She turned around. "I understand," she said gently. "Vengeance does not demand just the blood of his victims. He wants their pain as a sacrifice, too."
"When I was a young Tender, they thought I was wrong," the man said softly. "They didn't see — they didn't understand. But you understand. You must have been sent by Vengeance to me, to show that he approves of my worship of him!"
"Perhaps," Marrika agreed cautiously. "I believe we two think along the same lines, Blesser…?" "Kannil," he said. "And your name, O favored one?"
"Marrika. And as I have said, I offer no ordinary sacrifice for my favor. I will bring you… a human sacrifice, Kannil."
The excited color drained from Blesser Kannil's face. "There has been no human sacrifice in Vengeance's temple for… for decades, centuries!" Mixed fear and anticipation was in his voice. "I, I cannot… the laws of Byrn… it would be murder!"
"Exactly," purred Marrika, moving even closer. She couldn't let him turn back now. If he did, well, she would have no compunctions about sending Vengeance an offer of his own Blesser. "No! " wailed Kannil, whirling away from her, his hand outstretched as if to physically keep her back. "I cannot! They would kill me!"
"Only if they knew," persisted Marrika, laying her strong climber's hands on the man's narrow shoulders and turning him around to face her. "And I won't tell. I'm bringing the sacrifice, remember? I'd be just as guilty of murder as you would be!" She had no intention of telling him that she had performed murder many times before in her young life. "I want this. Vengeance wants it, too-you know he does. You hear the call in your sleep every night, don't you?"
Trapped in the snare of her dark gaze, the unfortunate Blesser could only nod.
She'd thought as much. A quick flash of loathing shot through Marrika. She wondered how many of the 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."