A Scoundrel's Song

29

For some, unfathomable, reason, Akafa was not hovering near Herit as the girl clambered up and down the rocks below where she and Niico had almost died. Nothing appeared to bother the child. Ever. Not a thing. Not almost dying several times. Not having leather-clad priests chasing her from one side of Larissa to the other, and certainly not the smashed and broken bodies of two of those priests that now adorned the rocks in a bloody relief of some kind of artistic, if grotesque endeavour.

Niico tried not to show any concern for the girl as he and Dreviino examined what was left of the bodies. They had hit the bottom of this sheer rock face with some force, breaking most of their bones, leaving them unrecognisable, save for their clothing and the maces that lay beside, and within, the remains. The maces looked undamaged and Niico felt glad he had never felt their touch. So far.

"There must be something. A bounty poster. Drawings of everyone. Perhaps a written description. Something." Trying not to heave, Niico lifted a blood-soaked coat, peering beneath. "They keep appearing. Everywhere we go. I don't, can't, won't believe in coincidence."

"It was coincidence that brought you to us, yes?" Dreviino showed no such squeamishness as Niico, moving the body she examined as though it wasn't previously a living being. "I know of these people. They are far and wide. Perhaps they have Senders in their ranks?"

Senders were followers of Grava Kha, Patron of Thoughts. If others were to be believed, Senders were given the gift of transmitting their thoughts to one another over great distances by their Patron, enabling them to communicate and pass messages across the world. For a fee, of course. Niico had never seen it with his own eyes, however, so took that with a hand full of salt. Were he of a mind, he could make people think he could do that trick with little effort. People believed what they wanted to believe and gave enough clues to allow Niico to estimate the words they wanted to hear.

Pel had an extraordinary talent for that. She often played the part of a seer, a medium, giving people the comfort of 'talking' with their loved ones who had died. One of the few things that Niico did not feel afraid to say she was better at. Pel could look at a person and know what they wanted to hear, and a few, subtle, questions would reveal anything else. The Senders, Niico chose to believe, employed the same tricks.

"Maybe they hear Diaste Kha? Like me?" The girl dropped beside Niico, as light on her feet as a cat, and squatted next to him, curling her nose at the body he examined. "I try not to listen, but she's very loud when she wants to be."

"What?" Niico made certain, absolutely certain, that he said that word in as calm a voice as possible. "You're making that up."

He rose to his feet, hoping that he gave the impression of nonchalance and not, as he truly felt, a building rage that could explode at any moment. He looked away, wiping a hand down the bottom half of his face, noticing a growth of stubble and telling himself to remember to shave. He had to do that so that he didn't start shaking Herit by the shoulders to make her admit this was but another of her fancies. He glanced to Dreviino and she shrugged.

"I have heard of such things. Most Patrons are silent to their followers." She dipped her hands into a puddle, that hadn't evaporated away in the baking sunlight, and then rubbed them dry. "Some, like Guid Kha, talks much. He did, after all, give us the Common Tongue. I hear Elea Kha speaks to a few, choice adherents. Of Diaste Kha, I cannot say."

"She doesn't say much, though." Herit had moved away and now attempted to lift one of the maces. Failing to move it an inch, effort evident upon her features. "Just the usual. 'You will return to me, child!'. 'You are mine and I shall never let you go!'. That sort of thing. All growly and grrr. I think she thinks she's scary, but she just sounds silly to me."