Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor) (3 page)

“What if I have the samples collected and brought to you?”

She snorted and began to carefully replace the items in the sack. “So you’re a conduit for the One now? You know the strands to take? How much blood to draw and from which part of the body? You know the incantations to whisper and which star to draw upon as you work?” She held out the sack. “Bring the man here or I cannot help you.”

“There is no other way? Please. I beg you. I’ll pay whatever you ask.” He reluctantly accepted the bag from her.

“A thousand declani.” Her eyes flashed with defiance.

A huge sum, but Tarsten would agree without thinking twice. “Very well,” he said. “But I still can’t bring him here.”

She blinked and raised her eyebrows high on her smooth forehead. Perhaps he should have negotiated. Did it look suspicious that he didn’t? Eliam berated himself. A thousand declani was too much for a merchant to pay. If she hadn’t seen through his disguise before, she would now.

“I can make an attempt with the help of a blood relative: his father or his brother would be best. I cannot guarantee success, but if the blood is strong, the link may suffice.”

Korbin
. “At first light?” Eliam asked. He wasn’t sure he’d find his friend at this hour or if he’d be able to convince him to help, but would try.

She muttered in the Kilovian tongue again. “Put the sack in here.” She pulled back the lid on a heavy metal chest beside her workbench. “It’s not safe for you to handle those things. I will dispose of them after I’m finished.”

Eliam did as she asked, watching as she cautiously closed and locked the lid, then placed the black cloth over it and sprinkled dried flower petals on top. Remembering what he’d been told to expect about the transaction, he removed fifty declani from a pouch at his waist. “This is all I have with me.” He placed the five large coins on the workbench. “I will send more with my friend’s son in the morning.”

She met Eliam’s eyes, studying him. “Fifty more when the job is done and you will have paid the debt.”

“We agreed to a thousand, Sennestelle. I honor my word.” A thousand declani was a mildly inconvenient amount to him, but it would keep this woman for years. If she healed Dul Graiphen, her help would be worth every coin. He bowed. “The power of the One forever guide you.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “May the Talmoran Spirits of Light and Shadow protect you, Dow. And your friend.” With a glance to the iron chest she added, “He has made a powerful enemy. One whose hand I do not know. This worries me greatly.”

Eliam bowed again, feeling more uneasy than when he’d arrived. He bid Octavia goodnight and descended into the streets. Heading toward Chelotti Strand, he prayed he’d find Korbin at home.

An hour later, he rapped on the door of Korbin’s tiny flat, located off a narrow back alley. A scurry sounded from amongst the refuse piled nearby and made Eliam shudder. The area seemed dark, menacing even, the kind of place most would avoid even in the daylight. Chelotti Strand wasn’t as rough as some places, but it was a long way from the palaces of North Circle.

When no answer came immediately, Eliam decided to check a few of the pubs Korbin frequented. In the first establishment, Eliam had no luck. A quick glance within told him his friend wasn’t inside. A few small coins in the owner’s palm revealed Korbin hadn’t been around for a couple of days.

He had a similar experience in the second place, but in the third, he found Korbin tossing coins onto a gaming table, one after the other.

“Four Spot,” his friend said grimly, tapping the tiles in front of him. His dark, untamed curls gave him a roguish look. When he’d lived with his father, his hair had always been close cropped. Dul Graiphen didn’t believe curly hair was
dignified
. Now Korbin wore it like a badge of honor.

“Yer a fair liar, Korbin,” laughed a snaggle-toothed man. His accent was local and his calloused hands spoke of years of hard toil. “I declare seven.”

A third player flipped over his tiles as he shook his head in amusement. “Beats my three square any day.”

A younger man sat on Korbin’s right. His clothes suggested he was slumming, coming to the worker’s quarter of the city for serious gambling and hard drinking, away from the prying eyes of society. Eliam didn’t recognize him, which meant he wasn’t of Vol’s noble families, but he could very well be a resident student, a relative of a minor Dul from the provinces.

“Six to the round,” the young man said, a touch too carefully.

The local worker grinned, nodding to Korbin. “I think he’s full of shite.”

“Aye,” Korbin said, having adapted his once-polished accent to suit his current lifestyle. He scratched at the several-days-old whiskers on his chin. “Tis you what troubles me, Crandell, and that’s no lie. You’re a crafty badger.”

Korbin’s opponent grinned and glanced up at Eliam. “Best make a move then and leave the games to the men. Looks like yer boyfriend has come callin’.”

With a sideways look, Korbin nodded at Eliam, then stood. “I’m out anyway,” he said, flipping over his tiles one at a time. “I know ya too well, Crandell.” He not only had four spot, he had five. Clever. “I do want to see if you have that seven.”

“If our friend here pays the price, I’ll show you all,” Crandell said with a nod toward the young man. “What of it, lad?” He tossed more coins onto the table. “For five declani, you can see my stones.” He laughed at the old gamblers’ joke.

The boy carelessly pitched a matching sum into the center of the table. “So show them, old man.”

“Stupid kid,” Korbin muttered, shaking his head.

Crandell cackled, flipping his stones over. He not only had seven spot, he had them in sequence. That would beat the boy’s six to the round, if he even had such a high hand.

“Come on,” Korbin said to Eliam. “This is turning out to be an expensive night for me.”

When Korbin turned, Eliam saw a large bruise along one side of his face. “Spirits take me. What happened to you?”

Korbin hesitated, as though not sure what elicited the comment. “Ah, this? A misunderstanding.”

He took in Eliam’s clothing. “Where’ve you been dressed like a merchant who’s recently won at the tables?”

Eliam glanced down at his attire. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Korbin shook his head with a chuckle. “You want a drink?”

“A favor,” Eliam said. “Can we talk?”

With only a momentary pause, Korbin nodded. “Sure. Here or outside?”

“The fewer ears, the better,” Eliam said.

“My place then.” He led Eliam out, pausing to return a friendly shout of goodbye as he made his way to the door. No one gave Eliam a second look, so his disguise couldn’t have been all bad. A Dul would attract much more attention. This was, after all, part of Eliam’s constituency. Still, he tugged his hood closer around his face, not that common workers paid any more mind to individuals of the higher classes than the nobles paid of them. That was the way of things.

They were only two streets away from the alley that led to Korbin’s flat. Within a few minutes, they walked inside, and Korbin lit a lamp beside the window. He pulled down its canvas shade.

Eliam had always been struck by how neatly Korbin maintained his home, but then, he didn’t spend that much time here, preferring the company in gambling rooms, pubs, and entertainment houses. His job as a Talmor Rider kept him away half the time, so when would he have the opportunity to make a mess?

“What’s troubling you?” Korbin asked. When Eliam paused, Korbin raised an eyebrow. “That bad? Tell me.”

“It’s your father.” Eliam took one of the lumpy, creaking chairs.

Korbin stiffened but didn’t interrupt.

“He’s fallen seriously ill. I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“That’s the reason I’m here, actually,” Eliam said. “Someone apparently cursed him.”

A spurt of laughter burst from Korbin’s mouth. “Besides me, you mean?”

The reaction was understandable. Talmorans were enlightened, following the precepts of the eight Spirits of Light and Shadow. But Eliam felt the pressure of time. Octavia’s response to what she saw in the sack told him the matter was more urgent than he or Tarsten had realized.

“A Kilovian practitioner.”

Korbin’s smile faded. “You’re serious?”

“I’ve found someone willing to try to undo the curse. To do so, she needs help from a close relative of your father’s.”

“You found a conduit?” Korbin asked, tiredly running his hand over the whiskers on his face.

“She recognized the items I showed her, things discovered around your father’s manor. She said he was in grave danger from his enemies. The curse placed on him was a torture ritual.”

Korbin sighed. “What does my father want me to do? I hope you didn’t tell him where I live. Frankly, I’m surprised he believes in curses. I’m even more surprised he would ask for my help.”

Eliam shifted in the uncomfortable chair. “He didn’t. From what Dul Tarsten said, your father might not even recognize you. His mind has been altered.”

“Altered,” Korbin repeated, his tone flat. He sat opposite Eliam, staring at a wall as he contemplated.

“It was Tarsten who asked for my assistance, and I sought out this woman Octavia. She claimed she could help, but she needs a male blood relative, someone close.”

Korbin exhaled slowly, looking more tired in the dim light than he had in the pub. “This sounds like some kind of tale. Cursed?” He looked thoughtful, as though trying to work out how he was being conned.

“I would have thought the same thing, but I trust Tarsten more than most politicians,” Eliam said with a chuckle.

“What do you know about this Octavia?”

“Not a lot. The Kilovians proved very protective of their conduits. When I did finally get any answers, hers was the name that came up. Well, hers and someone named Rhikar, but nobody seemed to think he was in the city.”

“I’ve heard both names,” Korbin said. “Nothing definitive, but you saw how the Kilovians are about the Sennestelle.”

“I learned as much today, that’s for certain. She wasn’t easy to find.”

Korbin nodded. “Not for you, but every Kilovian in her district will know her. From what I’ve heard, the conduits do take work from outsiders, so after a bit of runaround, they will give up a name if they think your intentions are honest.”

“Will you help us?” Eliam asked. When Korbin hesitated, he added, “He’s in grave danger.”

“My father made his bed. Should he not have to lie in it?”

It was Eliam’s turn to pause. “This may be your last opportunity to reconcile with him.”

The expression that crossed Korbin’s face said he didn’t care. Their parting had been acrimonious and words said by both men would not soon be forgotten.

“Does this buy you a seat at the table?” Korbin asked.

“Don’t do this for me,” Eliam said shaking his head.

Korbin chuckled. “My friend, that’s the
only
reason I would do this.”

Eliam felt ashamed at his relief. Korbin had hit on the truth, of course. It
would
buy him favor with two of the most influential men on the Council of Eight. Still, he hoped this would be a way for father and son to reconcile, or at least see they had each been wrong and stubborn. A sentimental thought, perhaps, but a selfish part of him wanted his friend back. As long as Korbin lived as a common rider, that couldn’t happen. “First light. She said we shouldn’t delay.” He handed Korbin a slip of paper with the address.

Korbin nodded with a troubled frown. “First light, then.”

∞

Octavia sat across from her mentor, watching deep lines in his face collect into a frown. She’d come as soon as the man who called himself Dow left her home. She’d tried to maintain her calm in front of her new customer, but the items he’d brought sent a shiver down her spine. Although she had a great deal of experience, for this, she wanted advice.

Sen Rhikar cast her a glance with eyes of frozen blue. “You know what this means, I assume.”

She nodded. “A new conduit in the city. Someone powerful. Do you recognize the work?”

With gloved hands, he turned one of the wax pieces in his fingers, then sniffed its surface. “High quality. No expense spared.”

“The victim is high-born. I suppose his enemies are as well.”

“Perhaps some, but not all,” he said in a pragmatic tone. “The wealthiest always have more than their share of enemies.”

“Gold draws darkness.” She muttered the old Kilovian saying. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she wanted the promised thousand declani fee. Instinct told her to have nothing to do with him, and yet, if there were a new conduit in Vol, one who practiced such dark rituals…

“Do you know what you intend to do?” That had always been the way Rhikar had taught her, asking more questions than he answered.

“I won’t be permitted access to the victim or information about the conduit,” she grumbled. “These fool Talmorans don’t understand what they’re dealing with. They bound my hands.”

Rather than answer, Rhikar gave the barest of shrugs.

“I’m planning to use a blood-bond reversal. It’s the best I can do.” Frustration surged that she couldn’t do anything more direct.

Rhikar nodded. “It’s what I would do.” He sat back. “You are more than capable of this, child. Your talents will someday exceed my own. Of that I have no doubt. Still, if it were me, I’m not sure I’d involve myself.”

With a grim nod, she surveyed the items she’d laid out. “I can’t believe we’ve not heard so much as a rumble of this new conduit’s reputation.” She used a slender silver stick to flip one of the figures. “The work is remarkably precise, and yet, there is something about it.”

“What do you sense?” Rhikar watched her closely.

The frost in his gaze made her feel like a novice. “There is hatred.”

“We all channel the darkness when necessary.” Of course, he knew what she meant, but she understood he was forcing her to articulate her thoughts as part of the lesson.

“Yes, but this is less controlled.”

“You think the practitioner who created these items is a novice?”

“No. To the contrary. No novice would have the focus.”

“So uncontrolled but focused?” he asked, amused.