Then movement caught his eye. Rashed was standing one arm's length away in absolute disbelief. His mouth was even opened slightly.
Euphoria faded. Five dead boys and two men lay on the ground around them. Other villagers must be aware but hiding.
Rashed seemed to search for words. "What have you done?"
By way of answer, Parko hissed at him Like an animal. Rashed closed the distance between them in two steps and swung hard with his fist.
Ratboy had never seen Rashed hit his brother. He didn't think Rashed capable. As the fist connected with his jaw, Parko crumpled and dropped. Parko tried to rise up, and Rashed struck him again, so hard that his brother flew backward and smashed through the outer railing of the stable. Parko lay still and silent in straw and mud.
Rashed grabbed his brother's limp body by the leg, and jerked him out onto the road. Lifting Parko, he slung the unconscious form over his shoulder and glared at Ratboy.
"You come now."
Ratboy followed without speaking. He was actually frightened, not of Rashed, but what would happen next. When they reached the wagon, Rashed dropped Parko on the ground. Then he climbed into the wagon's back, cut Parko's coffin loose from the others, and shoved it out the back. It thumped and skidded to the ground as Parko began to stir.
Ratboy looked to Teesha, who could sometimes bring reason to such scenes, but she stood silently on the other side of the wagon, watching.
Rashed threw a pouch of money at his brother.
"I am finished with you. You will not travel with us farther. Go down the Feral Path, if that is what you want. Perhaps the mob that village forms will hunt you now instead of us."
He stepped over the front of the wagon onto its seat and picked up the horses' reins.
"Teesha, get in the wagon." Then he turned to Ratboy. "You have a choice. I know the careless abandon of this night was not your doing, but you gave in to him. You either come with us or stay with him. Choose now."
Parko hissed from his position on the ground, and Ratboy stared at Rashed.
He wasn't good at making his own decisions, and this was the most difficult one he'd ever faced. The idea of staying with Parko and following the Feral Path, slaughtering and drinking blood with no thought to rules, only the hunt-it pulled at him. Desire to throw off all sense of mortal trappings and become the full glory of a predator was difficult to resist.
But Rashed kept them safe and always knew what to do, and Teesha knew how to make a home. Ratboy wasn't ready to give these things up. Not yet. He was afraid to stay alone with Parko. The thought shamed him. He glanced once more at Parko's hissing, writhing form, and then he climbed up into the wagon to sit behind Teesha.
As they pulled away, he did not see Rashed look back once, and he alone watched Parko's pinprick eyes fade in the distance. And for two more nights, Rashed did not speak at all.
Lying in his coffin beneath the warehouse, Ratboy wondered about the wisdom of the choice he had made back then. He tried to stop thinking, to simply see nothing. After a while, he was finally able to fall dormant.
Chapter Eleven
Magiere left her tavern early that afternoon. As she stepped into the street, she noticed a "Closed" sign hanging on the door, painted in Leesil's handwriting. Why hadn't she thought of doing that? She gave silent thanks to her partner and walked directly to the nearest inn.
Although Magiere sometimes referred to The Sea Lion as an "inn," strictly it was not, since the building had no rooms for lodgers. Perhaps at one time the upper floor had been used for lodgers, the owner residing elsewhere. In truth, Miiska only boasted three actual inns, but a small town such as this had no need of more. Most sailors and bargemen slept on their ships, and she could not see many travelers wanting to come to stay in this out-of-the-way place. Even the scarce peddler, traveling merchant, or farmer from the outlying lands was more likely to camp with his wares in the open market on the north end of town.
This inn was a shabby and run-down establishment with a sparsely furnished common room that smelled of fish and moldy bread. She began asking about Welstiel, describing the strange middle-aged man to a bone-thin woman in a soiled apron, who she assumed was the keeper of the place.
"We got no one here like that," she said crossly after hearing Magiere out, obviously thinking her time was wasted. "You try The Velvet Rose. That's where you'll find the likes of him."
Magiere thanked the crone and left. Everything appeared normal around her. The sun hung like a burning orange ball in the thin haze of high clouds. People talked and laughed and went about their business. Occasionally, a patron of The Sea Lion would wave or call out a greeting, and she would nod or raise her own hand briefly in return. Every now and then, she had the feeling someone was watching her, perhaps whispering with a companion and pointing in her direction. But whenever she turned it was as if no one noticed her at all. The scope of the world had changed, no matter how things appeared. And the only one who seemed to really understand the situation was an overwrought blacksmith with more muscle than brains.
She wanted to talk to Leesil and try to explain the thoughts running through her mind. What if fate or the deities or whatever kept the balance in the world between right and wrong had finally caught up with them-with her? She couldn't imagine what Leesil might think of such a notion. A month ago, he would have laughed and offered her his wine sack. Now their world had altered, and either he was changing with it, or he simply had been hiding aspects of himself. She kept allowing him to handle more and more situations that were basically her responsibility. This morning, he had handled Ellinwood for the most part, and this afternoon he took care of a temporary "Closed" sign for the tavern door. Now she'd gone out by herself, leaving him behind to comfort Rose and Caleb.
No, she wouldn't burden him with her own deepening guilt, confusion, and suspicions. He certainly didn't need more to worry about.
But the time had come to take some matters into her own hands. She'd traveled to this town seeking peace, and someone had forced a battle upon her. Brenden was right, and the cards were on her side of the table now.
She walked away from the docks and farther into town. Not many people knew her by sight this far in, and she received no familiar greetings from passersby. She stopped in front of The Velvet Rose. It was quite lovely, reflecting its name even from the outside with red damask curtains peeking through the perfectly tended and whitewashed shutters.
Although her hair was back in its neat braid, she felt underdressed in breeches and boots, muslin shirt and black vest.
A large, mahogany desk waited just inside the entryway. The man behind it struck her as attractive in a strange way, even in her current state of mind. She had seen a few full-blooded elves during her travels, though they were not common in this land. His light brown hair looked as soft as down feathers and hung loose, pushed behind his oblong, pointed ears. But his face was more slender with a narrower chin than her partner's, and his amber-brown eyes and thin eyebrows slanted upward at a more pronounced angle than Leesil's.
When he looked up at her, she could see his skin was a dark, even tan and smoother than any human's she'd ever seen.
"May I help you?" he asked smoothly.
"Yes," she answered, suddenly unsure of how to proceed, or if she would even be allowed into the place. "I was hoping to find a friend of mine here, a Welstiel Massing. He's about my height, well dressed, and gray at the temples."
Without thinking, she motioned to her own temples as if to help the description, then felt foolish for doing so. She hated feeling so nervous and desperate.