Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [51]
Chant said, “We don’t know what that was or why it was following us. But we came to find you because we wanted—”
“Why did you steal my scarf?” interrupted Demascus.
Riltana studied the tunnel exit a moment, then returned her gaze to him. A tension seemed to melt out of her.
She sighed and said, “Because someone promised to pay me if I took it. But instead, he tried to kill me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AIRSPUR
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
THEY WERE FILTHY AND EXHAUSTED. CHANT SUGGESTED THEY talk back at his shop, but after a stop at a bathhouse on the way. Demascus paid for the visit from the shrinking stash of coins he’d recovered from the shrine.
Bathed, laundered, and refreshed somewhat in mind as well as body, they met in the courtyard outside the pawnshop an hour later. Despite her promise to reappear, Demascus wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to see the thief had kept the rendezvous. She could have as easily fled, and left him in the dark regarding the nature of her employer.
Demascus checked the scarf for the hundredth time. It was wound round and round his left arm, where it tenaciously clung of its own accord like a fighter’s wrap. Soon, he thought, you’ll give up your secrets.… But am I ready to know them?
Chant pressed a coin into the palm of a loitering youth with instructions to return with a carrypot of stew and a couple loaves of bread from the Lantern.
The pawnbroker unlocked the door and ushered them in. Riltana looked around with a half smile at the mundane, the bizarre castoffs, and cherished treasures.
Chant pulled a chair, a stool, and a chest from his collection and arranged them around the main counter. He took down a silver platter setting and arranged bowls and spoons for three. “We can talk as we eat,” he said.
The food arrived a few moments later, and they set to.
“I should have had the lad bring a pitcher of ale across too,” mused Chant.
Demascus was too busy slurping soup to answer, but he nodded. An ale would have been nice to help settle his nerves.
He jumped when the cat meowed. Fable had appeared on the countertop, her tail straight up with unwavering confidence. Chant didn’t even look up as he shooed the cat back down. Fable meowed once more, obviously reproachful, then jumped into her crate to study them with sphinxlike disdain.
Riltana pushed her bowl away first. She watched him finish his own helping, then said, “I apologize for taking your wrap. And … thank you for showing up when you did, and reviving me. Why’d you do that? Most folks are less gracious when they corner someone who’s made off with their property.”
Demascus wiped his mouth and hands on the linen napkins Chant had provided. He nodded and said, “We’ve been looking for you ever since you took it.”
“Is it sentient?”
“What do you mean?” said Chant, leaning forward.
Riltana said, “Is it invested with so much magic that it has a kind of awareness? It called itself the Veil of Wrath and Knowledge.”
“Aloud?” said Demascus. His throat grew taut. This is it, he thought. This is where I find my memories again …
“Words appeared in the weave.”
Demascus unwound the scarf from his arm and laid it out on the counter. Everyone slid back in their chairs, as if afraid it might suddenly rise up like a rearing snake.
That name, the Veil of Wrath and Knowledge … He knew it. But the context refused to come clear.
He sighed and said, “All right, who hired you to take it from me?”
Riltana said, “Someone called Kalkan. I never got a good look at his face. I’m not sure he was a genasi. His breath smelled like … rotting meat. Maybe he was a half-orc.”
“You never met him before he hired you?” said Demascus.
“No. I have something of a freelance career in, ah, acquisitions. It’s not unusual for people to hire me to find things for them.”
“I see.” Demascus tried not to freight his voice with condemnation, despite the fact that the woman had just admitted to a life of larceny.
Riltana leaned forward, “But this job was odd in