The agent had a noble air about him. A fine, lean look. He also had the gaze of the lost, the broken. He’d lost his consort to an unexpected death and the binding between them must flail angrily, like a partially severed limb. Taul could not allow it to happen to himself and Ryldia.

“Now I look for ways to uncover this injustice,” the agent said. “To understand why she allowed my consort, of a noble line, to perish. Why was she unwanted?”

“So, you serve another?”

The agent nodded and put the pipe away. “I have a master, yes. A good one, at least. We all must serve the goddess in whatever form she may take.”

Taul nodded.

“What I tell you now is dangerous,” the agent said. “Are you knighted? Armed?”

Taul nodded awkwardly. He mustn’t look like a warrior, and he’d not worn the three ribbons he’d earned at Isilmyr. Silly things, really, but they were part of his formal garb. He hadn’t drawn a blade or held a spear in years. He carried his tender’s knife and a ceremonial dagger to let others know he had the right to fight any other house should his matron ask. His knighting had been in the usual way—usual for the times—a mere ceremony.

“You must prepare yourself,” the agent said, and then paused, his eyes narrowed on Taul, as if taking stock of him. “I have discovered a man involved in this evil business. I have watched the trades. I have watched his foul deeds. He commands the Dark.”

A shiver ran down Taul’s spine.

“He doesn’t appear like much,” the agent continued. “Don’t let his low born appearance deceive you. He’s only a border rat. Some command the Dark who shouldn’t.”

The agent gave Taul the details, where he should go and what he should look for. The places he mentioned were deep in the underbelly of Outer Halkamas, but Taul’s binding drove him to fix his house’s problem.

“You will need help,” the agent said. “He is a rogue. A scoundrel. Here, touch this.”

He placed a kithaun chit, an inch on each side, on the table.

“Go on, touch it,” he urged. “Let it sink into you, so you don’t forget.”

Taul hesitated, but not for long. He reached out and took the chit.

“Hold it in your fist,” the man said, and Taul obeyed.

The device held the man’s impressions.

“Now, when you see him shadowed, you’ll know it's him. It is his signature. You can use it to track him. But you’ll need help. Does your house have a kithvyrae?”

Taul couldn’t mask his surprise at the mention of a house assassin. The word had multiple meanings—as most ancient Mornae words did—but in this case it meant a Mornae of the shadows, so one with them, with the goddess, that he or she became its weapon.

“I’ve never known of one,” Taul said.

The man shook his head. “That doesn’t mean much. There could be one and you’d not be aware of it. Even your matron might not know. To protect her. Sometimes a house must act, as you are now. You will become its kithvyrae. You must find tools to help you with this. Common ones won’t help. You’ll need kithaun.”

Taul shook his head and then stopped. “Wait… there is an ancient vault… with weapons and the like.”

The agent nodded. “Good. Find what you can to prepare. Just remember, house names won’t mean anything where you are going. It will be you and the tools you bring with you.”

“And what will this rogue lead me to?” Taul asked.

“To a child, my man, a child for your house. Take ample silver. I’m sure you’ll need it. A house like yours will need excellent quality.”

Taul sat back, forgetting the emblem on his tunic. He pawed at the coat flap to cover the insignia. The man only stared at him thoughtfully.

“Right now, any Mornae child will do,” Taul said.

The agent smiled. “As I said, quality.” He exhaled loudly, relieved that he’d shared the burden with another, and stood to leave. “Be careful. Don’t take this on lightly.”

“I thank you,” Taul said. “I will be careful.”

The agent left, tossing a small pouch to the barkeep. The tavern had emptied, and Taul braced himself. He must venture out into those forlorn streets again.

35

Gishna motioned to a small plant on the table of Kandah’s workroom.

“It can do well in the crater,” she said.

“I see,” Kandah said, appearing wraith-like from behind a shelf crammed full and messy with bins of scrolls and folios. “I could use more, if it’s not an imposition.”

“I’ll see to it. There are thousands of abandoned experiments.”

She hacked violently; her chest rumbled and crackled. A scarlet bead stained her linen kerchief.

“The time comes, high matron,” Kandah said.

She nodded and waved the linen. “Indeed. But you will help me last a while longer.”

Kandah shrugged. “I have taught you all I know. The crater is not the most favorable situation.”

“You don’t fool me.”

Kandah chuckled, grating on her nerves and causing her to shiver.

“The little I know would brand me a heretic among my kind,” he said. “You know this.”

“Everything you do for me is forbidden, Kandah. And everything I do.”

Again, the irritating laugh. He tested her already strained mind.

“So cozy, this conspiracy,” he said, offering her one of his special brews.

She sipped the concoction and strength flowed through her limbs.

“Show me then,” she said. “What is so important?”

He cleared the table, then unfurled six long scrolls of parchment before her, and handed her a bone-white pointer. She frowned at the pointer. It was bone, with foreign letters carved into it. He gave her the pointer just to aggravate her with its strangeness. Mornae didn’t touch bones because they housed the remnant of a person’s power and must be returned to the universe at death. Kandah, his kind, and other natives, kept them for their own twisted purposes.

“Are all accounted for?” she asked.

He nodded. “The Vakayne blood houses. Even the lesser ones, but they have not risen high, and I doubt you will consider them. I wouldn’t.”