animals, pet or livestock, that went missing in Braedon had fallen prey to this pathetic, depraved man. She squelched the thought at once. Keeping her voice low and seductive, she murmured, 'And I think you want this, too, Kannil. Don't you.' It was not phrased as a question, and his answering nod was almost unnecessary.
'When?' he asked, his voice dreamy.
'Soon,' Marrika promised. Soon enough to satisfy her anger, and this twisted man's lust for pain.
CHAPTER SIX
And the Dark Knight turned over his cards, but lo, they were not what they had been! And he knew fear such as had not been his to know, as he looked at She who smiled at him and said, 'None shall cheat Lady Death.'
Deveren was in high spirits as he rode Flamedancer into the bustling crowd that glutted the marketplace. At age ten, the gelding was well into his adult years, but he still had the fiery spirit which had inspired the first half of his name.
The wind was coming from the west, bearing with it the strong, familiar scent of fish and seawater. The salty tang of the ocean mixed with the similarly salty but not so pleasant tang of human sweat. Deveren grimaced slightly. Summer was indeed well on its way; he didn't like to imagine what Market Day would smell like two months from now.
From his elevated perch atop his steed's broad back, Deveren had a good view of all the market stalls. He found what he was looking for-a sign that stated 'Griel's Apothecary,' with smaller letters proclaiming 'Herbs, Incense, Teas, Baths, Cures For All Manor of Ailmints.' Griel was intelligent, no doubt, but he couldn't spell worth a copper penny. Smothering a grin, Deveren urged his mount through the pressing crowd of people. The animal, uncomfortable around so many humans, laid his ears back resentfully but complied. The great chestnut horse picked his way through the throng, lifting and placing his powerful hooves down with the surprisingly delicate grace that had earned him the second part of his name.
Deveren dismounted, letting the animal's reins trail in the dust. No one would steal Flamedancer. Deveren was known in these parts, if only as Fox rather than Lord Deveren Larath, and that was enough to ensure the horse's safety. No thief in his group would touch the beast, and they were well aware that they would probably make more money reporting a theft to Deveren rather than aiding a would-be horse stealer. He gave Flamedancer an absent pat on his sweat-darkened neck and went inside the building.
'Good morning, Griel,' he called, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He saw the thin, elderly man assisting several customers. Griel turned at the sound of his name, and the expression on his face when he saw Deveren changed from slightly annoyed to apprehensive.
'Oh, good morning, Lord Larath. I'll be with you in a moment, sir.' He turned directly back to his customers. 'For your son's respiratory problem, I would suggest this tincture of sundew and hyssop. Mix one drop with ten parts water and have him drink it twice a day before he eats. It will ease his breathing.' He glanced again at the boy, a thin, wheezing child with large dark eyes. The boy glared back sullenly, his little chest heaving. 'Mix it with a little honey,' Griel added. The boy brightened a bit.
The mother smiled warmly, fished a few coins out of her pouch and handed them to Griel. The older man's thin fingers closed over the money as he waved his patrons politely toward the door. He shut the door behind them and leaned against it.
'Fox, you know I can't do anything to help you. You must complete the Grand Theft completely without aid from any the rest of us.'
Deveren feigned innocence. 'Sweet Health, Rabbit, can't I patronize a fellow thief without being accused of ulterior motives?'
'You've never bought from me before,' Rabbit said, still suspicious.
Deveren shrugged his shoulders lazily. 'I happened to be passing by. But, if you're convinced that I'm trying to enlist your aid in my Grand Theft-or Thefts, I should say- then I'll take my business elsewhere. There are certainly other apothecaries in Braedon.' His voice wasn't angry, and in fact he was speaking the truth. If Rabbit proved recalcitrant, he could always go somewhere else. He took a step toward the door, and the herbalist's cupidity won the battle.
'All right, all right, but if you are going to use anything I sell to accomplish your task, I didn't know about it. So, what do you need?'
'First of all, some pine soap.'
Rabbit raised a thin eyebrow. 'Bit early for hunting season, isn't it? No, don't tell me — I don't want to know. 'Spensive, too. I suppose I should have known you'd prefer the best,' he said. He trundled over to a shelf where a variety of soaps, sorted by scent, were piled. Pine did not grow well this far south and this close to the ocean. It had to be imported from the northern climes and was only occasionally made into soap. Its primary users were wealthy landowners who enjoyed hunting; the strong, natural odor of the pine completely obliterated human scent and gave them an edge over their prey. Few cities south of Kasselton had any pine at all, but Braedon was a major port city. Everything in Verold had passed through here at one time or another. If you looked hard enough in the town, you could find just about anything.
Finally Rabbit found a lone cake wrapped in dark green cloth. 'You're lucky. That's the last one, but I'll be getting more in toward the end of the summer.'
'Excellent,' Deveren approved. 'Next, I've been having trouble sleeping lately.' Rabbit's thin lips twitched in a slight smile. 'Guilty conscience?'
'Not in the slightest,' Deveren responded, chuckling a little himself. 'I suppose I'm a bit tense, with the Grand Thefts coming up. What do you recommend?'
'I have a special tincture for sleeplessness already made up. It contains vervain, chamomile, mugwort, a few other similar herbs. Ah, here it is. Mind, this is an extremely strong preparation, so you don't need much. Just a spoonful about an hour before bed should work just fine. Don't increase the dosage.'
'Why not?' Deveren uncorked the vial and sniffed gently. There was the faintest whiff of rum and the not- so-pleasant fragrance of the bitter, earthy herbs themselves.
'Because if you take more than I tell you to take, you'll be sleeping for a week. As I said, strong.'
'Just what I need. How much?' Deveren reached into his bulging pouch, rummaging among the gems and gold kings for more common coinage. A few items tumbled to the hard-packed earth that served as a floor for the shop. Deveren knelt and hastily picked them up, glancing toward the door as he did so.
'Death's breath, Fox!' hissed Rabbit, his parsimonious nature offended by Deveren's cavalier treatment of valuables. 'Empty the damned thing once in a while, will you? Our group isn't quite the noble robbers that you'd like us to be, at least not yet!'
Before the apothecary could blink, a slim, needle-sharp dagger had appeared in Deveren's hand. It seemed to have materialized from nowhere. A second later the weapon quivered in the wooden countertop a fraction of an inch from the startled Rabbit's left hand-exactly where the leader of the thieves had aimed it.
'I've got good reactions,' drawled Deveren. 'But don't think the friendly advice isn't appreciated. Now, how much?'
Shaking, Rabbit clutched his nearly missed hand with his right one. 'Uh… two princes, Your Lordship.'
The man's face was milk pale, and Deveren regretted his impulse to show off before Rabbit. After all, the apothecary was more or less on his side to begin with. He badly wanted to bring the price up to a king-a gold piece-by way of apology, but he knew such generosity would merely further damage his reputation in Rabbit's eyes. Thief leaders were expected to be fair, perhaps after a fine haul even generous, but they never overpaid.
So he contented himself with dropping the two silver princes on the counter, thanking Rabbit, and leaving the poor man alone for the day.
