Part 8 (2/2)

A week later, when the chaos finally ended, we had completed all three-hundred and eighteen contracts from the homunculi's winning bids, more than half of them ahead of schedule and earning bonuses. GC made more money in that week than I expected to see in my entire life. I put it all in the office safe, and then Weird Tommy and I dismantled every one of the homunculi before the station inspectors came by to recertify our pair of breed-bots and asked any embarra.s.sing questions. Sure, the Arconi puppets weren't real A.I.s, but I still didn't want to have explain to any station officials. Besides, we still had the specs and could manufacture them again if we ever had the need. I didn't think we would though. One of me is plenty, and the galaxy just isn't ready for dozens of Weird Tommys.

THE GIFT.

Laura J. Underwood

Caer Elenthorn has too many scars, Rhys thought as he walked the back streets of the area known as Broken Wall. Here and there, rubble of stone and timbers still littered the narrow streets, forcing one to step cautiously, stark evidence of how the Hound and his Haxon horde had once swept out of the mountains of Carn Dubh and torn apart this great northern city. Folk came back once the Hound was defeated and tried to restore their lives, but it was not easy when homes were little more than ruins.

A pair of urchins scuttled about the streets in pursuit of a small dog. Shadows were growing long. Some citizens of these grim dwellings had already closed their shops and barred their doors. No one in their right mind walked these streets after dark. Even thieves and murderers and drunks were less prevalent once the sun had set, for some of the leftover pestilences sp.a.w.ned by the Hound's dark power still roamed at night. Rhys was not afraid. He was mageborn, and these sometimes intangible remnants of the Hound's invasion tended to avoid his kind.

That didn't stop him from being a cautious man, for possessed of the power to use magic as he was, Rhys also knew that mageborn flesh was still mortal. He had been but a child of seven when the Hound turned his life upside down. A part of him was still that small boy hiding in the secret cupboard as Haxons butchered his parents. That was where the healers found him cowering, and it took more than one of their number to haul him out of his small sanctuary that day. They comforted him and took him to their Temple of Diancecht. There they trained him in their arts... at least until the magesign had manifested in him, forcing them to send him to Caer Keltora and the mage school at Dun Gealach to learn to manage his emerging power. How often had he lain in his narrow cot, praying to Diancecht to take the mage power from him and give him the touch of a True Healer instead?

Alas, for all his prayers, he was still mageborn. In spite of that, he called himself Brother Rhys, and went back to the healers to complete his training before returning to the lowly place of his birth... or what was left of it. Here, he had set up shop, and offered what knowledge of herbs and potions he had to the people who needed it most. The lower layers of humanity, as he heard one of the n.o.bles at Dun Gealach call them. Rhys set bones and st.i.tched wounds and even birthed children when no midwife could be found.

Which was where he was heading now. One of the wh.o.r.es at Tosher's Hole was about to drop another babe. Tosher had sent his potboy to ask Rhys to come and deliver the child. The wh.o.r.e in question was his wife Lena, or so Tosher claimed. Rhys didn't care. He was a healer.

But not a True Healer, he thought with a sigh of resignation.

His mage sight revealed the door of Tosher's Hole in the shadows of the dead end alley where it stood. Frankly, Rhys could have found it with his nose alone, for it stank of hops and sweaty men and overcooked meat and garbage. It was a wonder to Rhys that the King did not order such vermin infested quarters burned to the ground.

But then why would the King of Elenthorn bother to come here? Wasn't he safe in his brand new fortified palace on the other side of the river? Part of his ”great restoration” plan had been to bring back his city. But rather than clean up and rebuild what was, the King chose to take over the good farmland and meadows and forests on the other side and start his great city anew with the help of mageborn, while leaving the old city to languish into ruins.

This meant that places like Broken Wall thrived as a haven for rats of all kinds. In fact, one of them stood at the door of Tosher's Hole even as Rhys approached. Only this one was the size of an ox and about as slow of wit. Liam was his name, and he was the bane of many locals. He took whatever he wanted, by whatever means necessary. Rhys had tended enough of Liam's victims to know this.

At the sight of Rhys, Liam's hooded brows drew together over his thick nose. He stood a good head taller than Rhys and was thrice as wide. Yet as Rhys approached the door of Tosher's Hole, Liam hesitated then stepped aside. Rhys managed not to laugh aloud. It seemed absurd to him that a monster of Liam's temper and proportions would be wary of a thin, brown haired man dressed in a simple tunic, s.h.i.+rt and trews who looked decades younger than his true age, thanks to the magic in his blood. But then Liam didn't like pain unless he was inflicting it, and while Rhys was not one to exploit his mage skills, for his own sake he had been forced to hit Liam with a mage bolt-a tiny one-just to make the behemoth think twice. Then again, Rhys mused; it would be amazing for Liam to think once.

Rhys put a hand to the door and pushed it open. Inside, Tosher's Hole was dark, and the air was heavy with the smoke of an ill attended fire and cheap oily candles. The tavern was thick with bodies too. Tosher served the cheapest ale and the cheapest wh.o.r.es, which made his place popular with many locals. A few heads rose suspiciously, but most of these people knew Rhys on sight and ignored him.

He wove his way across the room, and was almost to the bar when a commotion broke the usual chatter. Rhys turned, glancing towards the source.

”Ow! Let go of me!” Flesh smacked flesh. ”Ow!”

The noise came from Liam's general direction. Indeed, the big man reared back a hand and snarled, ”You behave yourself or I'll take a tawse to ya!”

Before him cringed a la.s.s of no more than thirteen. Her figure was starting to show under the thin linen blouse that had seen better days and the long skirt that looked like a cast off. Her feet were bare and quite dirty. In fact, she looked as though she had not known the luxury of a bath in a number of months.

Bits of her long brown hair spilled out of an ill kept braid and fell in her dark eyes.

”Let go,” she protested and slapped a hand at Liam's grasp, for all the good it would serve. He gave her a hard shake that spilled her into the corner by the door and reared over her as though about to strike again.

”Liam!” Rhys called.

Liam stopped and glanced over his shoulder and frowned at Rhys. ”Stay out of this, Brother,” he said. ”She's mine to do as I please...”

”Yours?” Rhys said.

”Won her in a game of High Ladies,” Liam said.

Rhys frowned. ”Slavery is illegal, Liam,” he said. ”Were I to report you to the watch, you would go to the King's dungeons... He noticed a number of locals were now inching back and leaving Liam plenty of room. They had seen him trounce men for less.

”Ain't no business of yours or the King,” Liam snarled. ”I won her and she's mine and-”

Rhys saw the la.s.s move like quicksilver. She seized a jack of ale from the nearest table and earned a squawk of protest from the previous owner. With a shout, she turned and swung it in an underhand arc. The jack struck Liam squarely in the crotch and splattered ale up his breeches.

Either the blow did not hit as true as Rhys thought, or Liam was too thickheaded to notice. He bellowed like a maddened bull and swung at the la.s.s. She threw herself past him, only to trip because one of the locals stuck a foot in her path. The motion sprawled her at Rhys' feet. She looked up at Rhys, dark eyes full of fear. Liam turned with her and surged across the empty s.p.a.ce, still roaring his rage.

Think fast, Rhys told himself. Unless he wanted to be trampled. He threw up a hand, sifting bits of essence from the lives around him and hissed, ”Adhar clach!”

Liam ran into a solidified wall of air with enough force to knock him out cold. The room went quiet for a brief moment as he hit the floor and shook the foundations of Tosher's Hole. Then as if they were actors responding to a cue, the locals began to guffaw. Whether they were laughing at Liam or the fate he would plot for Rhys was uncertain.

Rhys sighed. ”Forgive me, Blessed Brother,” he whispered under his breath, then leaned down to offer the la.s.s a hand. She took it hesitantly, glancing back at Liam with a genuine look of concern...

”Is he...

”Not dead,” Rhys said, though he did flick out with mage senses to be certain.

Her dark eyes rose to Rhys. ”I feel... ill,” she said.

”I can imagine,” Rhys said. ”If I were you, I'd get home as fast as I could...”

Rhys was about to head for the bar, but she caught his arm. ”Don't have a home,” she said. ”Guess I'm yours now...”

”Mine?” Rhys looked stunned at the declaration. ”Oh, Blessed Brother no, child,” he said and shook his head. ”No one owns you...”

”You do now,” she insisted. ”He won me from Old Nance's brothel, and now you won me from him...”

”No,” Rhys said and moved away. His mind was still trying to fathom how she could be so comfortable with the knowledge that she had come from a brothel. Then again, Old Nance's place was not much better than Tosher's Hole was, and the wh.o.r.es there kept their daughters around because they could help turn a profit. ”Look. I don't own you. No one owns you, child...”

”But I got no one else,” she said. ”And if you don't let me come with you, Liam will just beat me when he wakes up...”

Rhys frowned and glanced over at the still prostrate form of Liam. True enough. Rhys sighed.

”All right, you can come with me until I find a place for you to stay,” Rhys said. ”But for now, I must tend to Tosher's wife.”

”I can help,” she said. ”I seen little 'uns born at the brothel...”

Rhys took a look at her filthy hands and the sc.r.a.ps of her clothes.

”Only if you wash first,” he said. ”Come on.”

She followed him like an eager pup. He continued towards the bar where Tosher stood shaking his head.

”If you're wise, Brother Rhys, you'll sell her to the first man you meet on the street and be done with the trouble. Liam might not be as forgiving about this...”

Rhys made a face. ”Which room, Tosher?” he asked.

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