Keystone (Gatewalkers) (8 page)

Tom gave a cry of outrage and dematerialized. Blue sparks erupted from the lantern and Tom rematerialized inside it, staggering as if dizzy.

“If you want them, bring them with you,” Rhys said. “The lantern is enchanted to keep them from escaping.”

Charlie quickly scooped up Tom and Lallia’s lantern before scurrying up the stairs into the round room. Rhys emerged a few moments later, swathed in a thick black cloak with a deep hood that hid his face.

“You opened the curtains,” he said, chiding.

“I can’t see in the dark,” Charlie said, crossing into the entranceway.
 

Rhys slipped past her, opened the outside door and gestured her through.

“I haven’t given up on you yet,” Charlie reminded him, stepping out onto the porch. He closed the door behind them and set off across the yard to step through the gap in the fence. Charlie followed.

“You could fix that fence,” she said.

“I like my house the way it is,” he said, striding down the street.
 

Right. Not interested in reward. New tactic. “You will be famous throughout the kingdom.”

He genuinely laughed at that. “I do not need fame.”

Charlie could have smacked herself on the forehead. Fame was probably the last thing he wanted, considering he barely escaped the mass slaughter of his family. Lallia had said not to bring up his bloodline, but that might be the only thing she had left. “I don’t suppose you would do it just to save the world?”

“No.”

“I’m not doing a very good job of this, am I.”

“No.” Rhys said, but she heard a smile in his voice. That had to be a good sign, right?

Charlie followed him through the town’s twisty, narrow streets. Drying laundry hung across courtyards, hole-in-the-wall fountains provided water for the neighboring dwellings, and dirty children played with dirtier dogs. The buildings showed signs of wear and tear, like moisture stains and sagging, and scuffed doors. Some of the streets were slick with mud and moisture runoff. All in all, it really felt like a real pseudo-medieval town, complete with donkeys, oxen, and the products thereof.
 
Not many games were willing to go that far to make things realistic, especially since the home editions cut out that kind of detail.

***

Rhys turned off the street to mount the steps to a blue door. A neatly painted sign hanging over the door showed a stylized cat eye with a yellow iris, and beneath it a mortar and pestle. Graceful, unreadable letters scrolled vertically along the side of the sign.

Charlie followed Rhys inside, and for the second time the fish smell of the town gave way to the smell of dried herbs. This time it was a much subtler transition, a harmonious blending of scents reaching out to envelop her rather than smacking her with a wall of smell.

Sturdy wooden shelves held neatly labeled jars, bottles, and boxes. Some had additional pictographs or runes on their labels. Little honeycomb racks held sticks of incense and tied bundles of dried herbs. More racks held varied-colored candles that were probably scented as well; Charlie eyed them longingly, wishing they were real. The shelves next to the candles held little glass jars of honey.
 

“Don’t you dare release those pixies in here!” cried a shrill voice at Charlie’s feet.

Charlie looked down. A tiny old man with brown skin more wrinkled than Mr. Patchett’s waved a tiny twig broom at her. Doll sized spectacles perched on his crooked nose and tufts of white hair stuck out from his huge pointed ears.

The pixies pressed their faces to the glass of the lantern, smearing their features into strange contortions.

“Pesky pixies!” the tiny brown man railed. “Wouldn’t they just love to make a wreck of Mistress Taryn’s shop. With all the work I do to keep it straight and tidy!”

“I won’t let them out in here,” Charlie said.

The tiny man sniffed, but lowered his twig broom. “See that you don’t.” His long ears twitched. “Spiders!” he spat, as if it were a curse. He scuttled under one of the shelves. The thwacks of a tiny broom emerged shortly after.

Charlie glanced over some of the labels on the jars and bottles: lady’s mantle, willow bark, chamomile, cobwebs, mint, anise, nightshade, rosemary, boswellia, ginger, thyme, sage, yarrow, and more. A locked, lacquered box had a plaque that read “powdered dragon bone.”

Charlie pointed at the “powdered dragon bone.” “What’s that for?”

Rhys’ eyes followed her finger. “It helps one see in the dark. Among other things.”

“Not that either of
us
need help to see in the dark.” A woman languidly rose from a chair across the room. Though she spoke to Rhys, her buttercup yellow, cat-slitted eyes fastened on Charlie. Her skin was dark blue, her hair long and glossy black, pulled up into elaborate knots pinned with shell combs. Her ears fanned into three sharp points like fins. Black kohl lined her eyes, powdered mica caused her eyelids to glitter, and purple glossed her lips. Her gown was obsidian black with slashed sleeves over a deep purple chemise. A carved shell necklace hugged her neck, shell rings wrapped around her fingers, and her long, sharpened nails were lacquered electric blue.

“Who is your new… friend?” the blue woman continued. She had the air of a cat that had just been ousted from her favorite chair. “You are not cheating on me, are you, Rhys?” It was hard to tell if she were serious or teasing. Her unblinking eyes never left Charlie.

“Of course not, Taryn,” Rhys answered. “This young lady is trying to convince me to take on a contract.” Rhys lowered his hood, and Charlie was surprised to see he was a lot older than she had assumed, though he certainly didn’t move like an older man, and his voice didn’t sound old. Deep lines ran from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth, and the corners of his colorless eyes were thick with crow’s feet. His straight white hair hung loose past his shoulders to the middle of his back, and even his eyelashes, bushy eyebrows, and chin bristles were white. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi indeed.
 

He also had pointed ears. Go figure.

Taryn’s yellow eyes dismissed Charlie and turned to Rhys. “What have you brought me?” she said, extending a blue nailed hand, palm down.
 

Rhys accepted the hand and brushed his lips to her knuckles. “Nothing you will find satisfaction with, I am sure.”

She glided to a table toward the back of the shop, leading Rhys. They set about haggling over the contents of his box with almost gag-worthy pseudo flirting. Charlie did her best not to listen in, which was why it took a while to realize that despite the veneer, they both bargained rather ruthlessly.

Charlie wandered between the shelves. Nothing had prices marked on them. By the sounds of it, commerce was based largely on trade. She wondered if it was one of the standard style games where you could sell just about anything short of rocks to a non-player shop keeper, but you would get lousy prices. Then again, Taryn certainly didn’t seem like she would take just anything.
 

“Look,” Charlie broke into the haggling session, “I don’t mean to be a nuisance, but I
am
limited on time and I really do need your help, Rhys. You are literally the only one I can turn to right now.”

Taryn’s eyebrow flickered upward, and Charlie expected some sort of scathing rebuke for interrupting. Instead, her yellow gaze turned on Rhys. “Are you being unreasonably stubborn?”

His expression turned shuttered, closed. “I do not take well to lost causes, nor to suicide contracts.”

“It isn’t a lost cause yet,” Charlie said. “But it may be soon.” Her half an hour was probably nearly up, and she hadn’t even had the chance to fight anything yet. She should have scheduled herself for the full hour.

Taryn tilted her head, leaning toward Charlie. “What contract is this that the patron of lost causes has given it up for lost?”

“Rescuing Princess Maelyn,” Charlie said.

Taryn’s eyes widened. Unexpectedly, she laughed. “That
is
a lost cause.” Her look turned speculative. Taryn crossed to stand before Charlie, head tilted slightly upward to meet her gaze, as Charlie was several inches taller. Taryn reached up to clasp Charlie’s jaw, turning her face this way and that.

“I heard the reports,” Taryn said, “of those who found the princess’s slain escorts. They were some of Seinne Sonne’s finest soldiers. Nearly all of their heads were missing. Not simply cut off, but taken. Do you know what this says to me? This says to me: terradi.”

Charlie glanced over Taryn’s shoulder, but the term seemed to be unfamiliar to Rhys too.

“I lived in the Black Forest when I was young. Not all of Ard Ri’s monsters followed him through the Gates.” Taryn played with her necklace, nails clicking against the shell, the gesture almost nervous. “Terradi will skin a man and leave him living, just to hear the screams. The only thing they love more than killing elves is killing each other for the sake of their twisted sense of honor. A terradi’s greatest pride is in taking the head of a worthy opponent, or taking the head of a child, because a child is the enemy’s future. These are what took the princess. Do you still wish to rescue her?”

“All the more,” Charlie said. “I’m not afraid.”

Taryn smiled, flashing sharp teeth. “You should be.” She released Charlie’s jaw and slapped her shoulder hard enough to sting. “You intrigue me. I will help you. But –” she held up a finger, with its wicked electric blue nail, “–understand that it is not without price.”

Charlie nodded. She hoped it wouldn’t be too steep. Then again, since there wasn’t much left of her time slot, she could probably agree to anything. “I don’t have any money yet –”

Taryn cut her off with a sharp wave. “Money is not interesting. Gold and silver and copper shine prettily, but they corrode and melt too quickly.”

“Be sure not to sell her your soul,” Rhys said. Charlie wasn’t quite sure if he was joking.
 

“You should go with her,” Taryn said, turning her baleful gaze on him.

“I make no impossible bargains.” Rhys crossed his arms.

“I was going to save this as a bargaining chip,” Taryn said. “But I think you will not be returning for it.” Taryn handed Charlie a fist-sized jar. “Aloe extract. For his
sensitive
skin. He is worse than any elven maiden.”

Rhys scowled. “That is worth at least a silver piece.”

Taryn’s shoulders rolled in an elegant shrug. “You are such a terrible bargainer, I’ve stolen far more than that from you over the years.”
 

Taryn braced her hands on the table in the middle of her shop. Her yellow cat eyes fastened on Charlie as if she were the mouse Taryn waited for. “You still wish to rescue the princess.”

“More than before,” Charlie said.
 

Taryn’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She turned and plucked a large, fanged skull from a display niche, the bone nearly brown with age but lovingly polished.
 

Taryn ran her nails over the dome of the skull. “This once belonged to my husband. With this I won my freedom, and I’ve no want to give it back. I’ve more than a half share of terradi blood, but it’s not endeared me to them nor them to me. If they take Seinne Sonne, my head will be some warrior’s prize. We talk business.”

Charlie crossed to stand on the opposite side of the table. She laid her hands on the table, mirroring Taryn’s pose.

“I suppose I might settle for this….” Taryn’s blue, long-nailed fingers reached out and plucked up Charlie’s dragon pendant from her chest.

“No!” Charlie snatched it back.

Taryn slowly lifted a challenging eyebrow, raising a shoulder in a shrug. “Long ago,” Taryn said, “my ancestors were dragon riders. But then the Nightmare Wars came, and there were no more dragons. But. It is rumored that there are dragon nests left undiscovered in the Northern Reaches. For my assistance, you will find me a dragon egg in your travels and bring it back. Are we agreed?” Taryn eyed her narrowly, then held up her hand, palm outward.

Sounded like the typical “impossible” errand quest. Charlie nodded. “Agreed.” Charlie placed her hand on Taryn’s.
 

Taryn’s fingers closed around Charlie’s. Taryn squeezed her hand. “Take care of my boy,” she said, fierce and almost feral.

Charlie nodded, feeling more as if
that
were the true bargain.
 

She seized Charlie’s wrist and pulled her along in her wake. “Come. I have something else for you as well, though it may not be as useful as the aloe.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Many Meetings

Taryn led Charlie two flights up a twisting stone stair at the back of the shop. Taryn rapped on one of the doors at the top.

“One moment! One moment!” a male voice called from inside.

Taryn opened the door anyway. Or rather, opened it as far as it would go, then shoved her shoulder against it until it opened wide enough to pass through.
 

As Charlie stepped through the doorway and around the junk piled against it, she thought at first the room was a library of some kind. Shelves, tables, chairs, and floor were all piled with books, scrolls, knickknacks, and scattered papers. It wasn’t nearly organized enough to be a library, and as she looked around she saw signs of actual habitation, like clothing and dishes and other bric-a-brac among the clutter. There was even a bed buried under stacks of books. A cauldron with burned-smelling contents sat in the fireplace, and nearby sat metal sheets with pale beige lumps arrayed in even rows. Large windows with cloudy, wavy glass allowed sunlight to pour in.

The center of the floor was pushed clear and swept clean, save for a series of chalk markings. The room’s occupant - a tall, gangly young man with wire-rim glasses - crouched over the markings, adding notations. His blond hair was long, but more like he didn’t care enough to cut it than out of vanity.

“Do not come any closer,” he ordered, squinting at the text in the open book in his hand. “This must be absolutely precise.”

“Creating another unholy mess, Jack?” Taryn’s nose wrinkled in disdain.

“It is not an
unholy
mess,” Jack protested. He paused thoughtfully, pushing his glasses up his long, thin nose and leaving a white chalk smudge behind. “This time anyway.” He looked up, and for the first time noticed Charlie. His thin eyebrows shot upward. “Oh. Hello. Sorry about the mess,” he said, offering her a smile. He went back to his chalk markings and made a few squiggling lines.