Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [144]
The black cloak rippled with another shrug. “You know, he might agree with you. Lord Torchholder didn’t say that he’d chosen you, only that you had been chosen. He blames you on the gods, on Sanctuary itself, claiming vengeance against him. But, you and I, we’re not priests, are we? We don’t believe in gods or cities with a conscience. We’re just men doing our jobs.
“Listen, Cauvin—Whatever you did while you were in the palace, I don’t know anything about it and I don’t want to. What I just said—I was making it up, one word to the next, by watching the guilt cross your face. You got out alive; that’s what matters. All that matters. Don’t let memories get you killed.”
The sudden change in Soldt’s tone rattled Cauvin. He wracked his imagination for understanding and cursed himself for finding none. “How … ?” he began, but he couldn’t ask all his questions at once. He chose one, not the hottest in his mind. “Were you spying on me when I found the Torch—Lord Torchholder—in the temple?”
Soldt shook his head. “Not even in Sanctuary. The Irrune women were wrapping his body by the time I got to the palace. At the start, I wasn’t looking for Lord Torchholder. I was looking for his murderers and for vengeance. First place I looked was the Broken Mast, not that I thought I’d find a murderer there, but Sinjon keeps his eyes open—” Soldt smiled briefly. “You’d met Sinjon by then; he told me about your visit. That’s when I knew I wasn’t looking for vengeance but for Lord Torchholder alive but not well … and for you. For all I knew, you were the one who’d attacked him. Sinjon had you marked as a journeyman laborer who’d just happened by. I started at the crossing where the guards found the bodies. You know how close that is to your stoneyard. Once I’d found you, I followed you … You truly have no notion when you’re being watched, Cauvin—that’s got to be corrected. Day before yesterday, you led me to the old estate. I waited until you’d left.”
Soldt clapped unseen dust and dirt from his gloves.
“Enough of that. What do you say? Can you balance on both feet, or is your knee shot? We don’t have time, Cauvin. Lord Torchholder is dying—He’s been saying that for years, but this time the shadow’s fallen. You’ll inherit his enemies—”
“I’m not the Torch’s froggin’ heir—” Cauvin complained until he recalled Bec risking death in a Copper Corner alley. It didn’t matter what he thought; if the Torch’s enemies thought he was their man, then everyone he knew—Bec, Grabar, Mina … Leorin!—was in danger.
“Sweet Shipri,” Cauvin whispered as the realization sank through his mind. He stared into Soldt’s eyes. He meant to ask: Can you teach me to fight well enough to protect my brother? but the honest question, “Can I trust you?” slipped out instead.
“That’s a question you must answer for yourself, Cauvin. I can tell you that Lord Torchholder trusts me. He wants me to prepare you for the battles he won’t be here to fight, and I will, but I’ll give you choices, if I can, choices he might not. Are you ready for a lesson?”
Cauvin eyed the ground where he’d landed too many times already. “Who are you? What are you?”
“A bit of a stranger, not born here or any other nation, for that matter.”
“Froggin’ riddles.”
“No—I was found newborn on a ship two days out of Caronne. I’d seen the world before I turned ten. Your weight’s on your right foot. Stand between your legs, or you’ll wind up on the ground again.”
It didn’t matter where or how Cauvin stood, he wound up in the mud. But a heartbeat before his fifth fall, he’d felt a moment of perfect balance. Somewhere around the twelfth attempt to stay on his feet, Cauvin moved with the other man, resisting, retreating, and returning like grass in the wind until he made the sheep-shite mistake of thinking he knew what he was doing.
Cauvin