“I’ll put you in ribbons, you stupid fool! Come on.” Still pulling on his hair, she walked inside, saying to the groom, “Fetch my packages out of the carriage and deliver them to my room. Not a scratch on them, or you’ll pay for them with your teeth.”
A few yards inside the door, Kihrin dug in his heels, grabbed his hair, and pulled. “Gods damn it. Let go of me, you hag.”
She dropped his hair and glared at him. “I shouldn’t, but you’re lucky enough to be doing something stupid when I’m in a good mood.” She tugged off her gloves and dropped them on the floor in the middle of the hallway. “Come with me quietly and there’ll be no need to have the guards drag you with me in chains.”
Kihrin glowered. “I was just going to go fetch—”
“You were running away,” she corrected. “I have lived in this house for fifteen years. Believe me, I know the signs.” Just then remembering something, she held out the back of her hand to him. “How rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Alshena D’Mon. That is, I am your stepmother.”
“My condolences,” he whispered under his breath as he kissed her hand. To his complete surprise, she giggled.
Her face turned serious again. She removed the ivory fan from her purse and spread it wide, waving it to cool herself. She presented her right arm to Kihrin and said, “Come now, child. Walk with me. We will talk about why what you did was so stupid and how it might easily have resulted in your death. Then we’ll discuss how you can avoid being stupid in the future. If such a thing is even possible.”
She smiled. “You should try to pay attention, young man. It might well save your life.”
37: THE NEW TUTOR
(Kihrin’s story)
I sat on a grouping of volcanic rocks and watched the schooner anchored in the small narrow bay. We were on the opposite side of the island from where the Old Man was building his new mountain bed, which was probably a vast comfort for everyone present.
A small gathering of Brotherhood members assembled on the black beaches to welcome the ship and ready those who would sail away on her. Kalindra stood in that crowd. I’m sure she knew I was watching, but she never turned her head.
The crew of the ship lowered a small boat over the side, whose passengers rowed it to the beach. A tall human man climbed out of the boat, holding several packages and a displeased scowl I saw from a hundred feet away. More boats followed the first one. Kalindra and her associates assigned to foreign destinations rowed out to the ship. Within half an hour, the beach was empty except for the few Brotherhood still unloading supplies and the single new arrival.
The man dressed simply, though his boots looked expensive—the thigh-high Quuros style popular among duelists and horsemen. He was bald and taller than most Quuros, the height of a vané. He looked familiar.
The newcomer stood there and scanned the beach, the island, his expression a study in reluctance and distaste. His gaze rolled over me and stopped dead.
I didn’t feel like moving, so I sat there and waited as the new arrival marched up the beach toward me. I returned the man’s stare with cool hostility. My mouth was full of the bitter taste of Kalindra’s departure and the skin on my cheek throbbed from Teraeth’s punch.
Seriously, that man has a right hook like a morgage gladiator.
“So, you’re the one who’s caused all this fuss,” the newcomer said as he crested the rocks.
I scowled as I remembered where I’d seen him before. “I know you. You’re that bartender from the Culling Fields with the cute daughter.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know you. Aren’t you that velvet boy from the Shattered Veil Club?”
I flushed with anger. Not just because of the slam, but because this man was supposed to be my teacher; I felt a double dose of betrayal. He was no swordmaster. How could he be? He looked like he spent more time cleaning the bar, chatting up customers, and sampling his own wares than he ever spent practicing fencing forms.
Darzin would pick this man apart.
“No. I’m not.”
“Then maybe I’m not here to teach you the proper way to serve ginger wine.” He offered me a hand up. “Call me Doc.”
I ignored the hand and stood on my own, brushing myself off. “Let me guess. People come to your bar and you cure what ‘ales’ them.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. I should have someone make a sign for the bar.”
“You picked a hell of a place to take a vacation. The view’s nice, but the women here will kill you.”
Doc laughed, not pleasantly. “So nothing’s changed.” As he looked up the side of the mountain, Doc’s expression turned grim. “Where is she?”
He couldn’t be referring to Tyentso. “Khaemezra?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t know. Really don’t care right now either, except…” I ground my teeth and started walking. “I guess I need to give her a piece of my mind about a few things. Anyway, follow me. I’ll take you to Teraeth. He usually knows.”
I was a few steps up the path before I realized Doc wasn’t following. I glanced back to see the man still standing there, looking toward me with an expression of paralyzed shock.
“What did I say?”
“Who’s Teraeth?” Doc asked.
I blinked. “You’re one of the Black Brotherhood, right?”
Doc raised his chin. “I never said that.”
“You know enough about them to know who Khaemezra is. How could you have avoided meeting her son?”
Doc flinched as if slapped. He closed his eyes for a second while he clenched his fists. Then he remembered to exhale, released his hands, opened his eyes. “You must be mistaken. Everyone calls her Mother.”
“Except in this case she’s his mother. Why are you acting like she killed your favorite cat?”
“I’m just surprised.” He swallowed several times. “How old is he?”
“Khaemezra said he was around my age, so somewhere between fif teen and twenty. He acts like he thinks he’s old as Ompher and twice as wise.”
“Take me to him.”
I blinked at him. He looked like a nobody, you understand. Nothing special about him except his height. He even had a bit of a potbelly. He didn’t look like a great leader, a hero. He looked, completely and fully, like a bartender.
But High Lord Therin couldn’t have ordered executions with more command. Whoever Doc was, he was a man who expected to be obeyed. His voice snapped orders with more skill than a razor-lined whip.
To be honest, he reminded me of Teraeth. He didn’t look like Teraeth, but then again, neither had Teraeth for the entire sea voyage from Kishna-Farriga.
Manol vané are very good with illusions.
I was tempted to look beyond the First Veil, but I didn’t have the time.
He fell in step behind me as we climbed back toward the cliffs. Normally you’d expect the person walking in back to seem subservient, but he acted like I was an honor escort. His movements were easy and graceful, a dancer who had spent so long practicing his steps they had become a permanent accent on every motion. I supposed the middle-aged man was a better spy than most: he looked ordinary.