City of Scars (The Skullborn Trilogy, Book 1) (30 page)

Slayne didn’t have time for this…but he’d make the time.  Maybe that fool he’d dealt with upstairs had killed Raeric before coming up, but Slayne didn’t think so.  This was something different.  Something inhuman.

He felt eyes on him.  A presence waited somewhere in the dark, and Slayne desperately wanted to go and seek it out. 

No.  Now’s not the time. 

Slayne hastily left the bloody manor and rejoined Syn and Vellexa in the commandeered carriage outside.  There was work to be done, but Marros Slayne knew he’d be coming back.

Forty-Eight

Cronak waited. 

He was wrong – Targo hadn’t finished all of the people in that room, so Cronak had done it himself.

He watched as the white-haired man departed. His bloodlust had been sated and he needed to rest, lest he overextend himself to the point where he couldn’t regenerate, just as Targo had.  He was still weak, and for some reason the light at the top of the stairs terrified him.  He wasn’t ready to go there.  Not yet. 

Cronak smelled his friend, and knew that he was dead.  Sorrow weighed on him.  He slept, curled and uneasy at the bottom of the cold steps.

Forty-Nine

Ijanna and Kath spent the day in hiding.  She needed to leave the city if she wanted to take advantage of the
thar’koon
, but first she had to make contact with Bordrec and let him know she was still alive.  She owed him that much – however gruff and unlikeable he was, he’d been her father’s closest friend.

They kept to the shadows, and when they did move in public Ijanna played the part of the hooded mute.  Ebonmark was a boisterous and busy city filled with foot traffic.  She led Kath through the markets, where vendors sold dried meats, smoked chickens, loaves of freshly baked bread, suits of cheap armor, coils of rope, bags of spice, blocks of ice from the Grim Titans and assorted articles of clothing.  The air was thick with the smell of meat and woodsmoke, and the mood was somber in spite of the number of people about – many had died in the explosion a few nights ago, an attack the Jlantrians claimed was the fault of the Black Guild. 

The sky threatened rain, and Ijanna tasted ozone in the wind.  The crowds thinned as she and Kath neared the residential districts, but they still passed plenty of folks pushing carts loaded with sacks of grain and baskets of fish.  The faces Ijanna saw were as grey as the clouds.

Before she’d spent three days unconscious at Kath’s house Ijanna had arranged to meet Kleiderhorn near the docks, at a shop called “Tark & Sons Exports”.  A precursory examination of the area confirmed it wasn’t where they wanted to be, since fresh bloodstains were plainly visible on the outside walls, so dark and thick she wondered if even the coming rains would wash them away.  There were a few dockworkers about, but they all seemed oblivious to the signs of recent carnage.  Ijanna doubted any of the blood belonged to Bordrec – he was far too careful to ever be caught so unawares – but the thought of lingering in the area disturbed her, so she and Kath took their leave.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t really sure where to go next.

They made their way back to the Harpy’s String.  Jovan – Kleiderhorn’s contact there – was nowhere to be found, and neither the plump woman tending bar nor the crowd of regulars had any notion where he’d gone or when he’d return.  The fresh ham and biscuits in the Inn smelled delicious, and she was reminded of just how famished she was.  Since she only knew of one more individual she could contact in hopes of finding Bordrec – the old man from the alley – Ijanna told Kath to grab a table in the shadowy back corner so they could enjoy a brief rest. 

She felt as though she hadn’t eaten in days, and upon reflection realized that was probably true.  An entire day spent hiding while on the move had left her exhausted, and she needed a respite, even if it was to be brief.  There were enough people in the String to make Ijanna feel relatively safe, but she kept a wary eye on the door nevertheless.  The inn was populated primarily by travelers and merchants, but she saw a few farmers and laborers enjoying large plates of sausage and ham and copious mounds of eggs, black bread and blocks of white cheese.  There was no music – it was only early afternoon, and the String never had live entertainment before dark – but the air was loud from conversations and the rattle of plates and mugs.

Kath returned with two tankards of foamy beer and a single plate piled high with charred ham, bacon and dark crusts of bread.  He was an attractive young man, Ijanna decided, tall and muscular, broad of shoulder with a fine chiseled face and thick brown hair.  He was friendly, quiet and complacent, but those last two effects were likely due to the bond Ijanna had unintentionally forged between them. 

She should have known better.  There was always a barely understood side-effect when a Bloodspeaker used her powers to heal: the recipient of her magic became devoted to her.  Normally it was a mild effect which only lasted for a short time.  Some Bloodspeakers intentionally mastered the art of healing and positioned themselves as doctors or surgeons so they could acquire bands of devoted slaves, but most mages she’d met only acquired such followers by accident, an unforeseen inconvenience often accompanied by unfortunate consequences.  The more power used to heal, the stronger and longer lasting the bond.  Luckily it was never permanent, unless multiple healings occurred.

But this was different.  This bond was too powerful to be broken.  Kath was gripped by an unstoppable drive to protect her, to help her…to die for her.  To separate Kath from her now would likely kill him. 

She knew, because it had happened to her before. 

How could I let this happen again?  What came over me?

She ate and drank ravenously even though the beer wasn’t to her liking; at least the Veil inside her would keep her from getting drunk.  Kath ate much slower, and she felt his eyes on her even though he tried to hide it. 

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked after they’d eaten for a time.  It was the first thing he’d really said to her all day.  He’d just followed her around the city, acting the role of the silent bodyguard without question or complaint.

“Of course,” Ijanna said once she forced a swallow.

“Where are we going, exactly?”

That was of course the one question she’d been afraid of, because it meant she had to make a choice.

“I’m trying to figure that out,” she said evasively.  “I’ll let you know when I do.”  She hesitated when she saw the hurt expression on his face.  “I’m sorry…that came out much more rude than I intended it to.”

“Oh, no, that’s all right.  Well…what are our choices?” 

Goddess, you seem so innocent. 
She tried not to look directly at Kath, because it would just remind her how unlikely it was he’d make it through their journey alive.  “There’s somewhere I’m supposed to go,” she said quietly.  Fear churned in her stomach.  “But I don’t want to.  So I was thinking of going somewhere else to see if I can find some answers.  Maybe even some help.”

“That sounds smart,” Kath said.  He chewed thoughtfully.  “So what’s the problem?”

“There are too many to count,” Ijanna said with a sad smile.  Her eyes got lost in the half-empty tankard. 
All roads lead to the same place.

“Listen,” Kath said.  He put down his fork and fixed his eyes on her.  “I know you used some sort of magic that makes me want to protect you…”

“Yes,” she said reluctantly.  “I didn’t mean to, if that’s worth anything.”

“Well, that’s just it – I
want
to help you.  Even without the magic.  At least…I think I do.”  He laughed.  Ijanna laughed too, in spite of herself.  “I want to help you – not just protect you, but actually
help
you.  But to do that I really need to know what’s going on.”

The bond clouded his thoughts, but perhaps he’d worked past that stage of the enchantment.  So far as she understood that was how it usually went – the need to serve faded from a dominating compulsion to a subtle desire to help, and before long the bonded individual was almost himself again.  That was what happened when a common Bloodspeaker healed.  Ijanna was very powerful, and she had less control over her abilities than others.  There was no telling what sort of damage she’d done. 

There’s no way to undo this
, she reminded herself. 
Live with it.  And make it as easy for him as you can.

“All right, Kath,” she said.  “All right.  You deserve to know.  I warn you – it’s a lot.  A lot to take in, and a lot to deal with.  And some of it may seem a little…”

“Unbelievable?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Try me.”

“Okay.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  Ijanna became suddenly aware of the creaking wood over their heads, the people moving about on the upstairs floors, and the splash of rainwater on the nearby windows.  The clamor of conversation made the air heavy.  “I think we need some privacy,” she said.  Ijanna closed her eyes, focused on the space around her and Kath, and breathed out.  The warmth of the Veil filled her chest.  An invisible sphere wrapped around them and filtered out sound.  Anyone outside the sphere would hear them talking but wouldn’t be able to make out their words, as if she and Kath spoke in some undecipherable foreign tongue.  Kath watched her, puzzled. 

“Did you just use magic?” he asked.

“Yes.  You don’t have to whisper, no one can understand us now.  It’ll last for a little while.”

“It didn’t look like you actually did anything,” he said nervously.

“Not all magic is flamboyant,” Ijanna grinned.  “It usually is for Veilwardens, but they have to expend a lot of energy to produce even a small effect.  Most of what a Bloodspeaker can do is more…subtle.”

“And that’s what makes a Bloodspeaker different from a Veilwarden?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Kath nodded and took a sip of beer.  “No kidding.”  He looked thoughtfully at his drink.  “The Church tells us it’s evil.  Magic, I mean.”  He hesitated.  “Is that true?”

“No,” Ijanna said.  “Not really.  Magic comes from the Veil, and the Veil isn’t evil, but it can be used for evil, just like anything else.  The Veil is life, and death.  It’s the source of magic…the source of life, really.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Kath said.  “I mean…what
is
it?”

“It’s the tainted blood of the One Goddess,” Ijanna said.  “It doesn’t have a physical form so far as anyone knows, but it feeds everything in the world around us.  It provides life, and it takes it away.  Without it nothing lives, but to touch it is to die, at least a little.  It isn’t infinite.” 

“So what they tell us is true…sort of,” Kath said slowly.  He was clearly having a difficult time following her.  “It’s the One Goddess’s blood, from the Turn of Night?”

“Yes,” Ijanna said.  “Her blood rained down to earth while the Unmaker tortured her.”

“And it’s like…food?”

“More like fuel.  Every time someone is born a bit of them comes from the Veil.  When they die another part of the Veil is what takes them away.”

Kath grew visibly uncomfortable.  “So we’re talking about souls, aren’t we?”

“Not really – that’s something different.  The Veil is just power: the power that makes it so souls can live, and the power that destroys them when a person dies.  There’s really no easy way to define what the Veil is – different people believe it to be different things.” 

“But when you use magic you’re stealing some of it away,” Kath said, “and that means there’s less for the rest of the world to live off of.”  He looked at her, uncertain.  “Does that sound right?”

“For Veilwardens,” Ijanna nodded gravely.  “When a Veilwarden ‘Touches the Veil’, as they call it, he removes some of the Veil from its source and transforms it into something else.  He can form fire or ice, or he makes himself fly, or he calls storms…he produces magic, but what he takes can never be put back.”

Kath thought on that.  Ijanna could tell he was confused, but she was always confused herself when she had to discuss the nature of the Veil.  She’d never really talked about it much outside of the monastery in Allaj Mohrter, and even those discussions had been purely theoretical.  The concept of the Veil was frighteningly abstract for something which every scholar, holy man and commoner believed was what made life possible, something the Empire of Jlantria had built its power base on…something the Blood Queen had used to nearly destroy the world.

“So that’s what a Veilwarden does,” Kath said.

“Yes,” Ijanna said.  “A Veilwarden isn’t born with his powers.  He has to learn to Touch the Veil from other Veilwardens.”

“And where did those Veilwardens learn?”

“From those who came before
them
, I suppose.  I really don’t know all that much about Veilwardens, Kath, least of all why they chose that title.  They say it’s because they respect and protect the Veil, but…”

“But they still
use
it,” Kath said.

“Yes.  And they kill a little bit of the world every time they do.”

“It’s illegal in Jlantrian cities, you know,” Kath said.  “Only people in direct service to the Empress are allowed to use magic.  For everyone else it’s punishable by death.”

“I know,” Ijanna said.  “Trust me, I know.”

“Right,” Kath said, seeming embarrassed.  “Right.”  He took another drink.

“Bloodspeakers are also illegal,” Ijanna added.  “We’re born with some of the Veil inside of us, and we can use it to make magic.  We don’t reach out like a Veilwarden does – we have our power all to ourselves.  It’s tied to our souls.”

Kath looked afraid to ask his next question.  “What happens when you…you know…use your power up?”

Ijanna’s look must have given him his answer, and he nodded.  He looked afraid and concerned, and Ijanna raised a hand to stop his next question before it was asked.