The Rogue

trinkets.

“You like?” a tribesman said, leaning toward Merria and smiling broadly.

She nodded. “They’re pretty. How much are––?”

“Do you have any finer gems?” Dannyl interrupted. “Or ones set into jewellery, or other objects?”

The man gave Dannyl a piercingly direct look, then shook his head. “People here not like our way of setting.”

Dannyl smiled. “We are not from here.”

The man grinned. “No, you are not.” He looked from Merria to Dannyl, then beckoned. “Come inside.”

They moved around the table and entered the shade under the roof covering. Watched by his frowning companion, the tribesman opened a dusty old bag and drew out two large bands. He lifted them up so Dannyl and Merria could see. They were made of some sort of unpolished, darkened metal, lined with leather. Gemstones glittered within crude settings. Small metal tags hung from holes around one edge of each band.

“They go here.” The man pointed to a place just above the knee. “And more here and one here.” He touched his skin above the elbow and then the cloth wrapped about his hips. “For ceremony we rub,” he mimicked a circular motion, “so they shine. But let go dark other times so not so …” He waved at his face, widening his eyes. Dazzling, Dannyl translated.

“That must look wonderful,” Merria said.

The man grinned and nodded at her. “We dance. If we dance well women choose us.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman married a man for jewellery,” Merria remarked, glancing at Dannyl. “What do women wear?” she asked the man.

The tribesman shook his head. “Just belt. Very plain. Over cloth …” He gestured in a sweeping motion from neck to knee.

Merria looked disappointed. “No jewellery? No gems?”

“Gems on belt.”

“I’d love to see one of these ceremonies.” Merria sighed wistfully. “Is this expensive?” She nodded to the leg bands.

“This one not for sale. But we bring one that is next time? Maybe belt, too.”

“I’d like that.” She glanced back at the table of gems. “So … how much are they?”

They returned to the table and a bit of haggling followed. Dannyl suspected that the tribesman let her beat him down to a lower price than he would usually accept. As the transaction finished, Dannyl decided that he could not leave without asking after the tracker.

“Do you know Unh?” he asked. “He works as a tracker.”

The man’s grin vanished, then returned looking unconvincing and forced.

“No.” He glanced back at the other tribesman, who was now scowling. The man shook his head. “No.”

Dannyl nodded and shrugged, then thanked them for showing Merria the bands. The pair replied with fixed smiles. Dannyl led Merria away.

“Who is Unh?” she asked, when they were out of earshot.

“The tracker who helped us search for Lorkin.”

“Ah.” She glanced back. “Is it only me that got the impression they do know him, but don’t like him very much.”

“Not just you.”

“How interesting,” she murmured. “I hope this doesn’t mean they won’t bring some of those bands for me.”

They turned a corner and started down the next row. Dannyl looked up and came to a halt as he saw what lay before them.

Stalls filled with books, scrolls and writing implements lined each side of the aisle. He looked from side to side, his eyes drawn to piles of promising old tomes. Suddenly he knew why there had been a slight hint of smugness in Tayend’s tone when suggesting a market visit.

It wasn’t just that he’d suggested something I hadn’t thought of. He knew I’d find this. He’s probably been here already, what with his fondness for silly or exotic trinkets, and he probably guessed that I hadn’t. He felt a pang of fondness for his former lover, but it was followed by a mix of guilt and annoyance that was growing familiar since Tayend had arrived in Arvice. I’m going to have to thank him for this. I wish the prospect didn’t fill me with doubt and dread.

“I may take some time here,” he told Merria apologetically.

She smiled. “I thought you might. It’s fine. Anything you want me to look for?”

CHAPTER 6 A WARNING

As Lorkin paused in his work, he noted that more than half of the beds in the Care Room were occupied, though most of the patients would probably leave once they’d seen Kalia. Nearly every person had the same or similar illness. Even in isolated, remote Sanctuary, people came down with sniffles and coughs each winter. They called it “chill fever”.

The treatment was so trusted and familiar that few questions were asked. Kalia’s examination of those claiming to have the illness was perfunctory, and she rarely needed to explain the cures she handed out.

This was Kalia’s area of expertise. Lorkin was given the task of looking after anyone who came in with other injuries or illness. No sufferer of chill fever ever approached him. If Kalia was occupied, they settled onto a bed and watched her patiently, only occasionally glancing at him in curiosity.

The main cures were a chest rub and a bitter-tasting tea. Children were given sweets to suck if they wouldn’t drink the tea. The sweets were still quite strong and unpleasant, so that only those who truly had the sickness – and whose sense of taste was dulled – could tolerate them. Enough tea and sweets were handed out to last patients a few days. They had to return to be examined again, if they needed more.

It was the first time he’d seen the Traitors so strictly rationing their supplies. He knew that food stores would have to be monitored and controlled in order for the valley’s produce to sustain the people through the winter, but so far he hadn’t seen any tough restrictions coming into effect. They were talked about, however, and anyone seen to be eating more than was considered reasonable was treated with a teasing disapproval, but also an underlying tone of warning.

No magicians had come to the Care Room with chill fever, since they were naturally resistant to illnesses, so Lorkin was surprised to see one of them entering the room, her nose and eyelids a tell-tale shade of red. He turned back to the task of re-bandaging the ulcerated leg of an old man. The man chuckled.

“Thought she was a magician, didn’t you?” he croaked.

Lorkin smiled. “Yes,” he admitted.

“No. Her mother is. Sister is. Grandmother was. She isn’t, but she likes to pretend she is.”

“In the Allied Lands, all magicians have to wear a uniform so everyone knows what they are. It’s illegal to dress as a magician if you are not one.”

The old man smiled thinly. “Oh, they wouldn’t like that here.”

“Because it would make it obvious that not everyone is equal?”

The man snorted. “No, because they don’t like being told what to do.”

Lorkin laughed quietly. He secured the bandage and slipped the old man an extra dose of pain cure. What will I do if we run out of it, and other cures?

He could start to Heal patients, but the timing would not be good. If I’m forced to use my Healing powers it should be for a better reason than because I let us run out of cures.

“Have you ever been to the old viewing rooms high above the city?” the old man asked.