The wraiths did not revisit. By the time Thorn, Candor, and Letti reached the outskirts of Ome Chaer, they had dismounted, and were leading their horses by the reins. The heads of their steeds hung low, and their feet dragged. Thorn had insisted on riding through the night, stopping the one time as he had promised.
As the sun began to rise, Thorn pulled them to a halt behind a small, abandoned hovel. A crude lean-to with a melancholy blanket flapping between the posts, the home looked abandoned. Several dotted the flat sands that rose to the edges of the large city’s walls.
“What—” Candor began to ask.
“Plague houses.” Thorn cut her off. “Get your shawls out.”
“Our shawls?” Letti asked. “Why?”
“You’re going to cover your heads.” Thorn explained.
Candor raised an eyebrow. “Why?” She echoed.
Thorn breathed out through his nose. “Because you are two young women traveling alone with an older man. There will be fewer questions this way.”
Irritated, but unable to argue cultural norms with Thorn, both Candor and Letti pulled scarves over their hair, pleating them loosely around their chins. Thorn made a show of inspecting them, tucking a stray lock of Candor’s salt-stiff hair under her the dark fabric.
“Alright.” He said swiftly, “let’s go.”
They trouped through the rough roads that seemed to grow out of the sand. It was clear to Candor that rarely did anyone approach Ome Chaer from the north. What paths travelers might have riven in the earth long ago faded, the stones that marked the road only barely visible above the sand swept over them.
“It’s huge.” Candor said as they drew closer. From even a span further away, the city had seemed to lie just above the sea, its rough stone walls a blend of the sand on which it stood and slightly darker earth. Upon closer inspection, the walls thrust perhaps fifty lengths in the air, their tops ridged with uninviting points. Stuck in these spines were an alarming number of sharpened wooden stakes, such that each spike resembled a mace, intertwined with its neighbor. Thorn noticed Candor’s interest and smiled darkly.
“Ome Chaer has never been keen on visitors.”
“I should say not.” Candor murmured.
The gate in front of them rosed to a curved point, its thick wooden doors open outward. Next to the
doors sat two men in red tunics who seemed to be rattling some sort of cup. As Candor watched, the taller of the men gave the cup one last shake and threw little dotted cubes across the box that sat between them. The outcome was apparently unsatisfying, Candor noted, for he threw up his hands in disgust.
Looking over at them, he recovered his equanimity and stood approaching them with surprise.
“Greetings.” The man offered no gesture of salutations. “Business?”
“We’ve come to trade our wares.” Thorn pointed to the three rucks that drooped alongside the horses’ saddles.
“Not many folk come from the north.” The man squinted at the three curiously. “Where are you coming from?”
“My girls wished to see the sea plains.” Thorn said smoothly. “Their mother, Twins bless her and let her rest, told them so many stories when they were girls. This being their first trip with me since she passed, I couldn’t deny them.” Thorn’s eyes teared up.
The man’s expression relaxed, and he looked apologetic, though mildly suspicious; neither Candor nor Letti resembled Thorn.
“Beggin’ your pardon sir. I lost mine own parents a few years back. That’s how I came to be in the guard. It’s a might sight the plains.”
“Yes, but alas, sights don’t provide for the table.” Thorn said, the picture of wistfulness. “What’s the tithe these days?”
The man seemed even more apologetic, but informed Thorn of the number. Thorn then made a few appropriate noises, Candor assumed, at such a number, and spent several moments rummaging in his pack for the needed coinage.
“That’s grown steeper than last I visited. Course,” Thorn allowed a new accent to creep into his words, “that was through another gate.”
The guard looked affronted. “I assure you, I would never gouge you. The city’s been receiving quite a few visitors from Durevin. Blues all over. The port master’s trying to get his money’s worth I reckon. No need to harp on common folk trying to get by.”
“Aye. That would make sense, it would.” Thorn nodded to the man and offered his hand. The guard shook it, surprised, and returned to his game, muttering to his partner.
“What,” Candor murmured when they were out of earshot, “in the name of the Twins was that?”
“That just got us into Ome Chaer with no questions and no trouble.” Thorn looked around quickly. “I’ve not been in this gate in a long while. I’ll have to remember where to go.”
“Not very friendly is it.” Letti frowned, looking up at the walls that now seemed to encase them.
“It grows livelier the closer to the center you draw.” Thorn said absentmindedly. “This city was made so that you must know how to escape if you need to. Any intruder, any invader would be lost, unable to maneuver or navigate.”
“Seems rather unnecessary.” Candor muttered, thinking of the spikes that lined the exterior walls.
“Ome Chaer is a sea city, and the oldest human city in Icaria, depending on your origin story.” Thorn chose a left turn as they continued through the maze-like streets. “It’s been invaded, defended, had more coups and more plagues than you could imagine. Even during the early peace of the Fae-human alliance, its internal politics were different from other human cities.”
Candor shivered. She did feel trapped between these tall stone walls. The doors they passed all resembled the large gate, widening at their base and tapering into curved points at their top. All intricately carved, the doors reminded Candor of Haela’s rooms. She wondered idly what their traditions were, and if she were going to have to wear a fish mask again. She desperately hoped not.
Strange, lilting music reached their ears, and Thorn turned towards it, doubling back a few times with as many curses as they ran into dead ends. Finally, Thorn rounded a corner and turned the trio out onto a wide-open market. The music emanated from a small quartet of people near the door, playing various stringed instruments Candor and Letti had never seen before. The notes struck a wistfulness inside Candor, and she immediately thought of her desire to leave the village. She sucked in a breath.
The marketplace could have been a half span across, Candor was certain. Across the square, merchants hollered and offered their goods to the passersby. All manner of seafood, fish Candor had never seen, seeds, fabrics, pottery, carved wooden items, lanterns, Candor did not know where to look. There seemed to be more colors on one market stand than Candor had seen in her entire life. Spicy smells emanated from various tables as their merchants tried to sell their freshly cooked food.
“Stay close to me.” Thorn muttered to the girls. “And close your mouths. No need to gawk, it will just make you a target.”
Both girls snapped their jaws shut, but their eyes remained wide. Thorn led them through the marketplace, stopping to banter with a few of the merchants who pressed their wares upon the big man.
“A new piece of jewelry for you, or for your daughters, it would look lovely—”
“And for you, miss, a new shawl, a nice color for your eyes—”
“New boots for you, those look worn as if you’ve walked the world—”
It took much of Candor’s concentration to withdraw into herself somewhat and ensure she could still sense threats. Not all the merchants spoke the common tongue, and the cacophony was astounding. She had never experienced such a crowd, but she felt it would be an excellent diversion should someone wish to attack them. I have grown too paranoid, she thought sardonically to herself. How Mo would be proud.
As the market jettisoned the trio on its far side, Candor finally noticed something.
“Look.” She murmured to Letti, who was still ogling the tents of the marketplace.
“What?”
“None of the women have their hair covered.” Candor raised an eyebrow.
“We don’t all look alike, Candor.” Letti shook her head, tearing her gaze from the colors. “Thorn is trying to pass us off as his daughters. I’m sure this was the easiest way to do so. Give him another chance.”
Appropriately chastened, Candor bit her lip, but nodded. Though, Candor couldn’t resist thinking, it’s not as though I look like Thorn at all. They turned to follow the big man, who was speaking with another man under a small portico that ejected itself from the wall. Carved horses decorated its plinths.
“We’ll stable the horses here for the night.” Thorn said as the girls approached. The man looked kindly over them. He sported a long grey beard, and his wrinkles bespoke how often he had smiled through his life.
Candor and Letti untied their packs from the saddles and turned their reins over to the older man.
“Alec.” He introduced himself. “Well met.” He offered his palm after touching his fingertips to his mouth.
Delighted to have found someone who knew their customs, the girls offered him their own palms and he too smiled widely. “Keep them safe.” He advised Thorn, who snorted.
“Believe me, I’m trying.”
Alec nodded, and with one last look at the two girls, turned from the trio and marched the horses back through the wide door under his entryway.
“Friend of yours?” Candor asked Thorn, shouldering her pack.
“I don’t have friends.” Thorn answered shortly. “But Alec is a good man. He’s watched a horse of mine before.”
“Of course, he has.” Candor muttered. “Where to now?”
“Now we find a place to stay, and I go get some questions answered.” Thorn replied.
“And what do we do?” Candor inquired.
“You, by the Twins, will stay put until I return.” Thorn rounded on the girls. “I cannot have you waltzing all over the city while I am trying to gather information.”
Affronted, Candor scowled. “We do not waltz. I don’t even know what that means. But you can’t leave us behind!” Candor knew her voice ended in a whine, but she did not care. She had not waited her entire life to see the world, only to be stuck in a room while in one of the oldest cities in Icaria.
Thorn gritted his teeth. “Let’s just find a place to stay first.”
Candor, elated that this was not an outright order she would have to disobey, nodded happily, and followed the large man through several more twisting alleyways. Some of the paths, she noticed, were much wider than others, whereas some, they could only walk one abreast. She shuddered, thinking of trying to flee through these streets.
Letti seemed just as enamored of the city. “It’s so much bigger than I thought we could create.” She whispered.
Finally, the three marched into another small agora, this one less hectic than their first, and with more open doors around the perimeter. A few merchants stood in the square, but they did not offer their goods as vociferously as their predecessors had. Indeed, Candor could see, some were playing the same game that the guards had been.
“It’s called dice.” Thorn noticed Candor looking. “They didn’t have that in your village either?”
Candor shook her head and shrugged. “Most of our games were races or competitions. We did not have many worldly things.”
“So, it would seem.” Thorn considered a moment but said no more. “Let’s try here.”
Thorn led the girls through one of the doors, the small sign above which read Waltzing Witch. Candor scowled at the picture of a woman twirling in ecstatic dance.
No rooms were available at the Waltzing Witch, however, nor were there any rooms at the Groaning Dragon, or the Fish Stables.
“What’s going on?” Thorn finally asked the innkeeper at the Fish Stables.
“Been an influx of Durevin men.” The woman answered apologetically. “Seems the port master is entertaining some nobles.”
Thorn raised an eyebrow. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few months now, they ebb and flow.” The woman shook her head. “You might try the Windless.”
Thorn asked for directions to the place and thanked the woman. Exiting the inn to the late afternoon sun, Thorn shaded his eyes. “I don’t like staying off squares.”
“Why?” Candor asked.
Thorn clucked his tongue.
“If you’d finish your thoughts instead of throwing them out half formed, I wouldn’t have to ask why.” Candor quipped.
Thorn rubbed his eyes. “I think you should go back to being mad at me.”
“Don’t fool yourself.” Candor’s eyes flashed. “I am still furious with you.”
“Glad we straightened that out.” Thorn shook his head.
She did not know if this should make her feel grateful or irritated, so she poked the big man. “Let’s find this place.”
“Let’s. Don’t poke me.” Thorn set off across the square they had just crossed, and they dove back into the weaving roads, punctuated by lines of laundry at the top.
A few streets in, the trio found a dingy sign that read Windless nailed haphazardly into the clay wall. The words were so worn, Candor would have passed right by the place had she not known what to look for.
Thorn pushed open the door into a surprisingly raucous room. Men sat on low stools around circular tables, large pitchers of amber liquid among them. The raised bar seemed to be holding up several patrons, who leered at the girls.
“This is a terrible idea, Thorn.” Candor hissed, suddenly hand twitching towards her swords.
Thorn ignored her, and marched up to the barkeep, Candor and Letti trailing. Letti tucked her shawl tighter around her head and glanced around her. Her hand rested on her dagger, Candor was pleased to see.
The barkeep nodded, and scurried to the back, returning with a thickset man who wore curiously small spectacles. Were Candor not incredibly uncomfortable, she would have giggled. As it was, the dim light from lanterns along the wall combined with the damp smell of warm bodies and ale. Candor almost wished she were facing the wolf-men of the black teeth again. At least there, the stakes were clear.
“Come on.” Thorn tapped Candor on the shoulder, and they followed him up a narrow flight of stairs behind the counter. Candor heard a whistle emanate from the watching crowd, and she gritted her teeth.
Letti, Candor could see, had grown pale, but her expression was disgust, not fear. Candor appreciated her sentiment, and her heart calmed.
“Here. One night.” The man looked Thorn up and down seeming both impressed and repulsed, as if he had discovered a particularly large bug.
Thorn thanked him and waited for the door to close before turning towards the girls.
“This?” Candor’s voice dripped with disdain. “This is where you have decided?”
“This is the only place around. And we will not be questioned here.” Thorn swallowed hard.
“Because they think you are having your way with us.” Letti said coldly.
Thorn shrugged but nodded.
“Stones below.” Candor flopped down on the bed, but immediately sprung off as something chittered between the mattress and the blankets.
“Push it against the wall,” Thorn instructed. “We will sleep on the floor tonight.”
The girls dropped their packs and did as they were told. As they turned back, Thorn seemed to be deciding something.
“Are you going to leave us here?” Candor asked. “You can’t possibly be considering that.”
Thorn eyed her.
“What? What are you plotting?” Candor snapped. “Spit it out Woden Thorn.”
“Don’t call me that.” Thorn snapped back.
“Then don’t keep your thoughts from us.” Candor crossed her arms.
“Are you ever silent, woman?” Thorn pinched the bridge of his nose.
With a jolt, Candor realized that was the first time she had ever been referred to as anything but a girl. In the current circumstances, it made her feel dirty.
Shocked, for the moment, to quiet, Candor waited for Thorn to voice his plan.
“I can’t imagine you’ve heard of the Sarzade ploy?” Thorn shook his head. “Occasionally, if a man who is trying to sell the bodies of women who work for him wishes for them to keep their heads during their exchange, he will make a deal with the barkeep in whose establishment they are operating. When the woman takes a man for a drink, or he offers to buy her one, she asks for a Sarzade, and the barkeep gives her water. That way, she can keep her wits about her. It’s named for one of the greatest tricksters ever to have lived. Funnily enough, she was not a prostitute.” Thorn considered the irony before returning to his plot. “Something is amiss here, something with the soldiers and the men from Durevin. This is a place that will have information.” Thorn hesitated, and Candor and Letti glanced at each other flatly.
“I need to visit a few of my… acquaintances.” Thorn explained. “If you are willing, I’d like to leave you in the bar downstairs. You can pose as women of the evening, and garner information.”
Appalled into a true silence, Candor gaped at the large man. “You are aware that I have just spent my sixteenth year on the earth. I am only part way through my seventeenth, as is Letti.”
Thorn did not seem to find this of importance. “There are girls younger than you in this trade.”
“That doesn’t make it better.” Candor sputtered. She rounded on Letti, who had remained surprisingly quiet. She gazed at Thorn.
“You would have us do this?” She asked softly.
He nodded.
“And if the men insist on taking us to a room, what would you have us do?” Letti asked. Candor grew increasingly worried. Her friend’s voice did not sound right, it rang almost hollow.
“I will give you a sleeping draught that you may slip into their drinks.”
“And of course, just stack the bodies outside the door somewhere.” Letti said, feigning a reasonable tone.
Thorn shrugged. “That would work.”
“Thorn.” Letti dropped her charade. “Listen to yourself. Are you so removed from humanity that you do not know what this will do to us?”
Thorn glanced between the girls, then down at his shoes, ashamed. “I apologize.” He muttered. “It seemed like a good plan.”
“It’s a desperate plan.” Candor corrected. “It is a functional plan. That does not make it a good plan.”
Thorn sighed. “Well, I don’t—”
“Hush.” Candor held a hand up. She turned to Letti. “This might be a way to find out if anyone has heard anything about our village.”
Candor considered the type of information they might find should they agree to Thorn’s hairbrained scheme. Though it was her mission to find the Citadel, she had no intention of allowing revenge to fall from her goals.
Letti bit her lip, and glanced at Thorn, a look of hurt flashing through her eyes.
“He doesn’t get it.” Candor cut Thorn out of the conversation, even as her mothers used to do to her. “He is not the same as we are. He is practical to a fault and does not fear the same things we do, not death, not reputation, not trauma.” Candor tried to soften her tone. “But he is not wrong in that we have been traveling blindly for too long. Something is afoot of which we are now a part, and we need more information.”
The room fell silent as Letti deliberated.
“Fine.” She looked at Candor, and then at Thorn. “But we take them men together. I am not doing this alone.”
A half hour later, Thorn returned to their chambers. “Barkeep is fine with it. Ask for a lavender yolk.”
“That sounds revolting.” Letti objected.
“It’s not a real drink Lettishae.” Candor rolled her eyes. She fingered the vial Thorn had given her and glanced at her swords again. Under their tunics, Candor and Letti both wore small daggers buckled around their waists.
“I’m going to walk you down, then leave in full view of the bar.” Thorn explained, strapping his own sword to his hips. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, so try not to kill anyone, Candor, and garner what information you can. I want to know about the Durevin presence.”
Both girls nodded.
“Let’s go.”
Together, the three walked down the stairs. Thorn had insisted the girls maintain their shawls, though, Candor pointed out, it seemed like modesty was a lost cause at this point.
Steering the girls toward the bar with a hand on each of their shoulders, Thorn nodded once at the barkeep and sauntered out of the Windless, as if he had no care in the world.
“A lavender yolk.” Candor asked.
“Make that two.” Letti glanced behind them and leaned against the bar. “I don’t give a flying stone about the Durevin men, Candor. Just so you know. I want information about marauding parties in the north.”
“I don’t think it was a marauding party, but yes. I agree with you, our village is priority.” Candor answered softly. “Thank you.” The young man behind the bar slid her a filthy glass with clear liquid in it. Candor sniffed it, grimaced, and slid it back to him.
He met her eyes, interested. “Give me what I asked for, or I’ll ensure you cannot father children.” Candor said in a friendly voice.
The man scuttled to give her another glass. His dark eyes were wide.
“You should give a lady what she asks for, Kaeth.” A man, nearly as large as Thorn, stepped to the bar behind Candor and smiled at her.
Arranging her facial features into what she hoped was a reasonably alluring smile, Candor thanked him.
“And your name, Yer…” Candor offered the formal greeting she had been taught as a child.
“A Durevin girl, are you?” The man asked with surprise. “We don’t see ladies of Durevin very often. Only your soldiers and your mercenaries.” He frowned.
Unsure how the man had deduced this particular origin, Candor played along.
“Alwyna, at your service.” She offered him her palm.
Now looking utterly bemused, the man sat back, wary. “You know the greetings of the court.” He frowned. “How is it that you became a whore?”
Scrambling, to cover for herself, Candor opened her mouth, but Letti answered smoothly.
“Forgive my sister. She forgets herself. We are accustomed to wealthier clients.” Letti smiled demurely.
“It was simply time to move onward.”
“Ah.” The man nodded sagely. “I understand that need well myself.” He nodded at the barkeep, and two more waters, or what Candor desperately hoped were waters, appeared before the girls. “I’m Tarick.”
“Marin.” Letti introduced herself. She fluttered her eyelashes slightly, and the man seemed to forget his next words.
Marveling at Letti’s newfound talent, Candor allowed her friend to extract the information. Tarick and Letti discussed the weather, Letti offering a passing comparison between Durevin and Ome Chaer.
“Yes, they’ve been coming in for months.” Tarick was saying. “It seems as if some of the nobles in Durevin have finally decided to pool their resources and start an army.” He shook his head. “What baffles me is that they are this far west. Durevin’s sent naught but merchants west since the mad king. No soldiers, lestways.”
Letti, sipping slightly on her water, seemed confused. “Then what could they be doing?”
Tarick sighed. “Perhaps they’re hoping to try their luck for an alliance with the port master.”
Candor sat forward slightly.
“Do you mean building an empire again?” Letti’s voice was breathy, as if awed by the power that presented.
The man swelled importantly, as if it were he who were trying to conquer the world. “Seems like there might be something along those lines afoot. I know violet villages have been sacked lately. Someone has been conscripting young men, and women in some cases.” Tarick shook his head.
Candor let out a breath, lightheaded. “Have you heard of any villages being struck in the north? Say, in the black teeth?” Candor asked.
The man sat back and laughed. “You know, you two are a breath of fresh air. Whores don’t usually have a sense of humor. There haven’t been any villages in the north since before the mad king.” The man chuckled again and drained his ale.
“Would you take me up to your chambers?” He asked politely.
Disappointed, but unsurprised, Candor nodded, and they stood. Candor snatched her glass off the bar, and led the man upstairs, with Letti trailing behind him.
“I’m not sure I have enough for two.” The man said apologetically when they arrived in their room.
Letti smiled beguilingly once more. “Our pleasure. You’ve been so kind.”
The man smiled and took Candor’s outstretched glass. After a long sip, he sat back on the bed and stretched. The girls moved as if to take off their shawls, but before they could so much as untuck the fabric, Tarick was snoring.
“By the Twins, I hope this stuff doesn’t kill him.” Candor eyed the little vial Thorn had given her. “I added a drop.”
“Come on, let’s get him into another room.” Letti grasped the man’s feet, and Candor took his arms. Staggering, the two girls kicked open their door and half carried, half dragged Tarick down the hall.
Trying a few doorknobs, Candor found one that opened, and the girls shoved the large man into the room.
“You know we can’t stay here tonight.” Candor said, closing the door.
Letti, straightening her shawl, nodded. “That’s a Thorn problem.”
Candor snorted.
The two returned to their room. Unsure how long to wait, Letti paced, and Candor unsheathed her indigo sword, searching as she did when she was bored, for any knicks or places to shine. She found nothing.
“Funny that the man said that no villages existed in the north.” Letti murmured, whirling about at the end of the room.
“Aye. Thorn said the same thing, remember?” Candor asked.
“No.” Letti shook her head.
“Oh. Well, he did.” Candor threw back her head and stared at the ceiling. “Seems like there are a lot of soldiers about.”
“Soldiers or mercenaries?” Letti laughed humorlessly, “or conscripts?”
“And who is their leader?” Candor asked softly. “I do have a feeling that our village is tied to this movement, somehow.”
Letti agreed. Both girls, frustrated by their lack of knowledge, stood and returned to the bar. Night had now fallen, and what little light the bar offered fell solely from flickering lanterns. The barkeep gave the girls a pitying look as they took their seats once more. A few more patrons had joined the tables, and the newcomers looked much less hospitable than had Tarick.
Candor sighed. “I don’t see this ending well.”
Letti nodded nervously.
“You were marvelous with Tarick.” Candor complimented her friend. Letti chuckled. “Men are easy to fool when you agree with them. It’s the moment you disagree they become difficult. You might try that with Thorn—” Letti stopped abruptly as two men joined them at the bar.
Distinctly unwashed and smelling of the sea, one was missing both front teeth. He leered at Candor and reached over to tug at her shawl. “I’d love to see what was under that.” His words slurred.
Candor glanced at Letti, whose neighbor seemed equally as enamored of her headgear.
“Very kind of you gentlemen, but we’re waiting for our patron.” Candor spoke clearly and loudly.
“Mm, now that seems unlikely.” The man leaned close to Candor. His breath stank of stale beer and too much mintweed.
“And yet,” Candor did not lean back, “It is the truth.”
The man eyed Candor for a moment, then chewed the inside of his cheek and sat back. Gesturing to his mate, he called Candor an unsavory name, which Candor felt was rather uncalled for, and trouped back to their table.
An hour or so passed as Candor and Letti waited for Thorn, or at least more useful sources of information to appear. The barkeep did not seem concerned that Tarick had not returned with the girls. The fewer questions he asked, Candor guessed, the better his business.
As the bar turned over, a few new patrons flicked their gaze to Candor and Letti.
Candor sighed. “Brace yourself.”
There were three this time.
“Ladies.” The first rumbled. Boasting close cropped dark hair and bright blue eyes, the man knew he was attractive and was unafraid of attention. Candor took an immediate disliking to him, but she was intrigued nonetheless. He was a competitor.
“Yer…” Candor asked for the man’s name.
“Yours first.” He grinned. His teeth were too white, Candor noticed.
“Alwyna.” Candor answered smoothly.
“Marin.” Letti offered her name.
“Kurk, Diern, Navis.” The man pointed to his friends one by one, then back to himself. “What are you ladies doing at the Windless.”
“Holes in our sails.” Candor joked half-heartedly.
The man grinned and motioned for drinks. He settled against the bar, leaning casually, almost jauntily. Kurk and Diern leaned against the bar behind Letti, forcing her to face them. Candor felt the reassuring cool metal of her dagger press against her waist.
“And what are you doing here?” Candor asked.
“We’re just in from Durevin.” Navis answered. He ran his tongue over his teeth.
“Oh?” Candor struggled to keep her tone neutral. “What brings you so far across the land?”
Navis grinned predatorily. “Orders.”
“Oh, those.” Candor offered a light laugh. “And here I thought it was to see me.” It burned her to speak as she did.
Navis winked. “That too, of course.” He looked pleased with himself. “We’re here on important business. We’re guarding the house of E’Lantura.”
“Oh?” Candor frowned slightly, “That name sounds familiar.”
“It should.” Navis puffed out his chest. “They are the most powerful family in Durevin. They own the most ships, have the best trade, and pay their soldiers the most.”
“Then you can offer a pretty sum.” Candor winked back, but her mind was racing. “How long are you here for?”
“We leave tomorrow.” Navis grinned. “Lord Navere got what he came for.”
“How marvelous for him.” Candor murmured.
“Indeed.” Navis seemed to grow bolder. “Now, as for how to spend my sums…”
Candor nodded, asking the barkeep for a glass of lavender yolk for the room. Grasping it, she and Letti led the three men upstairs, once more offering them a drink.
Kurk took a sip, but Navis and Diern declined.
“Go on, it will loosen you up.” Candor held her glass to Navis and tried to flutter her eyelashes like Letti.
“I am plenty loose, Alwyna.” Navis said, grabbing Candor’s arm. “Now I would like to spend my last night in the throes of ecstasy.”
“What he must think of my skills.” Candor said to Letti over her shoulder. Quick as a flash, Candor darted onto the bed behind Navis, and took him in a chokehold, lowering him to the floor as he passed out.
Letti, having to forego the element of surprise, caught Diern’s dagger with her own. Candor snatched her sword from where it leaned against her pack and raised the point to Diern’s eye level. “Please stop.”
Either desperate or fearful or just plain stupid, Diern swiped at Letti with his knife, and quickly found himself with a long indigo sword thrust through his neck into his body.
“Come on.” Candor cleaned her sword, sheathed it, and the girls grabbed all three packs, not bothering to move the bodies. “Twins what does Thorn keep in here?” Candor grunted.
Returning to the bar, the barkeep opened his mouth to object to their leaving but did not make a sound. Three men blocked the exit. Arms crossed, and hair shorn on either side of their heads, Candor and Letti recognized them as more soldiers.
“You wouldn’t happen to have seen three soldiers by the names of Navis, Kurk, and Diern would you?" The man in the center asked menacingly. He smiled and cracked his knuckles. This, Candor found, was a bit of gratuitous force that seemed distasteful, trite even.
“Please move.” Candor asked. “We’ve got someone to meet. He will miss us if we are late.”
“You may leave when we have found our friends.” The large man stepped towards Candor. She did not step back. She wondered idly if men thought encroaching on someone’s space was more likely to get their point across. Candor found it an excellent way to find someone inside your arm swing.
“They are upstairs.” Candor smiled sweetly. “Sleeping.”
“You may stay here while we fetch them.” The man growled.
“No, that won’t work.” Candor replied.
The man snapped his hands, and his two friends lunged forward to grab the girls. The first man’s head dropped to the floor, even as Letti gutted the one nearest to her. Candor finished the third with the same penetrative strike through the neck and torso.
“Let’s go Marin.” Candor and Letti darted outside before anyone could stop them and ran straight into Thorn.
“Thank the Twins.” Letti gasped.
“You can remove your daggers.” Thorn said thinly, both hilts protruding from his midsection.
Both girls did as they were asked and explained the situation quickly.
“Marda.” Thorn swore. “Come on.” He turned quickly and began to trace a path through the maze of walls.
“I thought I told you not to kill anybody.” Thorn said over his shoulder.
“It was us or them.” Candor defended herself, though, she noticed, Letti seemed close to throwing up.
Thorn growled but did not reply.
“Where are we going?” Candor asked.
“We’re going to the one place I did not want to go here.” Thorn answered.
“As usual, you provide no information in your responses.” Candor glanced behind them to make sure no one was following. Thorn did not deign to respond.
Several twists and turns and a few lanterns later, Thorn halted the group in front of two large double doors, impressively carved, and framed by two cheerful yellow lanterns. A far cry from the Windless, Candor remained suspicious. This was clearly a place of wealth.
Thorn raised his fist, hesitated, gritted his teeth, and knocked three times.
The door whisked open, as if someone had been expecting them.
“Greetings.” Thorn growled. “Woden Thorn for Aslanti.”
“Well.” A voice rushed out of the doorway, and a man stepped into the light. “If it isn’t the Serpent of Kotemor.”
~.~
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