The Lone Warrior (46 page)

A girl with a face like a merry flower appeared in the doorway. “Mistress?”

“Ah, Tansy.” Coming to her feet, Prue patted Rose on the shoulder. “Don’t get up,” she said, and walked out into the hall to confer with the girl.

They were a team, thought Mehcredi,
friends
. Such ease, how she envied it, knowing it was beyond her. As if he understood, Scrounge pushed his shaggy head under her elbow.

Footsteps sounded in the passage, a querulous voice was raised in protest. Suddenly, the parlor was full of people—big Erik hauling the old wizard over the threshold, a tall slim woman with astonishing swathes of red hair at her temples, a lean dangerous-looking man she hadn’t seen before, and—

“Florien!” It was downright astonishing how pleased she was to see the boy’s wary grin, the nonchalant hunch of a bony shoulder. With a happy whine, Scrounge bounced over to greet him.

The boy glanced up as he knelt to scratch the dog’s ears. “Hey, assassin.”

Deiter fixed him with a baleful eye. “Off with you, slum rat.”

“No,” said Mehcredi.

“He stays,” rumbled Erik.

The woman with the fire-bright hair—who had to be Cenda—said, “He’ll only listen at the keyhole anyway.”

“You’ve got a way with you, lad, and no mistake,” the lean man said to Florien, and his elegant lips quirked. As he closed the door, his attention shifted to Mehcredi. “I’m Gray,” he said and slipped an arm around the fire witch’s slender waist. “This is Cenda.”

At last! Mehcredi leaned toward the other woman. “Light a fire,” she demanded. “Do that . . . talking Magick thing. Now.”

Prue made a disgusted noise, but Deiter curled a lip, exposing wine-stained teeth. “You’re not among friends here, assassin. Ask nicely.”

Mehcredi surged to her feet. “I don’t
want
your godsbedamned friendship, wizard. All I want to know is if Walker . . .” She stumbled. “If . . . he lives.”

“Got you there, Purist,” said Cenda mildly. “I could have scried for him days ago, but you had to go on a bender—”

“Bah!” Deiter sank into a chair, his hands trembling. “Get on with it, girl, and remember what I taught you.”

Mehcredi wasn’t sure what she expected, but Cenda reached into her hair and withdrew a gold ornament shaped like a lizard. Except . . . when the fire witch cupped it in her hand, it sat up on its haunches and
grew
, its eyes gleaming a fiery sapphire. Smiling, Cenda kissed it on the nose and shooed it into the fireplace. Out of the corner of her eye, Mehcredi caught Gray’s flinch.

Flames sprang up with a whoosh, the creature dancing an ecstatic sarabande at the heart of the blaze. “It’s a salamander,” murmured a soft voice and Mehcredi jumped. Completely at ease, Rose sat to her left in a spindly chair, those strange beautiful eyes missing nothing.

Mehcredi fell to her knees beside Cenda on the hearth rug. “Is he there?” she rasped. “Can you feel him?”

The fire witch’s amber eyes widened, then narrowed. When she reached out to brush a tear from Mehcredi’s cheek, it sizzled on her fingertip. “I’ll do my best,” she said gravely. “But scrying like this is still very new to me.”

Mehcredi clamped a hand over the fire witch’s knee. “Please.”

Cenda dropped her gaze and the gold bracelet around her wrist uncoiled, reared up and hissed a challenge. Sweet Sister! Mehcredi snatched her hand back.

With a small satisfied smile, Cenda leaned toward the fire and thrust both hands into the heart of the fire. Mehcredi’s jaw sagged.

Godsdammit, how could she do that?

Cenda trickled streamers of flame through her fingers like ribbons, stroking and weaving. She closed her eyes. “Walker? Walker, can you hear me?”

Nothing but the crackle and hiss of the flames and the expectant breath of the people in the room. The orchestra in the party room launched into a plaintive melody.

Cenda’s head dropped. “I can’t . . . It’s like a wall. There’s nothing there.”

Mehcredi clutched her arm, heedless of salamanders. “Do it again! He said he’d make a fire every night. He promised!”

In a single smooth movement, Gray came to crouch at the witch’s other side, his shadow flickering oddly on the wall. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured.

That was all, but Cenda pushed a lock of blazing red hair out of her eyes and reached into the flames once more.

“Wait.” Deiter struggled to his feet. “Help me, boy.” His fingers sank into Florien’s bony shoulder. The boy growled a curse, but he supported the old wizard across the room.

Deiter transferred his grip to the back of Cenda’s neck.

She winced. “Purist, is this wise?”

“Shut up, girl, and do it. Take power from me as you need it. Erik, you keep the flames high. Prue, stay over there, hear?”

Prue returned the old man’s scowl with a sneer. Erik the Golden nodded, flexing his fingers and humming under his breath.

“Assassin, move those pretty tits if you don’t want ’em singed.” Deiter leered.

She must be gaping like a half-wit. Honestly, these people were the most extraordinary—

With a coughing whoosh, the fire exploded into a mass of flame that writhed up the chimney like a blazing tree. Rose’s fingers gripped the back of Mehcredi’s shirt and yanked, just in time.

“Walker?” whispered Cenda. “Five-it,
Walker
?”

Deiter began to shudder and Florien slipped under his arm to prop him up. “More,” the wizard said through gritted teeth.

Silence. Oh gods, oh gods, he was injured, dead. Gone, gone forev—

“Sscenda.” So faint, it could have been the sound of the salamander dancing.

“There!” Mehcredi lunged forward, so close she thought her eyebrows crisped. “Walker, Walker, are you all right?”

“He can’t hear you,” Rose said quietly. “Only Cenda.”

Erik kept crooning, Cenda’s busy fingers plaited fire ribbons. “Go on, Walker,” she said. “I’m listening.”

As the tongues of fire writhed, Mehcredi thought she caught a glimpse of high cheekbones, a blade of a nose.

“Sscenda.” An agonizing pause. “Iss Mehcredi there?”

“I’m here,” Mehcredi cried, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Walker, I’m here. Cenda, for the gods’ sakes, tell him.”

Cenda said, “Safe and sound. She’s right next to me. Walker, are you all right? Where are you?”

Another lengthy silence, then, “Yess. Jusst north . . . border . . . Cressy Plains.”

“Ask him where he thinks the djinns are headed now,” demanded Deiter, sweat rolling down his cheeks to dampen his beard.

But before Cenda could speak, Walker’s profile firmed in the heart of the blaze. Sweet Sister, he’d plaited finger bones into his hair again. “Lissten. No time. Guardss talk . . . ice fieldss.”

“What are they, the djinns? How do we stop them?”

“Woman’ss name.” Pause. “Now.”

Deiter snarled, “You’re a stubborn bastard, shaman. She’s called Dancer, that’s all I know.”

Cenda repeated the words. This time, the silence lasted an eon, but when the crackling whisper came again, it was so distorted Walker’s reaction was impossible to gauge. “Fire kills . . . Afraid . . . fire. For resst . . . ask Mehcredi . . . wass there.”

“If they’re heading for the ice fields via the Cressy Plains, they’ll have to go through Guardpass,” Rose said suddenly. “Cenda, tell Walker we’ll meet him there.” When every head turned toward her, she spread her hands in a graceful gesture. “Anyone have a better idea?” She arched a cool brow. “Purist?”

“Why not?” Deiter flapped a hand at her. “I’m only the most powerful wizard in the known universe. A courtesan knows best.”

“We’ll meet you at Guardpass,” said Cenda to the blaze. She was very pale, Mehcredi noticed, leaning hard into Gray’s shoulder. “
Walker?
”

“Yess.” Or was that the crackle of the dying fire? Walker was gone.

Cenda sagged back into Gray’s arms and Rose helped Florien guide the old man into a chair. Then she tugged the bellpull again.

One by one, every person in the room turned to look at Mehcredi. Thank the Sister she was sitting on the floor. Her whole body was awash with knee-trembling, muscle-loosening relief. He was alive, and apparently unhurt. And the first words out of his mouth had been about her!

She blinked at her audience, trying to smile. “Thank you,” she said to the fire witch.

There was a tap at the door and Erik opened it to take a laden tray from the pretty girl Mehcredi had seen before. Without a word, he handed Deiter a squat bottle of spirits and a cup.

Prue crossed her arms. “So, assassin, tell us all about the djinns. From the beginning.”

“I . . . I . . .” Mehcredi rubbed her forehead. “I’m no good at telling stories,” she said, feeling like a fool.

Prue gave a huff of disgust, but Rose said, “Then we’ll ask questions and you answer them.”

If it hadn’t been for the food on the tray and the piping-hot tisane, Mehcredi would have gone to sleep midsentence. As it was, she could barely focus as everyone in the room, with the exception of the boy and the dog, attempted to turn her skull inside out so they could examine the inner workings of her brain.

Every action and reaction, every conversation and memory. She had to recall them all, word perfect, search her tired mind for every nuance, every useful scrap of information. At least she wasn’t stupid enough to tell them what Walker had come to mean to her, what they’d done together in the Three Rivers Inn, let alone at the Spring of Shiloh. Instinctively, she knew the hidden valley was private, a precious jewel the swordmaster had chosen to reveal only to her. She hugged it to her heart, a fragment of joy she could use to shore up her spirit as she described the carnage the djinns left in their wake.

She wasn’t sure how long the interrogation lasted—hours it seemed. She was literally swaying with fatigue when Rose said, “Once you got out of Trinitaria, you were home free, assassin. You said Walker released you from your penance. Why did you come to us?”

Frowning, Mehcredi stared at the perfect, calm face. Wasn’t it self-evident? “Because he asked me to.”

Prue snorted. “Really?”

Rose studied her face. “You’ve saved thousands of lives, possibly more once we get the queen to listen.”

Mehcredi shrugged. “As long as I’ve saved his.”

“Mm.” The courtesan exchanged a long glance with Prue. “It’s late. Purist, you’re exhausted. Cenda too.”

Deiter waved his bottle in a lordly fashion. “I’m much improved, my dear.”

Rose ignored him. “I suggest we sleep now and plan first thing in the morning.” Her voice softened. “Take the sofa, Mehcredi.”

Mehcredi was still shaking her head as soft upholstery received her aching body. Vaguely, she was aware of further conversation, the rustle of clothing, receding footsteps. Someone shoved a cushion under her head and sleep crashed over her in a drugging wave.

A few hours later, she woke in the dark, gasping. She shot bolt upright and something soft slipped to the floor. Oh, a blanket. A cold nose was thrust into her hand.

“Scrounge. Oh, thank the Sister.” Shaking, she bent to hug him. She wrinkled her nose. “We need a bath, both of us.” She could see her attic room in the House of Swords, the steaming tubs in the bathhouse. A wave of longing swept over her.

She tiptoed to the door, listening. The building was wrapped in that breathing silence peculiar to a sleeping house. Mehcredi felt in her belt pouch. Enough for a skiff, but if there were none to be found at this hour she’d damn well walk.

“C’mon,” she said to the dog. “Let’s go home.”

“Did ye hafta kill anyone?”

Mehcredi shot a sideways glance at Florien slouched like a sack of taters on a sturdy pony. As the worst rider, the boy had gravitated to the rear of their little cavalcade. Deiter wasn’t much better. The old man certainly complained enough. What the hell use he might be, she couldn’t discern. Mehcredi gazed thoughtfully at the rest of the party, which included a company of guards supplied by the queen. The soldiers flanked the group, looking tough and competent. In the Sister’s name, what sort of connection did these people have with Queen Sikara?

“Not quite,” she said repressively. Gods, she’d been lucky. Yes, but she’d also been well taught.

“Not quite?” The boy’s eyes shone. “What does that mean?”

“Two men tried to rob me.” Or worse.

Florien bounced in the saddle. “Yah?”

“I had my blades, they had short staffs. It was dark. I . . .” Automatically, Mehcredi rubbed her shoulder. The bruise had flowered nicely, purple and green. “They were noisy. Thought I’d be easy, I guess.”

“But ye weren’t, were ye?”

A wry smile twisted her lips. “No. I took the staff away from the short one and broke his wrist with it. I . . . knifed the other.” She shivered. The blade had slid through fabric and flesh as if they were butter. She hadn’t thought it could be so easy to end a life. But then metal grated on bone and the man had howled and fallen back.