Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [110]
The man’s demise had to look authentic.
The priest made one last frantic effort to live.
It wasn’t nearly enough, because the scarf was wound with an assassin’s precision. But just to be sure, Demascus pulled even harder on the free ends of the Veil, grunting with the effort.
Tarsis’s life whispered away. The man fell to the ground, eyes wide in surprise at finding so unexpected a death. They stared, empty, lifeless … accusing.
Merciful lords …
Don’t think about it, he told himself. He picked up the body and slung it over his shoulder.
He turned, and trooped straight to Landrew’s cabin. He passed several crew on the way, but a concealing shroud of shadow rendered him and his burden unseen.
He didn’t pause at Landrew’s closed cabin hatch; he merely stepped through it along the narrow lane of shadow that stretched beneath the door.
Landrew was there. The dark-haired dwarf had cleared away his cot to make room on the floor. He sat in a lotus position, eyes closed, humming a tuneless song.
“Landrew, I want in,” Demascus declared, and let his shroud of concealment whisper away.
The dwarf’s eyes slammed open. He took in the specter of Demascus standing over him in the too-close cabin, and lurched to his feet.
“What’re you—” Landrew began.
Demascus tossed the limp, purpled body of Tarsis on the splintered planks and said, “Did you hear me, priest? I know about your secret alliance, and I want to join it.”
“My … secret alliance?” The dwarf’s eyes swiveled between the body on the floor and Demascus, back and forth.
“Yeah. Fate’s decreed it.” Demascus pointed to the Veil, which he’d wrapped around his right forearm in wide strips.
Landrew cleared his throat. He said, “Your palimpsest of truth. It told you …?”
“That you’re actually an acolyte of Undryl Yannathar. And that I was working for the wrong side when I accepted a commission to root out the old Great Patriarch. I never ignore what the Veil of Wrath and Knowledge reveals because it deigns to communicate so rarely.”
“So, you … killed Tarsis? Why is that exactly?”
“To prove I was serious. So that you’d know, by looking at Tarsis’s cooling flesh, that I wasn’t dissembling. I’ve just shown myself to be an enemy of the Orthodox Church in the most fundamental fashion available to me; I’ve burned all my bridges. And I’ve done it all for one purpose—so you’ll bring me to Undryl and vouch for me.”
Landrew bent to his dead mentor. He rolled the man on his back and checked for pulse, breath, and spirit.
When he looked up, his manner was different. Demascus could tell by the set of the dwarf’s shoulders and the openness of his expression that Landrew believed him. The dwarf said, “You really killed him; strangled him, looks like. Amazing.”
“So what’s next?” said Demascus. He pushed the image of Tarsis kicking at the end of his coiled Veil from his mind.
Landrew smiled. The dwarf said, “Come with me tomorrow.”
Relief that he hadn’t killed the priest for no reason almost made him miss Landrew’s next words.
“I was planning on slipping into Airspur at dawn to secure horses and a wagon. We need to travel to an old shrine west of the city, up in the foothills of the Akanapeaks.”
“A shrine to Oghma?”
Landrew said, “No, hardly. Some old stone where hill orcs used to worship spirits.”
“It must be important to Undryl. He’ll be there, then?”
“The place is only important because it retains a residue of spiritual energy from centuries of spirit worship. And no, Undryl will most definitely not be there to meet us.”
A tremor of concern touched Demascus.