Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [61]
And that had been that.
If you live long enough, she thought, you’ll accumulate memories you’d give anything to erase. The hollow feeling she’d spent months ignoring expanded, and she put a hand to her chest in real pain.
Her boot caught on the curb, and Riltana angrily jerked her hand back to her side. She’d been walking without paying any attention to her surroundings.
The night was cloudless and cool. Demascus and Chant were still following her. Because of the roundabout way she’d decided on, they had the narrow street almost completely to themselves.
We’re halfway to Carmenere’s place, she thought, and shivered.
“You all right?” said Demascus.
She glanced back to nod, then spied a figure passing into the illumination cast down by a high window. It was the beggar she’d seen soliciting coin earlier in the square outside the pawnshop. The hat he’d used to collect the generosity of others was on his head, the brim pulled low.
“Hold on,” she said, and pointed.
Chant and Demascus both glanced backward.
Demascus said, “What?”
The beggar saw her gesture. He hurried toward them.
Riltana whispered, “That fellow was begging in the square. Now he’s following us.”
The human stiffened. “Sharkbite!” he cursed.
Demascus said, “Do you know who that is?”
“I hope not,” Chant said.
The beggar drew near and doffed his hat, bowing with such exaggerated grace Riltana realized it was mockery. She pegged the man as a windsoul, though she couldn’t be certain in the dim light.
“Greetings,” said the stranger in a gravelly voice. “My name is Inakin.”
“The rumormonger?” said Chant, his voice uncertain.
Riltana paced forward until she was even with Demascus and Chant, three to one.
“The same,” said the newcomer. “Though I’ve got something more substantial to pass on than idle speculation, Chant Morven.”
The human pulled his dagger from its sheath and gripped it so that the point of the blade was directed at the ground. He said, “And what’s that, you slimy piece of pig offal?”
Demascus jerked his head to stare at the human. The invective surprised Riltana too. She prepared herself for trouble.
Inakin adjusted the hat and smiled. He said, “I can tell you’ve figured out why I’ve chosen to speak with you here, far from your home and away from peacemaker patrol routes. So, do you have it? You’re behind again. This is the third time.”
“Get out of here,” said Chant. “I told Raneger I’d have it in a tenday!”
“Yes, but—I get a bonus if I can shake it out of you earlier.”
Demascus stepped forward. “Listen. We don’t have time for foolishness. Why don’t you—”
Inakin grabbed Demascus by the throat. The movement had been so fast that Riltana hadn’t seen the hand move; one moment Inakin’s hand was at his side, and the next instant it was squeezing Demascus’s neck. The deva made a choked sound of surprise.
Riltana swore, and flipped up into the air on a breath of air. As she came down, she kicked out with all the mass of her descending body behind it, aiming at the crown of Inakin’s head.
At the last possible instant, Inakin interposed the struggling Demascus between himself and Riltana. Her boot slammed home with a vicious crack, directly into Demascus’s head.
Riltana alighted, but stumbled and nearly fell with the shock of knocking her ally senseless. She’d kicked hard.
Inakin laughed and tossed the limp form of his captive aside, and drew his blade with his other hand. Demascus toppled to the ground like a rag doll.
She swept her new short sword from its scabbard and spared a glance at Demascus, who wasn’t moving, then at Chant. The pawnbroker stood his ground, dagger at the ready. But indecision clearly racked him.
“Help me put this blood blister down!” she yelled.
Chant said, “It’s more complicated than that …”
Inakin laughed and said, “Don’t involve yourself in this fight, Riltana. Dear Morven hesitates for a reason. If you don’t want to be similarly enmeshed in things you don’t understand, walk away.”
She didn’t give a yellow squirt about becoming …
Her mouth fell open as