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Topiara - Chapter 31
Even the drudges are asleep, Sharin thought in satisfaction as she tucked what little remained of her chamfor leaves into the hidden pocket once more. Cook was back in her corner after rousing long enough to demand a mug of the wine, and now slept even deeper than before. Many of the rustles that she had learned to relate to activity within the hall had fallen silent. Time to get out of here, she thought grimly.
Suddenly the doorway was blocked, and a shadow loomed into the kitchen. Sharin spun in surprise. "Now, where is that pretty thing that made such a good meal?" Sharin took one moment too long in debating which direction to fly, and then the one that had been pointed out to her as the mystic Imbido stumbled across the threshold and down the step into the kitchen, the mug that had held the mulled wine dangling from fingers that grew number by the moment.
The moment for flight gone, she decided that she would take advantage of the situation. "You like my cooking, I take it?" She smiled alluringly and swayed gracefully, as if actually attracted to the man.
Imbido smiled drunkenly and lurched forward, lured by the engaging voice and inviting movements. "I think I'll learn to like more than that, me girl." He reached out the empty hand in her direction.
Sharin gave him a smile even as she slipped around the chopping-block island in the middle of the kitchen. "Now, my lord," she shook her finger at him. "Let me refill your mug. I made the wine especially for you, you know. I've heard so much about you."
Imbido's drunken leer vanished suddenly, with his face blank as his eyes cleared briefly and looked down at the mug dangling unfelt from his fingers. In that moment, Sharin knew his mind had cleared enough to see through the allure in her eyes, for he dropped the mug with disgust and bel lowed, "Traitor!" in a shaky and slurred basso voice that shook the kitchen.
For a fraction of a moment, Sharin quailed much the way she had when the bandits had attacked her home and killed her family. How had she managed to forget that Imbido himself had been leading the pack of human animals, that Imbido himself had impaled one of her smaller brothers while she hid beneath the bed and watched? In the next moment, she was a snarling animal herself, taking up a razor-sharp knife from the counter where she had been working and throwing herself at the surprised mystic.
Had it not been for the influence of the darathom, there was no doubt in Sharin's mind that she would have been committing suicide, attacking the master's mystic with only a knife. But the drug had done its work well, and her victim had little time to mount a defense. Sharin slashed viciously again and again, driven by the memories of that night of the massacre. By the time Imbido slid to the floor in the drugged stupor, his arms and chest were covered with blood from the many bone-deep cuts. Sharin paused, breathing hard and her own clothing covered with Imbido's blood, and then with a fervor that matched her grief plunged the knife deep into the mystic's chest.
Imbido groaned once through the stupor, blood beginning to flow from his mouth. Sharin bent over, hands on knees and breathing hard, and spat in the face of the dead mystic. "Demon," she hissed breathlessly, "find your rest in the lowest and coldest underworld."
Lyara fought against the torpor that had hold of her and finally began struggling against the iron grip of the Fishing Master's son. "You've made a mistake," she growled in the gravelly voice she had created for the per sona of Olyn, "my name is Olyn Chivan."
"You can't fool me, Lyara," Stepan breathed, dragging her close and putting his face in hers. Lyara turned aside at the fetid, alcohol and darathon scented breath that turned her stomach even more. "You thought you could, but I saw through you, even on the practice ground. You've grown lovely in the last few years, my dear. And you'll make a suitable bandit's wife, if you know what's good for you."
The drunk's handling of Lyara had infuriated Jilan immediately, but he had been wise enough to watch the reac tions of the men surrounding them. The more susceptible to the drug were already drooped and dozing wherever the drug had caught them, and the rest were staggering, fighting the languor that was creeping inexorably over them. Jilan reached beneath his pillow for his short sword, kept there out of a habit Lyara had drilled into him, and ground his teeth in frustration as he waited for the moment to be right to spring to her aid.
Lyara closed her eyes; her only chance to escape his grasp was to seem to cater to his gross desires. Bile rose in her throat, but she choked it down and leaned against the seaman suddenly. "You're right, Stepan. I just couldn't see life without you anymore. I'm so grateful I've found you!"
Jilan nearly choked, but Stepan reacted the way Lyara had expected. Startled and believing her in his drunken dream, he loosened his grip on her arms. Lyara was waiting, and she yanked her arm free and dove into her bunk. Stepan would have followed her with more amorous intentions, but stopped short and backed up slowly with Lyara's sword tip firmly planted against his throat. In control of the situation finally, she stood up and looked around quickly.
Not one of the recruits had managed to witness the turnabout, for they all sagged in drugged sleep. Even as she looked back, she saw the whites of Stepan's eyes as he lost his battle and dropped to the floor at her feet.
"I thought he had you there for a moment," Jilan re marked with a sigh of relief. He dropped from his bunk to stand at her side. "Who is he?"
"Stepan, son of Fishing Master Vandor. He wanted to make me his bride while I was an apprentice, and then didn't like it when his father let me go before he had a chance to see his plan through." Lyara's voice dripped hatred, some thing Jilan had never heard from her before. "He even tried to..." She reined in her thoughts with difficulty. "Forget it. Leave him here. We have more important things to do."
Regardless of the drug's legendary long-lived effectiveness, Jilan remembered to turn and bar the dormitory door from the outside. While Lyara quickly dispatched the solitary guard at the gate, Jilan continued from one dormitory to the next and barred each from the outside. Lyara cut the lanyard holding the flag aloft, and Vinzen's superstition was proven as the flag fluttered to the ground at the feet of the most potent danger to come close to him in years.
"What about them?" Jilan pointed at the lighted windows of the cottages that were scattered below the gates. "It's past when those who are off-duty will have gone back to their families, if they have them," Lyara said proudly. "Supper's always served after the night watch is set."
Motion from across the courtyard brought both of them spinning in their tracks with swords at the ready, only to be lowered in surprise and greeting as Sharin joined them.
"Gods!" Jilan breathed, grasping a bloodied skirt with two fingers and turning it this way and that. "What happened to you? Are you all right?"
Sharin smiled a brilliant smile. "I'm fine, but Imbido will never look another crystal."
Lyara's brows rose in appreciation. "All of this is from the mystic?"
"He tried, but he never laid a finger on me," Sharin bragged happily. Then, with a happy cry, she caught at Lyara's sleeve and pointed at Farranby. The old steward was keeping to the lengthening shadows at the base of the wall and closing the distance quickly.
His smile of greeting paled slightly when he saw the blood on the young girl's skirt, and he reached out a hand as if to catch her should she fall. "Sharin?"
"Imbido," was all she answered, and threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug. Farranby returned the hug briefly, and then cleared his throat in embarrassment as he set her aside. He drew the strap over his head that held Jilan's bundle and handed it to the younger man. He then signaled for them all to step back inside the walls.
"Close the gates," he directed Jilan with a wave. The paired heavy wooden gates swung with difficulty, as it had been a very long time since they had been moved. Lyara and Sharin each lent a shoulder until they could bar the gates from the inside. "There. Should any of those louts outside figure out that here's something amiss in here, it'll take them a fair time figuring a way back inside." He looked around the otherwise deserted courtyard. "I take it the mulled wine went well with the assembled company?"
Lyara giggled, having accomplished even this much without any problems making her need to release some ten sion. "You might say that. Sharin? How're things in the hall?"
Sharin was sharing in the quiet laughter. "Everything was quiet as a tomb when I left," she answered gaily. "I'll bet even the master's lobon drank some of that wine!"
"I knew this was a good plan," Jilan reassured himself as well as the others.
"Farranby, you know the hall best of all of us," Lyara began, turning her attention to her friend. "Where is Vinzen?"
"Wait a minute," Jilan called as the others began to move toward the hall. His dagger flashed once, and then he could pull his bow and quiver from the leather bundle. When they were arranged in his crossed-strap fashion, he motioned for them to go on.
Farranby led them through the front door of the hall and into a entry hall. "First things first, my friends. Sharin, you stay here and watch the top of the wall. Call if you see anyone climbing over. Lyara, you take that hall there. It leads to Vinzen's office and the quarters of some of his more trusted guard. Jilan, you go with her. I'll take care of a few things that I need to. We meet back here when we're sure the hall is secure to that point."
"You're not going to. . ." Lyara began suspiciously.
"I won't go near Vinzen yet," Farranby promised quick ly. "I need to take care of a little family business, that's all."
Sharin leaned back against the doorjamb with her eyes trained on the wall and gate. Lyara shrugged and motioned Jilan to follow her down the hall Farranby had pointed out. Vinzen's most trusted guards had fallen victim to Sharin's concoction too, collapsed men and spilled mugs littered every room they searched.
Farranby opened a door and went into the room just off the entryway. There, he looked around what had been his old office. All the important papers had been kept carefully filed there, including the deed to the island. He smiled at the ease with which he was able to find what he wanted in the files. Very little work would be needed to change the name on the deed from Vinzen's to Farranby's name. He folded the paper and tucked it in the inside pocket of his tunic and began rifling through the more recent papers. It wouldn't take long to get a view of Vinzen's latest scams.
He was about to leave when his eye caught the word "Herista" in a indenture agreement. He froze, his heart only barely beating, and drew out the paper to begin read ing. The more he read, the grimmer his face became.
Lyara paused in her searching, suddenly aware that Topiara had grown almost hot on her breast. The impulse toward the last door in the hallway was irresistible. "Where are you going?" Jilan hissed at her, but Lyara didn't pay any attention. Disgusted, Jilan left his searching to join her.
The door she opened revealed a room unlike the others. Boxes of all sizes littered the floor; all of them with metal hinged hasps and locks. Topiara drew her in, as if drawn itself like a magnet, toward the farthest corner where small boxes lay tumbled about in complete disarray. Com pelled by the power at her breast, Lyara dove into the mess, picking up and discarding box after box.
Jilan watched Lyara's odd behavior with concern. Some of the boxes she was tossing aside would split open on hitting the floor and spilling out loose gemstones and sometimes jewel-encrusted rings and necklaces. "What in the name of all the gods do you think you're doing?" he demand ed, pulling on her sleeve to get her attention only to be shaken off.
Lyara froze suddenly, her hand hovering above a small leather pouch. At her breast, Topiara blossomed into joy, and then directed her. "Jilan?" she asked shakily.
Not sure of how to react, Jilan came through the mess to her side. "Lyara, are you all right?"
"I am now." Her voice shone with the joy of her power-stone. She turned and held out the little pouch to him. "This is what we came for. Take it. It was meant for you."
Jilan frowned, but followed her instructions. The pouch was heavier than he had thought, and he nearly dropped it in surprise. Lyara seemed not to notice, but motioned him silently to open the pouch.
He caught his breath as he drew out the little flute. Every surface of the tiny golden instrument was etched in flowing design that looked like a beautiful if illegible script. And in the cap of the flute, near the mouthpeice, sparkled the brightest and clearest gem he had ever seen.
"Play it for me," Lyara's voice broke into his intense reverie. She had watched the expression on his face, and in it had seen what had probably been written on her own the first time she had held Topiara before her uncovered and sparkling in the sunlight.
Jilan's brows closed in, and he looked up at her shaking his head. "No," he said in a voice that was confused by its own conviction, "now is not the time."
"Lyara! Jilan!" Farranby's voice echoed down the hall. Jilan roused himself, reluctantly put the little flute back into its pouch, pulled the drawstring tight and then put it over his neck. Lyara motioned for him to tuck the little pouch inside his tunic, which he did as they both left the room and rejoined their companions.
"Damn him!" Farranby spat, visibly angered and upset and looking in the direction of the hallway they had yet to search. "He found Herista alive and sold her life as a servant!"
"What!" Lyara blanched at the idea. "But I..." She stopped herself. No need to have to explain. "Where? Did you find out?"
Farranby's nod bespoke his intention to remedy the situation once they were off the island. "But first to settle with the monster."
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