Deadhouse Landing

The man took a steadying breath, and seeing that gesture Dancer understood just how extraordinarily important the business was to him. ‘With the two of you, then. In private.’

Dancer nodded. ‘Very well.’ He gestured Dassem to the stairs. ‘Let’s talk.’ He nodded to Surly, Later, but as she watched them go she was scowling her dissatisfaction even more.

When they entered the office, Kellanved was standing at the window, rocking back and forth on his heels. He turned when Dancer shut the door, and nodded to Dassem. ‘What brings you to Malaz Island? Changed your mind?’

‘In a way,’ the man answered stiffly. ‘A service for a service.’

‘This being?’

The fellow was very uncomfortable. Obviously not used to explaining himself, he cleared his throat and said, ‘I have something I wish to place in the Deadhouse.’

‘It’s not some kind of damned storage closet,’ Dancer snorted, going to a small table to pour himself a glass of wine.

Kellanved was slowly shaking his head in thought. ‘Well … it sort of is, actually. And in return?’

‘In return I shall serve you.’

Dancer spluttered on his drink. He eyed the swordsman, wiping his shirt front. ‘You, serve us?’

Dassem’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d detected some sort of insult. ‘My word is good…’

Kellanved raised his hands placatingly. ‘Please do not misunderstand. We do not doubt your word. It is just that … our goals may not be aligned.’

‘I care nothing for your goals. I will serve you.’

Dancer eyed Kellanved, raising a brow.

The mage tapped his walking stick to the floorboards, rocked back and forth again. ‘Well, this is all very hypothetical anyway. We may not even be able to re-enter the House.’

Dassem took hold of the door latch. ‘Then let us see.’

Kellanved and Dancer exchanged glances once more and Dancer shrugged. The mage pointed his stick to the door. ‘Very well…’

*   *   *

Dassem led them to the edge of town. Here, at an old dwelling constructed of flat fieldstones, he brought out a bundle and laid it in a cart. A bearded old man in rags lived in the shack, and kept bowing to Dassem the entire time.

When they left, Dassem pulling the cart, Dancer couldn’t help glancing back. The oldster was on his knees in the dirt, hands raised in prayer.

‘An adherent of Hood,’ Dassem explained.

Kellanved led the way to the House. Dancer brought up the rear, behind the cart. His neck kept itching as it did when he was under observation and he turned his head to see a slim young lad in dark clothes following them at a distance. He frowned, but continued on, glancing back every so often to keep track of the young fellow. He didn’t like the smug smile on his face – as if he were privy to some amusing secret known only to him.

At the House, Dassem gently picked up the fat roll of blankets and carried it in both arms. Kellanved opened the little iron gate. They walked up the stone path, Dancer in the rear. When Kellanved paused on the broad landing before the door, Dancer looked back and saw the pale lad at the fieldstone wall. The smile was gone. He appeared rather sour now.

As Kellanved hesitated, Dassem reached in past him and took the latch. To Dancer’s great surprise it lifted, and the swordsman pushed open the door. Kellanved entered, while Dancer came in last. As he closed the door behind him, he glimpsed the pale lad’s scowl.

Dassem gently laid the roll down in a side room just off the entrance hall. Dancer and Kellanved watched, curious. He drew back folds of the rolled blankets to reveal the head and face of a young Dal Hon girl, her eyes closed, her hair a sweaty mess, to all appearances asleep.

‘What’s this?’ Dancer asked.

Dassem did not look up from the girl. ‘Someone I swore I would protect.’

‘She will be safe here,’ said Kellanved, and Dancer was quite surprised by how serious the mage sounded.

With the back of his hand, Dassem eased the girl’s sweaty hair from her face, nodding. ‘So I was assured.’

Dancer was going to ask who in the Abyss had assured him of that when the mage brushed his hands together, announcing, ‘Good. So, we have an accord?’

Kneeling next to the girl, the swordsman bowed his head. ‘We have an accord.’

‘Excellent. You will accompany us, then. We have an … errand, of a sort, to run.’

Dancer eyed his partner in open suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

Kellanved was grinning. ‘You’ll see…’

Shadows now came swirling up about them and Dancer raised a warning finger. ‘I told you! No sudden damned—’

The three disappeared, leaving dust motes and a few dried leaves and needles to swirl about the sleeping girl. After a time, heavy footsteps sounded and the armoured colossus appeared in the arched entryway. The helmed head lowered as it regarded this strange new visitor.

*   *   *

The first thing Tayschrenn became aware of were his hands and feet – they prickled abominably. Next, his arms and legs registered their agonizing reawakening, and he groaned. Or thought he did.