Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [63]
Chant called, “Don’t kill him!”
The deva didn’t hear, or chose not to. His hands were like steel springs engineered for a single task.
“Demascus!” Chant yelled, “Stop it!”
The plea finally penetrated. Confusion chased across Demascus’s face. It almost seemed as if the man woke from a dream.
He let go one end of the strangling fabric, and Inakin collapsed to the ground. The rumormonger’s eyes rolled around in their sockets as he drew in gasping breaths.
A scalding pain breached her consciousness. An ugly black wound, only half cauterized and still oozing blood, stretched down her right side. Oh, crap.
The leechson had seriously hurt her!
She limped over to Inakin with the intention of giving him a swift kick to the ribs.
Chant got there ahead of her and held out his hands. “No. Please.”
She growled, “If I ever see you again, you ill-bred measle, I don’t care what anyone says; I’ll flay you. Or let my friend here finish what he started.”
Inakin pushed himself to his feet and stumbled away. At least the man had the good sense not to say anything provocative before he disappeared.
Riltana narrowed her eyes on Demascus. The deva massaged his temple as if it ached. She said, “So … what the Hells was that? You said you couldn’t remember anything. But I just saw you neutralize Inakin like an elite royal peacemaker would take down a highway robber.”
“I … It felt so natural. I just let myself go. It was exhilirating! I felt such a sense of mastery. But now … it’s gone again.”
“Good,” said Chant. “I didn’t much like what I saw.”
Demascus seemed to blanch.
Riltana sniffed. What lurked in the deva’s past? Something even more deadly than Kalkan, apparently—Demascus himself. The news just gets better and better, she thought.
She pointed an unsteady finger at the pawnbroker. “So, why’s the rumormonger after you?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“I beg to differ,” she said. Anger made her voice shrill. “I feel half-cooked!”
The human looked at the street. “I owe a man named Raneger a fantastic sum of money. I’m on a ‘repayment plan,’ but his interest rates guarantee I’ll never succeed.”
“Raneger?” she said, and shook her head. That was someone you definitely did not want on your bad side. “What kind of hold does he have over you?”
“Raneger’s got my son.”
She sighed. Pretty much what she figured. Worrisome that Raneger’s hired muscle had known her name too, but she supposed that in some circles, Riltana the Thief had a reputation. Circles that included dung-eaters like Inakin, apparently.
Chant said, “I didn’t mean to involve either of you.”
Demascus seemed to get hold of himself. He clapped Chant on the shoulder and said, “You’ve risked your life to help me. I’m not sorry to help you in return, whatever the danger.”
“Thank you.”
Riltana considered offering a similar sentiment, but decided Chant could probably figure it out for himself.
“Let’s get out of this alley,” Chant said. “It’s not like Inakin to travel alone, without backup. Only his arrogance made him think he could single-handedly cow us. He’s probably gathering his hirelings as we speak.”
“Right,” said Riltana, and winced as her burn flared. “Carmenere doesn’t live far from here.”
They resumed their journey. After only a few steps, the pain of her wound grew so overwhelming Demascus took her left arm to help support her.
“Drink your curative,” Chant said, his voice worried.
She shook her head. “This is not a small burn. It’s going to require more attention than a single restorative potion.”
Demascus looked worried. “Then what?”
“We keep going,” she said. “Carmenere can help.”
By the time they arrived, her skin felt as if it was on fire, and she was panting. They entered a narrow walk behind the main way, a little-used entrance she’d used often in the past.
The patio door to Carmenere’s flat was flanked by two planters. Jasmine and sage grew in them, and their combined scent made Riltana forget her pain a moment. How many times had she and Carmenere emerged in the cool night air to look up