Well of the Damned

Chapter 37





Cirang had one last task to complete before she left Ambryce: to empty her waterskin into one of the city’s wells, though she had some reservations. The public wells contained a large enough supply of water to dilute the water in her skin and reduce its effect, if any, on those who drank it. She couldn’t be certain what she had was anything more than plain spring water. Perhaps she should pay some street urchin to drink it as a test. That way she could observe the effect on the child before she poured it into the well.

As she rode through the streets of Ambryce, she exchanged greetings with the townsfolk she passed, playing the part of the First Royal Guard. All she needed to do was stay out of Kinshield’s reach until she saw the effect the water had on those who consumed it. If it did what it was reputed to do, she would plan her next step. If not, then she would follow her original plan to return to Nilmaria.

If this water was enchanted, it could make her very wealthy. Plenty of things were traded on the black market — warrant tags, illegal poisons and potions, orphans — but the problem with selling the water that way was the reliance on word of mouth. Those who drank it might consider themselves more enlightened than, perhaps morally superior to, others and might not spread word. In fact, they might tattle to the city guard, leading to her capture. On the other hand, she couldn’t very well open a shop and sell the water to the public like wine or coffee. She could, however, sell it to merchants and distributors. Her advantage was being the only person who knew its source.

She turned a corner and came to a stop, held up by a crowd of people, horses and wagons so thick, it would take hours to get through. Ahead, the street was a sea of heads and hats seeming to float in place, unmoving.

“What’s going on?” she asked someone beside her.

“The queen,” the man grumbled.

Hell’s teeth! Feanna would recognize her and have her arrested on sight. The queen was reputed to be a sniveling martyr, but no idiot would forgive Cirang for kidnapping her to feed to a demon. She needed to take another route.

“Why aren’t you with her?” the man asked. He was well dressed in stylishly fitted trousers and a billowing shirt with a waistcoat beneath a fitted jacket and rain cloak. Though he wore a hat, he also carried a rainshade. “You’re wearing the royal colors.”

“I’m on a mission for the king, actually,” she said. “What’s Queen Feanna doing out in the rain?”

“Don’t know,” he said, “but nobody seems to mind. Everyone wants to get a look at her.”

“She’s takin’ some orphans shopping,” a woman said. “She took ’em to the bookman yesterday.”

“It’s a damned nuisance, if you ask me,” the man said. “I’m just trying to get to the Temple to take my sacrament. Didn’t think I’d have to wade through a sea of spectators to get there.”

A thought lit Cirang’s mind, energizing her instantly. The sacrament! It was brilliant.

“It’s worse than Tern was during the coronation!” someone replied.

“Rain be damned,” the first man said.

“After almost four weeks o’this, you got to wonder if the rumors’re true.”

“Bah! Just lies born o’jealousy.”

Cirang quit listening as her mind spun. As a child, she’d followed her parents to the temple every month to pay homage to the god Asti-nayas, but she’d never truly believed in an all-powerful supernatural force that ruled people’s lives. Tyr had subscribed to the Nilmarion belief that humans were spiritually governed by twelve gods, not just one. Though the two faiths were different, the people of Thendylath and Nilmaria shared a common goal: a good life and a better afterlife. A more prosperous life. More power, more money, more sex, more wisdom, greater health. Communing with the Savior Asti-nayas by drinking the blessed water within the temple was said to grant these things and more to worshipers He deemed worthy.

In her waterskins, Cirang had the power to enlighten the people of Ambryce and make them see that Asti-nayas was but a fairy tale. Once she gave them this, they would know the twelve true gods and worship them properly. For that, they would owe her. They would do things for her, just as they’d done for Tyr.

Inspired by her new purpose, she turned the horse back the way she’d come and circled around the central merchant district to avoid the traffic while she formed a plan in her mind: to hide in the temple until she was sure it was safe to leave the city. Yes, it was risky, but the payoff was well worth it. The chances of Kinshield looking for her there were slim. She pulled off the mail shirt, stuffed it into her knapsack and then rode to the temple to scout the area.

The Spirit of the Savior Holy Temple of Asti-nayas was one of the most beautiful buildings in Ambryce with its tall, arched roof and four bells in the belfry that rang the hour from dawn until midnight. Its reddish bricks stood out against the dull beige and gray of the surrounding shops and houses. The casement windows were made from different colored glass, arranged in patterns that resembled symbols of the faith. Before she could get started, she needed a place to keep the horse for a few days.

Just down the street, a sign reading The Good Knight Inn hung by one corner from the eve of a small, dilapidated building, and swung in the breeze with a rhythmic squeak of its rusty chain. She tied her horse to the hitching post, jogged up the porch steps and opened the door. A musty smell assaulted her nose, and the floor creaked under her as she approached the counter.

A man pushed past an ugly brown curtain. He was average height with graying hair, and his right arm ended just below the elbow, probably from crossing the wrong person. “Help you, Lady Sister?” he asked.

“I need a room for a couple of days,” she said, ignoring the erroneous title. She should have taken Calinor’s warrant tag from his body so when she wasn’t wearing the mail, she would have another badge to win people’s trust. That was a problem she could address later.

“You got a horse?”

Cirang nodded.

“Then that’ll be five pielars per night.”

She paid the man for three nights and held her hand out for the key.

“We got no keys here. Take whichever room you like. They’re all empty. Bar the door from the inside. If you got somethin’ valuable you want to keep safe, you can leave it with me.”

He followed her outside and whistled for the stable hand. A boy of about twelve sprinted over, gave the horse’s neck a pat and untied the reins. “What’s his name?” he asked.

She didn’t know. It had a broad, golden face with a white streak that went halfway down, and a neatly trimmed forelock of darker gold. The first name that came to mind was Calinor. Naming the horse after the ’ranter who’d hunted Tyr for so long was a symbol of her domination over the slain battler. She settled on a shortened version of it. “This is Calin,” she told him as she untied the saddle bag.

“Come on, Calin,” he said softly. “Let’s get you some hay.”

Cirang chose the room farthest from the inn’s office. A rope dangled through a hole in the door up near the top, and when she pulled it, the bar on the inside lifted, and the door swung open.

It was about ten feet square with a wide bed, small table with a pair of candles atop it, and two stools. With the door barred shut, the only light came in through the cracks between the door and its frame and the gap around the rope pull. She set her knapsack on the stool and saddlebag on the table, unstrapped her weapons, and lay down. The bed was straw-filled and lumpy, but better by far than any bed in a gaol cell.