Marrika watched as she was borne upward, breathing heavily with the force of her hatred. The bitch'd cry soon enough, all right. She waited while her compatriots untied the girl, then dropped the rope down again. Quickly, with the sinuous grace of a cat, Marrika grasped the rope herself and, using her hands and feet, propelled herself up its length. She accepted Khem's strong hand and scrambled out, scooting backward.
Clia, the Sparrow, was in charge of watching Lorinda while Marrika and Freylis emerged from the tunnels. Her dagger was perfectly functional despite its ornaments, and Clia's beringed fingers had a solid grip on the girl.
"Councilman's daughter, hey, Raven?" A white grin flashed. "Gold and silver a-flowing. A better haul than Bear pulled off!" She laughed softly.
Marrika didn't bother to contradict the fortune-teller. Clia would find out soon enough what they really planned to do with Lorinda. And then the garish-garbed Sparrow would either be with them- or dead.
Freylis now emerged, grunting as he pulled his mammoth bulk up hand over hand. He plopped himself on the street surface with all the finesse of a whale beaching itself. Marrika's red lips curled with disgust. If all went well tonight, she might never have to endure that sweaty body moving over and in her again.
She listened with half an ear as the thieves heaved the grate back in place. They were very close to the temple now. She could see it across the flat cobblestone center of town. Candles burned, and even as she watched, she saw a black-robed shadow scurry across the square. It stopped at the Godstower, as it had a few nights ago, but did not ring the bell. Instead, the shape waited, pacing nervously.
"There he is," hissed Marrika. "Let's go."
Clia prodded Lorinda's throat with the tip of her dagger. A small bead of blood appeared. "Come on, little rich sister," smiled Sparrow. The thieves and their prisoner hurried across the square to where the Blesser of Vengeance waited.
"Did you-do you-" he asked breathlessly.
Marrika nodded her dark head. "Indeed we do," she replied, nodding her head in Lorinda's direction. "I keep my promises to my god and my friends, Kannil. Are you prepared for us?" The little man closed his eyes briefly in a shudder of ecstatic anticipation, then licked his lips and replied, "All are assembled, ready to honor the god, Lady Marrika."
"Lady?" scoffed Freylis. Marrika didn't even bother giving him an angry glare. Like the tide, Freylis's importance to her was ebbing, its ultimate demise inevitable. He had already almost outlived his usefulness to her. And if things went the way they should tonight, well, his time might already have run. It pleased Marrika that he had no idea how fragile was the thread by which he hung.
All was in readiness when they reached the temple of Vengeance. The stone building, not large to begin with, seemed much smaller than it had the last time Marrika had been there; but then again, there were many more people gathered than there had been on that fateful night. And this time, all the torches and candles had been lit. The circle of bone powder was drawn, with one part of it left open for the main attraction of the night to enter. Within the circle sat and stood the thieves who had chosen to ally with Marrika and Freylis. She felt her heart lift at the sight of their tense, wary faces. So many. So many, who did not want to be milk-and-bread wholesome under the leadership of Deveren Larath. So many like her, who could never forget that crime could not be reigned in, that theft went hand in hand with murder, that life in the shadows could never, ever, be anything other than dark.
"What do you want?" A cry, shattering the still, tense moment. It was Lorinda, of course, her calm demeanor broken by the same faces that so heartened her captor. Marrika turned to regard the prisoner. Lorinda's face had gone white. She, more than most, knew what kind of a deity Vengeance was. The girl must, in some part of her soul, be guessing what was about to transpire, even as she fought to reject the dreadful knowledge. "My father will pay-"
"There is no money that can buy what your blood will buy, child," interrupted the Blesser. He reached with one thin hand to touch Lorinda's soft cheek. With a soft little cry, like the mewl of a barnyard kitten, Lorinda cringed from that caress.
"What?" came Clia's voice, startled. "Wolf, what's going on here?"
It was the moment Marrika had been waiting for, the moment she felt she'd been leading up to her whole life.
"Be quiet, Sparrow, or we'll silence your chirping for you," said Marrika. "Don't ask Freylis." Oh, the words were sweet. "Ask me"
Stunned silence greeted her words, then chatter broke out. Now or never, thought Marrika. She seized the moment and spontaneously leaped onto the blood-encrusted altar. Gasps came, and the Blesser rushed forward, anger on his face. She stopped him with one commanding hand.
"Who brings you your desire, Blesser?" cried Marrika. Her heart hammered in her chest and the blood in her veins sang. "Who has made this possible? Thieves of Braedon, rally with me tonight, and you work hand in hand with Vengeance himself! We will take what we want, and who's to stop us?" She pointed at Lorinda, who stared back enraptured, her eyes enormous. "This girl is Vandaris's daughter. Sparrow and others think only of money. I think of power-power to get whatever we want! Who among us has not been wronged? Who doesn't, deep in his heart, desire vengeance upon another? Well, now's your chance. Follow me-and drink deep!
Her passion was like fire; and the thieves who beheld her, like dried timber. Their expressions changed, and they all crowded around her, helped her down off the altar. Freylis alone hung back, visibly deflated. Bully and tyrant he might be, but he knew he couldn't stand against one who seemed in such accord with the dark god.
Kannil was beside himself. "Yes!" he squealed. He seized Lorinda, yanking her out of the grip of the startled Clia and propelling her into the center of the thieves. Lorinda cried out as hands reached to touch her. They were not hurtful, not yet; they merely wished to touch the living covenant between themselves and Vengeance before the deed was done.
Marrika watched, pleasure burning deep within her, as Lorinda was roped to the altar. The wooden platform had never been designed to accommodate a human sacrifice. Lorinda was forced to kneel in front of it. Rough hands grabbed her arms, pulled, secured her to the blood-covered table. Now she fought, now that it was too late, her lithe body thrashing and twisting, but to no avail.
Marrika's palms were wet with anticipation. Clearly restraining himself with difficulty, the Blesser moved to close the circle, murmuring the ritual words in a voice that trembled, and sprinkling more white powder on the earth. Marrika shivered as the temperature dropped, smiling at the discomfiture of some of "her" thieves who were experiencing this for the first time.
Now Kannil moved toward Lorinda. There was a flash of reflected light from the ceremonial dagger he withdrew. Inspiration struck Marrika.
"No, wait!" she cried. Kannil stared up at her, torn between carrying out the murder at once and listening to what Marrika had to say. "We are all in this together," she said, moving up beside the Blesser and extending a hand for the blade. "Let us all leave our marks on the girl."
Joy flooded the man's pale face. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes. Slowly." He handed her the knife, and placed one hand on Lorinda's back. "You may go first, O favored one."
Marrika crouched down and gazed levelly into Lorinda's eyes. They were wet, but did not look away.