Savage Messiah

CHAPTER XLI

Staring out of his hired carriage-of-four, Bratach couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. So far, all was going according to plan.

The assassin Satine had begun her sanctions, the Orb of the Vigors continued to spew forth its deadly energy, and the royal palace was in a state of uproar. By now, not only should his master have conjured forth the Earthshakers and summoned the Council of Seven, but the Black Ships should also be in his service. Unless Bratach missed his guess, Wulfgar would be sailing for Eutracia any day now.

As he watched the Eutracian streets slide by, one corner of Bratach's mouth turned up. There was very little-if anything-that could stop them now. Soon the Vigors would be extinguished, the royal house and the two wizards dealt with, and the coming war fought and won. Then the Enseterat would stride the earth like a colossus and control the fate of the craft for all time.

Bratach had purchased secondhand the dark, shopworn trousers and simple peasant shirt he wore, along with the dirty knee boots, so as to better fit in with common Eutracian society. Having worn the dark blue robe of a consul for most of his adult life, he felt strangely out of place in these pedestrian clothes. But the last thing he needed was to be publicly greeted by another onetime consul of the Redoubt-even though Nicholas had made them all brothers in service to the Vagaries.

The thought of Nicholas saddened him. Other than the Enseterat, he had never known such a perfect being. Nicholas had come heartbreakingly close to achieving his victory, only to perish upon his masterpieces, the Gates of Dawn. But this time they would not fail, and the Jin'Sai would pay dearly.

Suddenly the carriage came to a halt, returning Bratach's thoughts to the present.

"This is it!" he heard the driver shout down. "That'll be two kisa, if you please."

Bratach swung open the carriage door and stepped into the busy street. After gazing about for a moment, he found what he was looking for. Smiling to himself, he walked toward the driver and quickly conjured several kisa. As he drew them from his pocket, the newly created coins sparkled brightly in the sun. He handed four of them up.

"Here are two extra," he said. "Wait for me nearby. I won't be long."

Greedily fingering the golden coins, the driver smiled. "Very well, sir," he answered.

"Don't stray far. I'll be right back."

As Bratach watched, the driver took his carriage around the corner. Then Bratach looked around. What he was searching for was down the next street to the left. Eager to reach his destination, he set off.

It was still morning and the sun shined brightly. As he entered the busy roundabout, he was at first dismayed to see the place so full of people. But he was resigned to wait as long as necessary. As it had the days before, the fountain in the center splashed happily.

Walking over to a nearby vendor, he surreptitiously conjured several more kisa and exchanged them for a massive, freshly roasted turkey leg. Chewing like a contented peasant, he walked to the fountain and sat down upon its edge.

By the time the turkey leg was gone, the crowd surrounding him had thinned out a bit. Shifting his weight slightly, he placed one hand down into the cool water. He looked around once more and closed his eyes.

He removed his hand from the water and peered down. As he did, he employed the craft to cause a small area of the surface to calm. He smiled as he read the message that had formed from the grains Vivian had left there yesterday.

It is done, he read.

After scanning the remainder of the message he closed his eyes again. The grains vanished and the water stirred once more.

Wulfgar's consul stood to walk back to his carriage. Finding himself in a particularly cheerful mood, he decided to do some shopping before heading back to meet Ivan. AS BRATACH'S CARRIAGE APPROACHED THE ARCHERY SHOP, HE saw that the "Open" sign hanging in the window showed red letters rather than black. Before leaving for the roundabout he had ordered Ivan to display it, hoping that Satine would see it and enter. If Vivian had known about Geldon's death as late as yesterday, it was possible that the dwarf's killer had by now returned to the city.

Bratach entered the shop, his package under one arm. The little bell over the door cheerfully announced his presence.

One customer was at the counter, talking with Ivan. The fellow was trying to decide whether to purchase arrows fletched with highland goose quill or the teal feathers of a three-winged triad lark.

As usual Ivan was sweating heavily, his red sleeve garters ringed with perspiration. When he saw Bratach he gave a short nod. Bratach nodded back. Deciding to wait out the customer, he wandered about for a bit.

Finally the customer paid for his arrows and left. Ivan locked the door behind him, turned the sign around to read "Closed," and drew the window shades. Then he looked at Bratach.

"She's downstairs," he said.

"Good," Bratach answered.

He went to the back of the shop and down the hidden stairs, Ivan following.

Satine was sitting at the table, her long legs propped on it. As Bratach walked in she regarded him calmly. He placed his package down, and then he and Ivan sat.

Bratach poured a glass of wine. After taking a long draft, he addressed Satine.

"My confederate in the palace has confirmed that the dwarf is dead," he said. "Congratulations."

A smile crossed Satine's lips. "Of course he's dead," she answered. "I never miss."

She reached into her cloak and removed the two parchments that Wulfgar had given her that day at the Citadel. Removing her legs from the table, she sat upright, unrolled the documents, and unsheathed one of her daggers. With four quick, expert cuts, she excised Geldon's likeness from the scroll. Holding the picture to the candle, she watched it turn to ash. As she let the last bit of it flutter away, she rubbed her fingers together.

"One down," she said.

"Indeed," Bratach answered. "However, for the time being you are to do nothing." Casually, he began to unfasten the package's wrapping.

Satine narrowed her eyes. "And just why is that?" she asked. "I don't like sitting around, waiting for your orders. Even if you are of the craft."

"For the simple reason that my spy tells me there are no available targets just now," Bratach answered.

He reached into the package and produced a small wheel of cheese, a blood sausage, and a loaf of gingerwheat bread. He placed them on a plate that looked something less than clean, took up a knife, and cut a wedge of the cheese. He offered it to her. Satine shook her head. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then took another sip of the wine.

"It seems that, at the moment, all of your targets are either safely ensconced in the palace or out of the country altogether," he mused.

"Common sense dictates that we wait-at least until my spy informs me of a more promising opportunity."

Satine looked hard at Ivan, then at Bratach. "If common sense had anything to do with this, I would never have accepted these sanctions in the first place," she argued. "I'm strictly in it for the money. The sooner I finish, the sooner I collect the other half." She leaned back in her chair again. "The palace walls mean nothing to me," she went on. "And my blood is not endowed. Unless I'm careless, the wizards and the acolytes will not detect my presence. And I'm never careless."

She pointed down at the parchments. "If I can manage it, who do you want disposed of next?"

As he took another sip of wine, Bratach considered her words. What she proposed was risky. But the idea of killing one of them right under the wizard's noses was tempting. If Satine could accomplish it, Wulfgar would be very pleased. And then Bratach, as Wulfgar's loyal consul, could take the credit. With the return of the Enseterat, there would soon be a new order in the land, and Bratach had every intention of standing with those at the very pinnacle of power. Such an audacious act might help accomplish that.

"Very well, then," he finally answered. "You may try. I can help your cause by providing you with detailed plans of the palace and the Redoubt. This must be planned exceedingly well, Satine. You must not fail us."

"I never fail," she answered. "But you have yet to tell me which one of them to kill."

With the point of his knife, Bratach pulled the parchments closer. Pursing his lips in thought, he looked down at the likenesses. Then made his choice and stabbed the knife through the drawing and into the tabletop.

"This one," he said. He looked over at Ivan. "A fitting choice, don't you think?"

Ivan smiled. "By all means," he answered.

Bratach looked back over at Satine. "As long as you are here, we might as well fill you in," he said. "Ivan, fetch me some parchment."

After some rummaging around, Ivan returned with several sheets and placed them on the table. Bratach looked down and narrowed his eyes. Fascinated, Satine watched as the consul began to burn an image of the first floor of the palace into the sheet.

In the end, it would prove to be a very long day.