The Yellow silk r-4 Page 12

  "I bought them!"

  "Where?"

  "From the Hooded! He trades exotic weapons!"

  "Li!" yelled Tycho. He was halfway out of a shattered window. "Come on!"

  Servants were pouring into the recently vacated bed chamber. The door from the sitting room to the hall opened as well. More servants stood framed in the doorway. Tycho pushed off from the sill, dropping out of sight. Li slapped both swords into one hand and leaped for the window, shoving himself through and jumping down to the roof below. Slate tiles cracked and slid under his feet; he staggered and barely managed to stop himself from sliding as well. Tycho was crouched at the edge of the roof. He gestured for him to follow then turned and slithered backward over the edge, letting himself down slowly before dropping. Li scuttled carefully after him and peered over. Tycho stood in the snow below. "Hurry!"

  "Catch these!" Li reached out and dropped the swords. Tycho gasped and flinched back then dodged forward again. Li didn't wait to see if he had the swords, but just slid down backward as Tycho had done. He caught a brief glimpse of servants peering out through the broken window above before he let go and dropped, rolling as he hit snow. Tycho grabbed his arm as he came to his feet and dragged him off into the shadows at a run.

  They didn't stop until they were back in Spandeliyon's middle town and Tycho collapsed against a wall. "Here," he wheezed, "take your stupid knives. I hope they're worth almost getting caught!" He thrust the blades at him and bent over with his hands on his knees, sucking in deep breaths of air.

  "They're not knives. They're swords. Butterfly swords. Shou weapons." Li wrapped his hands around the grips. He raised first the right then the left. "This one is Silkworm. This one is Mulberry Leaf."

  Tycho looked up at him. "They have names?"

  "These do." Li lowered the weapons and stared at them. "They were Yu Mao's!"

  CHAPTER 7

  With a nod from Brin, Lander knocked on the rough wood of the door. There was no response. He knocked again then tried the handle. The door pushed open less than a hair's width before jamming. "Bolted," he grunted at Brin.

  The halfling shrugged. "Veseene!" he yelled. "Veseene, let us in or you'll need a new door!"

  For a moment there was silence, but then Lander heard a soft shuffling from the other side of the door. It was followed, however, not by the door opening, but only by the sharp grate of an iron bolt being drawn. The shuffling returned, moving away from the door this time. Lander tried the door again. This time it swung open easily.

  Veseene was doddering across the floor to a worn, blanket-covered couch. "I'm not going to give you an invitation if that's what you're waiting for," she said without turning around. She lowered herself onto the couch slowly. "What do you want from me, Brin?"

  "Want? I'm just paying a call." Brin strutted through the doorway. Lander followed a little more cautiously. There were stories about Veseene. He had heard them when she had come to Spandeliyon for the first time, almost ten years ago-no archmage, but still a potent spellcaster who could wrap chains around a man's heart and mind with her songs and split the air itself with her shouts. Veseene the Lark. Over time, he had begun to wonder if the tales were nothing more than that, stories perhaps even spread by the bard herself. Certainly the greatest bit of magic he had seen her perform back then was prying Tycho away from the Spandeliyon dockside! And since the two of them had been back… well, there were new stories. Stories that said Veseene's powers had deserted her, stolen away by a wizened body that had betrayed her.

  All the old woman had to do, however, was fix him with those faded blue eyes and suddenly he was a nothing but a youth with a cheap sword and scraggly whiskers again. "Close the door behind yourself, Lander," she said.

  Kander swung it shut without even thinking, shooting closed the heavy bolt that was probably the sturdiest thing in the place. He looked around Tycho and Veseene's rooms. He had the distinct impression that if Brin hadn't forcefully prevented Black Scratch from following them up the stairs, the boar's weight would have collapsed the entire building. Veseene's couch looked hardly sturdy enough to support her birdlike frame. A cupboard against one wall seemed ready to fall apart; a rough chunk of wood supported one corner of it in place of a proper leg.

  The fireplace was tiny, the walls crisscrossed with fine cracks, the shutters on the window as frail as Veseene herself. Light in the room came in wisps from the fireplace and from greasy yellow tallow candles. The legendary Lark and her smart-mouthed apprentice, Lander realized sharply, lived like desperate shadows, no better than any of Spandeliyon's docksiders and worse than some. Would anyone with power live like that?

  A sneer pulled on Lander's lips as fear and awe fell away before disdain. He crossed the room in three strides and threw open an interior door. The room beyond was cold, dark, and smelled vaguely of mold. All it contained was a chest, a sagging bed, and some stacked firewood. "They're not here, Brin."

  Veseene's breath caught. Brin rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Lander. I wouldn't have guessed." There was a short stool close to the flickering fire. Brin sat himself on it and looked at Veseene intently. "You have a dagger hidden in your cushions," he said. "But your first instinct is right- you wouldn't have a chance of sticking me with it."

  Veseene didn't move, didn't even blink.

  "Lander," said Brin over his shoulder, "it's freezing cold in here. Stoke up the fire nice and hot. Give us some comfort."

  Lander nodded and reached into the other room, scooping up sticks and split logs. Half the stored wood was barely an armful. He piled it on the fire, poking at the glowing coals to stir them up. As the flames began to mount, Veseene finally flinched. "That's enough," she said. "You'll use up our supply."

  "A little more, Lander. My nose is still cold." Brin rubbed his fingers together and grinned at Veseene. "We'll have it nice and warm for you shortly. Old bones shouldn't be cold, you know!"

  "I'm warm enough." Lander felt Veseene's eyes follow him as he stacked on more wood. The fire was pouring out heat now-an absolute waste. He stood to go back to the other room for more wood. Panic flickered in Veseene's eyes. "That's enough, Lander!"

  Her voice cracked and bubbled on his name. Her hands-and arms and legs-were trembling. She reached down and tried to tug a blanket over herself. Brin's small hand snapped forward and ripped it away from her. Ve-seene gasped, her shaking limbs jerking together like the tentacles of a squid poked with a stick. Brin glared at her. "I want Tycho and the Shou man, Kuang Li Chien," he snarled. "Where are they?"

  Veseene was silent for a moment then she asked stubbornly, "Why?"

  "Why? Why?" Brin jumped up on top of the stool and whirled the blanket around himself. "You shouldn't be asking, Veseene! You should be answering!" He hunched his body up and hobbled in a little circle. "Can't sing anymore, can you? Can't play, can't cast a spell. The lark's in a cage, but for some reason she still thinks she's flying free."

  There was a tea box sitting on top of a low table. Brin unfurled the blanket from his body and snapped it sharply, like a whip. The end of it cracked against the tea box and sent it flying off the table. It smashed into the fireplace. Sparks flew. The dry wood charred and burst into flame almost instantly. A sweet-sharp smell drifted out into the room. Brin turned back to Veseene.

  "Where are they?" His voice was tight and grating, like steel on a whetstone.

  "I don't know!" The trembling in Veseene's limbs was severe now. Her fingers were knotted around themselves, her hands clutched up tight against her chest. Her voice was quavering. "I haven't seen either of them since this morning."

  "Lander saw them together at twilight. Do you know what they're up to?"

  Veseene shook her head, a barely controlled motion that could almost have been just another twitch. There was fear in her eyes, though. Lander snorted. "She doesn't know, Brin. Look at her."

  The halfling's eye narrowed. He squatted down on the stool and stared at Veseene. The old bard stared back, a bird hypnotized by a snak
e. They stayed like that for a long moment before Brin flicked the blanket back at her and stepped down from the stool. He strode across the room, pulled open the door and walked out without another word.

  Lander spared a last look at Veseene. She had the blanket clutched to her. "We'll find them," he told her. "If we don't, we'll be back."

  He put his back to her and strode confidently after Brin. He didn't bother to close the door after himself.

  Veseene waited until she heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open and close before she scrambled up-as hastily as she could manage-and pushed the door of their rooms closed. Can't sing, can't play, can't cast a spell. "Ah," she sighed to herself, "but I can still give a performance, Brin."

  It wasn't just the palsy that made her hand shake as she slid home the bolt on the door, though. She leaned against the door for a moment before making her way back to the couch with slow, careful steps. She sat down and watched the wood in the fireplace burn.

  A tenday's carefully hoarded supply, she thought, gone in minutes. Damn Lander! Damn Brin!

  Blessed Lliira, it is warm, though!

  The traitorous thought brought a knot to her throat, and for a moment she thought she might cry. She rubbed her eyes. There was so much she could have done once and so little now. She could feel her hands tremble against her cheeks and lowered them to stare at her shaking fingers.

  It had started with a twitch in her left wrist. She had thought little enough of it, but it had spread. Slowly. Over years. By the time she had sought to do anything, there was nothing that could be done-if there had ever been anything at all. She had sought out priests of three faiths known for their skills at healing. None had given her any hope beyond words of comfort. "It is the way of years. It is nature's course. Have faith that your suffering will be eased in the afterlife." She had carried on when the trembling had robbed her first of her grace then of the precise coordination that so much magic demanded. She was a bard-she learned to make magic with her voice alone.

  Then the palsy touched her throat and lungs and stole her song as well.

  If she hadn't had Tycho, she might have given up then. Veseene couldn't remember when he had stopped being her apprentice and become her friend. Tycho had brought her back to Spandeliyon when all else had failed. He earned enough for them to limp along. He had found Sephera and the tea that had brought some dignity back into her life.

  Veseene clenched her fingers into gnarled fists. She didn't know what he or Li had done to rouse Brin's anger, but she wasn't about to let the mad halfling take him so easily!

  The tea box burning in the fireplace popped and crackled suddenly. Veseene smiled grimly to herself. She didn't know if the burning had been a deliberate act or if the box had simply been a handy target, but she did know that there was little in dockside that didn't come to Brin's attention sooner or later. He most likely knew about Sephera and possibly about her special tea as well. Fortunately, he didn't know what box she kept it in. She shifted aside and dug between the blankets on the couch, past the knife Brin had rightly guessed was there, and pulled out a pouch. Still in the fine linen with which Sephera had wrapped it, her wasp venom tea made a comforting bulk within. The only thing Brin had burned was Tycho's very ordinary tea.

  She set the pouch on the table and rose once more. This time she went to the shuttered windows. Rags and scraps had been stuffed into the cracks in the shutters in an attempt to keep out the winter wind. Veseene picked a bit of red wool out of a big knothole and put her eye to the hole. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness outside, but she saw exactly what she had expected to see. There was a man, not one of the neighbors, lingering in a doorway across the street. If she tried to leave and warn Tycho before Brin found him, she would be seen.

  There might be another way.

  Veseene went to the cupboard, fetched herself a cup, and opened the linen package of tea. With shaking hands, she measured out one dose. Then another. And another. The blazing fire had the kettle already boiling. Veseene wrapped her hands in rags, swung the kettle off the fire, and heaved it off the hook. The effort left her gasping and she had to rest before she could pour the hot water into her cup. The acrid smell of the tea stung her eyes as it always did-and worse for being triple strength.

  Sephera had given her careful instructions on the taking of the tea. A single spoonful of the crumbled mixture, steeped, in the morning, at midday, and in the evening. More than that was dangerous. A single dose would ease her palsy for a time; stronger doses might suppress it but at the cost of cutting the effectiveness of weaker brews later.

  That seemed like a small enough price now.

  Veseene waited only until the triple-strength tea had grown dark red-like water-thin blood-and bitter before snatching up the cup and sipping at it. The tea was hot. The touch of it scalded her tongue. She kept drinking as fast as she could, though, blowing across the surface of the liquid between sips. The scalded feeling spread across her tongue, but the warmth spread in her belly and throat as well. Before she had drained the cup to the granular mash at its bottom, the warmth had worked its way into her limbs and head, too. It settled there, like sharp fire. The cup didn't rattle against the tabletop when she set it down. Veseene held out a hand before her eyes.

  It didn't move. Her ears were ringing. The light of the fire seemed especially bright, as if her pupils were wide after being too long in the dark. Veseene drew a deep breath and, for the first time in three years, sang. Truly sang.

  The music was glorious, an explosion of joy from the core of her being-then magic swept over her as well, like an old lover come back. Veseene shivered at its touch and let the moment draw out. How long had it been? Too long. It couldn't last though.

  The spell wasn't a powerful one. It needed guidance, a destination. She had told Brin she didn't know where Tycho was. That was the truth. She did, however, know her friend and one-time apprentice too well. If tonight was anything like most of Tycho's nights, she could guess where he would be. Eventually. The spell would wait for him. Veseene wove its magic into her song, shaping it and releasing it in a glorious burst. The shutters on the window knocked together as it passed through them like a gust of wind.

  Her song faltered. Weakness surged over her and she grabbed at the table for support, swaying for a moment before easing herself around to her couch. The ringing in her ears was becoming a blinding headache. Sephera had never mentioned that the tea might do that! Veseene lay back, eyes squeezed tight against the glare of the fire and prayed to Mystra, goddess of magic, that her guess had been right and Tycho heard her warning.

  CHAPTER 8

  The sun shone bright in a clear, pale sky. In the small formal garden of the family compound, Kuang Yu Chien's beaming face was almost as bright.

  "Yu Mao," he said.

  Li watched his brother step forward, stiff and dignified, trying his best to imitate their elders. Heir to the workshops and fortune of Kuang, how could he do any less? Li tried his best to remain calm himself. It wasn't easy with a feeling like a hundred bees buzzing through his belly. In two years he would stand where Yu Mao did now. For the second son of Kuang, he knew, the ceremony would be less impressive, but what did that matter at a moment like this?

  Yu Mao bowed low before their father, holding himself in the submissive posture for exactly the length of time that propriety demanded, no more, no less. Li could have counted the time, too-he had watched Yu Mao practicing for hours. There was so much that the future head of the family needed to know, so many small details of etiquette, so many little rituals. Some day Yu Mao would be one of the most important men of Keelung, negotiating with traders and Imperial officials for the fine fabric of the silk families. Inscrutable, unflappable. Li had stood behind Yu Mao and peered through a screen watching Yu Chien negotiate, and on those occasions, their father was like some kind of wondrous automaton, flawless in his self-control.

  Not today. The only rain of the fine summer afternoon stood out on
Yu Chien's cheeks. Even so, his voice was strong and easy. "Blessings upon you, my son."

  "Blessings on you, honored father." Yu Mao's voice was already deep. The formal words of the ceremony rolled out of him like cartwheels. "May your years be as numerous as leaves on a tree. May each of them give you memories as sweet as a peach."

  "Leaves fall in winter and new buds come forth each spring. Every peach must ripen. Every boy must grow into a man." Yu Chien's smile quivered slightly with emotion as, for the first time, he bowed to Yu Mao. It was really little more than a nod, Li knew, but it might just as well have been the humblest abasement. "Mayjyowryears be as numerous as leaves on a tree. May each of them give you memories as sweet as a peach." Yu Chien straightened. "Now, my son, take up the tools of a man."

  He tapped his thumb and second finger together. To the left of his chair and standing beside Mother, Great-Aunt Ya made a more vigorous gesture and from behind a screen of bamboo stepped Cousin Mei, dressed all in red. Li caught his breath. She looked beautiful, more than a suitable match for the next patriarch of the Kuang. Yu Mao, however, seemed more interested in the red-stained case that she carried. Mei knelt before him and opened it. Resting on silk within was the most beautiful pair of butterfly swords Li had ever seen-easily as beautiful as Cousin Mei. They were adult weapons, heavier and much keener than a child's training blades. Yu Mao removed them carefully, inspected them, and bowed twice-once to his future wife and once, more deeply, to his father. "I will make the ancestors of Kuang proud," he promised. He bowed again and sunlight flashed on the butterfly swords…

  … just as lantern light flashed on the cheap brass mesh that restrained the considerable bosom of the woman who walked boldly up to Li. "Olore, elf-man," she said with naked interest, "have you had a long voyage?" She leaned over so the shiny mesh shifted and exposed more of the shadowed chasm of her cleavage. "Maybe you're feeling a little lonely."