Oathbreakers' Guild (The Rose Shield Book 2) Page 12

  Tiler reacted faster than expected. His paw gripped Gannon’s arm and wrenched it forward, dragging Gannon’s head over a brawny shoulder. Tiler popped a fist in his jaw, grabbed his head, bulled up, bent forward, and flipped him, smashing him to the table on his back. Crockery scattered and Gannon cringed at the fist about to mash his nose to a pulp.

  “Gods bless my cods and prod, Gan!” Tiler yanked him up off the table and caught him in a crushing hug. “I’d heard from a couple nutwits that you were down in Bes-Strea stirring up a rebellion. Knew it was you.” He let go, and Gannon hauled in a breath.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” Gannon rubbed his jaw.

  “Don’t sneak up on a man’s backside like some torch bender,” Tiler warned. “Might get your stones stuffed up the old lord hole and lose a few teeth.”

  Gannon chuckled and squeezed a few drops of tipple from his sleeve. “Trust me; it won’t happen again.” He waved the others over, made introductions, and pulled up a chair. “I worried that Algar had tracked you down.”

  Tiler motioned to the barkeep for another round. “Some trouble down here, but Maddox turned into a raging sackbasher, and Algar backed off.”

  The news that his father hadn’t set him up pleased Gannon more than he expected, and his shoulders dropped a load of tension. “Where’s Farrow? I figured she’d be here.”

  Tiler’s gaze fell to his fresh cup, and he shook his head. “Dead, Gan. A year last Harvest.”

  For a moment, Gannon thought Tiler jested, but the enforcer’s face sagged, heartbroken. “What happened? How?” Gannon planned to kill someone if the man wasn’t already dead.

  “In her bed. We found her after a couple days.” Tiler met his eyes. “No struggle, nothing missing. Looked like she went to sleep and stopped living.”

  Steadying his nerves, Gannon knocked back his drink and ordered another. He didn’t believe it.

  ***

  Gannon, Tiler, and Kamas followed the servant up to the first tier. A light snow whipped from the charcoal clouds, and the wind bared its teeth. The somber servant waved aside the guards who kept the riffraff from soiling the Founder-made steps. At one time, Gannon had known most of the guards by sight. How many of them had tried to kill him on his last trip up the tiers? Nial nodded a greeting, the bearded face frosted with gray. He had warned Gannon not to trust Algar and in doing so saved Tiler’s life. Gannon owed him a debt he hoped he wouldn’t have to pay.

  His record of success with the Cull Tarr less than stellar, this would likely prove another miserable idea. The question of an alliance had surfaced during a wee-hour discussion at the Ship’s Fate, fueled by one too many throat-searing swallows of untainted spike.

  The servant halted at the door of a modest dwelling facing the northern promenade and bowed to Gannon. “My regrets, but only you may enter.”

  “No plank-spanking way.” Tiler puffed his chest.

  “Wait here,” Gannon said.

  “You know, Gan,” Tiler groused, “the last time you—”

  “They almost killed me; I remember. It’s all right.”

  He left Tiler whining to Kamas and followed the servant inside. Two Cull Tarr preachers sat in their twin thrones like a pair of monarchs, a small table between them set with two goblets and a plate of green-flecked cheese and boiled fruit.

  Gannon bowed. He’d seen the swarthy man in the market on hanging day and didn’t care for the square jaw or superior attitude. The woman shared the seafarers’ sunny skin and dark hair. Like Emer Tilkon, she exuded power. Unlike the shipmaster, she was beautiful with a straight nose, her silk hair streaming to her waist.

  “You bring us a proposal, Gannon?” she asked.

  Neither of his hosts offered him the courtesy of a seat, so he pulled a chair from the wall and helped himself, elbows on his knees. “I spent a year as a crew member of The Wandering Swan. Emer Tilkon taught me the Founders’ Protocols.”

  The preachers reacted with a blend of interest and approval, an indication that his notoriety hadn’t traveled this far south. A good thing.

  “She was the least humble woman I’ve ever met in my life,” he continued, “but she honored the vote. She respected her crew’s voice and lived by the results. I admired her principles.” That part counted a whopping exaggeration, but the Cull Tarr seemed to swallow it. He leaned back. “I want the vote in Mur-Vallis. If you mean to convert us to the Founders’ Protocols, bring us the right to vote.”

  “I welcome your confidence in our skills of persuasion.” The woman lifted her chin. “However, we don’t rule the tiers.”

  “You have connections,” he argued, not buying the evasion. “If Algar didn’t want you here, you’d be long gone. The tiers interpret your faith as favoring a ruling class over the undeserving. They guzzle your message of entitlement like it’s Cull Tarr wine.”

  “They misinterpret us.” The man narrowed his black eyes.

  “I agree,” Gannon said. “The Protocols teach equality, justice, shared labor, and sacrifice, to humbly accept the vote for the benefit of all. I saw it work on the sea, and I want it here.” His words impressed even him, and he would have liked to believe them. In truth, Tilkon had been a conniving tyrant, manipulating the crew to avoid a duel for power. The mighty Shiplord claimed he spoke with the single voice of the Founders who seemed to change their holy minds on a whim. The vote mattered until the Shiplord said it didn’t.

  “At best, you enjoy a superficial understanding of our faith, Gannon.” The woman studied him, her fingers tapping the arm of her chair. “What would you have us do?”

  “Preach the vote.” Gannon straightened his back, the preachers’ willingness surprising him. His rash of clever arguments seemed as if they might go to waste. “Preach the vote. Not only to us but in the tiers. I’ll organize the warrens and bring them to your sermons in the market. We’ll use our voices and stand by our words.” He paused, considering whether to air his suspicions. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To make us servants of the Founders and give the Cull Tarr a solid foothold in Ellegeance.”

  The preachers failed to react. They didn’t share a glance, their faces impassive. “We will consider your request.” The man flicked his fingers at the servant who stood silently by the door.

  Their meeting clearly over, Gannon rose and bowed. “I’ll await word.”

  He stepped out into the snow and raised a palm to Tiler and Kamas to keep a cork on their questions. The dour servant accompanied them back to the ramp leading down from the tiers. He dipped his chin before turning for the trip up. “Take good care.”

  A wish for health or a warning, Gannon could only guess.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kadan stood on the tier, his eyes on the old woman who shuffled to the precipice, a noose around her neck. He drowned her in happiness and love, flooded her veins with ecstasy, a sweet end the least he could do. Below him, the market crowd churned like a single entity, like a fetid pool, blending, spoiling, reeking, rife with decay.

  He reminded himself that the laughing, greedy faces were masks imposed upon them by influence. The woman beside him managed fine without him, and he wondered if she knew he added nothing to the mix. He smiled at her, approving, aligned, quashing the urge to walk away.

  The justice read the charges, and the old woman plummeted to her death, the day’s hangings complete. His uncle strode by him. “Wipe the disgust from your face, Kadan, and join me in my study.”

  Kadan returned to his own chambers, dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a wet cloth, and settled his stomach with a goblet of water. The mid-day repast he planned with his mother would have to wait, and he sent a servant with his regrets.

  Wishing a taste of fresh air, he chose to walk the budding gardens to his uncle’s salon rather than the stale corridors that strangled his heart and breath. The bitter cold receded south, and the arbors showed signs of renewed life. Potted trees sprouted vibrant leaves and blossoms in a kaleidoscope of colors.

>   His last years at Ava-Grea tugged on his thoughts. He missed the unlikely trio he’d formed with Minessa and Catling, doubting they’d cross paths anytime soon. On their return trip from Elan-Sia, his uncle had interrogated him regarding their audience with the queen. Kadan had no choice but to acknowledge the ineffectiveness of his influence, but he claimed ignorance as to the reason why. Algar had raged at the queen, at Kadan and the Influencers’ Guild, but he’d saved his vilest threats for Catling.

  Kadan rapped on his uncle’s door.

  “Enter.”

  The portal opened. Algar stood at his tall worktable, studying a glass carafe of luminescence in which pink pieces of flesh floated, suspended in dancing light. Kadan had been an eager witness to his uncle’s experiments years ago but lacked the stomach for them now.

  Algar waved Kadan in, abandoned the worktable, and reclined in the chair behind his desk. Kadan chose to remain on his feet and waited for his uncle to reveal the reason for the summons. Algar smiled. “Do you recollect the man Gannon?”

  “Not in detail.” Kadan spoke the truth regarding the man, though the events of that long ago night were etched into his skull. The night before he would travel to Ava-Grea to train as an influencer, his uncle had called him out to the garden to witness a man’s throat cut. He watched another man tossed to his death and a third beaten to unconsciousness. The third man was Gannon.

  “Before you left for Ava-Grea,” Algar explained, “he led a conspiracy to overthrow our city. I suspected your guild’s aberration, this Catling, took part of his manipulation. Now, I’m convinced of it.”

  Kadan clamped his mouth closed, his uncle’s assessment correct. Catling had been too young to organize such chaos. Gannon fitted into the puzzle perfectly, and Algar was anything but a fool. “I was young then, Uncle.”

  “No longer.” Algar paused, hard eyes examining him for cracks. “Gannon has returned to Mur-Vallis. I should have disposed of him long ago, but such is the bane of hindsight. Whatever role Catling played, she’s no longer here to interfere. I order you to kill him.”

  Kadan drew in a slow breath, steeling himself. “Do you know where I might find him?”

  “An informant advised me of a meeting this evening to discuss the feasibility of voting as a means of building consensus in the warrens. It appears there’s a growing interest in the Cull Tarr concept of equality for all.”

  “I’ve heard rumors,” Kadan said. “They take unwarranted risks.”

  “He’ll be there. I’m sending guards into the warrens to discourage conversations of a seditious nature. You and Tora-Mur will accompany them. Make sure he doesn’t survive.” Algar put his feet up on the desk. “Perhaps your influence will save a few lives as well.”

  Algar meant the last remark to sting, the man displeased with Kadan’s suggestion that the deaths in the market undermined his rule. Kadan swallowed and smiled. “My pleasure to accompany them.”

  “And I require prisoners,” Algar added. “I’m going to hang them as an example.”

  “Of course, Uncle.” He bowed, another piece of him dying. “I will meet with Tora immediately to prepare.”

  “Don’t disappoint me.” Algar waved him away. “Dismissed.”

  ***

  The Ship’s Fate raised memories Kadan would as soon forget. He’d met a red-haired woman there and killed her for her kindness. His heart thundered in his ears. Fear that someone would recognize him lit his nerves on fire. The patrons’ faces turned toward him, suspicion creasing brows and narrowing eyes. A man with black curls stood in their midst, whatever he preached silenced in mid-sentence.

  Kadan knew it was Gannon. Who else could it be? He could disable the man with a thought, send him to the dirt screaming in pain. Gannon looked at him, understood why he’d come, the bitterness of betrayal stark in his eyes and the world thick with treachery.

  “We’ll take them all,” Tora whispered. She stood beside Kadan, her dedication unflinching and face sculpted in hard lines. She desired compliance, safety, and a minimum of bloodshed. How could she not see that all those before her were prisoners for hanging day? Under different circumstances, he might applaud her intention, but her terror of Algar blinded her to the truth.

  He stood aside as guards fanned into the tipple house, spreading out across the wall and blocking the door. Tora soothed the men and women at the tables, and Gannon quirked a welcome smile, a trick of influence that sent a river of defiance up Kadan’s spine. He applied fear, not enough to paralyze, but enough to get them moving, force them to run, to fight their way out. The blend of the two influences would create a dangerous deference for authority unless he slammed them hard.

  The influence blasted into them. Kadan shot it across the tables, and the room erupted. Tora yelped. He dragged her away from the door and spun on the guards, hitting them full force with compassion, stemming their natural fear and aggression. Tora worked against him, and he fought the urge to influence her into unconsciousness.

  The two sides met, cudgels and blades entering the fray. Tables flipped, creating obstacles and temporary barricades. Chairs smashed and glass broke, adding to the arsenal of weaponry. Kadan backed Tora into a corner. A bear of a man swung a chair into two guards while those around him fought for the door. Rappers hammered on heads and arms. Gannon fought in the thick of it, kicking a guard in the knee and stabbing the man as he fell. Blood speckled faces and flicked from wounds. It sprayed in a crimson arc across the back wall.

  Tora screeched, her hands directing her influence as if it shot from her fingertips. Panic vibrated in Kadan’s chest, his mission descending into a deadly brawl. He stared in horror, no longer certain how to prevent more blood from spilling.

  A scarred man smashed a chair against the bar and tossed Gannon a splintered leg. Gannon whirled, a dagger in one hand, the busted club in the other. His gritted teeth turned red with blood as the onslaught shoved him back to the larger man’s side.

  Three guards bearing long knives bulled forward. Kadan blasted them with intense love and pleasure, disconcerting enough to impede their advance. Gannon and his companion ducked from the corner, and the big man whipped a chair across a guard’s back. The other guards whooped at the greedy thrill of the fight, and Kadan switched tactics.

  Fear bloomed. Pain speared anyone who wielded a weapon on the verge of murder. The noise escalated, mingling with the scent of blood, urine, and spilled drinks. A wash of loathing swept over him, Tora’s influence flying indiscriminately and catching him in its net. He spun and shouted at her, “Oathbreaker!” Her mouth gaped. Terror welled in her eyes and the hatred vanished.

  He turned back to the fight, wielding influence to protect, to force men to flee. He cleared the door, inflicting pain on those who blocked the way with bloodied blades. To his left a young woman screamed, her forearm slashed as she flung it up to protect her face. Kadan hit the guard with a bolt of pain as the man raised his knife to finish her. He grabbed the woman’s arm, dragged her screaming to the door, and shoved her out. Others stumbled after her, the man Gannon gripping her hand and fleeing into the alleyways.

  Out of control, Kadan drew his influence back, sucked it back into his veins, his chest heaving. Most of the patrons of the Ship’s Fate had fled. The rest were down and weren’t going farther than the gallows. He sank into a chair, looking away from the guards who exacted the last of their vengeance on their prisoners.

  “Kadan?” A hand touched his shoulder. He swiveled to find Tora cowering behind him. “I didn’t know… I meant—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We swore oaths to act for the benefit of Ellegeance and our guild. When we do this, we are both oathbreakers. It doesn’t matter.”

  ***

  Kadan sat on a stool inside a cell. As far as he knew, the tier cities didn’t normally have cells, this one constructed by his uncle. He assumed Algar had softened the walls with flame, carved holes, and inserted the bars. When he withdrew the heat, the wall would naturally repair
itself around the additions. The same process would have affixed the bolts securing the chains and manacles. Had this been the goal of his uncle’s experimentation years ago or an unplanned divergence?

  The man shackled to the short lengths of chain bore old scars on his face, one side a mirror image of the other. Guards had captured him at the Ship’s Fate. His face and chest were bruised, the wound in his thigh untreated. It would fester and kill him if they didn’t hang him first, a fate awaiting him in the morning.

  “I’m to torture you,” Kadan said, “to learn where Gannon is hiding so I might kill him.”

  The prisoner spit.

  Kadan sighed, ignoring the bloody phlegm on his boot. “I need the information, and I’ll get it. I’ll extract it from you or one of the others. You see, I haven’t any more choice than you. The high ward—”

  “You have a choice,” the prisoner rasped.

  “If I don’t learn where to find him, another influencer will replace me, and she will.”

  “You still have a choice.” The man’s head bobbed, fighting unconsciousness. “I saw you pull the girl out. You made a choice.”

  The challenge jarred Kadan as if the man had backhanded him. He had helped more than the girl; he’d tried to help most of them. But not all—some must pay Algar’s price. It had been risky, stupid. If Tora hadn’t feared for her own life, she might have guessed what he did.

  “I. Need. To find him,” Kadan said. “I have no choice. You’ll have no choice.”

  “Bugger yourself.” The man spat more blood.

  Kadan closed his eyes, hating the prisoner for turning him into an animal, loathing Algar for what he forced him to do. His uncle had transformed him into a criminal, a thug and torturer, far worse than the man he would now kill.

  A headache nagged at the back of his head, the pressure mounting. He jolted to his feet and jammed a spike of pain through the man’s bones, rammed burning rods through his veins. Desperate to get it over with, he flayed the bruised skin and made the raw nerves scream. The man roared and cried, and when he gave Gannon up, Kadan touched him and blasted his brain out his eyes.