The reddish glow was replaced by the blackness of the chamber. The only source of light was the gaping hole in the ceiling. It too dimmed. There was a shadow on the floor below—an obstruction in the light from the world above.
Kiranrao’s voice descended into the gloom. “The day is fading. We are building a fire up here. Would you care to join us for a meal?”
“There is a Preachán saying I admire: If two friends ask you to judge a dispute, don’t accept, because you will lose one friend; on the other hand, if two strangers come with the same request, accept because you will gain one friend.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Paedrin knew his shoulder blade was probably broken. His entire left side had the stinging tingles that made gripping anything with his left hand useless. He was weary from the action and concerned at the blood streaking down Hettie’s face, at Annon’s half-terrified expression holding the dagger, and Erasmus’s sudden pallor. But never would a Bhikhu show his fear.
“I hope there are no onions,” Paedrin said loudly, lifting his voice deliberately. “I cannot abide them. But to be honest, we are not hungry and would not wish to intrude rudely on your supper.”
There was a chuckle. “We have enough provisions to starve you out of there,” Kiranrao replied. “I’m not a fool, and we did not rest. We have trailed you all the way here and know you are tired, wounded, and in possession of Drosta’s treasure. The treasure that Tyrus has successfully hidden from me these many years. I could as easily come down there and kill you all for it myself, but I’m rather lazy by nature as most Vaettir are. Besides, there is other information I want from you.”
Paedrin looked at Annon and cocked his eyebrows. Annon shrugged, confused.
“What information?”
“Where is Tyrus Paracelsus expecting you?”
Again, Paedrin was confused. “Where is he expecting us?”
“Where were you going to meet him after this was finished? Where did he say he would be?”
Annon spoke up. “I mean no disrespect, but Tyrus was not planning on…”
“Don’t waste my time, Druidecht. Please. I abhor it when people play themselves as fools. All of Kenatos is abuzz with the news. I do not rely on wagon trains for my information, surely you realize that. And I do not believe he is dead, or there would not be such a grand reward for information regarding his whereabouts. You were the last to have seen him before the explosion. Surely he told you where he was going?”
Even Hettie was perplexed. She pressed her sleeve against her forehead to stanch the bleeding. “Explosion?” she mouthed.
“Well?” Kiranrao said. “Obviously he sent you here for the blade. Yes, I know it is a blade. But to what purpose?”
Paedrin massaged his shoulder, and it throbbed with agony, nearly making him gasp. He stopped the effort at once. “What business is it of yours where we go and what we do?”
“All business is my business,” he replied testily. “You want to be coy then. Very well. Girl. Finder. Come into the light.”
Hettie stepped forward slowly, gazing up at the gaping hole in the ceiling.
His voice was full of disapproval. “You are Romani. Your assignment here is through. Come up here and tell me what this fuss is all about. You are Tyrus’s niece. I know that to be true. You will not find a more wealthy bidder than I. Not even Tyrus himself, though he chooses not to bid for you. Come.”
Paedrin stepped forward, moving until he was also in the light. He looked up at Kiranrao balefully. “She isn’t yours.”
They stared at each other, Vaettir to Vaettir. “A pity you are wounded, Bhikhu. It might have been interesting otherwise.”
“I’m not the one cowering at the top of a cave. Come down and see how spent I am.”
Hettie gave him a warning look, which he promptly ignored.
“You are Romani, girl. You know you must obey me.”
Hettie gave them an imploring look. “My uncle sent us here for the treasure to buy my freedom.”