"Why?" Lorinda asked. "Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?" Marrika fingered the blade. It was sharp, honed to a keen edge. "One word: Pedric." The younger woman frowned. "Pedric? But… I don't understand."
"He was mine, but he threw me away." The words hurt her to utter them, and she hissed them, softly, for Lorinda's ears alone. "And I want him to suffer for that. I want you to suffer for that!" Without another word, she swiped the hungry blade across the beautiful face. Lorinda cried out as the knife laid her cheek open. "Your beauty dies first!" And Marrika spat into the girl's disfigured visage before yielding the knife to another.
She spared a glance for Kannil. His eyes were closed in ecstasy. He opened them, and gave her a smile. Marrika's breath caught.
The bastard was using his mind magic, linking himself to Lorinda, savoring her pain from two vantage points- his, witnessing the torture, and hers, experiencing it. Marrika hid her shudder of revulsion and turned away, holding out the knife. "Who will be next? Who will be next to inflict a blow for his freedom?"
"Me," said Freylis, shouldering his way through the crowd in an effort to reclaim the dignity he had lost. Without pausing he snatched up the knife and impaled it into Lorinda's right hand. The girl convulsed, her fingers splaying in reactionary agony but affixed firmly to the altar by both blade and bonds.
"Please," she whimpered.
"That's right, girl," crowed Marrika, "beg!"
The bloodlust spread through the crowd. The thought that they could so hurt another human being, with utter freedom and no reprisal, had a dark allure. The thieves were working past their initial revulsion, were starting to embrace Lorinda's fear and suffering. The girl sensed it, and her face reflected her horror.
Marrika drank it in like wine.
One by one they came to torture the innocent maiden, while Lorinda gasped and tried to twist away from them. Khem removed an ear. Clia stabbed her shoulder. Others inflicted different wounds. With each injury, the Blesser seemed to reach new heights of delight. But then something strange happened.
Lorinda managed to lift her head slightly, searching out Marrika. Her beauty was gone now, past any Healer's ability to salvage. Pedric, with his love for pretty things, would no doubt turn away in revulsion from her. But something shone in her eyes, a quiet integrity that unsettled Marrika. The girl's words distressed her even more.
"I served the goddess Love," rasped Lorinda. Jeers met this statement, but she continued, though the effort clearly was costing her. "Love teaches us… to be kind… to forgive."
"No," murmured the Blesser, a frown shadowing his face. "Don't spoil it…"
Lorinda swallowed blood, then pressed on. "For you to… to hurt me like this, to… to kill me… you must be in much torment, worse than any you could inflict on me. I… I pity you-all of you."
A snarl began in the back of Marrika's throat. Only dimly realizing what she was going to do, she surged forward and grasped the knife from someone's grasp. Springing at Lorinda, she struck. Blood fountained onto her hand.
At that precise instant, Kannil grabbed Marrika's free hand. The thief's vision shattered into a thousand pieces and she realized that Kannil, with his touch, had linked her to Lorinda. Images flashed through Marrika's mind even as agony trembled through her nerves.
Pedric, looking at her with love and fear of rejection; Pedric's face achingly dear, beloved, beautiful. Marrika's own visage, cruel and unforgiving. Images of women and men she had never seen, but loved; Vandaris, gentle father; Love's temple; and the pain, the pain, the not understanding — why, why? What have I done? Gods, gods, please stop, stop -
— and the knife, above all, the knife, in the throat… cold… cold… dark…
The Blesser pushed her away just in time. Marrika stumbled backward, gasping, her hand going to throat and not truly believing it to be whole. Lungs heaving for air, shuddering with what she had just seen, a wave of remorse lifted Marrika for just an instant. What have I done? The girl's dying question, now her own. She moved toward the girl, half-formed thoughts of somehow halting the dreadful forces that she had set in motion flitting about her brain.
Lorinda spasmed once, then was still. It was too late.
At once sanity rushed back. The girl had been the price for the power Marrika had tasted, and a tool for revenge. Surely, that brief flash of regret had been the lingering traces of Lorinda's presence in her mind, nothing more. Marrika shot the Blesser a look of mingled disgust and horror. His face was flushed, his eyes dewy and radiant. What she had found disturbing was his delight. His tongue crept out to moisten his lips. She knew he would want more, having tasted this.
And Marrika would see to it that he got it.
"Vengeance is placated," said Kannil, his voice trembling. "He has blessed this mission, this woman. Let us calm ourselves and then break bread together, sealing the pact that we have made!"
Those assembled bowed their heads, forcing their breathing to slow, their pulses to calm. Kannil opened the circle and brought out bread and wine, which was gleefully accepted. No one gave a second thought to the body of the councilman's daughter who lay across the bloody altar.
"Lady Raven," said Khem, seating himself next to her as Marrika finished her first glass of wine, "you have called great power here tonight."
Her eyes narrowed. "Aye," she agreed. "And what is your point, Hound?"
He glanced about quickly, then spoke in low tones. "Your ally is a god, but sometimes, one needs human allies as well. Would you like an ally, Lady Raven-one of the most powerful men in all of Verold?"
Her heart skipped a beat. "Go on."
CHAPTER NINE
The King's word is law.
— traditional motto of Mhar
All decisions must be approved by the governing body of the council of Mhar, in consultation with His Majesty.
Deveren was about as angry as he had ever been in his life. He slammed down the little hunting cup almost hard enough to shatter the carved beast. "' The Fox gives Fox a taste quite fine, /When out of his head you drink your wine,'" he quoted through clenched teeth. "The first theft."
The thieves watched, sitting in a semicircle in Rabbit's back room, their eyes round. Rarely had they seen Deveren this agitated.
"'The hounds will chase, the hounds will tear/Your flesh, unless their teeth you bear.'" Out of the sack came three studded collars, which Deveren tossed on the floor next to the cup. "Behold the 'teeth' of Vandaris's hounds. And finally, the literal brush of Vandaris's 'Vixen'-the final theft."
He did not drop this one, but held it clenched in his hand.
His hazel eyes scanned the crowd, searching for some twitch, some nervous tic, anything that would betray the thieves seated here as kidnappers and would-be murderers. He prayed he wouldn't find it. Damir had been certain that one of the thieves had been responsible for Lorinda's abduction- certain, as far as Deveren was concerned, without a shred of proof.
"Is there any among you who doubts that I have passed the test-that I am in truth your leader?"
There was silence for a long moment and then, unexpectedly, someone in the back began to clap. Others joined in until the sound rang through the little room. Discomfited, Deveren raised his hands, trying to quiet the crowd.
"Hurrah for Leader Fox!"
"Three Grand Thefts. We didn't think you'd do it!"
"Tell us, Fox, how did you manage them?"
"That's another story for another day," protested Deveren. He glanced over at Pedric worriedly.
Pedric was not doing well. Under Vervain's ministrations he had physically healed. Even the dreadful swelling of his nose was starting to go down now. But the Blesser could not heal Pedric's inner wounds. Only the safe return of Lorinda would do that, and with each hour that passed, Deveren grew less and less hopeful that such a thing would occur.