Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
The Goddess, in their wisdom, may show mercy. I do not question it. But it is a weakness in lesser beings such as us.
—FROM THE FLAME’S PATH, BY SENIOR PRIOR OLIA IN THE ERA OF TEMPESTRA-DRUSILLE
SORRY.” IT’S AT LEAST the third time I’ve said it.
I load the last of Avery’s gear onto his horse as he stares with pure confusion, mouth gagged, because I can’t deal with questions right now.
I know what he’s thinking: that as one of Tempestra-Innara’s Chosen, I should have simply commanded his help when we met on the road.
And if that little fact was meant to stay secret, I should have made sure he couldn’t tell anyone.
But since I know that he’s not really on the Goddess’s side, and since he doesn’t know that I want the Goddess dead too…
This keeps it simple. Ridiculous, but simple. Let him wonder why I knocked him unconscious and tied him to a tree instead of dispatching him. I’ll be long gone by the time he comes to any conclusion.
I should kill him. He’s a heretic, and that’s what a well-trained scion of Tempestra-Innara would do. What Nolan would do. But when it comes down to it, I simply don’t want to.
So, tied to a tree it is.
There’s a knife among his gear, a dull, sad little thing barely worthy of the name.
He blanches as I approach with it. But all I do is stab the blade into the earth near his bound hands.
Not so close that he can easily grab it, but close enough so that he’ll reach it eventually, if he puts the work in.
Getting through the rope with a dull knife will take a bit more effort, but that’s on him, not me.
At least I dragged the corpse into the brush.
Seemed rude to leave it watching with that scratched-up stare.
“A lesson for you, cleric: Don’t talk to strangers on the road. And a bit of advice: Forget we ever met.” I mount the horse. “But thanks again for your help.”
Bewilderment digs even deeper furrows in his brow.
But I turn both the horse and my thoughts toward my new focus: the trail through the wood and field left by the dead man.
It’s easy enough to follow, even in the dark.
Flattened brush and broken sticks, prints in the dirt, and blood, blood, blood.
The farther I follow, the more impressive it is how long the poor guy made it before finally exsanguinating.
But there was something strange about him, something besides the leash.
A savage quality to those last few moments of life.
And his eyes… even dead, the sensation of them remains.
Somehow, he was able to take one look at me and know who—what—I am.
That’s a mystery I can’t exactly leave unsolved.
The dead man’s path is a winding one. Erratic.
Almost frantic. It’s clear he was running away, but from what?
His captors? Or another threat? Finally, I come to a path in a thick stand of forest, and the unmistakable signs of a conflict, something furious and bloody, but brief.
The sequence of it is impossible to glean, but the result is clear: a group that moved off in one direction, a dying man who went another.
Puzzle pieces. But not enough of them for me to make out the picture. I need more.
The second trail is nearly as easy as the first to follow, by virtue of it being several individuals who don’t seem concerned about hiding their tracks.
Still, it’s hours—nearly dawn—before I crest a hill that overlooks a shallow valley with an old orchard.
There’s a farmhouse beyond it, a barn, and several pens for animals.
But the pens are empty, and everything has an overgrown, untended appearance, as if no one has lived here for years.
Which leaves only one explanation for the faint seep of light escaping the barn.
I hobble the horse out of sight and watch for at least an hour, belly pressed to the damp grass.
Finally, the barn door opens and a man appears.
He is most definitely not dressed like any farmer I’ve ever seen, with two massive knives affixed to his belt and a quality coat suitable for travel but not for scratching around in the dirt.
He scans the ridge where I hide, searching, then goes back inside when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.
The sky is already beginning to lighten, so I take advantage of the night’s dregs to circle around to the rear of the barn and find a gap in the slats.
The first thing that hits me is the earthy funk of horses, mingled with—keeping with the evening’s theme—blood.
Then: voices, and the sound of agitated footsteps.
Through my peephole I can see three figures, all men.
Besides a suspiciously excessive number of weapons, they all seem innocuous enough—well dressed enough to command respect, not so well as to be particularly memorable.
Suddenly, one of the figures moves aside to reveal a fourth.
My breath catches in my chest. Or maybe it’s a laugh.
Because seated in the center of the barn—bound with chains, gagged, and looking exceedingly put out about it—is Nolan.
The mirth passes quickly. A sinking feeling hits, because outnumbered or not, Nolan should have made easy work of whoever these jokers are.
Instead, he’s their prisoner. And he’s in chains, not ropes.
Which means they know who he is.
Another puzzle piece falls into place, and I don’t like what I’m beginning to see.
“Still no one out there.” I take the speaker to be the man I spotted. “This is ridiculous. We should be searching too.”
“There’s only so far he could have gotten.” This comes from a tall man, bald and built like an ox who never had to skip a meal. Real muscle. “Van and Remus will find him.”
Not if he’s dead.
“Not if he’s dead,” the first speaker practically squeals. “There was a lot of blood, we didn’t see clearly what happened, and the woods—”
“The sun is rising,” Baldy snaps. “We wait. No more surprises.”
Did they surprise Nolan or did Nolan surprise them? Or maybe it was a mutual surprising. Would explain the chaotic leavings I came across.
“Agreed.” For the second time in two days, I recognize a voice: the woman who was in Novena with Avery. Not exactly a surprise, but this just keeps getting better. “In the meantime, we need to make a decision about what to do with him.”
“I know exactly what to do.” The bald man jabs a finger at Nolan. “He’s already cost us our hound. We cut him into pieces before he has the chance to do the same to us.”
Hound? So, Nolan’s captors are the dead man’s captors as well.
Which makes it highly likely that Nolan was the source of the dead man’s wound.
The cut looked wild; maybe breaking his chains hadn’t been intentional.
At least six against one—even Nolan might have gotten a little sloppy, if the “hound” had surprised him the way he did me.
“No.” The woman’s voice takes on an edge.
“He’s too dangerous!”
“This isn’t some cobwebbed skeleton dug out of a battlefield or a decrepit Prior. He’s young. He’s fresh.”
With that word, the last piece falls into place. A bilious sensation ripples beneath my breastbone, sinking into my guts. The “hound” with the altered sight, keeping Nolan alive…
These aren’t any ordinary—or even extraordinary—heretics.
These are Renderers.
We should have been picking off the Chosen by now…
my crew and I were promised… That’s what the woman said, back in Novena.
That was what would have followed a successful assignation—the methodical hunting of anyone touched by divine power.
This “crew” must have been situated somewhere outside Novena, waiting for the woman, and come across Nolan.
And here I thought I’d gotten the short straw; I’ll take a false cleric over Renderers any time.
“You’re right, he’s already cost us enough,” says the woman. “Taking him alive makes up for that. Or do you really want to slink back empty handed after all this, tail between your legs?”
“Fuck off.” Baldy seems like the charming type. But he goes quiet for a moment. “I want an extra cut once we get back to Sethane. For the trouble.”
Sethane? That’s nowhere near Carsaire, where the other heretic was headed.
Did he have friends there waiting on him too?
It’s possible. Even so, the math is simple: Renderers for sure in one direction, the reliquary and hopefully no Renderers in another.
I shift to get a better view of Nolan. His attention is on his captors, a chilling level of abhorrence in his gaze.
It’s a good bet this isn’t how he thought things would go after pushing me into that pit, and I hope there’s a few regrets stewing behind that revolted stare.
I hope he’s imagining my body, twisted and broken in the dark, when it could have been watching his stupid, deceiving back.
Then again, he was right about one thing, in his actions if not his words—this was always going to go badly for one of us.
And I know exactly what he’d do if our places were switched.
The sun is nearly up, and I haven’t forgotten the other two Renderers out there hunting for their dead “hound.” Maybe they’ll find the body, maybe they won’t.
Either way, I need to move before they return and have a chance to spot my horse on the ridge.
Avery’s horse. Shit. Maybe I should have killed him.
If they find him and he tells them that Nolan isn’t the only one of the Goddess’s Chosen lurking around…
All the more reason for me to be on my way. I spare one last glance at Nolan, once again taking in the sight of him bound and helpless. It’s not quite as satisfying as it was a few minutes ago. Still… the edge of the pit, the look on his face in the moonlight… I turn away.
Sorry, Nolan, but you brought this on yourself.