The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [198]
Travis moved closer. “What did they do to him, Grace?”
Beltan’s visage was solemn. “They were trying to make me into a killer.” He turned away, hands clamped together. “I guess they didn’t know I already was one.”
What was Beltan talking about? Travis looked at Grace.
“I don’t think we need to worry. I don’t see any outward morphological changes. And the fairy … I think all it did was heal him. He’s still our Beltan.” She smiled. “Just a little better than before.”
But that wasn’t entirely true. Beltan looked well enough. More than well. Before, Beltan’s face had always been rough and homely in a good-natured way, his handsomeness a secret that shone forth only when he smiled. But now it was as if Travis could see that part of him whether Beltan was smiling or not. Only there was something else, something that dimmed that light.…
A shadow blocked the sun. Vani stepped into the mouth of the alley. When had she gone?
“Here.” She held out a bundle of clothes. “Put these on. Then we must go.”
Travis eyed the garments. “You didn’t steal these, did you?” It seemed like people were always stealing his clothes for him on Eldh.
Vani’s gold eyes flashed. “You cannot wear your Earth garb here. It will attract undue attention.”
Travis sighed. Stolen all right.
Moments later they were dressed. Grace wore a simple shift of pale green, but she looked regal all the same. Vani wrapped a yellow cloth around herself. It hid her black leathers, but it could not disguise the sleek power of her movements. Travis and Beltan both wore long white shirts that came to their ankles.
Vani handed Travis a cloth sack. “Use this for your things.”
He stuffed his mistcloak into the sack, then transferred the few other items from his backpack: his gunfighter’s spectacles and Malachorian dagger, and the drawing of the sword Deirdre had given Grace. He cinched the sack’s rope and slung it over his shoulder.
“Can you walk?” Grace said to Beltan.
The knight nodded. “It’s odd, but I think I can. Although a pot of ale would give me strength.”
“We have no time for ale.”
“Nonsense,” Beltan said. “There’s always time for ale.”
Vani moved to the mouth of the alley. “We must find my brother at once.”
“But how do you know he’s here in Tarras?” Travis said. “You haven’t talked to him in months.”
“I saw the markings on a wall near where I took—that is, where I found the clothes.”
Travis frowned. “You mean you know your brother is here because he’s a vandal and likes to write on walls?”
“They are arcane signs, Travis, used by my people to signal one another of our presence. To the dwellers of this city, they would look like scratches, nothing more. Now come.”
66.
Melia was dancing again.
Lirith stood in the doorway of the lady’s room, hand to her mouth. The coppery light of afternoon shone through the window’s sheer curtains. They had all been trying to rest, for none of them had slept after their visit to Sif’s temple last night, not after witnessing the murder of the arachnid god. Aryn had finally fallen asleep, but rest eluded Lirith, so she had gone to Melia’s room. There were some things she wanted to ask the lady. Things about spiders.
Falken stood just inside the door, watching Melia. The small woman danced on a red carpet in the center of the room, placing her feet in precise positions, the rings on her toes gleaming. She murmured a soft, mournful song that once again reminded Lirith of the music of the Mournish.
Lirith glanced at Falken. “How long has she been like this?”
“I’m not certain,” he said softly. “She retired to her room about an hour ago. I’ve only been here a few minutes.”
Melia spun in a circle, bowed, then began the circle again. It was the same dance Lirith had witnessed before, in the shrine of Mandu in Ar-tolor. However, there was an urgency to it that had not been there the last time.
Lirith clutched the spider amulet at her throat. “What is she doing, Falken?”
“I think she’s reenacting