Talon (The Astor Chronicles Book 1) (26 page)

‘Thank you,’ Lira said.

‘Done,’
Rekala told me, the effort of reaching so far making her drowsy.
‘Deom says his Rada knows of this Enreve.’

‘My thanks, dear one,’
I replied.

I refocused my eyes on Lira. ‘It is sent.’

Relief flooded her eyes. ‘Thank you, Talon. I know how stretched yours and Sarlice’s resources will be if you keep having to provide for me, so I wanted to see if my uncle could help.’

‘That was wise. I don’t suppose there’s anyone in this town who would honour your family name by extending you credit.’

Sadness covered her features once more. ‘I don’t want to make it known what has befallen the Demaedas yet, not until I’m safely with my uncle, but he should be able to make some quiet arrangements for me in Telby City.’

‘Very well.’

‘Thank you again,’ she said. ‘Now if you don’t mind I’m going to have a rest in our… store room.’

‘I’ll wait till after you’ve slept,’ I replied.

‘You don’t have to do that. There are three pallets in here, and a strange woman in the other one already.’

I watched her go, filled with a strange mix of awe and uncertainty. The idea of being in there alone with her was thrilling, but it was just as well that wouldn’t be happening. I could never have gotten away with it in Jaria, but on this journey we didn’t seem to have much choice.

After a few minutes I packed up the dart board and made myself comfortable in one corner of the tavern. For the rest of the day I occupied my mind by reading scrolls, trying desperately not to notice the ever-present whooshing of wings from outside.

Some time during the night the viperjays completed their passage into the mountains. In the morning Lira and I awoke and emerged from the store room together. I breathed a sigh of relief at the absence of any sound of birds nearby. One glance outside told me that thousands of viperjays had lost their lives during their passage across Sarm—rows of carcasses lined the market stalls outside and the town was painted with fresh droppings.

‘Have you decided to eat your fear?’ Sarlice asked me, approaching from down the lane with my Rada-kin in trail. Rekala, who was a large, boisterous retriever, wagged her tail and licked my hand. I crouched down to wrap my arms around her.

‘I missed you,’
I told her. Then to Sarlice, I said out loud, ‘Nay. I’m not going to spend coin on meat when we still have so much of that camel flesh left.’

‘There’s no need to spend coin,’ she replied, ‘because I shot down a dozen viperjays, myself. They’re cooking in the city ovens right now.’

‘Ah, well that’s different.’

‘Are they safe to eat?’ Lira asked.

‘Aye,’ Sarlice replied. ‘The venomous part is in the throat. I gave those to Austo along with all the extra parts to add to his own catch. In return he paid for ingredients to have the meat made into pies.’

‘They’ll want to put some peas and apple sauce or dripping with garlic and herbs—’

‘I think its fruit chutney and cheese sauce,’ Sarlice interrupted me. ‘They’ll be ready in ten minutes or so. Meanwhile, I was hoping to buy some fish baskets for our next leg. There are trout and crayfish in the Telby River.’

‘I’ll help,’ I said. ‘Bessed taught me a thing or two about fishing. If we get the right materials I can even make a crab pot.’

‘I do like to eat crab,’ Lira said taking my elbow. Rekala growled so softly that the young woman didn’t even notice.

‘That’s enough of that,’
I warned my Rada-kin.

Sarlice, Lira and I walked through the market together, inspecting any wares that took our interest, but saving our coin for important purchases only. We purchased three bundles of twine made from roots and vines for the crab pot, fresh feed for the horses and ale, brandy, vegetables, cheese, flour and oil for our own consumption.

I was just hoisting one of the flour bags over my shoulder when a male voice rang out over the crowd from across the lane. ‘Out of the way, mortals!’

The crowd parted for a troop of young Zeikas, and I saw the boy who had been on the altar two days ago among them. He was riding a bay horse and dressed in the black leather and chainmail of a warder, the lowest ranking Zeika sorcerer. He couldn’t be more than fifteen years old and the boys around him didn’t seem much older. They rode through the market with their heads held high, sneering at the commoners beneath them. Each boy’s saddle blanket bore the symbol of Zei, the Xeldfet, and an array of weapons bristled from the pouches and slings on their backs.

As they neared us, one of the Zeika boys spotted Sarlice, Lira and I with the two dogs hovering at our heels. He kicked his mount savagely to spur it in our direction and, when I stood my ground, it reared up, nearly dislodging its rider. Rekala rushed forward, unable to contain her retriever form when she perceived a threat to my safety. As she transformed, the young Zeika’s face went red with indignation and he drew his lance, pointing it in my Rada-kin’s direction.

The icetiger snarled her fury and took a swipe at the horse’s forefeet, but it wisely sidestepped away from her. The rest of the Zeika boys wheeled to face us, outraged that we would defy them. It didn’t matter that I was already standing as far from the centre of the road as I could to allow them past.

‘Rekala, that may not have been wise,’
I cautioned.

She stood between me and the young Zeikas, her white and blue fur bristling. It was clear from the turned heads that her roars could be heard several streets away. I could see a middle aged Zeika standing over a young woman at a fountain in the distance.

‘If our noise draws his attention, we could have a fight on our hands,’
I said openly on the waves.

‘I thought Austo told you to keep your peace,’
came the voice of Mocinte the bear, from the other side of town. Clearly, word had already spread throughout the Rada-kin in the city about the confrontation.

‘Rekala is a new Rada-kin
,’ I replied.
‘It is her instinct to defend me.’

‘Just don’t do anything to damage the Silver Shell’s reputation,’
Mocinte replied.

‘Thanks for your concern,’
I grumbled.

I took a careful step forward and gently pushed the Zeika’s lance away from my Rada-kin’s head.

‘Please excuse my Rada-kin, son. She’s only concerned for my safety. We—’

‘You will address me as “My Lord”,’ the child demanded. ‘And I am not interested in your pathetic little story.’

My stomach churned a little as I crossed the threshold from wanting to maintain peace and being unable to hold my tongue. ‘And why should I bow to you? I am your elder and clearly the stronger. Isn’t that what you Zeikas believe? Victory to the strong?’

‘Death to the weak,’ the child replied. ‘Do not fret—you Kriites will soon be put out of your misery.’

Sarlice edged a little closer to me, expression grim. Rekala glared up at the Zeika with her teeth bared.

‘And why should you want to kill me, a perfect stranger?’ I asked him, surprised at the lightness of my tone. The audacity of the child amused me more than anything else.

The boy glanced at his fellows, a swarm of angry boyish faces waiting to see if he would put the Kriite in his place, but because of Rekala’s presence the young Zeika knew I wasn’t merely a Kriite—I was a gifted Rada as well. The boy’s eyes darted to my glowing earring and my mother’s pendant hanging around my neck, noting the presence of sapphire tree leaves. I regretted not wearing the Jarian Anzaii artefact—at that moment it might have helped me, even if it was purely decorative.

‘You are Anzaii,’ the boy observed.

‘He’s young and arrogant, but he isn’t stupid,’
I commented to Rekala.

I folded my arms across my chest, content to wait for his next action. When it came, it took me completely by surprise. The child raised his hand and sketched a pattern in the air with all five of his fingers—causing an invisible wall to knock Rekala and me into the stall I was standing in front of. Splinters of wood flew up as Rekala, the bag of flour and I crashed through a shelf, sending dreamcatchers, painted snail shells and bead necklaces flying.

Bruised but otherwise unharmed, I crawled forward out of the mess. Sarlice and Rekala lunged forward, but found an impenetrable barrier around the boy. A glowing orange rune hung in the air above his head with a transparent orb of light cascading out of it, surrounding him and his horse.

‘He’s a particularly gifted warder,’
Tiaro commented, her Anzaii-kin knowledge awakening in the presence of the work of Zeidarb.
‘Not many can create a personal shield like that.’

‘What do I do?’
I asked, but before she could answer, the boy fainted and toppled off his horse. With me still on the ground and the other boys mounted, Sarlice was the closest, so she darted in to catch the falling child. Sensing it was free, the boy’s horse ran off, followed by three of the other Zeikas. The new Zeika I had seen on the altar sneered at his fallen comrade and turned his horse, following the rest of the group as they cantered away.

The owner of the stall I had fallen on grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me to my feet, demanding reparation for the damage I had caused.

‘You’re blaming me?’ I asked, exasperated.

‘You provoked them,’ he retorted. ‘You know if you just swallowed your pride for a moment and bowed to the Zeikas there wouldn’t be any trouble, but no, you Kriites are too high and mighty to do that. Better to act all tough, get knocked over and who cares what or who goes down with you?’

The fallen Zeika came around slowly, staring up at Sarlice’s bronze ringlets in stunned fascination. His expression soon changed to one of chagrin as he realised he had not only lost control of his ward rune, but also lay prone in the arms of a Kriite woman—the lowliest of creatures in the Zeika worldview. He shoved her away as he climbed unsteadily to his feet saying, ‘Get your hands off me, slave.’

Sarlice gave him a sardonic smile. ‘You’re welcome.’

I crouched down to help Sarlice pick up the twine and food she had dropped then assisted the stall owner put his wares back in order. The bag of flour I’d been carrying was split open at the top, but was salvageable. The Zeika tried to straighten his jerkin and stalk away, but he stumbled again, this time caught by Lira.

‘Here, my Lord,’ she murmured. ‘Allow me to help you. I am not a Kriite.’ Her assertion that she believed in the Lightmaker a few days ago seemed hollow in the light of this declaration, but I convinced myself that one had to believe in the Lightmaker before converting to the Kriite faith. Lira just wasn’t at that point yet.

Eyes widening at her beauty the child accepted her hand and stumbled into the Silver Shell with her. Raising one eyebrow at me Sarlice went after them. I shoved handfuls of necklaces and dreamcatchers onto the stall owner’s sole remaining table as fast as I could then followed Sarlice into the tavern.

Once inside Lira had taken the young Zeika to a table in the corner where she sat him down and went to the bar to get him some mead. Sarlice and I sat opposite him, glancing at Rekala, who positioned herself on the floor to our right. She glared at the Zeika, her tail lashing and her fur still standing on end.

‘Clearly you’re an initiated Zeika,’ Sarlice said. ‘But did you know that there are ex-Zeikas among the Kriites?’

Still a little dizzy the boy waved his hand in a feeble attempt to shoo us away.

‘If I was in my prime you would be rended in a dozen pieces for your insolence,’ he growled. It sounded as if his voice had only recently broken.

‘You respond to our concern with threats of violence,’ Sarlice said calmly, ‘because you have been brainwashed by men who have no cares for anything other than their own power.’

‘A concept I wouldn’t expect a woman to fathom,’ he retorted, holding his head in pain.

Lira returned with the mead and sat beside him. He glanced at her cautiously. Only after she had drunk some herself did he take a sip.

‘What are the Zeikas doing in Telby?’ I asked him.

‘I’m not answering your questions, slave.’

I launched myself across the table, pushing the boy against the wooden wall by his throat. ‘You had better.’

His eyes rolled back as the dizziness threatened to take him down again.

He sputtered through my choke hold. ‘Taking our rightful place above all mortals and removing the influence of Kriites—’

‘That’s enough from you!’ a male voice shouted from the doorway of the tavern. The Zeika I had seen by the fountain strode across the room and dragged me off the boy, deftly avoiding Rekala’s swiping claws. Lira glared at him with such venom that I felt good about what I had accomplished.

The adult Zeika pulled the boy to his feet and shoved him towards the door, turning away when he staggered and sprawled on the floor. The adult Zeika pointed both palms at me, spewing a jet of green fire. I dived beneath the table, feeling the heat whoosh overhead and sensing Rekala jump at the same time—heedless of her own wellbeing, she pounced on the man, claws out. Using a ward similar to the child’s, he created a personal shield that knocked her back.

Lira leapt between him and Rekala, shouting, ‘Stop this at once!’ in such a commanding voice that both icetiger and Zeika paused.

‘You. I recognise you,’ the Zeika said to Lira. ‘You’re the—’

‘You would not harm the sole surviving heir to the Demaeda fortune,’ Lira cried, ‘if… if you knew what was good for you….’

The Zeika stared at her for a moment, blinked at Sarlice and I, then strode from the tavern, dragging the Zeika child with him. Rekala and Kestric ran a few paces after them, growling.

‘What was that about?’ I asked, turning to Lira in awe. ‘I thought you wanted to keep your family name—’

‘I wasn’t about to let you get killed,’ she replied testily. ‘Much as it cost me to reveal my name, it holds some influence….’

‘Why does it mean so much to the Zeikas?’ Sarlice murmured.

‘It’s Jesathian,’ Lira replied. ‘We are important traders in God’s Port.’