The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (10 page)

Ahmed chuckled in amazement. “A
fine lesson in leadership! Let us get the men and have this ship,
then.”

It was so easy, it was improper
to call it an ‘attack’. Under cover of darkness, they
had entered the sleeping town and made their way to the wharves.
They had met all of three men, single foot patrols, guards looking
for thieves, not soldiers. Not a one had offered resistance. One had
even volunteered his own rope so he could be tied instead of knocked
out or killed. They had obliged him, once they finally understood
his words. The accent here was different than in Nihlos, the words
even harder to understand until the ear grew accustomed to them.

Ahmed looked down the pier at
their target, then cast Sandilianus a questioning glance.
Sandilianus nodded. “It will do.”

Ahmed was about to give the
order to take the ship when he felt his focus shift to his left, as
if an invisible hand were literally turning his head toward
something it wanted him to see.

Sandilianus noticed the change.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Ahmed peered into the dark to
his left, trying to answer that very question. “I don’t
know. Something….” He trailed off, letting the hand in
his mind guide him. He felt connection as a clicking sound in his
mind. What was pitch black moments before was given form, black on
black, dark, hooded figures skulking through the night. He pointed
at them. After a moment of squinting, Sandilianus nodded. He could
see them as well. They were carrying something that looked for all
the world like a corpse, but it was too dark to be certain. He spoke
what he felt as a command in his soul: “I must go.”

Sandilianus shot him a
withering glare. “
Now
?”

Ahmed did not even see the
expression on the other man’s face. He continued to peer into
the darkness, his eyes tracking the nearly invisible group. There
were three of them, and they were without doubt evil men. He could
taste the wrongness of them on his tongue like spoiled milk. The
thugs turned down an alley and faded into deeper darkness.

“Ilaweh calls. Can you
take the ship without me?”

Sandilianus rolled his eyes and
chuckled at this. “We’ll manage somehow,” he said
in a sarcastic tone.

“Then do it. I will
investigate. If I am not back in ten minutes, leave without me.”

“That’s time enough
to kill a man, I suppose.”

“Or three. Or be killed
myself.”

Sandilianus clapped him on the
back. “Good luck.”

“And you.” Ahmed
laid his right hand on his sword pommel and set off in the direction
of the hooded figures as Sandilianus issued hand signals for the men
to advance on the ship. The men raised shields, formed a phalanx,
and began to advance down the pier.

Ahmed ran quickly toward the
alley. As he lost sight of his men, he mused to himself that they
were quiet about their warfare when they needed to be. He could hear
nothing of their progress. Surely, it would be a simple thing, then.

He, too, would be stealthy. He
moved as quickly as possible, but low and close to the wall,
listening. It was always better to surprise the enemy than be
surprised by him. He smiled as his prudence was rewarded by the
sound of voices.

“We do it here,” a
deep, gravely voice insisted. A moan, distinctly female, followed
this pronouncement.
Not a
corpse, then. A captive!
Ahmed ground his teeth in rage,
but stayed his hand.
Successful warfare requires intelligence.

He moved forward as silently as
possible. At the corner of the wall, he stopped and peered around.
Three hooded figures, one large and with a great belly, two smaller,
stood facing each other. On the ground between them was a bound and
gagged woman. The larger man was shoving a torch at the bound
woman’s face, chuckling as she cringed away.

“Fool!” one of the
smaller men said, his voice higher-pitched and nervous, perhaps even
reluctant. “What will you do if a guard comes upon us?”

The third man sneered. “Then
he will meet the same fate!” his words slurred as if he were
drunk or injured.

“It’s madness!”
Cautious complained. “We risk exposing the whole murder!”

The fat man slammed a meaty
fist into Cautious’s face, and the smaller man fell to the
ground with a cry.

Slur gave a nasty chuckle.
“Elgar does not reward cowards!”

Ahmed felt as if he had been
struck by lightning at the sound of that name. The Dead God was the
very definition of unspeakable evil, and his followers depraved
madmen! If these men served him, they must surely die, and quickly,
before they could carry out whatever vile plan they had hatched.

Ahmed heard someone cry out in
the distance, “’Ware boarders!” Sandilianus had
engaged the ship, then. Time was short.

With his left hand, Ahmed
reached to his back and hooked his fingers into his shield grip. His
right gripped Brutus’s sword.
My
sword, now,
he reminded himself. He took a deep breath.
Ilaweh be with me
.

Ahmed sprang from behind the
corner, sword and shield slipping from their places and locking into
battle positions as easily as a man might point his fingers. With a
cry of fury, he charged them.

Fatso, wielding a torch,
charged to meet him and got a sword through the throat for his
stupidity. The torch fell to the ground and spun, sending shadows
scurrying over the alley walls like a flock of crows. Slur jerked a
dagger from his belt and came as well. Ahmed boggled at such
stupidity, but went along with it. He slashed Slur’s hand off
at the wrist. It spiraled off into the darkness, still clutching the
dagger, as Slur’s face contorted in agony. Ahmed smashed the
edge of his shield into Slur’s ugly face for good measure.
Blood and teeth flew as Slur slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Cautious stood blinking at him,
his face a mask of confusion and shock. Ahmed cocked his head and
stared at him in sheer amazement. “Shall I kill you, too,
fool?”

Cautious turned and bolted.
Ahmed watched him until he was out of sight, wary of treachery, but
the man seemed well and truly fled. Who could blame him?

Ahmed bent to the gagged and
bound woman. She was frenzied, struggling against her bonds, her
eyes fixed upon him and filled with raw terror. “You are safe
now,” he said softly, and took her hand to untie it.

Rather than calming, the woman
redoubled her efforts to escape. She tore her hand free and began
trying to snake away, at last settling for rolling.

“Fool! Hold still!”
Ahmed grabbed her and forced her against the ground as he cut the
rope binding her wrist. He immediately regretted it. The woman
lashed out at him as he reached to remove her gag, raking his face
with her nails.

He gave her a sharp slap to the
face, trying to break her from her panic. “You are safe now!”

The woman stared at him in
silence for a moment, then screamed, loud and long. “Demons!
Black skinned demons!”

Ahmed leapt to his feet, shame
and fury boiling within him, and struck her with a furious backhand.
“Barbarian bitch!” She fell over backward, blood flying
from her lips, sobbing. Ahmed immediately felt guilty, even as he
felt justified, but it mattered little. Sandilianus would even now
be boarding the ship. Between the sounds of battle and this idiot’s
screams, the guards would surely descend en masse any moment.

“Demons!” the woman
moaned as he rifled the corpses. One had a few coins, but they were
otherwise paupers. Ahmed ground his teeth. Ilaweh wanted her saved.
Fine, she was saved. There was nothing in the bargain about liking
each other, or gratitude. Still, just a bit would have been nice.

“You can find your own
way home. I’d hurry before Cautious finds his balls and comes
back to finish his business!” He spat on the ground beside her
as he put away sword and shield, then turned and sprinted for the
ship.

He was heartened to see that
his men were indeed in command of the vessel, and it appeared there
had been precious little bloodshed. A number of crewmen were being
persuaded at sword-point to get on with the business of casting off.
Ahmed saw only two bodies, and for all he knew, they may have simply
been unconscious. All was good after all.

Shouts from behind him quickly
shattered this illusion. He cast a look over his shoulder to see a
large group of men heading toward him, at least fifty. Sandilianus
ran to the bow and shouted “Ware archers!”

As if queued, arrows zipped
past Ahmed, whizzing like bees, one coming close enough to graze his
already injured cheek. Aboard the ship, his men brought their
shields up and formed a wall, reserving their blades for the seamen.
Ropes flew from bollards and sails billowed from their resting spots
as curses and threats rang through the night.

Ahmed began to zig-zag as
erratically as possible as he sprinted toward the gangplank. It
would do little against massed fire, but it could certainly spoil
any shots aimed specifically at him. He was more of an ‘extra
points’ target for most of his run, but getting up the
gangplank would take him into real danger. At that point, it would
be in Ilaweh’s hands.

He was ten yards from safety!
The ship was moving now, the gap between the hull and the pier
widening with every passing second. Ahmed gritted his teeth as the
gangplank fell away into the water. It was too far. He would never
make it! Another arrow whizzed past him and left a crease in his
left shoulder. He had to try.

There was no time even for a
small prayer. He would just have to hope it was part of the plan. He
reached the edge of the pier and leapt, hoping against hope, but it
was as he had known all along: too far to jump. His boot missed the
deck by two feet, and he plummeted toward the dark water. He would
surely die this time, either drowned or punctured by arrows. Ah,
well. The mission would continue without him. He had done his part.

Sandilianus moved quickly. He
hurled a rope toward Ahmed. The line was weighted for throwing, and
Sandilianus was a marksman. Ahmed literally caught it in his chest,
a hammer blow that knocked the breath from him, but he managed to
grasp it, and he held on for dear life.

Arrows sunk into the wooden
hull as Sandilianus hauled him up. Another thudded into the shield
he wore on his back. He was a tempting target now, indeed, helpless
and hanging from a line, swinging just enough to add sport to
shooting him in the head like a dog. Moments later, several of his
men lowered their shields over him as well. Ahmed sighed in relief
as he heard the arrows thunk against the shield frames. His death
had once again been forestalled, by the grace of Ilaweh.

Sandilianus took his hand and
hauled him over the railing. Ahmed sank to his knees, gasping with
exhaustion. He waited there, just breathing, until they were beyond
arrow range, then stood and called out, “We are victorious!”

The men raised a great cheer
and pounded their swords against their shields in celebration, all
the while keeping a wary eye on their captive crew.

Ahmed nodded and smiled. It was
enough for now.

In the great hall of House
Noril, Nerelki was slowly losing the battle to retain her sanity.
She might have surrendered to the strong urge to literally clamp her
hands to her head and scream, save that every noble of consequence
in Nihlos would see her doing it.
They're all here, all of the
elders, packed into Davron's bloody arena.

It was a hard place, full of
echoes from the many conversations going on in tones ranging from
banal humor to abject panic. The tiles on the floor were hard, dull
slate. The chairs were hard wood, without cushions. The walls were
hard granite, and where they had any decoration at all, they were
adorned with weapons.
No one is intended to be comfortable here.
That's the point, obviously.

A small, raised platform stood
at the end of the room for speakers. Davron, flanked by Polus and
Maklin, was explaining the details of “the recent crisis”.
Both Polus and Davron were armed, armored, and streaked with gore
from black-booted feet to gray temples.

The details were nearly as
crazy as the rumors. The dead rising and killing, and some
invulnerable figure assaulting the empress? Madness! She looked
toward Maranath, who stood with Ariano. Both seemed to be taking
things very seriously, their faces grave and angry. She looked about
for Prandil, at last spying him leaning against a wall, alone, his
expression blank. She knew him well enough to understand what that
meant: he was disturbed and brooding, and wanted no conversation.

Prandil looked up suddenly,
making eye contact, sorrow in his gaze. He shook his head as if in
sympathy, but for what she had no idea.

Enlightenment came quickly,
however, from Davron. “According to Caelwen, the man who
attacked them was Aiul Amrath.”

Narelki whipped her head around
to face the podium. “Impossible!”

Davron scowled at her.
“Possible. And worse, the trail of gore leads directly back to
my own prison, here.”

“It's
impossible
!”
Narelki nearly shrieked. “He's in the hospital right now! He
hasn't left since he was a guest in your prison the last time! He
hasn't been
able
to!”

The hall grew silent. Davron
ground his teeth, searching for his next words, while Polus fidgeted
with a buckle on his armor.

It was Maklin who spoke first.
“It was Aiul, Narelki. We're certain.”

Narelki opened her mouth to
argue more, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We've
been deceived,” Maranath said softly.”Let's talk.”

Narelki glared at Davron a
moment longer, the truth of things slowly seeping into her
consciousness, as Lucreta called out, “What about the ghouls?
I hear they might be contagious!”

Maklin coughed briefly, waving
a hand while he caught his breath. ”Ridiculous. They were no
such thing. Reanimated flesh, yes, but automatons, not ghouls.
Nothing to fear there.”

Lucreta stamped a foot on the
ground. “Don't dismiss me like that, you old windbag! How do
you know?”

“Because they were
stabbing people with swords, not biting them! Who's the sorcerer
here, you or me, hmm?”

Maranath guided Narelki to the
rear of the crowd and into a quiet corner. “Wait a bit. Let
them chatter until they get bored with the flashy parts. Then we'll
see justice done.”

Narelki nodded, grinding her
teeth to control the rage that filled her. Across the room, she saw
Ariano glaring back at her, a sufficiently chilling thing to cool
her anger a bit. She nodded toward the old sorceress. “Will it
ever pass?”

Maranath pursed his lips, then
shook his head with a sigh. “I think not. She calls you a
traitor.”

Narelki nodded at this,
suppressing a shudder. “I thought as much. She's already dealt
with Sadrina and Maralena. I suppose I'm next on the list.”

Maranath grunted at this.
“You're under my protection, and I've made that clear to her.
And you're only half right, you know. She went after Sadrina.”
He shook his head and pulled at his beard, as if considering his
words very carefully. “Maralena was an entirely different
matter.”

Narelki didn't bother to hide
her contempt for an obvious lie. “Please! I may no longer be a
Meite, but I recognize the work!”

Maranath nodded slowly, and
raised his hands in mock defense. “Now, now, I'm not
lying
,
just leaving out some details that don't concern you.”

Narelki gasped as she made the
connection. “
You?
”

Maranath's
face lit with genuine mirth at this. “Me? Oh, my dear, I'd not
have left as nearly so much intact as that, had I committed the
deed.”

“Who,
then? You could at least tell me that much! Prandil?”

Maranath
sighed and held up his hands again, this time in surrender.
“It
was Sadrik. That's all you'll hear from me on the matter, and that's
only to convince you Ariano isn't running through the council
looking for revenge.”

Narelki shook her head in
amazement, for the moment forgetting even the problem that had
brought her here. “Sadrik? Mei, I would never have thought –
”

“Nor I.” Maranath
folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with a stern look.
“That's all you get.”

“Fair enough. It's some
comfort, at least.” She looked down at the floor, ashamed of
what she was about to ask, but seeing no choice. “So Ariano
calls me a traitor now. And you?”

Maranath's expression grew
pained, then contemplative. “I will admit, I had similar
thoughts when it happened. Thoughts I came to reconsider once we
left the room.”

Narelki stiffened at this. “Of
course. How could you hold a grudge against such a pitiable
creature?”

Maranath looked at her
reproachfully for a moment, then shook his head in sadness “Your
words, not mine.” He gestured toward Ariano. “I'll want
to speak with her about this mess with the hospital before we get
started carving up Davron. If it comes to a fight, we'll all need
our reasons at the forefront of our minds.”

“I can't see why she
would care. For all the show she's made over the years, she couldn't
even be bothered to visit Aiul.”

“Well, in all fairness,
as it turns out, he wasn't there.” He waved the issue aside.
“She'll care because Davron's gone against us.”

“Because he's gone
against
you
,” she
corrected. There
was more Narelki wanted to say, cutting
remarks about Ariano's lack of concern, but in point of fact, Davron
was her enemy, and she would prefer Ariano to be on her side of the
fight. “What of Prandil and Maklin?”

“They are aware of the
situation, and I'm sure they will stand with us if it comes to
that.”

“He must not get away
with this, Maranath! Neither he nor Rithard!”

Maranath looked at her
squarely, the light dancing in his ancient eyes reminding her as
always that he was nothing like the old man he seemed. “They
won't. That you can count on.”

Consciousness returned for
Kariana with the grace and subtlety of an elephant stomping her
skull, only backwards. There was blackness, then incredible pain in
her head, and at last a sudden, blinding light. In the distance,
someone was shouting. Her whole body ached like she'd been beaten,
and not in a good way.

Her vision slowly focused,
halos and blurs resolving into sharp images. Caelwen knelt beside
her, gently shaking her shoulder. She noted with alarm that his
armor was bloodied, as if he had been in combat recently.”Empress,
you must wake!”

His tone. He's worried. This
is very serious.
Kariana shook her head as if to physically
clear the cobwebs. “Where are we? What happened?”

Caelwen stood again, towering
over the small cot where she had been placed. “House Noril. We
lived.”

Kariana winced. “Are you
sure? About me, I mean?” She moaned softly as she started to
rise, then thought the better of it. “Hurts lots. I guess
you're right.”

Caelwen shook his head in
disapproval. “This is no time for jokes. They'll come to blows
soon. Nihlos needs it's Empress.” He paused there, seeming to
consider a moment, before adding, “I need you, too.”

Kariana pushed herself up to a
sitting position and slung her legs over the edge of the cot,
feeling very alarmed.
What's going on, that you would say
something like that?
“I
think you'd better tell me the rest.”

“It's bad. Aiul left a
clear trail to follow, and it doesn't lead back to the hospital. It
leads back to House Noril. The place has been redecorated with body
parts, so it's hard to miss.”

Kariana felt cold fear filling
her innards. “Mei!
Noril
?
Where
we
are right
now?”

Caelwen
nodded, his face grave. “The Meites are accusing Davron of
being behind the plot. Everyone's blood is up. It's explosive.”

Kariana
considered this a moment. “I don't suppose leaving them to
kill one another is an option? We've already fled once today. I'm
warming to the idea of fleeing, really. I could get used to it.”

Caelwen
gave her a wry smile at this. “I think this is an enemy we
ought engage.”

For
a moment, Kariana simply looked at him, for once in her life seeing
the man, not the stone. His close cropped, blond hair; his chiseled,
square features, haloed by the stubble of a long day; his troubled,
gray eyes; he was not just handsome. He was...noble.

What
struck her most, though, was that he was
afraid
, and not for
himself. “This isn't just duty, is it? It's personal.”

Shame
bloomed on Caelwen's face as he reluctantly nodded. “Healer
Rithard of House Amrath is implicated, too. He's been lying to
Narelki for months about Aiul. Both sides would like to see Rithard
dead, if I read things correctly.”

“Davron
is behind this?”

Caelwen
hesitated a moment. “I think so. Not in the attack, but it
looks to me as if he spirited Aiul away the night....” He
paused again, then muttered, “The night you and Lara had your
encounter.”

“But
why
?”

Caelwen
chuckled sadly. “For all of your worldliness in the bedroom,
you are very sheltered about some things in life, aren't you?”

Kariana
scowled at him, but let the comment stand. It was, after all,
essentially true. “So educate me.”

“For
revenge, Empress. My old master has a long memory, and balls of
steel. He's not like my father. He doesn't bend. The Council's
decision did not sit well with him. He made his own justice.”

Kariana
sighed, absorbing this. “And what is it you want from me?”

“I
beg you, save Rithard. It is not just that he is my friend. He is a
man of very special talents.”

Kariana
could not entirely suppress a smirk at this. “I never thought
you of that persuasion.”

Caelwen's
face hardened into a scowl, but the corners of his mouth twitched in
a hidden smile. “I should think if I were, I'd choose a lover
of sturdier stock than Rithard. He's a slip of a man.”

“Opposites
attract.”

“These
are different talents,” Caelwen answered in an acid tone, then
grew more somber. “I've worked with him on some difficult
cases. He knows how villains and madmen think. I have seen him
reconstruct crime scenes to such detail that if I hadn't known
better, I would have arrested him as the guilty party.”

Kariana
feigned a pout. “And here I thought I'd found out something
interesting about you.”

Caelwen's
face darkened again, then softened. “I'm sorry to disappoint,
but I'm of ordinary stock in such matters.” His eyes pleaded
to her. “Rithard is my friend. One of very few. I
know
him. If he's guilty, he must have reasons, and we ought to hear
them. If you don't intervene, I think he won't survive the night.”

You've
saved me over and over. What's one more enemy compared to that?
She held out a hand weakly, her arm feeling much heavier than usual.
“Help me up. I'm still a little woozy, but I've done this kind
of thing drunk before. It will be pretty much the same.”

Holding
Caelwen's arm for support, Kariana made her way slowly to the great
hall, occasionally stopping to rest. Only when she was within sight
of the others did she muster her reserves and walk alone.
I can
do this. It's only for a little while.

Narelki,
her face a mask of fury, was invading Davron Noril's personal space.
She was lithe, but tall, and looked him in the eye without having to
crane her neck overmuch. Kariana noted the gore on Polus's and
Davron's armor with a mixture of awe and disgust.
Hopefully,
that was the zombies.
She
looked quickly about the room, taking a headcount.

The
Meites were gathered together, visibly isolating themselves from the
others, faces grim. Even Maklin, normally doddering or oblivious,
was focused and angry.

The
rest of the elders milled about, clearly nervous, including the new
Prosin leader, Balthar, a tall, lanky man with a face like a weasel.
I bet you'll think twice about crossing me, won't you?
They all looked at her expectantly as she entered the room, their
expressions those of lost, frightened children searching for a
parent.
Seriously? Suddenly I'm the savior instead of the
stupid whore?

Narelki
waved a fist at Davron, who was shaking his head and chuckling at
her. “Laugh now, bastard! You won't get away with this!”

Davron
dismissed her with a wave. “I told you before, I will handle
the situation.”

“Do
you actually think I am that stupid, or are you fool enough to think
you'll intimidate me?”

Davron's
demeanor changed from amused to threatening in an instant. He
hunched his shoulders as he leaned in toward Narelki, shouting,
“It's not your place! You are neither authorized nor qualified
to arrest
anyone
!”