Damned - White Wolf Part 25

Skilgannon accepted the offer. The concoction was delicious, and he felt fresh energy flow through his tired body. Some time later s.h.i.+vas returned. 'Now you look better, young man.

Good, is it not?'

'Wonderful. Could I have another?'

'You could - if you want to find yourself singing sweet songs and dancing on my table.

Trust me, one is enough. Now, I have some smoked fish for breakfast, with a side order of onion bread. Both are delicious. Especially with three eggs, whisked with b.u.t.ter and seasoned with a little pepper.'

Smoke from the riots was now drifting across the water. 'You'd think the city would have seen enough bloodshed,' muttered s.h.i.+vas.

'Starvation brings out the worst in people,' said Skilgannon.

'I suppose it would. I shall fetch you some breakfast.'

After s.h.i.+vas had gone Skilgannon's thoughts returned to the Old Woman. If she truly knew the location of the Resurrectionists he would be foolish to ignore her summons. Idly he fondled the locket round his neck. Do you really believe, he asked himself, that Dayan can be returned to life through a fragment of bone and a lock of hair? And supposing that she can, what will you do? Settle down with her on some smallholding and raise sheep?

She is ... was . . . a Naashanite aristocrat, raised in a palace, with a hundred servants to furnish all her needs. Would she live happily on a dirt farm? Would you? You were a general. The most powerful man in Naashan. Would you be content as a farmer, a tiller of soil?

Skilgannon drained the last of his tisane.

s.h.i.+vas returned with his breakfast and Skilgannon ate mechanically, the exquisite flavours wasted on him, as his mood darkened.

Druss wandered into the tavern and sat opposite him. 'Sleep well, laddie?' he asked.

'Well enough,' answered Skilgannon sharply, feeling his irritation mount.

'Not a morning person, I see.'

'What does that mean?' he snapped.

'Beware of the tone, boy,' said Druss softly. 'I like you. But treat me with disrespect and I'll bounce you off these walls.'

'You'll trip over your guts the moment you try,' hissed Skilgannon. Druss's eyes blazed.

Then he saw the empty tankard. Lifting it to his nose he drew in a deep breath.

'Drinking makes you disagreeable, you said. How do narcotics affect you?'

'I don't take them.'

'You just did. Most men who sip s.h.i.+vas's tisanes merely sit around with happy grins on their faces. You, it seems, slide in the opposite direction. I'll have some water brought out for you. Drink it. We'll talk when the opiates have worn off.'

Druss left the table and walked into the kitchen. A serving girl brought a jug of water and a large blue cup. Skilgannon drank deeply. A mild headache began at his temples. He saw Druss leave the kitchen and climb the stairs.

Suddenly tired, Skilgannon leaned forward, resting his head on his arms. Colours swirled before his eyes. He found himself staring at the blue cup. Light from the window was gleaming upon its glazed surface. Skilgannon closed his eyes. The bright s.h.i.+mmering blue remained in his mind, swirling like the ocean. His thoughts drifted free, skimming across the blue like a seabird - flowing back to the day when blood and horror tore into his life, changing it for ever.

It had begun so well, so innocently. Sashan was holding his hand as they walked in the park at dusk. They had strolled together to the market, and eaten a meal at a riverside tavern. It had been a good day. Spies no longer watched the house, and Skilgannon had begun to believe that his plan had succeeded. The festival was only a week away now, and soon he would take Sashan from the city to seek her destiny among the mountain tribes.

This thought was disturbing, and caused his stomach to tighten.

'What is wrong, Olek?' she asked him, as they pa.s.sed a gus.h.i.+ng fountain.

'Nothing.'

'You are gripping my hand more tightly.'

'I am sorry,' he said, loosening his grip. The only time they touched was when they were outside. Skilgannon enjoyed these walks more than any other pleasure he had ever experienced.

Night was falling as they approached the park gates. Two men with fire buckets were moving along the walkways, lighting the tall, bronze lanterns which lit the paths.

Skilgannon saw an old woman sitting on a bench. 'You wish your fortunes told, young lovers?' she asked. Her voice grated on Skilgannon. She was extraordinarily ugly, and her clothes were ragged and filthy. He was about to refuse her offer when Sashan released his hand and moved to sit beside the crone.

'Tell me my future,' she said.

'There are many futures, child. Not all are written in stone. Much depends on courage, and luck, and friends. Even more depends on enemies.'

'Do I have enemies?' asked Sashan, the question sounding innocent. Skilgannon was growing ill at ease.

'We should go, Sashan. Molaire will be angry if the meal goes cold.'

'Molaire will not be angry, Olek Skilgannon,' said the old woman. 'I promise you that.'

'How is it you know my name?'

'Why would I not? The son of the mighty Firefist. Did you know that your father is now a demiG.o.d among the Panthians?'

'No.'

'They wors.h.i.+p courage above all else, Olek. You will need all the courage your blood line can supply. Do you have such courage?'

Skilgannon did not answer. There was something about the crone that chilled him.

'What about my fortune?' asked Sashan.

'You have the courage, my dear. And to answer your question, yes, you have enemies.

Powerful enemies. Ruthless and cruel men. One in particular. He needs to be avoided for now, for his stars are strong, and his standing high. He will cause you great pain.' She looked up at Skilgannon. 'And he will break your heart, Olek Skilgannon, and burden you with guilt.'

'Let's go,' said Skilgannon. 'I need to hear no more of this.'

'I still haven't been told my fortune,' said Sashan. 'I have enemies, you say. Will I defeat them?'

'They will not defeat you.'

'Enough of this nonsense!' snapped Skilgannon. 'She knows nothing, save my name. All else is valueless. Strong enemies, broken hearts. It means nothing.' Fis.h.i.+ng a small silver coin from his pouch he dropped it in the crone's lap. 'This is all you desire. Now you have it. Leave us be.'

She pocketed the coin, then looked up at Skilgannon. There was no-one close by when she spoke, and her words lanced into him. 'Your enemies are closer than you think, Olek. The Empress is dead. Your friend Greavas has suffered the most terrible of fates. And the young princess sitting beside me is in mortal danger. You still wish to talk of nonsense?'

The words burned into Skilgannon, stunning him. He stood very quietly, staring at her.

Then slowly he turned to scan the park, expecting at any moment to see armed men emerge from the under- . growth. No-one came. He glanced at Sashan. She too was shocked, but showed no grief. 'How did my mother die?' she asked.

'She took poison, my dear. It was hidden in a ring she wore. She did not suffer.'

'And Greavas?' asked Skilgannon.

'They tortured him for hours. He was strong, Olek. His courage was towering. In the end, however, bereft of his eyes, his fingers, he told them everything. Then Boranius continued his butchery for sheer pleasure. It did not sate his appet.i.te for inflicting pain. Nothing can.

It is his nature.'

Skilgannon fought to marshal his thoughts. 'How did Boranius find them?' he asked.

'There was a man Greavas trusted.' The old woman shrugged. 'The trust was misplaced - as trust usually is. Now the soldiers are looking for you, Olek Skilgannon. And for the yellow- haired wh.o.r.e who travels with you.'

He stared hard at the ugly old woman. 'Who are you? What is your place in all of this?'

'Hardly the most important questions you need to be asking at this moment. You stand here in a tunic and sandals with . . . what? ... a few silver coins in your pouch? The princess wears a flimsy dress and has no coins. What are your plans, Olek Skilgannon? And yours, Jianna? A thousand men are searching the city for you.'

'And why do you offer us help?' asked Jianna, her voice cool.

'I did not say I would help you, child. I am merely telling you your fortune. Young Olek has paid me for that. My help comes at a much higher price. One thousand raq seems fair to me. Does it seem fair to you?'

'You might as well make it ten thousand,' said the princess. 'At this time I have nothing.'

'Your word will suffice, Jianna.'

'You could make more by betraying us,' said Skilgannon.

'Indeed. If it suited my purposes, young man, I would have done exactly that.'

'If I survive and succeed I shall pay you,' said Jianna. 'What do you advise?'

The old woman lifted a scrawny hand and scratched at a scab upon her face. 'I have a place near by. First we will go there. Then we will plan.'

Skilgannon suddenly groaned. 'Sperian!' he said. 'What of Sperian and Molaire?'

'There is nothing you can do, Olek Skilgannon. They have followed Greavas on the swan's path. Boranius is leaving your house even as we speak. He has left men behind to watch for you.'

'How many?'

'Four. One you know. A short man, with a long moustache.'

'Casensis.'

'An unpleasant fellow. He also joys in pain. He is not as naturally skilled in the arts of torture as your friend Boranius. But his pleasure in it is equal.'

Skilgannon felt a sick pain gnaw at his stomach. Rage threatened to overwhelm him, and he fought for calm. Darkness had fallen now, and a cool wind was blowing across the deserted park. 'I have no proof that any of this is true,' he said at last.

'You know where to find it, Olek Skilgannon,' she pointed out.

'We must go home,' he said to Jianna.

'That would be senseless,' the princess replied. 'If she is right there are men waiting. I'll not be taken.'

'I cannot leave you with her. She may seem helpful, but I sense the evil in her.'

Jianna rose from the bench, her eyes angry. 'You do not have the right to leave me anywhere. Nor take me anywhere. I am Jianna. My life is in my hands. Despite all you have seen of me you still think of me as a delicate female who needs protecting. Would you be so concerned if I was a young prince? I think not. Well, Jianna is stronger than any young prince, Olek. Malanek trained me well. Go to your house if you must. I shall travel with her.'

'Such wisdom in the young,' said the old woman. 'A pleasure to see it.'

Jianna ignored her. 'Do not be foolish, Olek. They will take you and torture you.'

'It is not foolishness,' said the old woman suddenly, 'for he is not a foolish man.' She looked up at Skilgannon. 'You need to see the truth, Olek. And more.' He felt her eyes upon him. She swung to Jianna. 'Let him go, princess. The sights he will witness will make him stronger. The actions he takes will bring him to sudden manhood.' With a grunt she pushed herself to her feet. 'If you survive, Olek Skilgannon, go to the Street of Carpenters.

You know it?'

'Yes.'

'Halfway down there is an alley, which runs alongside an old inn. Follow it and you will find yourself in a small square. At the centre is a public well. Wait by the well. I will fetch you, if it is safe.'

'Where will you be?'

'Best you do not know,' said the old wpman. 'Boranius carries a number of implements designed to elicit information speedily. One is a beautifully crafted - yet small - set of shears. It can snip a finger with one long squeeze.'

Skilgannon looked into her ugly face and saw the glint of malicious pleasure in her eyes.

'How would you know of his . . . shears?'

'I made them for him, Olek Skilgannon. I make many things. I made the ring the Empress wore, which contained the poison. I cast the runes for the Emperor on the birth of his daughter, and warned him that her life would be fraught with peril. Which is why she was trained like a man, with Malanek as her tutor. I even made a sword for the Emperor Gorben.' She laughed, the sound harsh and dry, like windblown leaves rustling across a graveyard. 'I fear I made that one too powerful. It has gone to his head. But I digress ... If you survive I shall come to you.'

'I do not like this plan,' said Jianna.

'If he survives he will be more useful to you,' said the old woman. Skilgannon stepped in to Jianna, then raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. He stood for a moment. 'I love you,'

he said. Then he turned and loped away into the darkness.

He took a circuitous route back to the house, approaching it from the rear, moving on his belly across the paddock field behind the main garden. The night was cloudy, and he timed his movements to match the moments that the moon was obscured. Reaching the garden wall he rose soundlessly to his feet and paused. Despite everything the old woman had said there was a part of him that could not believe it - did not dare believe it. Once he climbed the wall he would find Sperian and Molaire sitting in the house waiting for him. Doubt struck him. He stood very still, aware that as long as he stood here the world was as he had always known it. The moment he climbed the wall everything might change. His emotions in turmoil, he did not know what to do. For the first time in his life he was truly terrified.

You cannot just stand here, he told himself. Taking a deep breath he leapt high, hooking his fingers over the rim of the wall. Drawing himself up, he rolled across the parapet and dropped to the earth below. Lanterns were burning inside the house, but he could see no movement. Keeping low, he crept to the shed where Sperian kept his tools. Inside he found a sharp pruning knife with a short, curved blade and a wooden handle.

Armed with this he darted across the garden and into the building. In the doorway he paused and listened. He could hear no sounds. Moving further inside, and avoiding the windows opening to the front of the house, he checked the main living room. It was empty.

Further on he heard strange, gurgling sounds. Taking a deep breath he pushed open the door to the kitchen. A lantern had been set on the table, and by its light he saw the blood- covered, mutilated body of Sperian. Blood had also splashed to the walls of the cupboards, and had seeped across the floor. The dying man made a sound, blood bubbling from a puncture wound in his throat. Dropping the pruning knife Skilgannon knelt beside him.

Sperian lifted a hand. It had no fingers. His face had been slashed with a knife, the skin hanging from the wounds. His eyes had been put out. 'Oh, my friend!' said Skilgannon, his voice breaking. 'Oh, what have they done to you?'

Sperian jerked at the sound of his voice, and tried to speak. No articulate sound came.