The Yellow silk

CHAPTER 11

On the ratty, threadbare couch, Veseene sputtered and coughed suddenly. Laera jumped up from her seat beside the fireplace and went to her.

"Veseene?"

The old woman drew a dry, rasping breath. Ty-cho had left a cup of water beside the couch. Laera propped Veseene up a little bit and held the cup to her lips. Veseene sipped at it and nodded. Laera took the cup away and slid a folded blanket under Veseene's head to help her stay upright.

"Are you feeling better? "

Veseene gave a shuddering sigh. "Blessed Lliira, yes." She wheezed out another cough, but shook her head when Laera reached for the water again. "I have to be feeling better," she said with a thin smile. "I couldn't feel much worse than I did before."

"Tycho said to fetch an herbalist named Sephera if you needed her."

"Don't bother Sephera." Veseene's shaking hand slipped out from under the blanket that covered her and folded around Laera's. "She'd just lecture me. I'll be fine. How long have I been asleep? What time is it?"

"It's mid-afternoon." Laera squeezed Veseene's hand. The effort it had taken the old women to cast the spell of invisibility on Li had left her incredibly weak, but somehow she had managed to hide the worst of the strong tea's effects until Tycho had left. Laera had almost run shrieking after him when Veseene had begun to moan and writhe.

Veseene hadn't let her. "It will pass," she had gasped. "It will pass!"

And it had. Tortured twitching had faded to occasional shudders and Veseene had fallen into a restless sleep. Laera had curled up beside the small fire, staring into its luminous depths as if she could divine the future from them.

Veseene must have seen the questions she had silently asked the fire reflected in her eyes. Her grip tightened. "You're not so certain are you, Laera?"

Laera tried to find words and failed. She looked down at the worn floor and shook her head. Veseene released her hand, reaching up to bump her chin and nudge it back up. "Never look away, Laera. You have beautiful eyes. Looking away hides them when you should be using them to your advantage." Her hand fell back to the blankets, but her faded blue eyes remained on Laera's. "Why do you want to leave Spandeliyon, Laera? Why do you want to leave an easy life to become a wanderer?"

"I-" Laera started to look down again. She bit her lip and forced herself to look up. She did sink back, though, folding her legs to sit cross-legged, a pose Uncle Jacerryl had once told her was most unbecoming to a young lady of quality. Of course now Uncle Jacerryl was revealed for a thief and a smuggler-and she might not be a young lady of quality much longer. She sighed. "I wanted to leave so that I could be with Tycho. Because I thought he felt something for me." She crinkled her nose. "Now I know he doesn't."

"Don't be too hard on him," Veseene cautioned her with a smile. "He wasn't being very sensitive, but he was just flirting. I know it wasn't meant maliciously. Playing to the audience-any audience-is just second nature to a bard." Her eyes twinkled. "If you were giving lessons to a handsome young man, don't you think you'd flirt with him? Just a little bit?" Laera stared at her in shock.

"No!" she said firmly, but part of her rejected that answer almost immediately. She thought about the pose in which she had arranged herself for Tycho in the library and felt color rise to her cheeks. "Well, maybe," she confessed. "But I wouldn't want to hurt anyone!"

"Neither would Tycho." The old woman sat up a little more. "But even after you found out Tycho didn't feel for you that way, you still said you wanted to take to the road. Did you really think about why or is it as Tycho says and you're just being stubborn?" The flush of Laera's cheeks grew stronger. Veseene gave her an easy smile. "It's all right, Laera. It's not my place to force you to go back home."

"Home!" Laera snorted. "Home to let my father lock me in my room?" She stood up. "He would, you know. He'd lock me up and not let me out until I was married to some ugly merchant from Impiltur or Thesk. He probably wouldn't even let me out for the wedding-he'd bring a priest to the house to hear my vows through a locked door!"

Veseene laughed. Laera glared at her. "He would!" she insisted.

"From what I've heard about him from Tycho, I don't doubt it." Veseene wiped her eyes. She shifted her legs and patted the couch. Laera sat down beside her. "Why a bard, Laera?" she asked.

Laera sighed. "Wandering from city to city, needing nothing more than an instrument, a sharp blade, and a sharper wit, living off stories, songs, and secrets " She smiled. "I read a book once that told the deeds of the Harpers-fighting evil and defending the weak then vanishing like music in the night." She crooked her head to look at Veseene. "Have you ever known any Harp-"

"No," said Veseene in a tone that was both quick and sharp. "I haven't. Did your book point out that Harpers are also meddlers? Thanks to them, there are places all through the north and west that would welcome an honest night's entertainment, but never see it because anyone who wanders in singing so much as a note is immediately clapped in irons by the local authorities, kept overnight, then run out of town in the morning." She crossed her arms. "Lliira's song, Laera, Tycho said you had been reading too many romances and listening to ballads, but have you ever really thought about what life on the road is like? You can make your way with a song and a smile, but it's brutally hard and a sharp wit can be as much trouble as a sword. Ask Tycho about that! A bard's life might sometimes be more exciting than life as a dutiful daughter or a merchant's wife, but it's seldom any easier and there's very little romantic about it!"

Tears welled up in Laera's eyes and no matter how rapidly she blinked, they wouldn't go away. Veseene turned wet and blurry. Laera wiped the back of a hand across her face. "Veseene! I thought you were on my side!"

"I'm on the side that doesn't want to see you make a stupid decision, Laera." The old woman put a trembling, feather-light arm around her and held her close. "I wouldn't trade my life for any other. I love performing. I love the people I've met and the places-all of them- I've been. I love the magic that I found along the way. But a bard's life can be ugly and confusing. You saw just a little bit of that last night." Her hand stroked Laera's hair. "Forget Tycho. Forget your father. Forget me. You need to ask yourself one thing: if you could somehow turn back the hours to yesterday afternoon, would you leave your father's house again?"

Laera gulped and stared in silence at the fire. Veseene continued to hold her and stroke her hair. After a little while, she began to speak.

"A good many years ago," she said, "not too long before I came to Spandeliyon for the first time and met Tycho in fact, I was in Two Stars, about as far east in Thesk as you can go before you're in Rashemen. Now, Two Stars was then and is now ruled by a family called Gallidy. While I was there, I made the acquaintance of a younger son of the Gallidys and he invited me to stay in his family's castle-"

"A castle and a prince?" Laera couldn't hold back a smile. "I thought you said a bard's life wasn't easy or romantic?"

Veseene only gave her a disapproving glance. "He invited me to stay in his family's castle, which is positioned precisely astride the crossroads of the Golden Way leading east and west and the Cold Road leading north and south. I wasn't the only guest in the castle, of course. There was also a Red Wizard of Thay, a group of elves, and, most important, a party of Nars, the rough folk who dwell at the north end of the Cold Road. As it happened, there was a young Nar man among them, the son of a chief, who was of an age with my host. The Nar's name was Eiter, my host's Dain, and while I was there, they grew very close and became fast friends."

"When the season drew to a close and it was time for the Nars to leave, Dain and Eiter and I went on one last carousing binge around Two Stars-"

Laera twisted around and stared at her. "Veseene! How old were you?"

"I haven't always been a shaking invalid," the bard said haughtily, "and even a lady of quality should never ask a woman her age. Let's say I was young at heart, but old enough to know better."

"Late that night, when both Dain and Eiter had fallen well into their cups, they decided that they needed to seal their friendship. With me as a witness, they cut each other's right palm and pressed their wounds together, mingling their blood and binding them in a Nar blood-oath. The next day, the Nars left."

"On their way north, brigands attacked them. With his right hand wounded, Eiter couldn't fight properly. He was killed."

Laera gasped, but Veseene continued her story. "Eiter's father sent word back to Two Stars-and a demand for restitution. Blood for blood. Dain was responsible for the wound that killed Eiter."

"That's not right!" choked Laera. Veseene's eyebrow rose.

"Isn't it? If Dain hadn't cut Eiter's palm, he would have been able to fight and he would have survived the attack."

"What happened?" Laera begged. "What did the Gal-lidys do?"

"Dain and his family could have ignored the demand, but that would have strained relations with the Nars and drawn their integrity into question. They could have tried to make restitution with coin, but that would have made a mockery of Dain's oath to Eiter. In the end, Dain saddled a horse and rode north alone along the Cold Road to meet the Nar chief. His oath to Eiter would accept no less."

Laera sighed. "That's heroic!" she said. "It's just like what would happen in a ballad!"

"Oh?" Veseene asked. "Then how would the story end in a ballad?"

She thought for a moment and frowned. "Dain found the bandits on the way north, slew Eiter's real killer, and took his body to… No." Her frown grew deeper as she thought a little more. Veseene wouldn't be asking if the ending were so simple. Laera tried to imagine how the tale would fit into a ballad, tried to imagine Tycho singing or reciting it. She began again. "Dain reached the Nar chief and showed him the scar on his palm. When the chief saw how deeply Dain had loved Eiter, he declared that blood for blood had been satisfied-and Dain took Eiter's place as his son. He lived, but never saw Two Stars again." She looked at Veseene.

The old woman nodded. "That would make a good ballad," she said. "It's actually very close. Dain did show Eiter's father his scarred palm." Laera smiled-until Veseene added, "And because he had taken the blood-oath with Eiter, Dain was considered a member of the tribe and no tribe member could take the life of another, even in revenge. But there was a punishment for murder. Some merchants found Dain a tenday later, staggering south along the Cold Road. The Nar punishment for murder is exile-and disfigurement. The Nars had hacked off Dain's left hand, the hand that inflicted the wound that killed Ei-ter, and branded their sign for death on his cheek."

Laera shrank back in stunned shock, pulling away from Veseene's arms. "No! You made that up!" Veseene shrugged.

"Why would I?" She reached for Laera's hand. Suddenly her frail, trembling grip seemed cold and clawlike. Laera swallowed. Veseene shook her head. "Laera, life is no romance. Every decision you make has a consequence. If Dain and Eiter hadn't taken a blood-oath… if Dain hadn't gone north…" She patted Laera's hand. "Think carefully before you decide to leave your father's house for-"

Abruptly, there was a shout out in the street. A heartbeat later, the slam of the building's door echoed up the stairwell outside Tycho and Veseene's rooms. Laera jumped up. "Tycho?"

Heavy footfalls hit the stairs. Veseene flinched. "No," she said, "it isn't!" She pointed sharply. "Laera, hide in the back room." Laera blinked and stared. "Do it now!" Veseene snapped.

Laera turned and darted for the door to the dark second room. She caught a glimpse of Veseene grabbing the linen bag that held her special tea and stuffing it into her shirt, and then the door was closed behind her. She leaned against it.

The footfalls on the stairs were thunder. They stopped-and a splintering crash seemed to shake the entire building. Veseene shrieked, gasped, and choked, "You-!"

"Olore again, Veseene." Laera recognized that rich, warm voice. Brin! Her breath stopped. The door she leaned against wouldn't stop him-or whoever was with him. The footsteps on the stairs had been too heavy for just a halfling. She could feel a blade on her throat again. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, a hiding place.

The window. Tycho had left his rope tied to the bedpost; she had pulled it up and coiled it neatly after he and an invisible Li had climbed down. As massive footsteps moved in the outer room, she ran for it and heaved the heavy coil out. It slapped against the side of the building.

"The back room!" snapped Brin and the footsteps moved faster. Laera twisted her body over the windowsill, wrapped her hands around the rope, and let herself drop.

The rough fibers burned her palms and fingers like grabbing hold of a blazing torch. She hit the ground before she could cry out, though, and new agony flared through her right ankle. She slammed down into the melting snow and icy muck of the alley just as a door slammed open in the room above.

There were shadows. A crooked niche where this building and its neighbor came together. Ignoring the pain in her palms and ankle, Laera scrambled for the niche and jammed herself into it. She choked her whimpers into silence. Distantly, she heard footsteps and a grunt of frustration from up above. A moment later, there was a slither of rope on wood. Tycho's rope being pulled up again? Being dropped into the alley? She didn't dare to look. Above her, the footsteps moved away. Voices, too indistinct to make out-until Veseene shrieked again. And stopped.

Laera squeezed herself into a tiny, trembling knot.

Word that there were mages holed up at the Eel must have gotten around, Lander thought. Mid-afternoon and the festhall was barely half as full as usual. Just the whiff of serious magery was enough to keep most folk away and to set those who did come in on edge with suspicion. And Lander, by virtue of being the mages' keeper, had become suspect, too. Customers gave him a wide berth as he walked carefully across the floor of the Eel and back once more to the Blue Room, a foaming tankard of ale in one hand, a tiny eggcup-sized glass of strong Chessentan wine in the other.

Mosi Anu and Hanibaz Nassor didn't even look up as he nudged the door open. They had stopped looking up some time ago. Mosi was deep in reading a scroll; the tiny glass of wine his first indulgence in Brin's invitation to take advantage of the Eel's facilities. Hanibaz, on the other hand, had indulged freely. The ale Lander carried was his fourth, the skeletal remains of a whole roast chicken lay picked clean in front of him, and not so long ago Lander had been obliged to summon one of the women who worked in the festhall's pleasure rooms to administer a Mulhorandi massage to the hefty mage. Hanibaz slouched in his chair like a great rotund cat: feet propped up on a second chair, relaxed, half-asleep, and reeking of warm, exotic oils. Lander set the fresh ale beside him and the wine beside Mosi and quickly turned to go.

He wasn't quite quick enough. "When will Brin return with the Yellow Silk?" asked Mosi. He didn't look up from his scroll.

"Soon," Lander responded, adding silently, I hope!

"My patience grows thin."

"You grow thin, Mosi," said Hanibaz. The big man stirred himself and sat up. "Have something to eat. Or try a massage. Or take some ale instead of that vile wine." He groped for his tankard and raised it to his rival. "That will put hair on your chest!"

"I don't want hair on my chest, you hirsute ogre."

Lander looked from one wizard to the other and tried to back out of the room as discretely as he could. Hanibaz's eyes caught him first, however. "Friend Lander, a question for you. Is what Brin told us of the Yellow Silk of Kuang true?"

No spell that Lander could sense backed up the question or demanded a truthful answer. It was better not to try. cheating a mage, though, a Red Wizard especially. "What I know of it is," he said carefully. "Last night I saw bolts of bright light that exploded with enough heat to melt snow and set wood smoldering. I think I caught a glimpse of a man I'd swear was no mage hurling them."

"And yet Brin knows all about the Silk," murmured Hanibaz.

"Or claims to." Mosi set his scroll aside. Lander expected it to snap back into a curl, but the roll of parchment stayed open as if held by invisible hands. Mosi turned a piercing gaze on him. "How does a one-eyed hin, a former pirate, learn so much about such an exotic artifact? Brin strikes me as an unlikely student of eastern mageries."

"Especially considering," added Hanibaz thoughtfully, "that according to his own story, the Yellow Silk has been something of a well-guarded secret for centuries."

Lander swallowed. "I don't know," he answered. "I hadn't even heard him mention it until last night and I only heard its story when Brin told it to you." He took a quick step toward the door and groped behind his back for the handle. "I'll ask him for you when he returns!"

His fingers found the handle. He twisted it and ducked through the door before the wizards could ask anything else, all but slamming it behind him. Every eye in the Eel turned to stare at him. Lander glared back and gave a growl. "Mind your own lines, gutgrinders!" He stalked over to the bar and slapped his hand down. The bartender put a mug of ale in front of him quickly.

A door opened and he caught the squealing of pigs. Grabbing his mug, Lander hurried to the back of the festhall. Brin was just pulling closed the curtains of the gambling room. "Nobody goes in there," he said.

"Hanibaz and Mosi are getting impatient. Do you have the Yellow Silk?"

Brin pulled him out through the back door and into the pigsty. Black Scratch looked up from kicking at straw and snorted at Lander. The thug glowered back at him. "They'll just have to wait a little longer," said Brin. He grabbed Lander's mug out of his hand and gulped at it as he walked across the sty to jump up on his table. "Everything's taken care of. Everything's in motion."

"Everything?" Lander gave Brin a cautious look. "What everything?"

"Don't think about it. The Yellow Silk will be coming to us." He drained the mug and thumped it down on the tabletop. "I sent the man I left watching the building in Bakers Way off to find your men and as many others as he can gather up."

"Who's watching Tycho's rooms, then?"

Brin smiled. "They don't need watching anymore. I told you, everything's in motion. The only thing I need you to do is clear out the Eel once the men get here." Lander hissed in surprise. Brin shrugged. "Don't worry, we'll be open again before the moon comes up."

"You're expecting a fight."

"Bitch Queen's mercy, I hope so." The halfling's smile turned savage.

The door to the Eel swung open. Jacerryl Dantakain stood framed in the doorway, leaning on it for support. He looked bad. His usually well-dressed hair looked like it had been combed into position with his fingers, his clothes were streaked with muck, and his face was marked with some very colorful bruises. When he pushed himself off the door frame, he staggered. "Brin!" he gasped. "We need to talk!"

Lander started forward, but Brin grabbed his arm and gave a quick shake of his head. "Just go close the door," he said. Lander blinked, but nodded. As he pushed past Jacerryl, he could smell wine even over the stink of the sty. The man's stagger wasn't due to any injury.

"What is it, Jacerryl?" Brin asked mildly. Jacerryl wobbled a little closer to him.

"It's Tycho," he said. "He's gone bad-him and that Shou friend of his. They attacked me!"

"Why would they do that?"

"It's your beljurils. I heard that Tycho tried to cheat you out of them yesterday but that you gave him time to give them back. The next thing I knew, though, I heard from a friend that he was putting out word that / had stolen the beljurils!"

Last night at the Ease, Tycho had said something about

Jacerryl, but Brin had been so intent on Li Chien Lander caught Brin's gaze. The halfling's eye just narrowed and he shook his head at him. To Jacerryl, he said, "Did you?"

"On Tyr's holy balance, no!" Jacerryl gave a shiver. "You know I'd never cheat you, Brin! As soon as I heard what Tycho was saying, I went out looking for him."

"And you found him."

Jacerryl nodded enthusiastically. "Bind me, I found him! I confronted him but he had his Shou beat me up!"

"Did he have his Shou get you drunk, too?"

Jacerryl gaped and whined in protest, but Brin just gave him a hard snarl. Jacerryl shut his mouth. Brin glared at him. "It takes a brave man to come to me just to claim innocence. Why not go to your brother?"

"If I went to Mard, I'd have to tell him why I'd gone looking for Tycho in the first place. He'd have thrown me out of his house if he didn't throw me into a guard station jail!"

"So you went and drank until you decided it was better to come to me."

Jacerryl shook his head. "Just one glass, Brin! Just one! It's not like you're an easy man to talk to!" A grasping edge of desperation crept into his voice. "I know what Tycho did with the beljurils-what he was going to do anyway. I heard him and the Shou talking about it."

"That was clumsy of them." Brin put his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His eye was a hard black gem focused on Jacerryl. The man swallowed.

"They thought I was unconscious," he said quickly. He held out his hands. "Sweet truth, Brin! Don't you believe me?"

Brin stared at him. "I believe you're a piss-desperate liar who has worked himself so far down a dragon's throat that he actually thinks he can get out by going all the way through to the other end."

He flicked a finger.

Lander choked and scrambled for the fence around the sty. Jacerryl, too drunk and scared to think, didn't have a chance. Black Scratch let out a bellow. Hooves churning snow and muck, the boar charged. Jacerryl managed to scream as the animal's tusks ripped through clothes and flesh, tearing into skin and muscle. Blood splattered the snow. Brin's other pigs squealed in excitement at the mayhem.

A second toss of Black Scratch's bristly head opened a gash from hip to chest. Lander heard the cracking of bone even over the squeals and bellows. A third toss caught… something… and Jacerryl was lifted up into the air, shrieking terribly. Black Scratch twisted and shook. Jacerryl came flying free and rolled across the sty to crash into the fence right in front of Lander. Splintered ribs poked free of his wounds. Ruined organs spilled bile and foul juices. A choking cough shook him and bloody froth sprayed out of his mouth. Brin leaped down off the table and shoved past Black Scratch. Jacerryl's eyes rolled toward him.

Brin pulled out a dagger, spun it around his fingers once, and plunged it straight into the man's heart. Jacerryl spasmed-and died. The halfling whipped the dagger free. Black Scratch snorted and snuffled at the corpse, and turned away to chase back the other pigs.

Lander stared at the savaged body for a moment then looked up at Brin. "He could have told us where the belju-rils are." Brin shrugged and wiped his dagger on the dead man's clothes.

"Doesn't matter. Tycho will know, too. He'll tell us." The dagger went into Brin's belt. He stared at Jacerryl's body as well, but when he glanced up, there was a wicked grin of inspiration on his face. "Take him over to Tycho's rooms and dump him there."

Lander grimaced. "What about Veseene? "

"Don't worry," said Brin. "She's not there."

Something in the way he said it sent a shiver up Lander's back. The wheelbarrow he had used to muck out the sty the day before was leaned up against the side of the pig shelter. He rolled it over. An old blanket hung beside the shelter as well; Lander wrapped it around Jacerryl's body and managed to get him into the wheelbarrow without getting too much blood and filth on himself. Brin watched, one hand idly rubbing at Black Scratch's neck. "Hurry back," he said. "Things are moving."

Lander nodded and trundled the wheelbarrow off through the alley. He was halfway to Bakers Way when people began shouting and pointing. He looked up.

A thin column of smoke, growing thicker and darker as he watched, stained the sky. It was roughly in the area of the Wench's Ease.

Things are moving. Wheelbarrow rattling, Lander picked up his pace.