The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 24: Under the Gallows, Part 2

 Ammas turned and looked out the window. On the very edge of his vision he could see the shape of Barthim's cart. That prosaic image forcibly reminded of Varallo Thray's carriage waiting for him in that same courtyard, and what had happened at the conclusion of their journey to Talinara. A shudder worked up his spine. But there were more immediate matters to deal with. "Denisius?" he asked, that twist of guilt reasserting itself.

"I am thinking Lord Marhollow is no longer so interested in marrying her, but that is one thing to be considering, yes."

Ammas looked at him with a start. "What are you talking about?"

Barthim frowned down into the courtyard. "Just the way he is acting since we left Autumnsgrove. Distant from her, sour when he should be sweet. What he did in Vilais was brave, but it was the act of a man who is no longer thinking of the future, of pretty brides and babes in clouts. But it is more than Lord Marhollow, and you know it, Ammas."

"Tell me what it is you think I know," he said softly, but with needles lurking in the softness.

Barthim was unruffled. "When you cure her, she is going back to Talinara, then either to Denisius or to whatever husband her father chooses. You know that, Ammas."

"There might be no cure, Barthim. These wolves -- "

"And if you do not cure her," Barthim pressed on, "you cannot be bringing her to Munazyr. And if you are thinking about it, you know that, too."

Now his voice was more needles than softness. "I don't know any such thing."

"You do not?" Barthim said quietly. "The Argent Council, the Doge, Mielle Thalia -- they tolerate you. Some of them are more than tolerating you. And well they should. They know what they are having in you. If your Emperor had not been so stupid to crush your fellows, you would be one of their leaders, and they are all knowing that." Barthim's brows drew together, his voice deep and stern. "But they will not be tolerating you keeping a pet werewolf in their city."

"Carala is no pet -- " he began hotly. Barthim cut him off.

"And you are thinking they will see it that way? You are not that naive, Ammas."

The pleasant little fantasy he had half-secretly harbored was crumbling. Barthim was absolutely right. "She's the Emperor's daughter, though -- "

"And that will be making things worse. You are knowing how the Munazyri feel about the Deyns. Until recently, you were feeling just the same. They might put up with a tamed wolf if you could prove such to them, or a tamed Deyn Princess -- but not both."

"I might not return to Munazyr," Ammas said, half to himself, and with a near childishness that was almost sulky. Barthim regarded him with an unbearable sympathy. "There are other places we might go -- Summervale, Aznia, even into Q'Sivaris -- "

"Will you send Casimir back to the Lioness? I cannot watch him forever, Ammas."

That hit him like a hammer blow to the chest. Bracing one arm on the sill, Ammas leaned against the window, staring dispiritedly into the courtyard. "If I can't cure her, I won't abandon her. Whatever her father is, she doesn't deserve that. Casimir could come with us."

Barthim shook his head, laying a huge hand on his friend's shoulder. "I hope things turn out as you are wishing. But I think the wolf we hunt is in this city, and some part of you is hoping it is not. If you bring her to Munazyr and she is still with the wolf, I will stand by you, even if Mielle is throwing you into the deepest pit in Titansgrave. I do not think that will be happening. You must be preparing yourself to say goodbye to her." There was a hesitance in his voice, and somehow Ammas knew what he said next was borne of the knowledge of what happened to Senrich and Renelle. Vos must have told all of them, gods knew why. "The Emperor is no friend to you. He will never let you keep her."

Ammas closed his eyes, knowing it was true. He found his own hand groping for Barthim's, squeezing it, taking comfort in the man's tremendous size and larger heart.

Casimir's voice echoed up the stairway. "Ammas? Denisius is here. They're standing out by the gate. Should I go bring them in?"

"No," Ammas said, his voice too rough and cracked to be heard downstairs. He drew a deep breath, cleared his throat, and said it again, more strongly this time. "No, Casimir. Wait for us. We'll go out to them together."

Barthim drew him into a fortifying embrace, clapping him on the back. "Take heart, Ammas. You are not being the first man to lose his wits to a pretty face. Cure her and there is no harm being done to either of you."

"I don't want to talk about this right now, Barthim." He had already extricated himself from Barthim's arms and turned from the window, heading toward the stairway with a purpose he didn't really feel.

"Then we will not be talking about it," Barthim said kindly, jogging to catch up with him. "But I am always here for you, my good friend. And Cass too."

That brought a faint smile to Ammas's face, and it was with better spirits he called Carala and his apprentice to his side, leading all of them out into the courtyard. Denisius and Vos were waiting for them beyond the gate, both hooded, both with hands on sword-hilts. Vos was keeping a steady watch, and Ammas thought the two of them seemed distinctly on edge.

"Well," Ammas said with a smile that felt forced as his eyes met Denisius's, the gate creaking open in one hand. "You're here earlier than expected. Another convenient fire?"

"No," Denisius replied, drawing closer to Ammas as though he feared being overheard. "The warehouse has been seized. About half a dozen armed guards are watching the place. Their commander seems to be high-ranking; his uniform is trimmed with gold. He's at least a captain; he might even be a general or a marshal."

Instinctively Ammas looked to Vos for some contradiction, but found none there. "City guardsmen?" he asked.

"Imperial soldiers."

Ammas frowned. "From where? Tower Palefrost?"

Vos shook his head. "Palefrost is responsible for the Gallowsport garrison, but we saw no livery from the tower. They wear no livery at all."

"How do you know they're Imperial soldiers, then?"

"The weapons. The stances. They want it known who they are, but not where they're from."

Ammas leaned against the gate, his arms crossed, trying to absorb what this could mean. "Denisius's messages must have reached the Chalcedony Palace. That must be why the witch-finders were sent to Vilais, too."

"That's what I thought," said Denisius, frowning toward the harbor. "But they've already been here. By the time Vos and I first got here they had already arrested all the Swiftfoot they could find. That was weeks ago."

"They must know there is a rift among the Swiftfoot, that they did not capture all of them, maybe none of the wolves at all," Carala said.

"How are they knowing such a thing?" Barthim asked, bewildered himself. "We did not know that when good Denisius sent his message."

"We can stand here trying to puzzle it out all day," Ammas said shortly, "or we can take a direct approach. Lord Marhollow, do you still have that Imperial writ?"

Denisius grinned. "Is it finally going to be useful?"