Well Of The Damned Part 12

"But on payday," Cirang said, "she can't remember who she borrowed money from."

"I paid you back every pielar, and you know it," Vandra said.

Cirang snickered. "My turn."

"No one wants to hear about you, mutton breath."

"King Gavin does, don't you? He wants to know who's been forging warrant tags and using them to swindle people."

"Your friend Toren Meobryn was wearing one of them," Daia said, "so we already know who was at the heart of it."

Cirang's eyes widened innocently. "Oh, it wasn't me. I've been in gaol, remember, and dead before that, but I know which one of King Gavin's longtime friends it is."

"Who?" Gavin asked.

Cirang smirked. "If I tell you, you'll have to give me something in return. Something to be named at a later date."

Gavin was well aware of Sithral Tyr's habit of changing the terms of negotiations, and he wouldn't fall victim to a practiced manipulator. "Tell me, and I'll execute you quickly when your time comes."

"When my time comes to die, Gavin Kinshield, you'll be cold in your grave."

Chapter 23.

The first farm they came to outside of Saliria was well drained and gave Gavin hope the problem wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The soil was saturated, but the rainwater mostly ran towards the creek beds.

"Why don't you four go to the Rusty Duck tavern and rest. I got some business to attend to."

"I'll come with you," Daia said.

"You can't. This I got to do alone. Put on your ring, though. I'll need you in a little while."

The town of Saliria was small enough that, though the streets were narrow, they were spa.r.s.ely populated. A large, armed man on a horse drew little attention. He found s.p.a.ce between two buildings on an alley where he could work without being seen. Nicholia had said Rogan's last visit was about noon on the first day of Junis, and so Gavin, with his fingers curled around the rune of time, held that day and time in his mind. He relaxed his normal vision and, with Daia's help, used his hidden eye to see the vortex. It cycled through the colors of the rainbow in the same order every time, making it easy to antic.i.p.ate when it would turn blue. "Taendat," he said, and then stepped into it.

The loopy feeling in his belly caught him off balance, but a hand against the wall steadied him. Everything looked the same as it had only a moment ago. He wasn't sure he'd traveled back in time. There was one way to find out.

Gavin waited on the street not far from where the road branched off to go towards Rogan's house. If it was close to noon on the first day of Junis, and if Nicholia had been telling the truth, Rogan would be delivering his last payment soon.

Gavin paced while he waited, wondering what he would say. Rogan didn't know he'd be dead within a month. He didn't know how little time he had left. Liera and their sons missed Rogan deeply, which helped to intensify the guilt he was feeling. He had the power to come back and see his brother anytime he wanted, and yet, he'd waited three months to do it. If Liera had this power, she wouldn't have waited, nor would Rogan's boys. Of course, they hadn't been the reason Rogan was dead, either.

There he was, approaching from the north on his brown gelding. Gavin hid around the corner of the building and waited for Rogan to ride past. Gavin's palms grew sweaty and his eyes burned. All the grief, guilt, longing and sadness threatened to overpower him. He was chastising himself for becoming foolishly emotional when he realized Rogan was getting away. He broke into a run, desperate not to lose sight of the brother he'd already lost once. He followed Rogan through the narrow streets of Saliria. Soon, Rogan dismounted in front of a cottage.

Gavin's chest heaved from the run, and he stopped in the street, watching as Rogan placed a bundle underneath a rock on the stoop, just as Nicholia had claimed he did. It was true, then. Rogan Kinshield was the father of her child. By the time Rogan climbed back into the saddle and started back the way he'd come, Gavin was standing in the middle of the street with his arms crossed.

"Little Brother? What are you doing here?" Rogan asked. He looked around nervously, as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

"We need to talk," Gavin said quietly.

Rogan dismounted and walked up to embrace his brother. Gavin hugged him fiercely, reluctant to let go. He felt his eyes burning as if he might weep, and he held Rogan even tighter. Rogan patted his back and started to pull away, but Gavin held a moment longer.

"You awright, Little Brother?" Rogan asked.

Gavin released him but kept an arm around Rogan's shoulder. "I ain't here to judge you. I just need to know the truth."

Rogan's forehead wrinkled. "The truth about what? What's wrong?"

"I met a girl. She said her name is Keturah Kinshield, and she said I'm her father. Is that where she lives?"

Rogan's eyes flew wide. He turned away, perhaps in shame, with his head hung low. "You're not," he said. "You don't need to worry. I'm taking care of her, though I wish I could do more."

"Liera doesn't know?"

Rogan shook his head. "She'd never forgive me for that, and I couldn't live seein' disgust or disrespect in her eyes every day. That's why I had to lie. I'm sorry, Little Brother. I never meant to hurt you. You don't spend much time in Saliria, and people don't know you here. I didn't think this would come back to you."

Gavin put a hand on Rogan's shoulder and squeezed it. He knew he had to be careful what he said because he couldn't attempt to alter the future. He also had to let Rogan know his secret was safe. "I understand. I ain't asking you to change anything. I just needed to know the truth, and I didn't know whether I could trust the word o'the woman Nicholia. I needed to hear it from you."

"It didn't mean anything, Gavin," Rogan said. "You got to believe me. I love my wife. I love my family, but I also got a duty to this girl. It wasn't her fault I lost my honor. She shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes."

Gavin nodded. "I know. You're doing the right thing. That's proof enough you didn't lose your honor. You still got it."

Rogan didn't say anything, nor did he meet his brother's eyes. "I'll never stop regretting what I did, but I got to make sure all my children get what they need."

"It was a mistake, no doubt, but there's no other choice. If Liera ever hears about this, it'll break her heart. You keep doing what you're doing. You hear me, Rogan?" Gavin pulled on Rogan's shoulder to turn him around. "Look at me. You don't change a thing, awright? Don't tell her you're not Gavin Kinshield. If anyone asks me, I'll acknowledge her as my daughter."

Rogan put an arm around Gavin. "Thanks, Little Brother. I owe you big."

Gavin nearly broke down and wept. Rogan would be dead in a matter of weeks because of Gavin, and now he felt he owed a debt. That was just wrong. "No, you don't owe me anything. Just... Go home to your family, and let them know you love them. Do that for me, will you?"

Rogan looked him in the eye. "You sure everything's awright? You ain't sick, are you?"

Gavin snorted regretfully. "No, I'm fine. I got some business to attend, but I'll stop by for a visit in a little while."

The brothers bid each other a fond farewell with a hearty embrace. Again, Gavin held Rogan for just a moment longer, relishing the warmth of his body, and the beating of his heart against his own. Knowing he could return and visit Rogan anytime was both bitter and sweet.

He stroked the horse's muzzle while Rogan climbed into the saddle. "We won't speak o'this again," Gavin said. "If you bring it up, I'll pretend I don't know what you're talking about."

Rogan nodded. "I understand."

"Your boys love you," Gavin said. His voice caught in his throat, and he coughed to clear it. "Jaesh isn't sure you know that."

"O'course I know it. Why would he doubt it?" Rogan asked, looking down with a scowl.

Gavin shrugged. "Ask him."

Rogan reached down and gripped Gavin's shoulder. "Stop by afore you leave town. Liera'll want to feed you." He waved as he headed back to his home.

Gavin watched him ride away, hesitant to take his eyes off his brother's living form. "I love you too, Rogan," he said quietly.

Chapter 24.

For four days, Cirang rode facing backwards with her wrists shackled and her mount's lead tied to Vandra's saddle, and a longer second rope around Cirang's waist like the leash on a dog, with Brawna holding the other end.

It wasn't Cirang's horse they'd given her, the one she'd left at the cottage where Ravenkind had died, but a pack mule that didn't seem happy about having a human rider, especially one seated the wrong way. The beast periodically stopped on the road and brayed when the slack came out of its lead rope. Brawna, riding behind, had to tap its rump with a branch to get it to start walking again. She occasionally let the ends of the branch brush Cirang's leg or hands.

The worst part of the journey was having to look at Brawna's perpetually bewildered expression. She looked like a dull-witted buffoon and stuck her tongue out or smirked from time to time, probably for the spitting and taunting incident a few months ago. Of course, Tyr had instructed Toren Meobryn to stab her a few times in the thigh and once in the belly, and so Brawna had reason to dislike Cirang. Once they reached the farmhouse, Cirang would watch the little trollop closely, in case she tried to get upscores.

She'd hoped for a chance to escape, but they kept a close eye on her, even through the nights. Though they spent each night at an inn, they shackled one wrist to Brawna and the other to Vandra, and she had to lie still between them, which gave her aching back no respite. The one time Brawna had caught her sifting quietly through Vandra's pack, searching for the shackle key as they prepared to leave the second morning, they'd bound her hands behind her back, and she had to ride like that for the remainder of the day. Mounting the mule that way was next to impossible without Kinshield lifting her inelegantly into the saddle, and so they acquiesced and moved her wrists to the front on her promise not to try to escape again. She would've promised to swallow all the water in the Quirjan Sea if they'd taken the shackles off. They were rubbing her skin raw.

They arrived at mid-day on the fourth day of travel. Sithral Tyr had found the cellar by chance three years earlier when his horse's hooves thumped the wooden hatch as he rode across it. The hollow sound and whine of rotting wood had stopped him. The original farmhouse, situated nearby, had burned to the ground long ago, leaving only its brick foundation and a few scattered remnants of rotted wood and broken gla.s.s. Apparently no one had discovered the hidden cellar about twenty paces away.

It had taken Tyr a couple of hours to cut back the overgrowth and sc.r.a.pe away enough soil to find the unhinged end. Once he had the hatch open, he'd tied a rope to his saddle and lowered himself down to discover a trove of ancient treasures. After a few days of sorting through the books and papers and weeks of inquiring about the names mentioned within, he came to realize some of these items might have value. Unfortunately, he'd sold the first journal to Ravenkind before he understood just how valuable it was.

The battler Toren Meobryn, indebted to Tyr for helping to divert blame for a murder onto another man, had helped him build this shack. Tyr hadn't spent much time here, but he'd squatted long enough to claim legal ownership of the abandoned land.

Though Cirang hadn't legally inherited the property upon Tyr's corporeal death, she was probably the only one alive who knew what treasures lay hidden beneath it. As far as she knew, Ravenkind had been the last visitor, and Toren's body was undoubtedly rotting in the weeds beside Tyr's.

Cirang swung her foot over the saddle and slid to the ground. The animals were tied to the nearby trees, and the entire contingent of travelers, five people including herself, crowded inside.

The shack was nothing to boast about, consisting of a single room about two paces by three. Tyr had built it large enough to hide the cellar hatch, which was its only real value.

"Where's the d.a.m.ned journal?" Kinshield asked. "This had better not've been a trick."

"Patience, patience." Cirang lifted her chin towards the pallet. "Move that aside. The cellar opening is underneath."

Brawna dragged the pallet to the adjacent corner, and Vandra pulled up the small rug that covered the cellar hatch. Kinshield squatted, grabbed the iron ring, and pulled the hatch open.

"I have a candle in my pack, my liege," Brawna said.

Kinshield winked at her. "Who needs a candle?" He opened his palm, and on it appeared a glowing ball of light.

"Let me go down first," Daia said. "There's no telling what's down there or how st.u.r.dy the ladder is."

Kinshield nodded, and Daia climbed down. He squatted beside the top of the ladder and let the light ball drift down to her.

After Daia signaled it was safe, Kinshield descended. When Cirang started down the ladder, he told her to wait. Anger and apprehension knotted her shoulders. They were down there meddling in her things, things Tyr had collected over many years. When she heard something fall to the ground, she nearly burst through her own skin.

"There's a lot of c.r.a.p down here," he said. "Where's the journal?"

"It's locked in the chest. You'll need me to open it for you."

"A gargoyle lock," Daia said. "Did you put this on the chest, or did Tyr?"

The magic of the lock enabled only the person who placed the gargoyle to remove it. "Tyr did." She hoped that didn't mean the chest was locked forever.

"Then I should be able to remove the gargoyle," Daia said. "Tyr's dead."

The tone of her voice, the pride and superiority, made Cirang's blood run hot. When Daia let out a yelp, she laughed loudly. It served her right. "Guess I'm not as dead as you think."

"Awright, come down," Kinshield said. "Vandra, you come too."

She wasn't sure the ladder would hold up after Gavin's use, but she and Vandra made it down without incident. Brawna stayed up top.

The cellar was about four paces square - larger than the shack above, and far more interesting. Shelves lined the left and rear walls, containing some of the original items she'd found there - mostly books and papers and a few gems and trinkets. Over the years, Tyr had added to the already rich collection of old treasures whenever he happened upon something interesting. The chest containing the more precious items sat on a few pieces of lumber on the right, raised off the moist dirt floor.

She went to her knees beside the wooden chest. On its lid sat a medium brown wooden gargoyle about five inches tall. Though she knew it was made from a different piece of wood placed there long after the chest was built, there was no line separating it from the chest's lid. They appeared to be made from the same log.

Doubt stilled her hand as she reached for it, her hands still bound. If it didn't recognize her and Tyr as being the same person - possessing the same spirit - she would receive a painful shock, as Daia had. She tapped it with one finger. Nothing happened. More confidently, she took hold of it and pulled. It came away as easily as though it had merely been resting on top.

"Give me the gargoyle," Kinshield said. "You won't be coming back here."

"I agreed to give you the book. The rest of these things are mine by rights."

Daia s.n.a.t.c.hed the gargoyle from her hand and gave it to Kinshield.

"I'll lock it," he said.

Vandra reached into the chest and picked up a wooden box. "These carvings are spectacular," she said. "Did you make them?"

As a carver, Tyr'd had a fondness for wooden sculptures, ornate utensils and knife handles, decorative onlays, puzzles and toys, and often spent time carving something whimsical during his travels across Thendylath. Sometimes he sold them, other times he gave them to the children of his unsuspecting dupes. His specialty, though, was a type of box that had a hidden compartment only he knew how to open. He wondered whether his skill with a chisel was lost forever in these untrained hands.

"Don't touch what doesn't belong to you," Cirang snapped as she took the box from Vandra. Inside the hidden compartment of this particular box was a small, silk bag of serragan powder Tyr had brought from Nilmaria. The serragan weed didn't grow in Thendylath, and so the powder was practically unknown.

"None o'this belongs to you either," Kinshield said, "Cirang."

Cirang narrowed her eyes at him and lifted one side of her lip. "Shall we quit the pretense? We all know I'm not truly Cirang. Yes, I created these items. I was apprenticed to a carver very young and had earned my indicia."

"What's indicia?" Vandra asked.

"The designs sewn into a Nilmarion's skin are mostly ward lines, though some around the eyes are indicia, which indicate his profession, birth clan, and sometimes station." Cirang retrieved the journal, handed it to Gavin, and rose to her feet. "Be careful with it," she said. "It's the original copy."

He opened it gingerly, taking care with its old pages and binding. Daia and Vandra, standing beside him, looked on.

"Oh, look. There's a map," Vandra said.