle to help them see better. Behind her, Freylis followed.

They did not speak. From time to time, Marrika heard voices on the surface. At such moments, they would pause, shrinking back against the walls, shielding the lights as best they could. When the voices faded, they continued. Once, they heard the telltale jangle and clatter of armed guards hastening overhead. They spoke quickly, in low voices. Marrika strained to catch their words.

"Vandaris… search everywhere… reward."

Heat surged through Marrika, the heat of a triumph about to be tasted. By now Pedric must have revived, have told the sad, sad story of beauteous Lorinda's dreadful abduction. The pain was beginning. She glanced over at the still bundle in Freylis's arms.

"Thank you, Lorinda. You've made this all possible."

The tunnels became labyrinthine, but Marrika knew them well and pressed onward. By the smells and type of refuse they encountered, she could tell where she was. They passed between the redstained, fetid walls of the butchers, the multicolored walls of the weavers' shops, and perhaps worst of all, trod carefully through the acidic puddles of fermented bran, lime, and animal dung that marked the tanner's workshop.

A soft moan came from behind Marrika. She whirled just in time to see the bundle borne by Freylis move. Marrika cursed softly. Lorinda was starting to awaken, and they were still far from the site.

"Hold her," she snapped, then turned and quickened her pace. Filth splashed up and stained her breeches, but she paid it no heed. Lorinda was really beginning to struggle now, and Freylis snapped angrily at the frightened girl.

The smell of the shops began to fade. Slightly more pleasant scents reached Marrika's nose — scented bathwater mixed with the ubiquitous odor of chamber pots, the last lingering bits of incense from a ritual. They were almost there.

Lorinda, gagged but vocal, was fighting. "Quiet, curse you!" came Freylis's voice. There was a muffled sound of fist on flesh.

"Don't hurt her," ordered Marrika, "we want her awake and aware."

There it was, up ahead, a dim square of light crisscrossed by the shadows cast by the iron bars. Marrika stumbled to a halt, waved the two candles she carried as a signal. She was rewarded by the sound of the grate being moved. Turning around, she gazed at Freylis.

"Put her down. Cut her bonds."

Freylis gawped. "What?"

"You can't climb up with her fighting you like that. We'll have to haul her up separately."

Freylis cocked his big, shaggy head to one side and considered. Marrika thought that a dog understood things faster than Freylis did, but eventually the big thief nodded. He dropped the girl down unceremoniously and began unwinding her from the blanket.

Lorinda kicked and struggled. "Quiet, girl, we're trying to untie you," snapped Marrika.

The blanket fell off and Lorinda shot a frightened gaze at Marrika. Even trussed up like a hare, sprawled in filth, Lorinda Vandaris was beautiful. She heard and understood, and suddenly ceased her struggles. Freylis took out his dagger and sliced the ropes that bound her. Seizing her upper arm, he hauled her to her feet. The dagger pressed at her throat. Lorinda froze, panting, her eyes wide with fear.

"Good girl," Marrika said sarcastically. Confident that Freylis had the situation in hand — terrorizing was something that Freylis did exceptionally well-Marrika turned her attention to getting out.

The thieves above had moved the grate out of the way, and she could see the shadow of someone peering down. She squinted, trying to make out the shape, and again recognized Khem. Surprised pleasure filled her. Khem had only been assigned to help them get down. Others had agreed to meet her and Freylis near the temple, but apparently Khem was enjoying himself enough to show up here as well.

"Awake," she hissed, hoping her voice carried without being overly loud. They were all still in danger of discovery. Khem shook his head and put a hand to his ear, indicating that she should speak louder.

"She's awake!" Marrika repeated, pitching her voice louder. This time Khem nodded his comprehension and disappeared from her view. He returned a moment later with others, then waved his arm in a send her up gesture.

"How strong are you, girl?" asked Marrika, her lips pursed as her eyes roamed over the girl's slim body. "Can you climb up?"

Lorinda's large-eyed gaze flickered from Marrika's hard face to the rope. "I'm strong, but I–I don't think I can climb up the rope."

Marrika swore casually, enjoying the fact that Lorinda winced at the crude word. "Come here, then. We'll tie it around your waist and haul you up."

When the girl hesitated, Freylis pushed her forward. She stumbled and fell face-first into the swirling, waste-clogged water. Marrika watched her coldly as she struggled to her feet. Oh, she was enjoying this. What would Pedric think of his aristocratic lady-love now, with dung on her face and urine in her hair? She felt a smile curve her lips and she reminded herself that the fun was only just beginning.

Lorinda straightened, and stepped forward with an unexpected dignity. Marrika's smile ebbed. The girl stood obediently as Marrika wound the sturdy rope about her waist and under the curve of her buttocks.

"My father will pay whatever you ask," said Lorinda quietly.

Unable to help herself, Marrika backhanded the young woman savagely across her small, dirty face. Lorinda's head jerked sideways with the force of the blow and bloody spittle flew. Slowly, impossibly remaining calm, Vandaris's daughter turned her head back toward Marrika. Tears clouded those large eyes, but they did not spill down her cheeks.

"This isn't about money, you whore," hissed Marrika. She knotted the rope with a savage jerk, and Lorinda gasped as the rope cinched painfully about her slim waist. Expertly Marrika tossed the grappling hook upward. It caught on the first try. Marrika tugged, assured that the grip was good, and motioned for them to lift the girl upward. As Khem and the others began to slowly draw her up toward the surface, Lorinda's hands automatically flew to the rope to steady herself.

Marrika watched as she was borne upward, breathing heavily with the force of her hatred. The bitch'd cry soon enough, all right. She waited while her compatriots untied the girl, then dropped the rope down again. Quickly, with the sinuous grace of a cat, Marrika grasped the rope herself and, using her hands and feet, propelled herself up its length. She accepted Khem's strong hand and scrambled out, scooting backward.

Clia, the Sparrow, was in charge of watching Lorinda while Marrika and Freylis emerged from the tunnels. Her dagger was perfectly functional despite its ornaments, and Clia's beringed fingers had a solid grip on the girl.

"Councilman's daughter, hey, Raven?" A white grin flashed. "Gold and silver a-flowing. A better haul than Bear pulled off!" She laughed softly.

Marrika didn't bother to contradict the fortune-teller. Clia would find out soon enough what they really planned to do with Lorinda. And then the garish-garbed Sparrow would either be with them- or dead.

Freylis now emerged, grunting as he pulled his mammoth bulk up hand over hand. He plopped himself on the street surface with all the finesse of a whale beaching itself. Marrika's red lips curled with disgust. If all went well tonight, she might never have to endure that sweaty body moving over and in her again.

She listened with half an ear as the thieves heaved the grate back in place. They were very close to the temple now. She could see it across the flat cobblestone center of town. Candles burned, and even as she watched, she saw a black-robed shadow scurry across the square. It stopped at the Godstower, as it had a few nights ago, but did not ring the bell. Instead, the shape waited, pacing nervously.

"There he is," hissed Marrika. "Let's go."

Clia prodded Lorinda's throat with the tip of her dagger. A small bead of blood appeared. "Come on, little rich sister," smiled Sparrow. The thieves and their prisoner hurried across the square to where the Blesser of Vengeance waited.

"Did you-do you-" he asked breathlessly.

Marrika nodded her dark head. "Indeed we do," she replied, nodding her head in Lorinda's direction. "I keep my promises to my god and my friends, Kannil. Are you prepared for us?" The little man closed his eyes briefly in a shudder of ecstatic anticipation, then licked his lips and replied, "All are assembled, ready to honor the god, Lady Marrika."

"Lady?" scoffed Freylis. Marrika didn't even bother giving him an angry glare. Like the tide, Freylis's importance to her was ebbing, its ultimate demise inevitable. He had already almost outlived his usefulness to her. And if things went the way they should tonight, well, his time might already have run. It pleased Marrika that he had no idea how fragile was the thread by which he hung.

All was in readiness when they reached the temple of Vengeance. The stone building, not large to begin with, seemed much smaller than it had the last time Marrika had been there; but then again, there were many more people gathered than there had been on that fateful night. And this time, all the torches and candles had been lit. The circle of bone powder was drawn, with one part of it left open for the main attraction of the night to enter. Within the circle sat and stood the thieves who had chosen to ally with Marrika and Freylis. She felt her heart lift at the sight of their tense, wary faces. So many. So many, who did not want to be milk-and-bread wholesome under the leadership of Deveren Larath. So many like her, who could never forget that crime could not be reigned in, that theft went hand in hand with murder, that life in the shadows could never, ever, be anything other than dark.

"What do you want?" A cry, shattering the still, tense moment. It was Lorinda, of course, her calm demeanor broken by the same faces that so heartened her captor. Marrika turned to regard the prisoner. Lorinda's face had gone white. She, more than most, knew what kind of a deity Vengeance was. The girl must, in some part of her soul, be guessing what was about to transpire, even as she fought to reject the dreadful knowledge. "My father will pay-"

"There is no money that can buy what your blood will buy, child," interrupted the Blesser. He reached with one thin hand to touch Lorinda's soft cheek. With a soft little cry, like the mewl of a barnyard kitten, Lorinda cringed from that caress.

"What?" came Clia's voice, startled. "Wolf, what's going on here?"

It was the moment Marrika had been waiting for, the moment she felt she'd been leading up to her whole life.

"Be quiet, Sparrow, or we'll silence your chirping for you," said Marrika. "Don't ask Freylis." Oh, the words were sweet. "Ask me"

Stunned silence greeted her words, then chatter broke out. Now or never, thought Marrika. She seized the moment and spontaneously leaped onto the blood-encrusted altar. Gasps came, and the Blesser rushed forward, anger on his face. She stopped him with one commanding hand.

"Who brings you your desire, Blesser?" cried Marrika. Her heart hammered in her chest and the blood in her veins sang. "Who has made this possible? Thieves of Braedon, rally with me tonight, and you work hand in hand with Vengeance himself! We will take what we want, and who's to stop us?" She pointed at Lorinda, who stared back enraptured, her eyes enormous. "This girl is Vandaris's daughter. Sparrow and others think only of money. I think of power-power to get whatever we want! Who among us has not been wronged? Who doesn't, deep in his heart, desire vengeance upon another? Well, now's your chance. Follow me-and drink deep!

Her passion was like fire; and the thieves who beheld her, like dried timber. Their expressions changed, and they all crowded around her, helped her down off the altar. Freylis alone hung back, visibly deflated. Bully and tyrant he might be, but he knew he couldn't stand against one who seemed in such accord with the dark god.

Kannil was beside himself. "Yes!" he squealed. He seized Lorinda, yanking her out of the grip of the startled Clia and propelling her into the center of the thieves. Lorinda cried out as hands reached to touch her. They were not hurtful, not yet; they merely wished to touch the living covenant between themselves and Vengeance before the deed was done.

Marrika watched, pleasure burning deep within her, as Lorinda was roped to the altar. The wooden platform had never been designed to accommodate a human sacrifice. Lorinda was forced to kneel in front of it. Rough hands grabbed her arms, pulled, secured her to the blood-covered table. Now she fought, now that it was too late, her lithe body thrashing and twisting, but to no avail.

Marrika's palms were wet with anticipation. Clearly restraining himself with difficulty, the Blesser moved to close the circle, murmuring the ritual words in a voice that trembled, and sprinkling more white powder on the earth. Marrika shivered as the temperature dropped, smiling at the discomfiture of some of "her" thieves who were experiencing this for the first time.

Now Kannil moved toward Lorinda. There was a flash of reflected light from the ceremonial dagger he withdrew. Inspiration struck Marrika.

"No, wait!" she cried. Kannil stared up at her, torn between carrying out the murder at once and listening to what Marrika had to say. "We are all in this together," she said, moving up beside the Blesser and extending a hand for the blade. "Let us all leave our marks on the girl."

Joy flooded the man's pale face. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes. Slowly." He handed her the knife, and placed one hand on Lorinda's back. "You may go first, O favored one."

Marrika crouched down and gazed levelly into Lorinda's eyes. They were wet, but did not look away.

"Why?" Lorinda asked. "Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?" Marrika fingered the blade. It was sharp, honed to a keen edge. "One word: Pedric." The younger woman frowned. "Pedric? But… I don't understand."

"He was mine, but he threw me away." The words hurt her to utter them, and she hissed them, softly, for Lorinda's ears alone. "And I want him to suffer for that. I want you to suffer for that!" Without another word, she swiped the hungry blade across the beautiful face. Lorinda cried out as the knife laid her cheek open. "Your beauty dies first!" And Marrika spat into the girl's disfigured visage before yielding the knife to another.

She spared a glance for Kannil. His eyes were closed in ecstasy. He opened them, and gave her a smile. Marrika's breath caught.

The bastard was using his mind magic, linking himself to Lorinda, savoring her pain from two vantage points- his, witnessing the torture, and hers, experiencing it. Marrika hid her shudder of revulsion and turned away, holding out the knife. "Who will be next? Who will be next to inflict a blow for his freedom?"

"Me," said Freylis, shouldering his way through the crowd in an effort to reclaim the dignity he had lost. Without pausing he snatched up the knife and impaled it into Lorinda's right hand. The girl convulsed, her fingers splaying in reactionary agony but affixed firmly to the altar by both blade and bonds.

"Please," she whimpered.

"That's right, girl," crowed Marrika, "beg!"

The bloodlust spread through the crowd. The thought that they could so hurt another human being, with utter freedom and no reprisal, had a dark allure. The thieves were working past their initial revulsion, were starting to embrace Lorinda's fear and suffering. The girl sensed it, and her face reflected her horror.

Marrika drank it in like wine.

One by one they came to torture the innocent maiden, while Lorinda gasped and tried to twist away from them. Khem removed an ear. Clia stabbed her shoulder. Others inflicted different wounds. With each injury, the Blesser seemed to reach new heights of delight. But then something strange happened.

Lorinda managed to lift her head slightly, searching out Marrika. Her beauty was gone now, past any Healer's ability to salvage. Pedric, with his love for pretty things, would no doubt turn away in revulsion from her. But something shone in her eyes, a quiet integrity that unsettled Marrika. The girl's words distressed her even more.

"I served the goddess Love," rasped Lorinda. Jeers met this statement, but she continued, though the effort clearly was costing her. "Love teaches us… to be kind… to forgive."

"No," murmured the Blesser, a frown shadowing his face. "Don't spoil it…"

Lorinda swallowed blood, then pressed on. "For you to… to hurt me like this, to… to kill me… you must be in much torment, worse than any you could inflict on me. I… I pity you-all of you."

A snarl began in the back of Marrika's throat. Only dimly realizing what she was going to do, she surged forward and grasped the knife from someone's grasp. Springing at Lorinda, she struck. Blood fountained onto her hand.

At that precise instant, Kannil grabbed Marrika's free hand. The thief's vision shattered into a thousand pieces and she realized that Kannil, with his touch, had linked her to Lorinda. Images flashed through Marrika's mind even as agony trembled through her nerves.

Pedric, looking at her with love and fear of rejection; Pedric's face achingly dear, beloved, beautiful. Marrika's own visage, cruel and unforgiving. Images of women and men she had never seen, but loved; Vandaris, gentle father; Love's temple; and the pain, the pain, the not understanding — why, why? What have I done? Gods, gods, please stop, stop -

— and the knife, above all, the knife, in the throat… cold… cold… dark…

The Blesser pushed her away just in time. Marrika stumbled backward, gasping, her hand going to throat and not truly believing it to be whole. Lungs heaving for air, shuddering with what she had just seen, a wave of remorse lifted Marrika for just an instant. What have I done? The girl's dying question, now her own. She moved toward the girl, half-formed thoughts of somehow halting the dreadful forces that she had set in motion flitting about her brain.

Lorinda spasmed once, then was still. It was too late.

At once sanity rushed back. The girl had been the price for the power Marrika had tasted, and a tool for revenge. Surely, that brief flash of regret had been the lingering traces of Lorinda's presence in her mind, nothing more. Marrika shot the Blesser a look of mingled disgust and horror. His face was flushed, his eyes dewy and radiant. What she had found disturbing was his delight. His tongue crept out to moisten his lips. She knew he would want more, having tasted this.

And Marrika would see to it that he got it.

"Vengeance is placated," said Kannil, his voice trembling. "He has blessed this mission, this woman. Let us calm ourselves and then break bread together, sealing the pact that we have made!"

Those assembled bowed their heads, forcing their breathing to slow, their pulses to calm. Kannil opened the circle and brought out bread and wine, which was gleefully accepted. No one gave a second thought to the body of the councilman's daughter who lay across the bloody altar.

"Lady Raven," said Khem, seating himself next to her as Marrika finished her first glass of wine, "you have called great power here tonight."

Her eyes narrowed. "Aye," she agreed. "And what is your point, Hound?"

He glanced about quickly, then spoke in low tones. "Your ally is a god, but sometimes, one needs human allies as well. Would you like an ally, Lady Raven-one of the most powerful men in all of Verold?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Go on."