Commandment (3 page)

Lakif hadn’t seen her hire the previous day, partly because she had been bedridden and partly because Torkoth was apt to disappear for stretches of time. The guard looked completely at ease, not at all like someone who had recently courted death just four nights past.

Lakif reflected at length on the fighter. Any doubts the Acaanan had fostered about his competence had been wiped clear. Torkoth had acquitted himself admirably in all aspects of the mission. In fact, he had been exactly what the Acaanan had bargained for: quick-witted and seasoned in combat, both armed and unarmed. What he lacked in panache, he compensated for by sheer pluck. Most importantly, he was cool under pressure, an attribute forever foreign to Lakif. Apart from his actions in the monastery, Torkoth had handled all aspects of their flight with equal finesse, ranging from the escape itself to his vigilance the following day when the Acaanan had been drugged. It was not common for the Acaanan to claim luck, but she had to admit that finding Torkoth had been a definite boon.

After leaving the Cauldrons, Lakif had fully expected to be pestered with all manner of questions about the Stone. It seemed natural enough, considering the extreme lengths they went to snare it. To his credit, Torkoth hadn’t broached the subject. This spared the Acaanan from weaving a potpourri of lies.

This made Lakif’s resolve to leave all the more distasteful. It was not that she simply had to part company with the swordsman—she had to utterly
disappear
. The fateful decision was based on a variety of reasons.

First, as far as the Acaanan was concerned, the Half-man’s work was finished. A guard wouldn’t be needed to accompany her on the next leg of the journey. The trip to the Vulcan should be uneventful enough and posed no danger.

But she was ashamed to admit that her sore financial state weighed in even more on the decision. Lakif’s pockets were only home to lint. She owed the Half-man three talents! She certainly had nowhere near the reserves to pay that sum. In fact, her remaining funds would barely suffice to cover her own expenses over the upcoming days. Lakif had hoped that the incursion into Ebon Myre would have landed her a pouch full of coins, perhaps from the monastery’s coffers or the abbot’s private hoard. In that way she could have paid off her guard with the plundered loot. But she could not have anticipated the utter contempt in which the monks obviously regarded affluence. She hadn’t found a single pim!

The Half-man hadn’t brought up the subject of his remuneration, but the Acaanan expected it at any turn. How long would he allow Lakif to remain delinquent? She had hoped that he would have behaved in some dishonorable way—to justify ditching him. That he had performed flawlessly removed this crutch.

There was no alternative. Somehow, Lakif would have to manufacture excuses until her ankle improved to the point when she could simply vanish. It troubled her behaving so underhandedly, but she saw no other way around it.

Thus, she committed herself to an early dash from the Goblin Knight the coming morning. Until then, she would have to stave off any problematic discussion concerning the payment.

But for now, she was voraciously hungry. Rubbing thin fingers together, she speculated on an early lunch. The Goblin Knight was famous for its roast chicken, rabbit stew, and snake eggs. Which would it be?

“Are you Lakif?” a voice called out.

The Acaanan looked up to find an ostler standing above her. Lakif couldn’t imagine why the boy would have approached her. Ostlers rarely bantered with the guests. Perhaps it was the same lad who had recounted the tale of Puck and had further insight on the obsolete mural. The lad didn’t look familiar, however. This left Lakif with the unsettling feeling that she had somehow stepped into bad standing with the establishment. Feeling she was in trouble, she deigned to make direct eye contact with the lad, but merely nodded.

“Someone was looking for you,” the ostler revealed.

“Who?” Lakif’s head riveted toward the boy. The lad looked about thirteen years old, yet already had reached the Acaanan’s height.

“A Kulthean.”

“Kulthean!” Lakif stammered.

“That’s right.”

“A man?”

The ostler nodded.

“What was his name?” Lakif fired.

“I couldn’t say,” the kid said, shrugging his shoulders.

“But did he say?”

“I would recall it if so.”

“And?” Lakif was flabbergasted at the pitiful scraps she was being offered.

“He arrived three days past, firing off many questions.”

“Such as?” Lakif was beginning to feel that the ostler was anatomically unable to speak more than a few words at a time.

“He asked if you had been a patron here and for how long.”

“What did you tell him?”

“He seemed distressed when I said you had already left.”

“He asked for me by name?” Lakif gulped.

The lad nodded.

“Anything else?” Lakif felt she was pulling teeth to elicit information.

The ostler merely stared at her blankly. As he didn’t promptly excuse himself, Lakif felt he was fishing for a gratuity. Tipping was a firmly rooted custom at inns like the Goblin Knight. This odious habit spilled over to include even the slimmest of services, which irritated the Acaanan to no end. The ostler had no doubt drawn out his account so that his service would seem more substantial.

Incensed, Lakif dug into her pockets, feeling for the smallest denomination coin, as she didn’t want to draw out a handful. She produced a beka. It was the stingiest tip she could muster. She had hoped to have a gerah, but didn’t seem to have any.

“What’s your name?”

“Antipas, ma’am.”

“Well, Antipas Maam, if he returns, you haven’t seen me.” She pressed a second beka into his palm with a sly wink.

After the ostler wandered off, Lakif fretted over the message. An Inquisitor! Why would someone come looking for her? A Kulthean, no less! Who could know of her stay at the Goblin Knight? That the visit came directly on the heels of their incursion into Ebon Myre only fueled the fires of dread. Three days ago, she was drugged out in the Cauldrons. Was the Kulthean a bounty hunter enlisted by the abbot? If so, how on earth could he have trailed the Acaanan’s scent in a single day? This news was grave! Only trouble could come of it, and Lakif had the uncanny ability to invite trouble.

After scarfing up the rest of her meal, she slipped up to her room. She felt it would be best to stay out of sight for the balance of the day. The climb wasn’t nearly as challenging as she had expected.

Lakif had rented a different chamber than the one she had previous done on her trip to Ebon Myre. She scoured the shelves for a copy of the herb book. She wanted to finish the text, although she couldn’t fathom why. Unfortunately, this room didn’t have that special edition. Part of her was driven to amble back to the former quarters and pester its occupant for the text. But, considering that the Kulthean must have paid a visit to the room, she thought such a call was flirting with danger. The chamber was now tainted with bad karma.

She commandeered a text titled
Grimpkin’s Gory Grimoire
. The mossy tome was a fantastic account of numerous monstrosities of the night. She eagerly parted the pages throughout the day and well into the evening.

The next morning, Lakif awoke with scorpions in her mind. It seemed she had been dreaming of the critters scurrying around a dirty ravine. How strange her dreams had been lately! Perhaps they were a symbol of an inner anxiety.

Without much ado, she leapt into exit mode. Having had her fill of the famed inn, Lakif was eager to make headway on her mission. In fact, had she her druthers, the Acaanan would have left the previous day. But her condition had planted her in place for one more night.

Packing was easy enough. Everything she owned was stored in that one rucksack. Most of the items had been souvenirs from the galaxy of places she had visited in her trawl for the Stone.

As she gathered her belongings, a spatter outside the window captured her attention. A fine drizzle was cascading down, sending a chilling mist into the chamber.

Wonderful
, she thought! The sky must have received advanced notice of her journey and was greeting her with its customary tribute.

Fortunately, her ankle was almost as good as new. Before leaving, she slipped the Grimoire text into her duffle bag. Not only was she wont to take a token from each inn as a memoir; she also found the text intriguing enough to merit further attention.

Her route out unfortunately led past the Half-man’s chamber. Just as she was sneaking by, she feared that the door would suddenly open and out would step Torkoth for a morning chore. As Lakif was armed with her travel sack, it would have been obvious that she was sneaking off without making good on their deal.

The Acaanan hardly dared breathe as she tiptoed by the dreaded door. As she rounded the corner, and the menacing portal disappeared from sight, she sighed with relief.

Jogging down the stairs, Lakif’s spirits were divided. On one hand, she was praising her craftiness with the surreptitious departure. Three talents was a monumental sum to save. In addition, she was content to close this chapter of her life. On the other hand, she couldn’t help but feel ashamed at the cowardly escape. Her subterfuge would leave the doughty swordsman high and dry.

All thoughts of the Half-man vanished in a flash when the common room appeared. Lakif froze dead in her tracks. Standing near the central hearth was Antipas. Speaking with the lad was a cloaked figure. The tunic’s hood was drawn up, and his broad shoulders were dusted with rain, suggesting that the traveler had just entered. Although Lakif couldn’t see the stranger’s face, the fact that he was markedly taller than the ostler cemented his identity as a Kulthean.

Lakif hugged a pillar and spied on the conversation. Why did she feel they were speaking of her? To her dismay, the lad pointed toward the stairs. Lakif silently cursed the boy’s faithlessness. Two bekas certainly didn’t go far to ensure sealed lips! As the cloaked intruder made for the stairs, Lakif turned and bolted up to the next level.

From her position behind a baboon idol, Lakif had an oblique view of the circling stairs. A moment later, the figure appeared. He was so tall as to easily clear two stairs with but a single step. Thankfully, he continued up the next flight. There was little doubt now the Kulthean was making for the Acaanan’s quarters! The timing had been narrowly perfect. Had Lakif dallied just a minute longer within her room, she would have abutted the stranger in the hallway. A minute earlier and she would have run afoul of the High-man as he entered through the inner gate. Despite the saturnine weather, perhaps this was her lucky day after all!

After the footfalls receded, Lakif dashed for the stairs. Below, the ostler was behind the bar arranging some crates. Lakif wanted to have words with the loose-lipped lad, but on second thought she deemed that an inconspicuous exit was the order of the day. She dropped the key in the standard oak box and darted out of the gate between the sentinel Yatus.

The weather had worsened from a mild patter to a steady rain in the short time since she had left her room. Drenched gusts hurled along the galleries fronting the inn, driving rain in horizontal sheets. She bundled up tightly in her cloak and marched off to battle the elements.

Within a minute, Lakif was crossing the sludge-slicked bridge. One frozen corpse was strung up at the midpoint. A worker was kneeling nearby assembling wood beams from a cart. As he was situated in front of an empty socket, she assumed he was constructing another scaffolding for a future victim. He truly had an unenviable chore given the sorry weather.

Lakif paused only briefly to regard the single corpse. It was different from the hole-infested carrion seen before. From the lack of normal wear and tear, it was clear that this victim had only recently been shackled up, perhaps as recently as this morning. Yet the corpse was already frozen stiff. Its fingers were curled up like it was grasping a piece of fruit or, perhaps, a Stone. She wondered what had happened to the prior lot. Had they finally been cut down and fed to the duras? Had they been claimed by the appetite of the night? Or had they slowly disintegrated in the corrosive wind as each gust brayed off another layer?

“How fortunate you are here!” A voice jolted her. Although several drably garbed businessmen marched by, none had spoken to her. Rather, the cross assembler had risen to confront her.

“Pardon?” She gulped.

“Usually I have to guestimate, but since you’re here, this will only take a moment.” The man stepped forward with a tape measure. “Stretch your arms wide please.”

“What on earth?” She stammered.

“We aim for a custom fit, debtor.” He sneered. The look on his face tore at the Acaanan’s viscera. She panicked and bolted back toward the Goblin Knight Inn. Several pedestrians swerved out of her way. Some steps from the abutment, she turned to see if the architect was close on her trail. Neither he nor his paraphernalia was anywhere to be seen. Only the single corpse marked the site of the exchange. The bridge was too long for him to have loaded his timber and wheeled his cart off in the few seconds that Lakif’s back was turned. She had encountered yet another daydream, but this time it had spooked her.

The daydream’s proclamation forced her to consider her own situation. As she was now a debtor, she should very well have reservations for the bridge. By shortchanging the Half-man three talents, she had rented herself a three-day stint on the poles, a fatal broadcast of her faithlessness to the world. Fortunately, there was no written contract between herself and the Half-man; therefore, such a charge would be impossible to prove. But the question was moot. Lakif couldn’t imagine the guard seeking legal restitution for fraud. He was far too simple-minded for such an act.

Therefore, it was with mixed feelings that Lakif hurried across the bridge, struggling to muster enough spirit to confront the sour day.

“L
OOK HERE!”
T
HE MAN COUGHED OUT A PLUME OF SMOKE
. H
E WAS STANDING
in an open portal to the Goblin Knight’s tower hearth, pointing down to the bridge below with a sooty shovel.