CITY OF BRIDGES

33

Decisions Made

Sleeping late was a luxury she was getting used to. Annoyed with herself, she quietly slipped back from the markets with her recently acquired breakfast. Leonie gathered her thoughts as she ate.

It had been almost forty days since the death of the courier; thirty-three days since the attack at the marsh and her possession – having that evil mind controlling her body still made her shudder. Her lessons in White Cliff made the likelihood of that happening again extremely remote. The question vexing her constantly, who was the ‘master’ that sent Evlin? Lothas was the obvious choice, but did the vows of the Jart’lekk extend into death? Did they know of Evlin’s ‘resurrection’?

She had gained as much information about the codex as Styx or Feiron could provide. Brief as it was, her words with Magda last night, and seeing the sanctum again, exposed hints of information still hidden, deep in her memories. Leonie felt her next step was to visit another major player on her list. The recent undead assassin’s attack made her consider the Deathers were aware of her return. How long before others came knocking? How long before Evlin found her again? She had to put a stop to her somehow. If not for her own safety and peace of mind, then to prevent more unnecessary murders.

Determined to find answers, she decided to visit the Temple of Opsyss later that evening. If they were responsible, then she’d deal with them. And for his part in violating her, Lothas has a hefty price to pay.

*

“I’m so glad to see you.” Feiron wrapped himself around her briefly. “I thought the guards had finally found you.”

“Oh please. They’ve enough trouble finding tits in a brothel.” She joined him in a chuckle as they moved to a corner booth at the back of the Heart of Gold. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No rest for the wicked.”

“How are you anyway? Did my bite hurt?” She tried to locate any signs of injury, but everything seemed in place. “You healed quick enough.”

“Nothing I can’t cope with, but yes, it was painful.”

“Sorry. It’s the only way I could stop you from being brave.”

“That’s the thanks I get for trying to save you?”

“I was saving you.” She grinned. “That weapon was evil. I saw it glowing, and it wasn’t normal magic. I could feel its thirst.” She shrugged, having no other way to explain it. “Did you see the fireball? It stayed alight underwater!”

“Only for a moment, I was more concerned about you. Who was it you were wrestling with?”

She paused when their drinks arrived.

“The assassin I killed in Qelay. The one that cut my tail,” she said quietly.

“But—”

“I know. I know. She’s dead. I hope she stays dead this time.” She sipped her ale. “I reckon Lothas has a paw in this. His sect is the one dealing with corpses. Perhaps I should pay him a visit.”

“When?”

“You know me. I don’t plan. Things just happen.” She took a swig.

The silence stretched.

“To think, we were standing here arguing about wyverns being a myth,” Feiron finally spoke.

“Who would’ve thought we’d be riding them back.”

“There was no hoard of treasure either, and there’s still the promise of repayment for your assistance,” Feiron said quietly. “Unless you want a couple of those scales as a memento?”

“Forget it. I’ve enough reward; new experiences, new friends, and of course the wonderful harness you ‘borrowed’ from the rollos. It saved my life the other night. I have you to thank for that.”

“You’ve changed. This isn’t the thief I knew before.”

“Maybe. I’ve learnt a lot more since then, but I’m still after answers.”

“Can I help?”

“No, my friend. This is something I’ll have to do by myself, for myself.”

“When you talk about your memories, and what Styx uncovered… you change. To be honest, I think whoever has wronged you is in deep trouble. Delta may not be too safe.”

“Perhaps. I doubt anything I do will be making much of a difference, regardless of what Styx might think. What about you? What are you going to do?”

“I have a little bit more training to do—”

“I thought you could finish up when you returned?”

“It’s my lost memory. Some of the shapes I was practising… need more practise. I have something really exciting to show you though.” He almost bubbled with enthusiasm.

Leonie leant closer. “What is it?”

“Watch this.” Ensuring no one in the tavern could see, he formed a tentacle. At first nothing special happened, but then it grew thin and long – much thinner than ever before. Soon, more extremely thin tendrils appeared. Then they changed hue.

“You can make hair?” Leonie watched wide-eyed.

“It needs work, but yes. I think perhaps ‘melting’ may have done something to my structure.”

“That’s incredible. Can other illios do that?”

“None that I know. Remember the two shapeshifters in Qelay were hairless?”

Leonie nodded. “What’s your mentor think?”

“She doesn’t know yet, too busy with those wyvern scales. Even with all her bellyaching about not getting the eggshells, she’s happy. I know her too well.”

“So, in a way, we both got unexpected rewards. Your new ability, my harness and training – even your boss got more than she planned. Reckon you’ll be chasing wyverns soon.”

“If I can. I’d like to take Phil up on his offer, perhaps in a couple of weeks. Delta has been fine in its way, but it’s time to move on. Maybe you’ll come and visit?”

“Maybe I won’t need too if I come too.”

“Are you serious? Delta’s your life.”

“Ha. It’s almost been my death a dozen times. But I don’t know. It’s a big decision. See how things pan out. I’ll let you know, one way or the other in a few days.”

They finished their drinks and exited the tavern at the rear. As they were about to depart, Leonie turned. “I almost forgot; remember I talked about the glow in the obelisks?” She continued at his nod. “They are used to spy on the city.” Leonie detailed what she saw in the palace.

“That is worthy news indeed. I’ll pass it on to my mentor. Thank you.” He waved farewell.

*

The candle was down to a stub by the time the high priest of the Death Sect called out. “I require a sacrifice. See to it now.”

The novice waiting by his door ran off towards the dungeons immediately.

Lothas donned ceremonial robes and made his way to the altar chamber to prepare for the ritual. He didn’t have to wait long before one of the recent prisoners was dragged up from the cells far below by two female guards.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he noticed it was a dark female half-rrell. “I was unaware of this particular prisoner.” He briefly contemplated on his luck changing, and it being Leonie. A brief glimpse into her mind ended that thought. This was a different half-caste altogether.

“It was brought in earlier this evening, m’Lord, caught down by the docks. If it’s of no use, we have—”

“No, no, in fact its most fortuitous. Coincidental even. Why is she unconscious?”

The guards finished securing the prisoner to the altar. “She’s a hell-cat, m’Lord. It was easier this way.”

“Hell-cat? An interesting term but perhaps premature. The ceremony will be more successful with her full awareness. We shall wait until she revives.” He appraised the two guards as they efficiently stripped the half-rrell of her rags.

The victim on the altar moaned.

Lothas regarded her with flat, dark eyes. He’d not seen a half-rrell naked before and noted the fur, now matted with filth covering the emaciated body. He was about to remark on the extra nipples, when her eyes fluttered open. They were deep amber; the irises mere slits.

Her claws came out and her body tensed only to discover the bonds. Glancing around the curved room, her eyes took in her predicament, the two guards and finally came to rest on the old man by her side. She hissed, spitting at him.

Lothas ignored at the phlegm dripping on his collar. He had plenty of other robes. Without preamble he raised the dagger and began chanting. His deep voice filled the chamber. The area around the altar darkened, and the air cooled dramatically as the high priest’s mantra grew louder, strengthened by the sacrifice’s growing fear.

Panicking, the half-rrell began to struggle and mewl. Mist appeared in front of her face with each breath as the temperature plummeted. Her nerve wracking, high-pitched screech sent a shiver up the spines of the guards.

As the chanting reached a final crescendo, the dagger, now with a menacing glow, plunged towards her heart.

In desperation, she twisted to dodge the blade. The thongs held fast. The dagger missed her heart but sliced her left shoulder, opening it to the bone. Blood spurted as an artery was severed, spattering the priest and the altar with dark red fluid. Her face contorted, mouth wide in an agonised scream before slumping into unconsciousness.

“Damn it.” He placed his palm over the wound. A glow appeared beneath his hand as he spoke a quick prayer. The blood flow stopped. Other than a livid scar, the area now showed damp, matted fur.

The chamber’s temperature began to increase the moment the darkness waned.

“What shall we do with it?” One of the guards looked impassively at the pathetic creature.

“Leave her. I will return shortly. Restrain her more thoroughly, or I’ll find another use for you both.”

The two women hurried to obey.

* * *