Burning Bright: Chapters 3 & 4

[maderr]

Pardon errors.



Chapter Three


“No,” Raz said, and grabbed Ailill’s wrist. “Don’t interfere.”

Ailill frowned. “You would leave two women to fend for themselves?” He glowered across the pavilion to where Shio and Shinju were being hassled by a group of men who looked as though they probably had wanted posters up somewhere.

Raz laughed. “Two women? No. Shio and Shinju are different. I don’t know how, but I know. I would never scorch myself by daring to come to their rescue. Even when we did help them, it was more just reaffirming what they’d already established.” He shook his head. “Don’t ever piss them off.”

“So I see,” Ailill said softly as he watched the spectacle that unfolded before his eyes.

Five men had wound up hassling the two sisters. It what seemed a matter of seconds, all but one was on the ground, contorted with pain. Silver flashed as daggers once more vanished into hidden folds in the sisters’ clothing. Both wore pants, their shirts rolled up to bare their arms. Strange ensemble for women, but Raz had never been able to imagine them in dresses.

Raz grinned and pecked their cheeks as they sat down with a paper wrapped fish each. Around them, the pavilion returned to a bustle of noise and chatter – complete silence had fallen when two women trounced five men.

For a moment it looked as though the men wanted to push their luck. Raz glared at the only one they’d left standing, though not unscathed – his arm was bleeding badly enough it would have to be bandaged.

In any other part of the city, the women would find themselves under arrest, but at the edge of the capital life was more lenient and a great deal went unseen.

Ailill nodded at the women, surprise evident on his face. “Where, if you’ll pardon my asking, did two such beauties learn to fight like that? I account myself a fine combatant, but I feel you would probably teach me a thing or two.”

Raz threw his head back and laughed.

Shio shrugged, looking bored. “Sharks do not differ much from place to place.”

“They’re all dumb, ugly and taste terrible,” Shinju agreed, lip curling in disgust.

“Sharks?” Raz asked. “What are those?”

Shinju looked at him a moment and then laughed. “Land-locked,” she said, shaking her head. “Um…think of a very big fish. They get about as large as small rowboats, some of them. Lots of teeth, love to eat basically anything they can get their mouths around.”

Raz grinned. “Good description. Of course,” his face fell into an expression of utter seriousness and gentle reprimand, “it’s your fault for looking good enough to burn all common sense away.”

Shio threw a piece of fish at him. “Quiet.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Raz said, and saluted. He glanced around the pavilion.

It was massive, a large open courtyard surrounded by various shops and inns, a few stray stalls selling jewelry, food and other miscellany. Tables and benches were scattered all over the old granite tiles that laid out the pavilion, surrounding a large marble fountain. The fountain statue was of an apple tree, beneath which slept a young boy, an overturned bucket spilling water back into the fountain below.

All manner of people milled about the pavilion, minus the affluent. No one with money would ever show himself on the poor side of town unless he needed something that good little rich people couldn’t provide. It was late afternoon and ordinary business was peaking. Once the sun went down, the interesting business would begin.

“What did you two do with Pechal?” Raz asked, frowning when he could not locate his friend anywhere in the crowd.

“He’s a big boy,” Shio said, nibbling on a bit of fish with obvious relish.

Ailill stared at them. “Are you eating raw fish?”

Shinju gave him a smile and simply kept eating.

“I think they are fish, personally,” Raz said absently, still searching the crowd for his friend. “Did you guys lose him on purpose?”

“No,” Shio said. “He saw something and wanted to go check it out. Said he’d meet us back here. I’m sure he’ll come back mostly free of harm.” She rolled her eyes. “And probably starving.”

Raz laughed. “Very true. All right, we’ll start reviewing without him. Stop mutilating the poor fish and tell me what you’ve got.”

Shinju glared at him and took another bite, chewing it slowly. “Tricky,” she said at last. “The house in right in the middle of all the townhouses, that silly little circle where they can all stare at each other. Blue, three stories, very little room between it and the other houses. Probably have to go in from the back.”

“Very busy area, and always people snooping into one another’s windows. Have to be very late, on toward early morning. It’s quite annoying all these city people keep our hours.” She grumbled quietly and ate more fish, somehow managing to pick out ever bit of bone. “Did you learn anything useful?”

Raz shrugged and listed all that Ailill had already told them, but supplemented it with what he’d gleaned. “The Early Zholty is the Chief of Magic. He’s in charge of keeping track of all magic within the country, as well any magic that tries to enter – and how to cope with magic when we go abroad. Or at least when royals and nobles go abroad. He’s generally regarded as a good man, but more than a few on the pavilion say he has a taste for objects a man in his possession should not be interested in.” ‘On the Pavilion’ was slang for the criminal and questionable elements. “Items contaminated with magic, if not magical outright. No one knows why.” Raz flicked his smoke-gray eyes to Ailill. “Is this comb magic?”

“No,” Ailill said. “It is valuable monetarily, certainly. But the value to my mother is primarily sentimental. Any magic associated with it is residual. It truly is nothing more than a pretty, quite expensive trinket for my mother’s hair.”

“All I have to say is that it better be one scorcher of a mother,” Raz said, grinning. He was interrupted from saying more by the sudden appearance of Pechal, who sat down in a flurry of activity, seeming to do a million things when all he really did was sit and begin to eat. “Hey, all. Have any fun?”

Raz laughed. “Always. What have you got for us?”

Pechal grinned.

“Oh, no,” Raz said, and opposite Pechal the sisters groaned.

Ailill looked at them. “What is wrong?”

“He only looks like that when he’s about to give us bad news. The Very Bad kind.” He glared at Pechal. “Tell.”

Pechal gobbled up his meat pie instead, and licked his fingers before finally speaking. “Got into some servant gossip at the market. Word on the nice side of town,” Pechal was cute enough, and good enough, that he often got away with hanging around places the rest of them would never get away with. “Is that the Earl Zholty is planning to make a bid for the Princess.”

“Aren’t they both a bit old for those games?” Raz asked, frowning in thought. “The Princess is a widow…Zholty never married. I hear she’s quite scorching, but…”

Ailill chuckled. “Do I know more of your politics than you, Raz? I have heard much about how sick your King is – they say the Princess might be a Queen before too long.”

Raz grunted. “Politics bore me. But I guess they just became relevant – what’s up, Pechal?”

“Like I said, the Earl wants the Princess. Servants say he just spent a tidy sum on a handful of exotic gifts for her – apparently the Princess loves foreign things. Among those was a comb made from Highland silver.” He smirked and began to dig into his second meat pie.

“Fire and ash!” Raz swore. “That means we have precious little time to relieve him of it. Not even I will attempt to steal from the royal palace. Fire and ash!” He glared at his own food, black bread and sausage, and could not summon the interest to finish it. “I guess this means we’re pulling a long night. Do you know long we have, Pechal?”

Pechal shrugged. He hastily finished eating. “No idea, but probably soon. I mean you don’t buy presents and then let them sit around for months on end.

“All right – everyone finish up, then its back on the streets. If we’re going to do this, it’ll have to be within the next few days unless we get information that tells us otherwise. Pechal, way to ruin the fun.”

Rolling his eyes, Pechal got up and wandered across to a vendor and bough two more meat pies. “I’m going back down to the south side, then. When do we meet? And where?”

“Midnight,” Raz said after a moment of thought. “We’ve got rooms at the Dancing Snake for the rest of the week, so meet up there. If you need me before that, I’ll stick close to the pavilion. I’m still trying to see if there’s a simpler way to get into his house. Stay alert. If things are this complicated already, then more is bound to go wrong. Shio, Shinju – try to avoid beating anyone else up.” He winked at them, and received twin snorts of contempt in reply.

Shio and Shinju vanished without further comment.

“So what other ways are there to break into a house?” Ailill asked.

Raz grinned and cleaned off their table before motioning for Ailill to follow him from the pavilion “Hopefully there’s a servant we can bribe to leave a door open, or to tell us where we can find the comb – though that will fall to Pechal. But we may learn which servants to approach, or at least which ones to avoid. Maybe other people with a grudge that might be able to help us.” Raz shrugged. “You never know what will turn up, good or bad – though most often it’s bad.”

Ailill nodded, and brushed back the loose strands of hair that fell forward into his face.. “I am curious to see how it all goes.”

Raz slid him a thoughtful look. “You’re a curious one.” He slowed to a halt. “Your speech, movements – obviously you belong with the Earls and Dukes and Princesses, not on this side of town plotting to steal from them.”

“Oh?” Ailill asked. “Maybe I prefer this side of town.” His eyes strayed toward the south side of the city, where even at a distance the wealth of the large houses was apparent.

Towering over everything was the palace itself, brilliant white, leading up to colorful, twisting spires and domes – the Royal Palace was centuries old but showed very little of that age. Many whispered magic held it together, and that it would be the first thing Zhar Ptitka destroyed should he come back to life.

“I think maybe if I asked a lot questions, I’d get some rather interesting answers,” Raz replied. His grin flashed. “Assuming, of course, that you answered them.”

“Assumption is a dangerous thing,” Ailill said casually.

“Quite,” Raz agreed. He slowed down as the street they were on spilled into a massive courtyard. It was nearly the size of the pavilion and laid with white marble tiles, each cut into a hexagon and meticulously laid together. Though old, the tiles did not show as much wear as they should. Like the palace, the Old Cathedral seemed timeless.

“What is this?” Ailill asked. “It’s beautiful.”

Raz looked askance at him. “Don’t say that too loud,” he said quietly, tilting his head back to gaze up at the twisting spires and domes of the Old Cathedral. “It’s called the Old Cathedral now. No one remembers what it was really called. The only reason it’s still standing is that no one quite has the nerve to destroy it.” He shrugged. “My theory anyway. Plus, it would make a huge mess.”

“No doubt…” Ailill agreed. “So strange, really, that the gods are so feared.” He shook his head. “Everywhere, the people fear their gods.”

“Oh? What have the mighty Highlands to fear?”

“With us, it is more despair…” Ailill sighed. “But I will not bore you. What purpose does this cathedral serve now?”

Raz shrugged. “A reminder, mostly. The priests work here, drawing and using it as a base for their searches.”

“For Candidates, yes?”

“Yes,” Raz said. He began to cross the courtyard, to a small side street on the far side. “Come, we’re wasting time. I want to track down who is selling all these things to the good Earl. Perhaps we can find a way inside, or at least learn something useful, by way of the merchants in question. Worth a try, anyway.” He spared Ailill a glance. “If we do turn up lucky, try to stand around looking menacing, or at least condescending. It might help things along if they think they’ve incurred the wrath of an evil, transforming Highlander.”

Ailill’s lips twitched. “Duly noted.”

Raz passed through the courtyard and onto the street beyond with his gaze only for the area in front of him, mind wholly on the job. But almost reflexively, not quite realizing what he was doing, he turned to look over his shoulder, smoke-gray eyes tracing the lines of the colorful domes, the white marble that had not aged more than a few days.

As they turned a corner, he brought his head back around and began to talk, plotting how they would go about things, and forgot all about the cathedral.



“Raaaaaz,” Shio complained. “It’s time for bed. Not talk. Bed.” She gave him a look that generally ended with men bleeding profusely on the floor.

“Talk,” Raz said firmly, though he looked as though that was the last thing he wanted to do. “At the very least, give me the bare bones. I don’t want us all sleeping and forgetting all those pesky little details that keep us from getting locked up.” He looked sleepily around the room. “Where the devil is Pechal? Only he would be late to a meeting that’s going to end in us going to bed.” Raz glared out the window.

Shinju glared with him. “Shall I go out and look for him?”

“Only if you bring him back alive and not bleeding.”

“Never mind.” Folding her arms across her chest, Shinju slid down further in her seat.

Shio looked more thoughtful. “What about bruises?”

“That’s fine,” Raz said. “He’s going to get a few from me anyway if I wind up having to go find him.” He massaged his forehead. “Fire and ash, we do not need this right now. When is that man going to learn that time matters just as much outside a job as in one?” He loved Pechal, really he did. They’d grown up on the streets together, gotten into thievery together, everything. He would do anything for Pechal.

But if the bastard did not get his ass through that door in five more minutes, he was going to find him, wring his neck, and let Shio and Shinju have at.

Not least of all because as amused as Ailill looked, it did not look good that one of the men he’d employed seemed to be so unreliable. There was no way Raz could convincingly explain that as flighty as Pechal could seem, when they actually went to work no one was more focused or efficient. He just couldn’t manage it otherwise.

Raz sighed and stood up. “You guys just rest. We’ll talk in the morning. I’m going to go find—“ he stopped as the door opened. “Fire and ash, where have you been!” he demanded, grabbing Pechal and shaking him hard.

“Sorry,” Pechal said quietly, seeming not to notice that Raz had all but knocked his teeth out.

“Pechal?” Raz asked with a frown. He let go of his friend and reached out to feel his forehead, suddenly noticing how pale and too-still Pechal was being. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we go?” Pechal asked suddenly, looking up. “Just leave? Go home? Maybe, I dunno, go somewhere else? Somewhere not here?”

“What in the world are you going on about?” Raz asked. “Knock it off and tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it if you’re going to be confusing.” He ran his fingers through Pechal’s hair to show he wasn’t trying to sound harsh, then cupped his face in his hands and asked more gently, “What’s wrong?”

Pechal only seemed to grow more fearful. He yanked out of Raz’s grasp and turned back toward the door. “N-Nothing. I’ve got to go.”

“What!” Raz frowned and grabbed him. “Knock it off, Pechal. What’s wrong?”

“Let me go,” Pechal whispered, bright eyes blue-gray with what Raz suddenly realized was real fear. “I have to go.”

“No, not until you tell me—“ Raz never finished, as Pechal suddenly lashed out, catching him to the jaw with a hard punch, then kicking his legs out.

“You always drop your guard around me,” he said, smiling weakly, “Idiot.” Opening the door, Pechal bolted before the others could react, the sound of his feet crashing on the stairs drawing angry shouts from the people roused by the noise.

“Scorching idiot!” Raz swore as he clambered to his feet, wincing at his throbbing jaw, and took off after him, making his own fair share of racket as he charged down the stairs after his panicked friend. He ran out into the pavilion, along which their inn was situated, through and out onto the streets of the city, but Pechal could have gone anywhere. Raz wasn’t familiar enough with the city to know where Pechal might go to sulk. He glowered. Well, he’d just have to figure it out.

“What’s going on?” Shio asked as the rest of the group came up behind him.

“Haven’t got a scorching clue,” Raz said. “Something has him scared bad.” He frowned, thinking. “But there’s no one that mad at either of us. He doesn’t have the kind of past that waits to stab you in the back…scorching idiot!” He kicked the corner of the building he stood beside. “He was fine this morning, and this afternoon. What in the fires has him so upset he’d run away from me?”

Shinju gripped his arm and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’m sure he’s just overreacting to something, Raz. He’ll come back, tell us all about it, you’ll clobber him and then we’ll go lift the comb from that stupid Earl. Come back and rest. If he’s not back by morning, we’ll go look for him.”

“You go to bed,” Raz said. “I’m not leaving him out on the streets alone.” He shook his head vehemently back and forth. “No way am I doing that. We promised.” Promised they’d never live on the streets again, and that if they – they’d do it together. If Pechal was going to be a scorching idiot, he wouldn’t do it alone. “I’ll be back sometime tomorrow morning. Just…make sure everything is ready to go. If I’m not back by evening, do it all without us. Keep the money.” His eyes flicked to Ailill, surprised that the man had followed them out onto the street. “Sorry about this. I promise we’re worth the money.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ailill said, and then hesitated.

“What?” Raz said. “Look, you don’t have to go anywhere else…”

“It isn’t that,” Ailill said. “Not at all. I trust a team like this more than one that appears perfect. My concern was for that.” He pointed past Raz’s shoulder, to a billboard next to a popular tavern. In the dark, the moonlight not offering much. Raz wondered that Ailill had noticed anything. “I cannot be sure in this light, but…”

Raz moved closer to see what he was pointing to, and swore he could feel the color draining from his face as he realized what he was staring at. “Fire and ash, no.”

Pasted to the center of the billboard, impossible to miss in daylight, was a large piece of paper – about three hand lengths high and two wide – of an elaborate ink sketch. A man with thick, wild curls and bright eyes, a smile that made everyone around him want to smile back, a distinctive spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Below the portrait, in large, clear lettering were the words:

Candidate
If seen, notify at once

Once the signs had listed precisely who should be notified, but after so many years there was no need.

“That scorching fool,” Raz said hoarsely. “Why didn’t he just tell me?” He shook his head and looked at Shio and Shinju. “We have to find him, before they do. We can’t let them—I don’t want—“

Shio grabbed his arm, and Raz realized he was swaying. “We won’t let anything happen,” she said. “Come on, that idiot would only go to so many places. Probably somewhere dark with lots of food.”

On Raz’s other side, Shinju snorted in agreement.

“But probably where there aren’t many people?” Ailill asked. “He must be terrified of being seen, from what I understand of things. Should we split up and look for him?”

Raz looked at him. “You’ll help?”

Ailill shrugged. “You are…the closest I’ve had to friends in a long time, even if technically you’re only being nice because I have lots of Highland silver.” He smiled. “I would like to help.”

Raz held out his hand, and tightly clasped Ailill’s when it was excepted. “We’re not nice unless we want to be. You’re a good guy, for a Highlander.” He managed a grin. “Let’s split up. Shio, Shinju, take the north end. We’ll go south. Meet here at sunrise, unless you find him – if you find him, take him to our room and then one of you come find me. All right?”

Shio and Shinju simply nodded, before turning and vanishing into dark. Raz worried for them briefly, then remembered just how capable they were. “Come on, Highlander. Let’s go find that idiot and beat some sense into him.”

“And what do we do when we find him?”

“Get your comb, and then get out of this country.” Raz glowered. “I’m a criminal, not a hero. If the country wants me to save it by handing over my best friend, they’ll have to come up with a hell of a temptation.”

Ailill smiled. “I should have no trouble securing passage.”

“Excellent. Then lets go find our missing passenger.”




Chapter Four

“Good afternoon, milord.” Ivan said as he straddled a chair, folding his arms across the back. “Didn’t think you’d be a repeat customer.” He stroked his goatee with the back of one finger. “What can we do for you?”

“Are you familiar with the High Priest Dym?”

Ivan looked at him like he was idiot. “Oh, yes. Quite familiar. We go hunting and take tea together all the time.”

The man across the room chuckled, setting a delicate yellow and green teacup down with a clink. “I have thought of a new way to deal with you, Vanya.”

“Do tell.”

“Every time you say something I don’t like, your pay goes down.” The man’s smile turned nasty. “So shut your mouth.”

Ivan ignored him. “I’m not going to do the job if you’re trying to cheat me out of what’s due. Find someone else if that’s the way this game is going. We’re not short customers, milord.” Rising smoothly to his feet, like a cat uncurling from a nap, Ivan motioned to his men and moved to the door.

“Given that I’m willing to pay triple your normal price if you keep that mouth shut, I think you’ll learn a bit of patience – and silence.”

Ivan paused. “Money isn’t everything.”

“But it’s a lot.”

“Yes.” Ivan narrowed his steel blue eyes. “What’s the job?”

Relaxing in his chair, the man sat back and sipped leisurely at his tea for several minutes. He smirked as Ivan waited, perfectly still but clearly impatient. “They’ve recently posted the latest Candidate portrait.”

“Have they?” Ivan asked. “If you want us to find him, too bad. We don’t get tangled in games like that.”

“I do want you to find him,” the man said, “but I also want you to kill him.”

Ivan froze, eyes widening for a split second in surprise. “Impossible. Even if it were possible, no deal. I’m a merc, there’s not much I’ll refuse – but that’s number one on the list. I don’t mess with Candidate business, and I’m certainly not going to try and kill one. That’s priest work.”

“On the contrary,” the man said calmly. He clasped his hand neatly over one knee, looking as though they were discussing a dreadfully boring bit of news. “I and an associate have decided the current High Priest is not to be trusted. He’s too…well, that is of no interest to you.” A patronizing smile. “Suffice to say that we do not trust him to simply kill the Candidates – we feel he is quite nicely arranging everything to put himself in power. We plan to prevent that. The first step is gaining control of the Candidates. That’s where you come in.”

“No,” Ivan said. “Candidates are first on the list, politics is number two. A pleasure as always, milord.” He motioned to his men.

“If you leave, Vanya,” the man said quietly, but with an edge, “you will regret it.”

Ivan stilled and slowly turned around. “Do not threaten me.”

The man ignored him and held out his hand. Resting in his palm was a small, orange feather, the tips fading to gold. “Do you know what this is?”

“A fire feather?”

“A lesser fire feather,” the man corrected. “Each Candidate’s death results in one greater fire feather and enough ashes to create a hundred lesser fire feathers. We use them for a variety of purposes – mostly for Burning out magic in those who should not have it.”

Ivan said nothing, but his hand moved to the sword at his waist as the man stood up and slowly moved toward him.

“But we can also use them to cast spells, to break spells, all manner of things.”

“Magic,” Ivan said, sneering. “How like a noble to forbid something and then make full use of it.”

The man ignored him. “I will give you one last chance, Vanya. Agree to find and kill the Candidate for me.” He held out a rolled-up scroll, bound with ribbon. “A portrait. It shouldn’t take you long – everyone will be watching for him, to get it over with as quickly as possible.”

“No,” Ivan said, fingers flicking at his side, ordering his men to their places. His steel blue eyes never left the man before him. “We’re not your lapdogs.”

Smirking, the man held out the feather and spoke one word. “Umeraite.” The fire feather flared, burned, vanished.

Ivan screamed and fell to his knees.

“Don’t touch me!” the man snapped as Ivan’s men moved toward him with weapons drawn. “Call your dogs off or I’ll kill every last one.”

“Back off,” Ivan said between gasps of pain. “Stand down.”

“Ivan,” one of his men said in a rumbling voice. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not.” Feeling weak, not quite trusting his feet, Ivan nevertheless forced himself to stand. He glared at the man. “What did you do to me?”

The man laughed coldly and returned to his seat. “In the old days of magic, it would have been called a curse. Do you know what a curse is?”

“No,” Ivan snapped. “Of course I don’t. Not all laws need to be broken.”

“A mercenary pretending to have morals, how very quaint.” The man laughed again. “A curse, my noble Vanya, is a magic spell that causes harm. Not simply fire magic or some such. No, curses are meant to hurt. Most of them were, in fact, forbidden. Such as the one I’ve just cast on you.” He smirked. “It’s called a death curse. One of the more entertaining ones.”

“Death curse?” Ivan repeated, still holding a hand to his chest, which felt like it was being ripped apart, raked open by claws made of fire.

“Yes,” the man said slowly. “You have one month to live, Vanya. If you do not kill the Candidate and send me proof the deed is done, that curse will kill you. Painfully. Succeed and I will lift it, and you will be alive, healthy, and free to take your money.”

“Bastard,” Ivan hissed. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He held out the scroll. “Get to work.”

With a trembling hand, body still racked with pain, Ivan accepted the scroll. He motioned to his men, and actually had the door open before he was once more stopped.

“Oh, yes. One more thing you should know.”

Ivan rolled his eyes and did not turn around, merely waited.

“You are the second band I’ve hired for this task. The other was more cooperative, and they’ve a three day lead on you. If they beat you to it, I see no reason to lift the curse.”

Forcing himself not to slam the door, Ivan lead his men through the winding halls of the inn and down to the street below. Outside, he slid into an alley and collapsed with his back to the wall. He took a deep breath, one hand to his chest in unconscious hope it would slow the too-fast beating of his heart. “Scorching bastard,” he hissed.

“Boss…” the rumbling voice spoke again.

Ivan looked up and attempted to smile. Six faces watched him anxiously, and the ox-sized Maksim, so steady in a fight, looked ready to panic. “I’ll be all right…for a month anyway. So long as it doesn’t always hurt this scorching much. Fire and ash!” He banged his head against the wall, riding out a sudden wave of pain. “No wonder the ancestors wanted magic gone. Help me up.” A slender hand reached out, rough with a bowman’s calluses, and Luka helped Ivan to his feet.

“What are we going to do, boss?” A man nearly as large as Maksim, but much shorter, frowned in worry. His lips were over-large, giving even his most serious expressions a somewhat comical air. Beside him was a man as small as Maksim was large – Gleb had a talent for sneaking into places most men couldn’t go.

Ivan grunted. “Good question.” He looked to the last three men in his group. Isidor, his primary swordsman, and also gifted with horses. Karp was also handy with a sword, but his real talent was in finances. Ferapont could find his way home if you blinded him and left him in a desert across the ocean. “Let’s get back to our rooms.”

“Are we going to kill the Candidate?” Isidor asked, leading the way from the alley and ensuring the streets were clear of possible threat – not there was much that could challenge them for threatening.

“Fire and ash, no.” Ivan forced himself to walk steady, hand sliding away from his chest thought it still throbbed and ached. “The scorching bastard will just have to hope that other band comes through for him.”

Maksim frowned. “Boss…”

“I’m not going to die. Scorch them all, I won’t be dying from magic. Fire and ash, no.” He shook his head vigorously back and forth – but stopped when it made him dizzy, one hand moving reflexively to catch the man nearest him before he recovered himself. He let go of Gleb and righted himself, glaring away attempts to assist. “We’re going to figure out how to get rid of it ourselves.”

“How?” Ferapont asked. “It’s not like anyone but another noble would know what to do. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if a bunch of mercs go knocking on doors in the south end, we’ll all wind up dead – and from good, plain steel or rope.”

Ivan made a face. “We’ll start figuring it out tomorrow. Right now all I want is a bed, maybe some ale. Fire and ash, how did we get into this one?”

“I told you we shouldn’t have taken another job from that scorching earl,” Luka said, voice calm but with a note of reprimand.

“It was worth investigating,” Ivan said firmly. “Wasn’t really expecting to be cursed. So now we know to just ignore him next time.”

Around him, all six men rolled their eyes.

Isidor looked at him from the corner of his eye. “I wonder if there’s a curse that forces bosses not to be scorching, smart-mouthed, idiots.”

“If you find it,” Ivan said. “I know plenty of people you can try it out on.”

Laughing, Isidor yanked open the door of the tavern they favored, though they didn’t visit it often enough to be considered regulars – not a smart thing to be in their business. The Singing Fox was packed, all of its patrons questionable in some way. A few flicked a glance at the seven men – an unusually large group for the hour – but rapidly looked elsewhere.

Ivan dropped heavily into the nearest chair once his men had hassled away enough people to obtain a table large enough. He let his head hit the table, groaning in pain. “As soon as this is fixed, I’m going to skin that bastard alive.”

“We’ll hold him down,” Maksim said. He twisted in his seat to catch the attention of a barmaid and ordered a round.

Karp took the scroll Ivan still held in one fist. Sliding the black ribbon off, he slowly unrolled the scroll. “Fire and ash,” he hissed, and dropped the scroll as if it burned. It fell to the table and rolled itself up.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked.

Luka snatched the scroll up and unrolled it, then spread it out on the table so everyone could see.

“Fire and ash,” Ivan said, echoing Karp. “I wonder if they know yet.”

All seven men stared in silence at the flawless painting of Pechal staring up at them from the table. Ivan muttered a curse and drained the tankard of ale set down in front of him and ordered the barmaid to fetch him a second and third.

“What are we going to do?” Gleb asked.

“Do?” Ivan snorted. “Are we supposed to do something? I don’t recall those idiot thieves being our friends, or anything more than an occasional associate.”

Luka gave him a hard look. “The good Earl said he hired a second group. The only other band in the city recently is Vladimir’s bunch.”

The men exchanged glances, none of them reassuring. Ivan let of a long sigh. “This means what to me?”

“They’ll kill all of them. Not just Pechal. They’ll kill Raz just for fun, as well as the Kundou girls.” His look grew more pointed. “They’re solid, and they put up with all your scorching crap. Like not telling them everything they need to know.”

“Challenge is good for them,” Ivan said with a brief grin. “They can take care of themselves,” he continued, but his men could tell he was wavering – that he’d likely already decided, but needed to be pushed. “You’re not convincing me I should waste valuable time to go help those idiots.”

Isidor smirked and moved in for the kill. “They’ll still have Ailill with them, and Vladimir won’t leave him alive just because he’s easy on the eyes and foreign.”

Ivan barely hid a wince. “Why should I care about a stupid Highlander?”

“Do you want us to list the reasons, boss?” Luka asked, and around the table the men chuckled. “Because you can admire pretty women all you like, we know what you really look at.”

“Fine. All right. Fire and ash, I think I need to get rid of all of you and get a new team.” He finished off his second ale and started on the third. “We rest. Tomorrow we go hunt down those idiots and tell them what’s up. Then we go figure out how to get rid of curses.” He lifted his tankard, signaling his men, and seven tankards banged together



“Feeling any better, boss?” Luka asked, looking up from his bread and sausage breakfast as a shadow fell across the scuffed, shaky table.

Ivan sat down hard across from him. “Not really, no. If I’m going to die soon, why do I have to feel like someone let a pissed off cat loose in my chest in the meantime?”

Luka choked on a bit of sausage and went into a coughing fit.

“And now you’re laughing at me.” Ivan fought a grin. “Where is everyone?”

“Out looking,” Luka said when he could talk again. “Didn’t see any point in making them sit around, and you obviously needed your sleep. Kept crying out last night, boss.”

Ivan shrugged. “How long they’ve been searching?”

“About two hours now,” Luka replied. “If Raz is anywhere in the city, we’ll find him before too long. He may be on the pavilion, though I guess someone would have found him by now if he was.”

“Depends on what the job’s demanding,” Ivan said, and stood up. “I’m going to the pavilion. Keep the men searching. If you see Maksim and Gleb, send them out to the harbor. Make sure Karp is checking the south end.”

“Sure, boss.” Luka looked at him pensively. “Take it easy, yeah?”

“Fire and ash, I’m not dead yet. I’m sure the angry cat will settle down eventually.” Ivan grimaced and turned away. “Stay out of trouble, find me around midday if you don’t turn up anything by then.”

“Whatever you want, boss.”

“Not to be cursed,” Ivan muttered as he left the inn and joined the throng on the street. Weaving his way through the crowd of merchant, shoppers, children and visitors, gradually Ivan reached the pavilion.

So early in the morning it was largely deserted. A great many of the people who would dwell here often didn’t finish working until about the time most people were beginning to stir.

Picking a table that gave him the best possible view of the large pavilion, Ivan motioned to a girl at a nearby stall. He held out two silver coins when she drew close. “Bring me tea and a hot meal, sweet, and I’ll give you another one of these.”

“Yes, sir!” The girl snatched the coins away and darted back to the stall, speaking animatedly to a man that was clearly her father. A few minutes later she brought him a mug of tea and a bowl of porridge sweetened with a bit honey. She’d also thrown a sausage on top.

“That’s a girl,” Ivan said, and handed over the promised extra coin. He ate slowly, in no hurry to go anywhere and the food was better than he’d expected. The tea was strong but sweet – obviously the vendor believed in earning his coin.

Ivan watched the people who passed through the pavilion, ever alert for a familiar face. Strange that he hadn’t seen Raz at all; he knew the man was in town. He always kept track of who was where, and Raz’s team was always handy when something needed to be snitched without fuss.

There was always the possibility they knew Pechal was the Candidate and had already fled – in which case Gleb and Maksim would find them at the harbor. But Raz had probably taken the job Ailill had offered, and Candidate or no he wouldn’t leave a job unfinished. If for no other reason than they’d need the money to flee the country.

Because he just couldn’t see Raz turning in Pechal. Those two were brothers in everything but blood. He skimmed the crowd from east to west, searching for Pechal’s familiar curls, Raz’s quick, cat-like way of moving, the smooth forms of the strange Kundou girls…and felt his chest tighten when he suddenly spotted the person he least – and most – wanted to see. When Ailill glanced in his direction, Ivan caught his glance and motioned for him to come, gratified to see the smile that broke across Ailill’s face.

“Ivan,” Ailill greeted, sounding pleased to see him.

“Morning,” Ivan said, and bit his tongue on saying something stupid, forcing his mind to business. “Look, I’ve got to be brief. Have you seen Raz and Pechal? The girls?”

The good mood vanished from Ailill’s face like sunlight behind storm clouds. “Pechal ran off. We’ve been trying to find him. Shio and Shinju went to check out the harbor this morning, Raz is searching the south end again.” He shook his head. “Are you asking for the reason I suspect?”

“Yeah,” Ivan said grimly. “Tell them to stay alert. Nobles are playing politics with the Candidates as game pieces. Earl Zholty has hired a merc band to get to him before the High Priest does.”

“Hired you?” Ailill asked carefully.

Ivan shook his head, pretending it hadn’t stung to be asked – it was a more than fair question. “I said no.”

Ailill seemed to relax, and only then was it obvious he’d been tense. “You look like you were dragged through the streets, Ivan.”

“Just a long night,” Ivan said. “It’s nothing.” He allowed himself ten seconds to think of a good excuse to stay. Unfortunately, all his reasons were appealing but not necessarily good. Stifling a sigh, Ivan climbed to his feet. He couldn’t quite suppress a wince when his chest flared with pain, heart still beating too fast. Suddenly one month seemed far too long. “Got to go. It was…” Ivan shook his head. Fire and ash, he was only thirty-three. Why did he feel twice that? “Take care of yourself, Highlander.”

A strong hand caught his wrist, and Ivan let Ailill stop him. He turned to look at him.

“You too,” Ailill said quietly. “I…are you certain you can’t stay? Speak with Raz yourself?”

Ivan shook his head. “Time is precious.”

“Until we meet again,” Ailill said, and slowly let go of his wrist.

The feel of his fingers lingered. Fire and ash, he was an idiot. “Goodbye.” He thought for a moment that Ailill called his name again, but didn’t look back and didn’t slow until he was well away from the pavilion, when the clawing, burning pain in his chest forced him to slow.

“You need to lead a less exciting life, boss.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Ever the witty one, Luka.” He pushed off the wall he’d leaned against until his chest settled a bit. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking about retiring in a month or so.”

“Now who’s being witty?” Luka asked sourly.

“I made contact with Ailill,” Ivan said. “Find the others, tell them we’re moving out. Any ideas where we start?”

Luka shrugged. “Not a one. Don’t exactly know a whole lot of magic users, do we?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Ivan said, hoping he didn’t sound as weary as he felt. Taking a deep breath, he pushed on through the crowded street, striving to ignore the pain in his chest, focusing on the lingering feel of fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist.