Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) (42 page)

“Loon,” Dasin muttered, glancing over. “She got her hand in your pants or something?”

“If I did have,” Wian retorted before Tank could answer, “I’ve a feeling it would be a better handful than
you
were.”

Dasin bared his teeth at her. “Try again with some spirit next time, you’ll see a difference.”

“That’s enough,” Tank said, irritated. “Gods, have
some
taste!” Then he tilted his head back, accepting their shared eruption of laughter, and shrugged at his own poor choice of words. At least they were bantering; even crude humor was an improvement over the sullen, icy silence that had hung over most of the day’s ride.

At least the weather had warmed; while a thick line of scattered dark clouds promised more rain that night, the air hung warm and relatively dry for the moment. Tank put his attention to enjoying that while it lasted, and ignored the shots Dasin and Wian took at one another from time to time.

When they reached the easternmost of the Seventeen Gates, the burly, bristle-haired captain of the day squinted with visible suspicion.

“Your business?” he asked, his tone clearly implying they couldn’t have anything legitimate to do in noble territory and that they’d likely stolen their horses.

“Fool’s Rest Tavern,” Tank said.

Wian leaned around him and said, “Captain!” in a tone filled with warm honey. “How have you been?”

He stepped forward and squinted at her. Tank realized the man was likely near-sighted.

“I know that voice,” he said, a smile moving the bristles on his face into sow’s jowls. “I wondered where you’d gone, sweet. And the Fool’s Rest? That’s a step up, I’d say, and well deserved.”

“Thank you. I took a short trip with some friends,” Wian said. “It’s good to be home.”

The man’s squinting gaze moved to Tank and Dasin, clearly assessing whether they were the
friends
in question.

“These two
ka-s’es
are my escort,” Wian added. “They made sure of my safety along the way.”

The man’s scowl cleared instantly. “Will I be able to see you tonight?”

Tank’s hands tightened on the reins; Wian’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “I’d really like to have some rest for tonight, and settle in to the new place,” she said easily. “It’s been a terribly long road. Perhaps the day after tomorrow?”

“Fair enough,” the captain said expansively. “I’ll be looking for you in two days, then. Don’t you go hiding on me, sweet!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she answered.

The captain’s gaze moved to Tank. “You’ll need to bind that,” he said, pointing at the sword slung across Tank’s back. He dug into a large belt pouch and handed up a length of slender red cord with knotted ends.

“I’ll do it,” Wian said, taking the cord, and secured the blade with a few swift looping movements.

“Good enough,” the captain said, and waved them through. “Two days, sweet, don’t forget.”

“Not a chance, Captain,” she crooned. “I’ll be watching for you.”

“They won’t fuss over me, will they?” the captain said, raising his hand to stop them once more and suddenly looking a bit anxious. “Being not a noble-born, that is. They won’t deny me entrance for that?”

“I’ll be sure to tell them to let you through,” Wian said. She nudged Tank in the back as the guards stepped aside. “Go, Tank,” she murmured in his ear. He ground his teeth and nudged his horse forward, pointedly not looking at the captain as he passed.

On his way through the gate, Dasin’s gelding went abruptly sideways, almost crowding the captain into the wall; he tugged the horse clear at the last possible moment amid a volley of curses.

“Sorry,” he called back, waving. “Stupid damn beast....”

Wian laid her forehead against Tank’s shoulder, shaking with suppressed laughter.

When the gate lay safely behind them, Dasin said, “I thought you were
returning
to the Fool’s Rest, not going there for the first time.”

“No,” Wian said. “I’m in Yuer’s service now, like yourselves. I was working for—someone else, before this. And in—other places. I think the Fool’s Rest will probably be a good bit nicer, at least, than some of the places I’ve been.” She sighed. “And if the gods are in
any
way good,” she added, so softly that Tank barely heard her, “the Fool’s Rest
won’t
let that pig-fucker in.”

He should at least know his father tried....

What difference would it really make? Would it erase the years he spent in dark places?... Think about it... What would hurt more; not knowing that his father tried — or knowing that his father never tried?

Idisio rolled through the grey haze of memory, mulling over a new question: if Red and his son actually met, would they even
like
one another? Perhaps, sometimes, being an orphan was better after all....

“I’m going to be a good mother,” someone murmured. “The very best. I will take care of you, son. You can trust me. I won’t let anything harm you, ever again. You can like me. You can love me.”

Idisio blinked, the grey dissipating, and discovered sandy, edge-of-road soil slipping by under his feet. He worked his mouth, discovered it dry, and summoned up saliva with an effort.

“Your father will teach you,” the woman beside him said, not looking at him. Her grey stare seemed fixed on some unknowable point in the far distance, and her hand held a steady grip on his upper arm. “He’ll show you the way, as a father ought. He said to return when it was safe. It’s safe now. That evil man is gone. We’re going home, and I’ll raise you as I should have been allowed to do from the beginning.”

Idisio stumbled to a halt, resisting the pressure of the woman’s tugging.

“Where am I?” he said, looking around. The sun was setting at their backs, sending vast streamers of color across still-pale sections of sky. “Who are you? What’s happening?”

Still gripping his arm, she turned with him to look at the sunset.

“I’m your mother,” she said with fond patience. “You’ve had a nasty knock to the head, son, and you keep forgetting things; but I’m your mother, and I’m taking you home. Come, now, we’ve a ways to go yet.”

Something didn’t feel quite right about that explanation. His intuition felt muddy and stifled for the first time in his life, but he knew that quivery chill across his lower back all too well:
danger.

“My mother?” he said. “I don’t have a mother. Or a father. I grew up—alone.” Memory cleared as he spoke, certainty solidifying as to his own background.

“You grew up alone,” she agreed. “But you’re not alone any longer. I’m here, and I’m taking you to your father.”

She pulled at his arm. He set his feet and refused to move; her eyes narrowed in disapproving startlement when she couldn’t budge him.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait. This isn’t right. Who are you?”

“I’m your mother,” she said. “Don’t you remember? We already spoke about this.”

He rubbed at his eyes, frantically searching memory; came up with a fragmentary recall of her standing against the backdrop of a sunlit window, looking tired and old.
No,
he’d said, despairing, accepting.

“Yes,” he said slowly now. “I suppose—I do. But—”

“We’re going to Arason, as you wanted,” she said. “I’m taking you to Arason, where you wanted to go. It’s your home, you know—that’s where you were born, and where your father is, and where all the answers you’re looking for can be found. But we need to keep moving to get there, son. We need to
go.”

His muscles rippled with the force of that command. He held still and glared at her defiantly.

“No,” he said.
Don’t flinch,
someone had said recently. He let determination fill his body, refusing to show fear.

You don’t get to order me around,
he said, as he would have to Deiq; the words fell flat against a pervasive grey haze. Switching to speech, he said it aloud instead.

She squinted at him, lips thin; then she smiled. It was a horrible rictus of a grin, the expression of someone who had forgotten what good humor was really about. She said, “Are you hungry, son? If there’s a clean place to eat nearby, you can rest and recover your wits a bit, and we can talk.”

His stomach rumbled immediate agreement. Idisio hesitated: he didn’t trust this woman, mother or not, but
gods
he was hungry all of a sudden.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go get something to eat. And you can explain what’s going on.”

“Of course,” she said, and steered him into motion again. “But only if we can find decent food and clean rooms. Kybeach was so—so
sad.”

“We already went through Kybeach?” He looked around, bewildered, nearly dizzy with the need to fix his location to at least some degree. A massive pine tree stood not far ahead, on the left side of the path; its drooping lower branches had been trimmed sharply back from the road, presumably to allow travelers to pass without facefuls of needles.

He remembered that tree. Remembered his horse veering, inexplicably,
into
the tree. Remembered Cafad Scratha laughing fit to fall off his horse as Idisio struggled to bring his recalcitrant beast under control.

Obein.
They were approaching Obein. His whole body relaxed.

“Obein is a good place,” he said. “They’ll have good food and clean rooms.”

“I’ll judge that, son,” she said sharply. “You don’t know good from bad, at your age.”

He blinked, startled at the sudden change in her demeanor.

“I’m not that young!” he said, then hesitated, frowning. “How old
am
I?” His mother, certainly, ought to know the answer to that.

She stared at him for a long moment, her brow creasing. “Too young for proper sense,” she said at last, her confusion clearing into brisk command. “Come along. We’ll find you some food and a nice rest. And we’ll talk. I’ll explain. And you’re so hungry, I can hear your stomach.”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbled again, and the haze of hunger and weariness increased. Questioning or arguing with her simply didn’t seem useful. He shrugged away a pointless surge of anger and trotted after his mother, hoping that whatever Obein tavern they settled into would have warm biscuits—and not at all sure where that thought had come from.

The Fool’s Rest Tavern sat, tidy and compact, on a small corner of land just inside the westernmost of the Gates. From the outside, it looked like a sleepy, conservative place to get a good drink in a clean mug or glass. Neatly trimmed hedge-bushes flanked the single door, and the bright blue paint on the wooden walls was fresh and crisp.

Tank stepped ahead as they approached the tavern and opened the door, holding it for Wian and Dasin to pass through; Wian expressionless, Dasin sullen.

“Now you show manners?” Dasin muttered as he passed.

“I think she deserves it, don’t you?” Tank retorted in as low a voice. Dasin didn’t answer.

They stepped into a large, wood-floored room. Sunlight flooded down from narrow glass windows high overhead and wide ones set lower to the ground. The amount of fine glass alone indicated the massive amount of wealth passing through this seemingly simple building; more than a whorehouse would reasonably bring in, if that were the only trade in question.

A sour taste began building in the back of Tank’s mouth.

Several round tables stood in a ring around the center, which had been left clear; for dancing, Tank guessed. From that perimeter to the edges of the room were rectangular bench seats, their length set parallel to the walls. The back wall boasted a well-filled wine rack and a series of sturdy shelves on which more potent liquors lined up in variously colored bottles and jugs. No rough mugs here: the drinkware was all cast from fine silver or glass.

A desultory dice game rattled at one of the tables, the four players heavy-eyed and quiet. The dice were a fine blackwood marked out with divots of a paler wood, and had probably cost more than Tank would have spent on a week’s lodging.

From his spot behind a long, polished table by the shelves and racks of drink, the thin, narrow-faced barkeep squinted at them sourly.

“Welcome back,” he said without enthusiasm, then pointed to a curtained-off doorway past the end of the bar. “Seavorn’s waiting on you.”

Wian froze, staring at the barkeep; her breath hitched. “Geil?” she said.
“Seavorn?”

The barkeep—presumably Geil—grinned.

“Dincha know, sweet?” he said. “Owner of this place didn’t make it through the Purge, an’ he was kind enough to sign it over to his
dear
friend Kippin just afore he was marked out. A few others did the same, by pure chance.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Did you actually think you was
clear
of us? Not in this city, sweet. Not nowheres in this city. Not now, for sure.”

“But he
said—”
She stopped and shut her eyes.

“You thought Yuer was sendin’ you to allies as could stand up against us? Aw, now, that’s a shame. Dreadful, innit, when men lie to pretty girls like you?”

Wian let out a low whine, as though her throat had suddenly grown too tight for breath.

“Wian,”
Tank said under his breath. She shook her head without looking at him, lifted her chin, and walked to the curtained doorway without apparent hesitation; but he noticed her hands were clenched into tight fists.

“You two wait a bit,” Geil said, and pointed to a bench near the curtain. “Sit. Seavorn will call you in when he’s ready to talk to you.”

The gamblers hadn’t looked up from their game even once.

As he and Dasin sat down, Tank found himself very aware of how close Dasin had chosen to settle; close enough for the scent of the rough soap Dasin used, not to mention the sweat and dirt of a day’s riding, to fill Tank’s nose. Wian’s comment of the night before rolled treacherously through his mind.
You want him... You called for him twice.

He edged sideways a little, trying to make it a casual movement. Dasin’s instant glare said he’d failed.

“You stink too, you know,” Dasin snapped.

Geil glanced toward them with a distinct smirk of amusement. Tank looked away, his gaze roving around the tavern for a few moments, then settled on staring at his hands.