Prologue ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 ... 11 ... 12 ... 13 ... 14 ... 15 ... 16 ... 17 ... 18 ... 19 ... 20 ... 21 ... 22 ... 23 ... 24 ... 25 ... 26 ... 27... 28... 29... 30 ... Epilouge ... Glossary

Chapter 20: Release from Bondage

The journey home to Cliffs Reach was long, but Esmeree hardly noticed. She never left her cabin, never played card games with the crew, and never ventured out on deck. There is a deep emptiness in her heart. She looks forward to seeing Squirrel again, but her love and loss of Maponos was different. He was pure, trusting, and she betrayed that trust. She never even got to cast her Charm upon him before he was taken away.

Now home in Cliffs Reach, she sits in her room in the Viscount’s palace and stares into the cold black maw of the fireplace. Her three handmaids are dismissed, she cannot bear their presence right now. She remembers the Viscount’s reactions to Hiisi’s retelling of their adventures. Each childlike giggle, each inappropriate laugh was like a knife twisting in her heart.

Just a few more days, she tells herself, and then she can be free of this place forever.

The door opens without ceremony, and Polaris walks in. No longer do guards monitor all passage in and out. Either the Viscount assumes Esmeree is no longer interested in escape or he is no longer interested in keeping her.

The seneschal approaches and stops. He’s just outside arm’s reach, Esmeree notes. "Lady, Esmeree," he says formally.

"What is it, Polaris?"

He circles around until he stands between her and the fireplace. His eyes seek hers. "I apologize, lady," he says awkwardly, "for the treatment you suffered at the hands of the cing during your journey."

"I’m sure it troubles you deeply," she says without feeling.

"I can only assure you," he says earnestly, "That your handmaids and myself are outraged, truly."

She snorts. "Sure you are."

"You doubt my sincerity?"

Finally, Esmeree meets his eyes. "I’m no cuall! Of course I do!" she spits. "As I recall, you were involved with this little plan up to your ears, yäh? You filthy slug! You knew of the wooden charms! You knew of their plans for Usk and all the other sorcerers! You knew what they wanted to use me for! And you played right along!"

His mouth pinches, and he looks away. "I admit my involvement, but I had little choice as the Viscount’s seneschal! You must see that! I did what I could to protect you!"

Esmeree laughs bitterly, "Yäh."

"Then let me tell you this, Esmeree," he sighs, "They have further plans for you, though I know not what they are. It seems your first foray proved exceedingly profitable. They wait only for word from Cærimonia. If more sorcerers are needed, I suspect they might send you away again."

Esmeree blinks blankly at Polaris. To go out again? To do these things again? How could she survive that?

Polaris gestures placatingly at her. "Please! Don’t think of doing anything rash! Drwg has found things, things that might effect change."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she found something related to their plans. I know not what they are, but you are a sorceress. Perhaps you…"

"What is it?" she asks quickly.

Reaching into his shirt, Polaris reveals a leather bag. Opening it, he spills a collection of large tiles into Esmeree’s hands. There are nearly 10 in all. Turning them over in her fingers, she finds each is marked with a complex design.

"What are these?" she asks as she examines them. "They look magical. Maybe indirect magic or circle magic."

Polaris shakes his head. "I do not know. They are of some great importance, however, and they will be missed if I keep them much longer. They were delivered to the Viscount by a courier bearing the arms of the Holy Medianist church."

"The Primate!" Esmeree exclaims.

Polaris nods as he shuffles through the tiles in her hands. Finally, he locates the ones he wants. The symbols on these are simpler than the others, and the tiles are smaller. "This one," he points to a tile, "bears the Söderkarl rune for the Fée. And this one," he says, indicating a second tile, "is the rune of Night."

"Darkbloods," Esmeree whispers.

"I don’t understand," he says.

Esmeree waves him away, "These are tribes. The Tribe of the Fée, the Tribe of Night." She shuffles through the other tiles, but their markings are unfamiliar to her. "These other tiles, could they be tribes too?"

Polaris shakes his head, "I do not know."

What could the Primate want with so many sorcerers? Her vision of Maponos’s death haunts her memory.

* * *

Rat Face’s bar hasn’t changed since she last left it, nearly half a year ago. The limping Synesi growls over his foul slurry and curses the young guild fishers that loiter outside.

As she approaches, the thugs rise and glare at her, trying to look and act intimidating. She doesn’t recognize the faces, but she knows fishers change in the Mill almost as quickly as fry. She flashes a Black Ember guild sign and grunts, "Go fuck yerselves."

They blink in surprise and back away. Something about her demeanor gives them pause. Some sense of self-preservation encourages them to leave her alone.

She stalks into the bar and kicks a drunken stick out of her usual spot in the corner.

Rat Face leaps to attention as soon as he realizes a new customer has entered. Limping his way quickly to her side, he says, "Ah! The lady has traveled long and is thirsty? Such a thing! Thank the gods you are in a drinking establishment, yes?"

Esmeree slowly looks up at him and says, "Yer slurry dissolves bone, Lucius, and tastes like an Ulbandi’s backside, but after the days I’ve had, I would welcome one."

Rat Face blinks down at her. "Easy? Is that you?"

Esmeree leaps into his arms.

"It is a sad thing, Easy," Rat Face shakes his head. "It was not long after you were taken away, that the Inquisition came with Templars. So many soldiers just to arrest one old man! And they just took him!"

Esmeree cries quietly into her untasted slurry. "What happened to him?"

Rat Face sighs and pats her arm. "He suffered an ordeal, Easy. I’m sorry. His one salvation, it seems, was his weak mind. They never could get him to confess. Hells! They couldn’t even get him to realize his was being tortured!"

"Does he live? Where is he?"

Rat Face nods uphill, towards the Citadel. "He’s in the wall, Easy. He’s been there nearly 4 months already."

"You’ve been feeding him?" she asks with shock.

"Yeah," he nods, scratching at his beard, "Me and my bad leg. Almost every day. Believe me," he says as he leans forward, "This wasn’t what I thought I was agreeing to when I promised to take care of him for you."

She touches his cheek, "Thank you, Lucius. Thank you."

"Yeah, well," he growls, "I don’t know how much longer I can do it. The old man eats like a horse, and what with the cold weather coming and my bad leg–"

"I will be in town for a couple days, and I’ll be able to care for him. However, should I leave, I’ll need you to look after him again."

Rat Face waves her away, "Oh no, like I just said–"

Esmeree lays a Guilder of pure gold on the table. "This should be enough to cover your previous expenses, Lucius."

Rat Face gasps as he gingerly picks up the heavy coin. She tries to remember how the sight of a gold Guilder would have made her feel a year ago. To be that innocent again! "I shall reimburse you further upon my return," she adds.

Rat Face is speechless. At last she says, "Do you understand?"

He nods quickly.

"Lucius," she says earnestly, "What about Squirrel? Where is she?"

Rat Face grunts as he hides the coin inside his clothes. "I’ve not seen her for months, Easy."

"What? What happened to her?" she demands, a bit desperately.

He can only shake his head. "I don’t know. She just stopped coming here. I imagine you’d best ask around at the Mill."

The noise from the nearby Doge’s Promenade suddenly swells. She looks outside. "What’s that?"

"Sounds like the guard are finally bringing in that lunatic."

"Oh yeah," Esmeree murmurs as she rises, "I’ve heard about him. He’s been outside the gates for days."

She steps out of the bar and joins the crowd along the Promenade. Subtle summonings from her ember cause people to shy away, leaving her relatively free to push through to the front. As she reaches the street, she sees the procession of soldiers pass by. At their center rides a man of singular presence and splendor. His naked body bears swirling blue tattoos–just like Ongram’s–but they cover every inch of his skin. His arm cradles a spectacularly long sword.

Esmeree stands, slack jawed and awestruck. His body is perfect, his beautiful face framed by flowing long hair. Her ember tingles with excitement as he nears, as though he radiates great power, and as he passes, he turns his head and looks directly into her eyes. With that look, her ember explodes with power and her knees weaken. The colors of the crowd blur and run like wax. Blue tendrils seem to rise from his tattoos like steam. The smoke coils through the air and wraps around her body. She can feel it throughout her limbs, crawling beneath her skin. As she inhales it, it feeds the fire of her ember.

It is gone once he passes, and as her vision returns to normal, she is filled with a great sadness. This man just offered up his soul to her? Her ember consumed his life just as it did with Eclipse and the others, and yet he still lives? She watches his back as he is escorted up to the Citadel and into the Inquisition’s clutches. She realizes that this man knows he’s about to die.

* * *

"Old man? Are you there?" She calls desperately into each tiny hole in the Citadel’s walls.

At last, a weary voice answers, "Esmeree, my child?"

She presses her face close to the hole and is rewarded with a brief glimpse of Myrdd’s haggard face. "Oh, Myrdd!" she cries, "What are you doing in here?"

The old man pats her hands happily, "Ah child! It seems some sort of misunderstanding. I am currently negotiating with the magistrate for my release."

"What?" she exclaims.

He chuckles. "I’m sure such a young girl as yourself couldn’t understand. Rest assured, your father has everything under control."

"Oh, Myrdd," she sighs sadly. His face is scarred from his ordeal. The socket of his missing eye is raw and pussy. His few teeth are rotting. Esmeree summons the best healing spell she can muster.

"Oh, Myrdd!" a voice mocks behind her.

Turning, Esmeree sees Hiisi. Crossing his arms, he leers down at her. "Poor, poor, Myrdd!"

"How did you find me?" she growls.

He shrugs, "Where else would yä be? It’s not like yer goin’ tä let yer old man die, is it?"

"Why?" she asks.

"Why, what?"

She gestures at Myrdd’s cruel cell. "Why did you do this?"

"Uh," he nods, "Na me. The Viscount felt that certain ties would keep yä close tä Cliffs Reach and help make yä more pliable tä his needs." He shrugs and smiles, "Whether or not it works, who can know, yäh?"

Esmeree grinds her teeth as she stares up at him. Forcing herself to look happy, she turns back to Myrdd’s cell. "Myrdd? This man is Hiisi, he’s been…" Esmeree hesitates as she picks her words carefully, "looking after me while I’ve been gone."

Hiisi growls. Myrdd presses his good eye against his window and peers up at the big Brack. "A Brack?" he gasps with astonishment. "Esmeree, you know I’ve warned you about consorting with men like that! Bracks are… are… Well, they certainly aren’t good Medianist men, that’s for sure! And certainly not proper company for a young lady such as yourself!"

"Yäh!" sneers Hiisi. "Yä never know what we’re capable of, uh?" He looks down at Esmeree and shakes his head, "It’s an old boduus’s nightmare, findin’ out his daughter’s bein’ fucked by a filthy Brack, yäh?"

She sags as he grabs her arm and lifts her to her feet. "What does the Viscount want now?" she sighs.

"We’re leavin’," he says flatly, "in 3 days."

"So?" she spits, "Why you telling me now?"

Hiisi looks uncomfortable. "I thought… I..."

He lapses into angry silence.

Esmeree frowns. What’s the cing getting at? "What?" she asks.

"I’ve been thinkin’, see. We ended last time on a bad note, yäh? Been thinkin’ mayhaps we can try again?"

"Hiisi," she says quietly, angrily, "You sold him! You sold Maponos! Do you have any idea what they’re going to do to him?"

"Yäh, sä what?" he shouts. "That’s what we were SUPPOSED tä do, yäh? Yä dumb boduus oainjyr! That’s what we were THERE fer!"

"Hiisi! He rescued us! If it wasn’t for him, we’d still be in those cells or even with those halogedigs! Don’t you see that?"

"What I see," he hisses, "Is a cuall inigena that can’t keep her head and her heart separated, yäh?"

For the first time, she sees it. It’s in his eyes and in every angry gesture of his body. Hiisi loves her. He loves her, and he’s dealt with Maponos as he would any other competitor. He is the one whose head and heart have crossed, and now he’s in this mess. She stares at him in shock. She can’t forgive him, but she understands him better.

Now she knows, the one question he wants to ask but cannot bring himself to is why not him? Why wasn’t he enough for her? Why does she love Maponos?

"Hiisi," she says deliberately, "What exactly do you want?"

He clenches his fists and shakes his head. Esmeree sighs. He can’t bring himself to say it. "Yä needs a new sword," he growls at last, "since yä lost yer little sica, yäh? I’m offerin’ tä buy yä one."

Esmeree turns and looks into Myrdd’s cell. Crouching by his portal, she says softly, "Myrdd, I’m going to have food brought to you every day, OK? Don’t worry."

Myrdd’s voice sounds hollow in its cell. "Oh, don’t you worry about me! I’ll be out of here any day now!"

His old hand pets her hair and pats her hand.

She sighs as she rises and looks down at his tiny window. Finally, she turns to Hiisi and nods. "OK. Kirze. Let’s go."

The weaponsmith is the finest in the Guilders. Each item is as much a work of art as it is a lethal weapon. Esmeree scans through the selection of Palpi and EroBernac firearms. One particular pistol, a beautiful silver flintlock, catches her eye. It’s muzzle, frizzen, doghead, and priming pan are all fashioned from solid silver. It is a beautiful, delicate piece. Perfect for a sellâria.

As she admires its lines, Hiisi snorts.

"What’s wrong with it?" she asks.

"I’d buy the regular pistol if I were yä."

"Why?" she asks, aiming the barrel at his chest. He doesn’t flinch when she pulls the trigger.

"Yäh, the silver is pretty," he sighs, "but yä fires it once or twice, and yä’ll see what happens tä it. That silver won’t last. Silver melts, it’s soft, it tarnishes. The doghead’ll bend or the pan’ll scorch or worse. Maybe it’ll even blow up in yer face, yäh?"

The shopkeeper nods, "You looking for an item to use? Then, you should look at some other items. They will serve you better." He gestures at the silver treasure in her hand, "That is more for display, my lady. Like for parties and the like. Not for use."

Pouting, she hands the pistol back to the smith and picks up the full-sized wood and iron flintlock Hiisi recommended. The butt cap is gold and inlaid with several beautiful gemstones.

It takes both of her thumbs to pull back the doghead.

"Yä ever handle a pistol before?" Hiisi asks as he watches her struggle.

"No," she says with satisfaction as she finally cocks the hammer. It locks into place with a satisfying click.

"Yä ever load one? Fire one? Yä ever clean one?"

"No, no, no," she says as she pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. The trigger doesn’t budge. "But I’ve watched you."

Hiisi snatches it away from her. "Yä got the damned doghead locked for safety!" he says with disgust. He pulls the doghead further back with his thumb, and it sets with a second click. Pointing it at Esmeree’s face, he fires. The doghead strikes the frizzen with a hail of sparks and a loud crack.

"Yä want to buy one of these," he says, "Yä’d better learn how tä use it first. Else, it’ll be taken from yä, uh?"

Glaring at him, she turns away and directs her attention to the selection of fine Palpi scimitars and EroBernac rapiers. These would be ideal for the kind of fighting Hiisi’s been teaching her. Fast, graceful, like a dancer.

In the end, she chooses an elegant scimitar of Palpi design. The exquisitely balanced blade is infinitely superior to the crude sica she used to have. The smith is most enthusiastic that a girl carrying an article of such a fine design can have only the brightest of futures ahead of her.

* * *

The painted man is dead!

His corpse now adorns the road into Cliffs Reach, along with the other heretics.

She fights back the tears until she reaches the Viscount’s palace. There, in the safety of her room and the arms of Drwg, she cries as though her whole heart would burst. The painted man is dead–after 3 long days with the Inquisition, he is dead–and somehow she feels she is responsible! Somehow, had she been able to save Candy, and the alf, and Baran, and Eclipse, and Maponos, somehow, the painted man would have lived. In her heart, she knows this!

So many faces! So many lives!

In her heart, she knows this beautiful man rode to her city and sacrificed himself for her, simply for that single moment on the Promenade when their eyes met. She remembers what Ongram told her, that the blue coils of the Dragon were awarded to warriors who were true to their spirit in times of danger. What kind of man could he have been to be awarded with so many coils?

What has the world lost with his death?

Uncomprehending, Drwg just holds her, comforts her. She doesn’t say a word.

Slowly, Esmeree becomes aware of a new presence in the room. Looking up from Drwg’s shoulder, she finds Hiisi watching from the doorway. His black eyes are hard and cold.

Esmeree wipes away her tears, "What?"

"We go," he says flatly. "Now."

She looks around her. "But I’m not even packed!"

He shakes his head. "This ain’t na boat trip. This time… we’re stickin’ closer tä home."

He looks down at the floor and extends his hand. "The horses are ready. Come.

© John Lawson 2001