A’Meer drew a short sword from a leather scabbard on her belt and advanced across the street.
“Wait!” Kosar hissed. “There may be more Monks.”
A’Meer glanced back briefly. “I think they’ve been already,” she said softly. And then she ran.
Kosar stood in wide-eyed disbelief as A’Meer reached the front door of the house, swung it open and disappeared inside, all before he had time to draw breath for a reply. He had seen her run across the yard, kicking up silent clouds of dust, making no sound as she swung herself inside… he had seen every movement and moment, and yet it was impossible. She had moved as if the air itself parted before her.
Kosar had taken only several steps himself before A’Meer appeared at an upper window, leaning out.
“The house is safe. They’ve been.” And then she withdrew again, closing the window softly behind her.
Kosar found her in one of the bedrooms upstairs. He had smelled the body immediately upon passing through the front door, and as he climbed the stairs the stench grew worse; blood that was almost fresh, the rich tang of butchery. A’Meer was standing in an open doorway, panting as if she had just run twenty miles, and then he glanced past her at what was left of Rafe’s uncle.
A sudden, staggering possibility hit Kosar. “What if that’s Rafe?” he said.
“Did the boy have a beard?”
“No.”
“Then this can’t be him. There’s only one person here, and this belonged to them.” A’Meer lifted her sword, and dangling from its point was a clot of fur, blood and skin. It looked like a slaughtered furbat stripped of its wings.
“A Monk did this?” he asked.
“I assume so. Although they’re usually very calculating, very sparse in their murdering. This Vance must have annoyed or angered it somehow to warrant this.”
Kosar was stunned. So much had changed in such a short time that he could feel himself trying hard to catch up, failing at many points. The boy: a magician, a Mage? A’Meer, sweet A’Meer: a warrior trained by Shantasi mystics to seek out and protect magic? And his own existence, a life of travel and thievery given over to a simple, quiet way of life… changed suddenly and irrevocably by what he had seen, and what he was still witnessing now.
“You moved so fast,” he said. “I saw you, but you were so fast. ” He was still staring past A’Meer at the mess of blood and flesh across the bedroom, yet the scope of his amazement and confusion was far wider than this small place.
A’Meer looked back at him at last, and he saw that she was no longer so on edge. She must have been terrified that they would arrive here to find a Red Monk. She had defeated one before, but that offered no guarantees. And there was more to her fear, more than simply the prospect of confronting a Monk. Perhaps she too had expected to find Rafe’s remains mixed in with those of his uncle.
“There’s a lot I can’t tell you, Kosar,” she said. “I’ve already warned you about that. And it’s not simply because I’m not allowed to tell, but because much of it I just don’t understand myself. I don’t know how I moved so quickly. I was trained to do it and it happens. The mystics called it Pace, but I know that explains nothing. Accept it. I have to.”
“And that’s it?”
A’Meer shrugged. “That’s it.”
Kosar nodded. “Just warn me next time, perhaps.” But A’Meer had already turned away and started rooting through the meaty remains of Vance’s uncle.
Kosar started taking a look around the house, seeing if he could find anything that identified Rafe. If the boy had left something here-his jacket, boots, belt-that would indicate that he had gone quickly or been taken by force. If there was nothing of his, perhaps he had taken his own leave. Or maybe Vance had sent him away before the Red Monks arrived, knowing that his nephew was in danger and giving him the name of someone who would help or hide him. He found many empty bottles, piles of old clothes slowly rotting down, a few books with their pages stuck together by time and disinterest. Nothing of Rafe. No sign that the boy had even been here, although Kosar had brought him here himself. Perhaps he had not stayed for long. It was even possible that Vance had not wanted the responsibility. Knowing that the Red Monks might be on the trail of his nephew may have negated any familial loyalty.
Considering the state of his uncle right now, that may have been a blessing for Rafe.
“He’s not here,” A’Meer said as she followed him downstairs. “If the uncle knew anything of where the boy has gone, the Red Monk will have had it from him.”
“I don’t think he did know,” Kosar said. “If Vance wanted to help the boy he’d have known not to send him anywhere he knew. He probably wouldn’t have sent him out at all. And if he didn’t want to help, or was too afraid, Rafe may have left on his own. In which case, I think we should look in the hidden districts.”
“That’s a whole city in itself!” A’Meer said. “And why so sure he’s there?”
“I’m not sure at all, it’s just a hunch. Rafe’s a farm boy. If he left this house the natural route to take is down to the river, and that leads him past the outskirts of the hidden districts. And once there, a boy like that on his own won’t be left alone for long. There are whores, crooks, muggers and fledge dens. He’d have been taken there, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” said A’Meer. “Kosar.”
He turned and met her gaze. She was still afraid, but now there was excitement in her poise as well, as if it had taken time for the implications of events to sink in.
“You don’t have to come,” she said. “This is nothing to do with you. You’re an old thief who settled down on a farm, for Mage’s sake. You don’t want to get mixed up with Red Monks. Or me.”
Kosar found himself ridiculously hurt by her comments. She was right, this was nothing to do with him, and given any real choice he would steer as far from a Red Monk as possible. But he was involved, not only through his knowledge of what had happened to Rafe, but through her as well. He cared about A’Meer.
“I’ll tag along.” Perhaps she sensed how her comments had disappointed him, because she said no more as the two of them left the house. “There’s a quick way into the hidden districts from here,” Kosar said. “As long as you don’t mind the dark.” Any surprise A’Meer felt at his knowledge she kept to herself. Kosar had been here for only a few moons, but his type had a knack of discovering secrets.
They set off quickly, ignoring curious glances from passersby. Kosar led them back toward the river, and then ducked through an open doorway into a small square building. Inside he uncovered a hole in the floor, the vent of an old buried machine. “It’s not far,” he said.
“I’ll go first.”
Before Kosar could protest, A’Meer had drawn a small dagger for each hand and dropped down into the hole. He followed close behind, wondering what they would face at the other end.
Tim Lebbon
Dusk
Chapter 13
LENORA, LIEUTENANT TOthe Mages, scarred from countless battles and her burning need for revenge, resident of Dana’Man for three hundred years but originally a Noreelan, circled her hawk high above the port of Newland and watched the preparations for war. Excitement coursed through her, because she knew where she would soon be heading. Excitement, and a calm sense of destiny moving things on. This moment was when her life would change again, and though she had been preparing for centuries, the actual instant was as sweet and satisfying as she had always hoped.
Below her, Dana’Man was a wasteland of snow and ice. A few lonely rocks protruded from the white blanket here and there. The stains of the Krote encampments on the lower hillsides were the only splashes of color, and it was so obvious that they did not truly belong. Mountains loomed above them, their dormant volcanic tips pointing skyward as if striving forever to reach the sun. It would never happen. This land had been cursed long before the Mages and their surviving Krotes had arrived, and it would remain cursed long after they left.