madnovel The Rat and the Hawk I
The Rat and the Hawk I
The Rat and the Hawk I
Cristabel, may I ask you something? Kyembe dragged his gaze from his wine cup.
At any time, Kyembe. The saint looked up from shuffling a set of hand-inked wooden cards.
He glanced about. The Sengezian and Traemean were seated at a small table on the edge of the wine room. They were nearly out of reach of the firelight; distant chatter drowned their low tones. Good. Kyembe had sought the seclusion.
He took a deep breath.
Did you hear anything of note on the night we slept beneath the table?
The saint paused. why, pray tell?
Kyembe leaned forward. Did you?
St. Cristabels brow furrowed and her large eyes narrowed. For several heartbeats, her companion looked on in anticipation. Eventually, she shook her head. I cannot recall the foggiest.
Hrm. The Sengezian circled the rim of his wine cup with the tip of a finger, examining his memory for the hundredth time that night.
The young noble - that Jeva had chastened - sparked a dim memory: plotting, nebulous words so depraved that he was unsure if they were vile truth or drunken delusion worthy of dismissal. Yet the more he thought on them, the more clarity they gained. Clarity was breeding obsession.
The boy had seemed so proud as he cast his silver over the snow.
So satisfied.
So free from grief.
Kyembes mood darkened. Are you sure? You were the first to wake among us.
St. Cristabel studied his countenance while carefully placing the cards down. I heard not a thing. Though, unless I miss my guess, you heard something that has you most unsettled.
I may have heard something. He shrugged. Or I may be ruminating on a bad dream as a child would.
Perhaps. Did you inquire the same of Wurhi?
She heard nothing as well.
Aye, but she was last awake among us, and you- She tapped her ear. By far have the sharpest hearing. Clearly, disturbance lies upon your spirit. A rare thing for you. She cocked her head, chestnut curls falling over her shoulder. Confide in me. What confounds you so?
Kyembe chewed his lip. you must hold this in confidence.
St. Cristabel brought her fist over her heart. I swear it: I shall not utter a word to another without your leave.
The Sengezian sighed. Alright. Glancing about, he leaned across the table. Do you remember that boy from earlier?
Which boy?
The one casting silver at us like grain to hens.
Oh. Her expression soured. Him. Uncouth, boorish and godless.
And perhaps worse. I might have heard him speaking to his friend that night.
Slowly, Kyembe relayed what he thought he remembered of their conversation. With each word recounting a sons plot to murder his mother, the saints expression turned somber. Her lips formed a grim line. Her face grew red beneath her freckles.
Bang.
She shot up from her seat. The table quivered from the impact of her hands.
Kyembe recoiled. What are you doing?
Blue balefire burned in her eyes. I shall have Jeva release my blade to me. Her voice was low and calm: like an executioners reading the name of a condemned person. Then, I shall search out this murdering blackguard and cleave him in twain.
Wait wait wait wait wait! Kyembe scrambled to his feet. The memory is shrouded! It could be false!
Without breaking gaze, she brought up an empty hand.
Hsssss.
The scent of vitriol stained the air.
Droplets formed in her palm, shining in a golden witch-light that gave her face a demonic cast. I shall anoint him with the Tears of Amitiyah. Should my gods tears burn his flesh, then I shall execute him post-haste. If they instead turn sweet, then I know his innocence.
Kyembe grimaced. This Amitiyah had not caused evil that he had witnessed, but - in his grim experience - little good birthed from the fickle whims of demons and gods.
His own village of boyhood had learned such a lesson. Fatally.
Please. He wrapped her hand in both of his. The scent of vitriol turned sweet. Callouses on their fingers touched. I beg you: do not crash through someones gate because of my drunken dreams. You may destroy two reputations in one stroke: his, and your own. I owe you my life. His grip tightened. I would not forgive myself.
The two warriors stood. Crimson eyes held blue ones.
At last, the saint sighed and withdrew her hand. You have the right of it, she declared. Wisdom must cool zeal. And your words are wise, Kyembe.
She sighed, her cheer abating. Yet, the empire pushed on: young, hungry and strong - razing all who opposed them until every daughter, mother and young son fell. Their high priestess despaired, kneeling in the temple: her supplications rose high to their war-god while the conquerors smoke choked the skies.
Thesilieas lips tightened. A spear pierced her back where she knelt. A bloodied Tigrisian hand dragged the crown jewel - The Eye of Radiin - from her headdress. Her dying words, whether curse or prayer, bubbled in her blood. And so, those people were wiped from the world. But, when they found the afterlife and sought their just reward, their war-god called only the men to enter his barracks. The women were left - told to find joy in other realms of the after-world.
She gave a dark laugh. But they had been made warriors as few can be called. Their eyes burned red from their gods slight and they turned their backs on him. Their ire smouldered like hot coals and they clashed with the souls and demons of the afterworld. They gave no quarter, fighting in darkness and light. They trampled all until, once again, they reached the world of the living.
She looked to Ippolyte. And so, they emerged: warriors through the crucible of death. They emerged as the Vestulai.
A moment of silence hung in the air.
Yeah, yeeeeah thats very nice. Wurhi eyed Thesiliea impatiently. But what about the jewel?
Were you not listening? Ippolyte grunted. It is a stone pulled from a murdered priestess during a massacre so awful it birthed a new people! A people birthed from the rage of the dead, Wurhi - is that not cursed enough for you?!
The Zabyallan blinked. Wait, wait, thats all true? Coming back from the dead?
Some time ago, she would have laughed at the very thought. Yet, she had witnessed strange things since joining Kyembes company. Awful things. Nightmarish things.
I was slain and returned by Amitiyahs grace, St. Cristabel offered. Such occurrences are not impossible.
Wurhi looked at the saint as though she were rabid. She chose to ignore the madwoman. So why dont you go get it back? she asked the Vestulai.
Gods, I wish you gambled as badly as you listened, Ippolyte moaned. Cursed as cursed gets? We want no part of it: let it twist the fortune of whatever fool holds it. We Vestulai move on.
Didnt look like you were moving on earlier, the thief countered. I thought you were gonna take the head of that shit-spewing piss monger.
We do not want it back, Thesiliea pronounced grimly. But to see it paraded before ushow could one not react with wrath?
Exactly! Wurhi gestured. It got paraded back to his house! I say react with wrath by stealing it! and everything else we can carry!
The Vestulais red eyes narrowed. Theres no honour in that. And if he wishes to flaunt a curse, let him. Do not go and bring it upon yourself.
Oh, hells to that, Wurhi snorted, turning to the Sengezian. Kyembe, we robbed a dead Wizard Kings tomb and nothing bad happened to us! Youre not caught up in all this, are you?
Kyembe thought back on his earlier suspicions. A mother murdered by her own son. A mother that possessed this cursed jewel. He shook his head. there is evil to this thing. I say we do not touch it.
Wurhi snorted in disgust, throwing her hands up. Fine time for you to turn coward! Grumbling, she turned to Ippolyte. Im in a bad mood. Prepare to be poor.
The Vestulai groaned.
Kyembe laughed, directing his attention to the warrior woman on his lap.
He did not catch the gleam of greed awaking in Wurhis eyes.
Haldrych paced the master bedchamber in agitation. A goblet of wine trembled in his hand.
That thing knew something. He took a long sip of the steaming liquor.
You dont know that. Adelmar gripped the arms of his chair. His voice was tight.
I do! They know. Haldrych guzzled the wine, his eyes growing distant. You shouldve seen the way that red eyed creature stared at me! He knew something!
The merchants son leaned forward, tenting his fingers before a troubled brow. Red eyesmust have Vestulai blood. Thatd explain the glare.
Haldrych snorted. Vestulai men are thick-bodied like oxen and much lighter of skin. He was something else. And he was under that damn table with that big woman and the little one. Damn all the gods, they mightve heard everything!
They werent conscious, Adelmar pushed, though his voice shed confidence with every word. You shouted loud enough for half the room to hear and no one said a word about it.
not all dogs with closed eyes are sleeping, Adelmar.
The merchants son grumbled. wed already have the Dukes Battalion on us if they knew.
Or. The poet held up a finger. Maybe theyre waiting to inform the Battalion. Or blackmail us. Or some other trick. Perhaps they even mean to kill us themselves-
Alright, alright! Youve made your point! Adelmar tugged on the end of his beard. Heres what we do. Ive arranged for us to meet with two men after your mothers funeral. Were going to go somewhere with them and, if things go as I hope, this will no longer be a problem.
Haldrych eyed him. Where?
I cant say. But, once were there, theyre going to do something-
Do what? Who are these they?
Haldrych! the merchants son snapped. You. Must. See.
The young poets jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
good man. Adelmar continued. Once its done and if things go wellyou may ask them a favour: have them take care of this.
More shadowy talk! Haldrych grimaced. Who are these people of yours that you have so much confidence in them?
Adelmars answering smile was positively wolfish. You wouldnt believe me if I told you.