And he had been sent shopping. Rufo stood before the shelves for many moments, fantasizing that the other side had won in Shilmista Forest, thinking that he would have been better off if Dorigen’s forces had slaughtered the elves and had taken him into their ranks as the imp had promised. Perhaps the world would be a better place for Kierkan Rufo if Cadderly had fallen in the sylvan shadows.
Cadderly!
The name screamed out in Rufo’s mind like the most damning of curses. Cadderly had apparently forsaken the library and the Order of Deneir, had virtually slapped Headmaster Avery and all the other priests in the face with his desertion—there could be no other word for the young priest’s actions. Cadderly had never been a good priest—not by Rufo’s estimation—had never attended to the many duties given the lesser clerics with any kind of dedication. And yet, in Avery’s eyes at least, Cadderly ranked far above Rufo, far above any except the senior priests.
Rufo grabbed a sack of flour and pulled it to him so forcefully that a small white puff burst up at him, covering his face.
“Someone’s not seeming a bit too happy,” came a gruff, gravelly voice beside him.
“Uh-uh,” agreed a voice on the other side.
The priest didn’t have to look sidelong or down to know that the Bouldershoulder brothers had flanked him, and that fact did little to improve his sour mood. He had known that the dwarves were coming to Carradoon, but he’d hoped that he and Avery would be well on their way back to the library before the pair arrived.
He turned toward Ivan and started to push past the dwarf, through the narrow aisle of the cramped store. Ivan did little to aid the man, and with the dwarf’s considerable girth, Rufo had nowhere to go.
“Ye’re in a hurry,” Ivan remarked. “I thinked ye’d be glad to see me and me brother.”
“Get out of my way, dwarf,” Rufo said.
“ ‘Dwarf?’ ” Ivan echoed, feigning a mortal wound. “Ye saying that like it’s an insult.”
“Take it for what you will,” Rufo replied, “but do get out of my way. I am in Carradoon on important business, something you obviously could not understand.”
“I always figured flour to be important,” Ivan replied sarcastically, giving the bag a rough pat that sent another white burst into Rufo’s face.
The man trembled with mounting rage, but that only spurred Ivan to further taunts.
“Ye’re acting like ye’re not so glad to see me and me brother,” the dwarf said.
“Should I be?” Rufo asked. “When have we ever expressed friendship for one another?”
“We fought together in the wood,” Ivan reminded him, “or at least, some of us fought. Others figured to hide in a tall tree, if me memory’s working proper.”
Rufo growled and pushed ahead, dislodging several packages in his attempt to get past Ivan. He’d nearly made his way past when the dwarf threw out one strong arm, stopping Rufo as completely as a stone wall.
“Danica’s in town, too,” Ivan remarked, his other hand held high and balled into a fist.
“Boom,” Pikel added grimly behind the man.
The reference to Danica’s humiliating attack made Rufo’s face flush red with rage. He growled again and shoved past Ivan, stumbling all the rest of the way down the narrow aisle and knocking many more items from the shelves.
“A fine day to ye,” Ivan called behind him.
Rufo dropped the sack of flour and passed by the counter, fleeing for the street.
“Good to see him,” Ivan said to Pikel. “Adds a bit of flavor to a dull trip.”
“Hee hee hee,” Pikel agreed.
Ivan’s face went serious once more as he noticed a tall man selecting goods from a shelf behind Pikel. The man’s gait and movements were easy and graceful, his eyes sharp and steady, and he hoisted a twenty-pound bag of meal easily with one hand. His tunic moved up from the back of his trousers as he moved, revealing a dagger tucked securely in the back of his belt.
That alone would not have fired off any alarms in Ivan. Many people carried concealed weapons in Carradoon. Ivan himself had a knife in one pocket. But the dwarf was certain he’d seen the man before, in a different guise. He watched the man for a few moments longer, until the man noticed him, snarled, and headed off the other way down the aisle.
“Eh?” Pikel asked, wondering what problem so obviously bothered his brother.
Ivan didn’t reply at first. He was too busy searching his memory. Then it came to him: he had seen a man closely resembling the shopper in the alley beside the Dragon’s Codpiece. The man had been more disheveled then, wearing tattered clothing and seeming like an ordinary street beggar, of which Carradoon had its share. Even then, though, Ivan had noted the grace of the beggar’s movements, a skilled and measured step.
The dwarf hadn’t thought much about it, except for the unpleasant incident on his journey into the city. Danica was convinced that the would-be bandits were no ordinary highwaymen and had been waiting to ambush the three companions. Ivan had little proof either way, and while he held many private doubts, he knew Danica better than to openly disagree with her on that sort of thing. An inspection of the bodies had revealed little, though. The men carried no obvious marks, not even the familiar trident-and-bottle insignia of the enemy, which the companions had expected to find.
By all appearances, they had been simple robbers, coincidentally stumbling into the companions’ path, and that had seemed even more plausible when Ivan and the others had arrived in Carradoon to find Cadderly, Avery, and Rufo safe and secure at the Dragon’s Codpiece.
But prudent, battle-tested Ivan had not let his guard down, not one bit.
“We should go find Cadderly and Danica,” he said to Pikel.
“Tut tut,” Pikel argued, blushing with embarrassment and waggling a stubby finger Ivan’s way. Danica hadn’t returned to her room the previous night, and the dwarves didn’t have to struggle to figure out where she’d stayed, and why she’d stayed there.
“We won’t bother them if we don’t need to,” Ivan growled back. “Just want to keep an eye on them, that’s all.” Ivan nodded to the end of the aisle, where the suspicious shopper was gathering more goods. “I’m not so sure we seen the last of the group that hit us on the road.”
“Eh?” Pikel balked.
“Sure, that bunch is dead,” Ivan said as Pikel finally hopped around to regard the man, “but me thinking’s that they got friends, and me fear’s that we were more than accidental targets.”
“Uh-oh,” Pikel whined. He looked back at Ivan, crestfallen and obviously worried.
“We’ll just watch ’em, that’s all,” Ivan said. “We’ll just watch ’em close.”
Vander paced nervously around the barn on the outskirts of town. Ghost had telepathically contacted him using the power of the Ghearufu that morning to set the plans into motion. The strike against Cadderly would come before the next dawn. All of the other assassins were gone from the farm, sent into position with their remaining associates in Carradoon. There had still been no word of the five who had gone into the mountains, but word of the arrival of Danica and the dwarves in the city did not bode well for the missing Night Masks.
Still, fourteen expertly trained assassins should prove an ample number for a single, unsuspecting kill. At least, that had been Ghost’s reasoning when he’d told Vander, the most powerful of the group, to remain at the farm, out of the way.
The firbolg didn’t mind. Executions had always left a sour taste in the honorable giant’s mouth. What bothered Vander was Ghost’s motivations in holding him back. The only other times the devious little assassin had done so was when Ghost sincerely respected the powers of his intended victim. On those occasions, Vander became no more than a secret escape route for Ghost. If the assassin got into serious trouble, he could just summon his magical item and flee into the firbolg’s body, leaving Vander back in Ghost’s body to suffer whatever peril the assassin had gotten himself into.
How long will this co
ntinue? the firbolg wondered for about the ten thousandth time. How long will I remain the plaything of that wicked, honorless little weakling?
For all his pacing and all his painstaking thought, Vander could see no end, and no escape. He could find consolation only by telling himself that in the morning Cadderly would be dead, and one more wretched chapter of his own miserable life would be at an end.
“You seem in a hurry,” Bogo Rath commented when Rufo, his face chalk white with flour, entered the Dragon’s Codpiece and made his way straight for the stairs.
Rufo looked at the young wizard and snorted derisively, but didn’t have the courage to ignore the young wizard’s hand gesture that Rufo should go over and join him.
“What do you need?” Rufo snapped, angry at all the world and especially impatient in yet another situation in which he was forced to serve. Everywhere the man turned, he found someone more than willing to give him orders.
Bogo laughed heartily and flipped his stringy hair over to the side, out of his green eyes. “How go your negotiations?” the wizard asked.
Again Rufo snorted. “You should ask Avery,” he replied, venom dripping from every word. “Certainly I, the errand boy, would not know!” As evidence to his point, Rufo held up the few small sacks of purchases he had made in the first shops he’d visited that day.
“You deserve better treatment than this,” Bogo commented, trying to sound like an honest friend.
“From you as well,” Rufo replied.
Bogo nodded and did not argue. In truth, the young wizard, “Boygo” to his older associates, could sympathize with Rufo’s dilemma.
“Well, have you a task for me, or are you merely wasting my time?” Rufo asked. “Not that my time is such a precious thing.”
“Nothing,” Bogo replied, and the man spun away, heading back for the stairs. “As of yet,” Bogo remarked after him, stealing some of the ire-filled thunder from Rufo’s determined steps.
The priest looked back one final time.
“You will be informed when you are needed,” Bogo said, his visage stern and unyielding.
The young wizard might sympathize with Rufo, but that would offer the priest little reprieve from the duties Bogo would eventually require of him.
“You met with the priest again,” Ghost said to Bogo when the young wizard entered his room later that afternoon. He hardly seemed surprised to find the sneaky assassin waiting for him, or by the fact that Ghost knew of his meeting with Rufo.
“I’ve warned you once of your meddling,” Ghost went on.
Bogo’s face twisted curiously, and Ghost realized that he had made a mistake. He hadn’t warned Bogo of any such thing; the innkeeper’s son had done that, at least as far as Bogo was concerned.
“You?” Bogo questioned, his lips turning up in a smile. “I have not seen young Brennan today,” he remarked cryptically. “Actually, his father is quite worried about him.”
Ghost settled back on the bed and nodded silent congratulations to the observant wizard. “Let us just say that the young man outlived his usefulness,” he explained. “A very dangerous thing to do.”
Neither man spoke for a very long while, but there remained little tension between them. Ghost studied Bogo long and hard, and the young wizard seemed to sense that the assassin was forming some plan—a plan that Bogo could only hope would include him.
“The time is close then,” Bogo remarked. “The disappearance of young Brennan is a question that you cannot let hang unanswered for very long.”
Again, Ghost nodded his silent appreciation of Bogo’s reasoning powers. “The time is nearly upon us,” he confirmed, “but it would seem that some things have changed.”
“The arrival of the priests and Danica?” Bogo asked.
“Complications,” Ghost replied.
“And what else has changed?”
“Your role,” Ghost answered.
Bogo took a cautious step back, certainly fearing that he, too, might have outlived his usefulness.
“I had said you were only an observer,” the assassin explained, “and, so, by Aballister’s measure, you were meant to be. But you never believed that, did you, Rath? You never planned to sit back and watch while the Night Masks had all the fun killing this young Deneirrath.”
Bogo cocked his head curiously at the assassin, obviously unsure of what that plain fact might mean.
“And you have proven to me,” Ghost continued, “both by your astute conclusions and your ability to get close to our enemies, that your value extends beyond your assigned role.”
“I thought you didn’t want me talking with Rufo,” Bogo replied, still a safe distance from the dangerous man.
“I just explained to you that things have changed,” Ghost retorted. “We have a headmaster from the library to deal with and a formidable young woman, it would seem. I intend to handle the latter problem personally, and for that I will need to borrow your stooge.”
Bogo moved over to the bed, more curious than afraid.
“A simple matter,” Ghost explained. “A simple, innocuous task for Kierkan Rufo that will allow me to get at the Lady Maupoissant.”
“You will kill her?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Ghost replied. “First I will use her so that when the Night Masks come for Cadderly, the one he believes is his closest ally will, in truth, be his most dangerous enemy.”
Bogo’s smile widened, mimicking Ghost’s devious expression. The assassin’s plan was beautifully simple, with Bogo, and more particularly, Rufo, being the only potential trouble areas that he could foresee. To that end, the assassin then delivered a secure hook.
His smile abruptly disappeared, causing Bogo’s visage to assume a similarly grim tone.
“I offer you a part in this execution,” Ghost explained, “something you have craved since before we left Castle Trinity. I assure you that your role will be well received by Aballister.
“But,” Ghost continued, “my pay will be as originally agreed.”
“Of course—” Bogo started, but Ghost didn’t pause long enough to let him continue.
“And if Aballister does not deliver to me the full amount,” Ghost went on, “then you must make up the difference—to the gold piece.”
Bogo nodded eagerly, appearing more than happy to pay such a pittance in exchange for the prestige, and surely also beginning to understand just how very bad it might be to get on the wrong side of that wicked little man.
FOURTEEN
TO CAPTURE A SOUL
Cadderly and Danica had slept very late that day. Brennan did not appear with Cadderly’s breakfast, and Cadderly, in his modest way, was glad of that. He suspected that the innkeeper’s son had probably come to the door, but had turned away, blushing, at what he’d heard from inside. With a private smile, Cadderly thought no more about it.
The lovers left their room shortly after noon, taking a meal together in the hearth room. Fredegar served them himself—an unusual occurrence that Cadderly realized was out of sorts only when the innkeeper asked him if he had seen anything of Brennan that morning.
Still, Cadderly was too consumed by the presence of Danica to appreciate the implications of the missing youth. He promised to keep an eye out for Brennan when he and Danica went out walking. Fredegar nodded his thanks, but he was plainly worried.
“The mistakes of adolescence,” Cadderly explained to Danica, not too concerned for the welfare of the youth. He figured that Brennan had been out late in pursuit of some young lady, and that maybe Brennan had finally made a catch.
For all of Cadderly’s inner turmoil, the world seemed calm that morning, with Danica beside him again, and the young priest couldn’t even begin to think dark and ominous thoughts.
They left the inn together, crossed the wide way of Lakeview Street, and moved down to Impresk Lake’s sandy shore. The breeze was stiff off the water, chill but not cold, and long-winged birds zipped about at impossible angles and cut sharply in daring maneuvers all ar
ound them. The normal morning mist had long since dissipated, leaving the two with a grand view of the island that comprised the wealthier section of Carradoon, and the wide, arching stone bridge that led to it. Several multi-story structures peeked up above the trees, and a fleet of boats, both pleasure and fishing, meandered around the land mass.
“I suppose I might come to accept the beard,” Danica said after many minutes of quiet watching. She moved over and tugged at an exceptionally long strand. “As long as you keep it trimmed!”
“And I love you,” Cadderly replied with a contented smile. “Will you stay beside me?”
“Are you certain you want me to?” Danica said in a teasing tone, but there was a subtle undercurrent of dread in her question.
“Stay with me,” Cadderly said again, more forcefully.
Danica looked back at the water and didn’t answer. The request seemed so simple and obvious, and yet, the woman realized that many obstacles remained. She had gone to the Edificant Library to study the ancient works of Grandmaster Penpahg D’Ahn, the Most Holy One, prophet and founder of her order. Only in the library could Danica continue her work, and that work was very important to her, the culmination of all her personal goals.
As important as Cadderly?
Danica was not honestly sure, but she knew that if she gave up her goals to remain beside her lover, then she would forever look back and wonder what might have been, what level of perfection she might have achieved.