Notes: We're getting there, friends! Forgive me a bit of a cliffhanger in the interim...
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 18 Pt. 2
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Chapter Eighteen, Part Two
Settling Down
One would think that, since the healer was already there, actually doing the healing would be a simple matter.
Naturally, it wasn’t that easy.
“This house isn’t consecrated to Bayd,” Filian fretted as he worked his fingers in and out of the standard prayer symbol to his god. “I’m having a hard time drawing on His holy power here.”
Mistress Michelson huffed. “You’ve healed people in town squares, in forests, in caverns—I saw you heal someone underwater once! Why should a little thing like a roof matter to Bayd?”
“They matter more than you might think,” Filian said snidely. “Natural environments are fair play to all gods unless you’re dealing with a druid temple or the backlash from a massive festival or the like. Personal quarters are much more attuned to the owners of the home and their deities. Who do you pray to most often?” he demanded of Hiram.
“Ah…no one in particular.” That was the gift of the wizard; they drew primarily on internal power, not external. It meant someone with a vast reservoir or personal energy like himself almost never had to pray directly to the gods in order to get something from them. “But this hasn’t been my house for long,” he added when Filian’s brow began to get thundery. “I don’t know the preferences of the prior tenant. Probably Melemor.” It would make sense, given the temple.
Tilda nodded from where she sat on the loft’s only chair. “Raileen was a devout follower of Melemor.”
“That explains it, then! Melemor is a jealous healer. Even if his worshipper has been gone for a while now, his presence is still too strong to allow for a rival.” Filian stood up and brushed off the knees of his robe. “Well, I suppose that’s that. You can call upon a minor priest of that temple to come and—”
“The man’s not hurt so badly he can’t go outside, you daft thing,” Mistress Michelson snapped. Without her new acolyte around to model behavior for, her acerbic side was running free. Letty was getting her nerves out by weeding the garden and giving the choicest bits to Knight as she went. Knight… Hiram was relieved the rabbit was okay, far from a given after they were ambushed by such a terrible excuse for a human being.
His earring warmed slightly, Phlox’s usual way of soothing him when he wasn’t free to speak. He wasn’t exactly sure why Phlox thought he needed soothing, he’d seen him go through far worse, but he didn’t mind the kind touch. “I’d like to go outside,” Hiram agreed. The air still smelled coppery, and the sooner he could get these people out of his private chambers the better.
“But—”
“Filian.”
The pallid man glowered at Mistress Michelson. “Fine. Fine. But when I collapse on the road and you’re left with no one to wrangle the children on the path to Garrison, don’t blame me!”
“Given that you always ride next to me in the wagon, I don’t think I have much to worry about.” The stout lady sat down beside Hiram and tapped her shoulder. “Loop an arm over the top and lean on me, I’ll steady you.”
Hiram wanted, on principle, to refuse the assistance, but as he was an old hand at being beaten up, he knew it was better not to tempt the gods of mischief with his aching head. The last thing he needed now was to fall down the stairs. “Thank you, Mistress,” he said instead, and bit back a hiss as he slung his arm over her shoulder. His broken shoulder blade was on the other side, but the entirety of his back was a solid sheet of fire at this point. Luckily, Mistress Michelson had the constitution of a mule; all she did was shift her weight slightly and get a firm grip around his waist.
‘Good lad,” she said, and Hiram laughed breathlessly. “Let’s get it done, then.”
The trip down the stairs took several minutes, with Tilda in front of them to act as a support in case one of them stumbled, but eventually they made it down and out the front door…where more steps awaited them.
And Uriel, stalking toward them from down the road, a fearsome look on his face.
“Blood!” he shouted, shaking his fist. “Sunk into the dirt almost an inch down!” He stopped just in front of Hiram and flung his hand behind him. “Not fifty feet distant! How did you do it, eh? How did you kill him?”
“Uriel!” Tilda snapped. “What—”
“No, no,” he interrupted her, “none of your smooth words this time, no intervening on his behalf. He killed Granth Devane, I know it! The amount of blood out there on the road, no one could survive that.” He turned his beady eyes on Hiram. “How did you lure him out there? What did you say, hmm? Did you make him some sort of offer? What did he tell you?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Hiram said with total honesty. His earring pulsed once.
Tilda’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of her cousin’s hand. “Is that a flogger’s friend you have?” The flogger’s friend was a slender piece of silken cord, or occasionally leather, that had been soaked in the blood of whoever it was spelled to. It responded to that blood, twitching the bearer out like a hound after a rabbit as long as the scent was fresh. They were an ancient device that had once been a common way to track down escaped slaves. “Why in Melemor’s name do you have a flogger’s friend linked to Granth Devane?”
Uriel’s rage settled as he realized he’d given something he hadn’t meant to away. “He…he gave it to me himself,” he said after a moment, tucking the thin, rust-colored piece of silk away in his breast pocket. “Told me it had been made long ago and that he didn’t trust it in his own house. And you can’t simple destroy a flogger’s friend, you know that. It opens too many dark doors. I promised I’d preserve it for him.”
Hiram had so many questions, but now didn’t seem the time to intervene as Tilda folded her arms. “And why would you think to bring it here? What made you assume that Granth was going to be with Hiram?”
“Well, where else would he be?” the mayor blustered. “After being so viciously disrespected yesterday—”
“You mean, when he finally lost control of the poor family members he spent years and years abusing? That disrespect?”
Hiram wanted to lean into the conversation, but in that moment all he could do was sit down. Mistress Michelson helped him sit on the stairs, leaning him up against one of the porch posts. “Far enough, Filian?” she asked tersely.
“Hmm, well, deeper into the trees would be—ah, I mean, I’ll try,” he concluded after seeing the Guide’s glare. The Priest of Bayd closed his eyes and made the symbol of Bayd with his knotted fingers, then smiled suddenly as his hands began to glow pink. “Yes, yes, now I can feel him once more. Blessed Bayd, God of marvels, He who succors the wounded and eases the bodies of the diseased…” The prayer went on for a bit, but the culmination of it was a wash of warm pink light over Hiram, homing in on his head and back. He felt skin knit in an instant, and the break in his shoulder blade went from a stabbing ache to a mere throbbing one.
“That’s all I can do,” Filian said after another moment, releasing his hands with a gusty sigh. “I’m exhausted from so much healing lately, and this porch is still very close to the purview of Melemor, and—”
“Thank you very much,” Hiram cut in, easing himself to his feet. Yes, that was much better; he could handle the rest on his own. A few quick sips of his cure-all or a touch of the right talisman and he’d be bright as bluebells.
“—don’t get to question my methods when it comes to preserving the safety and security of our town!” Uriel was shouting in Tilda’s face. “I’ve known there was something off about this man from the moment he arrived in Lollop!” He turned his florid face in Hiram’s direction again. “Everything was too smooth and easy with you,” he said, spittle flying from his lips. “You’re not what you pretend to be, I know it. I know it! And whether I can prove you killed Granth Devane or not, you better believe I’ll be keeping my eye on you from here on out!”
Well, damn it. There went the use of the cure-all. Hiram couldn’t afford to look suspicious right now, not with Uriel clearly convinced he was more than a simple herbalist. Which, of course, was absolutely correct, damn the man. “I’m sure I’ll be safer than ever under your watchful gaze,” Hiram said, letting some of his own irritation come through at last. “Given the depths of your devotion to the well-being of the men of Lollop.”
Tilda smirked, and Uriel turned from red to purple. Hiram looked back at Mistress Michelson and Filian. “I truly appreciate your time and care,” he said. “I know it’s caused some problems for you, but I’m fine now. You can be on your way without worrying Letty.”
“Oh, it’s already too late for us to leave today,” Mistress Michelson said with a shrug. “Don’t want to get caught between inns in that forest if we can help it. Gnolls and such, you know. No, we’ll leave tomorrow instead, early. One day’s delay won’t hurt us.”
“Robb will enjoy prolonging his performances at the tavern as well,” Filian added. “He’d been earning coppers off people since breakfast!”
The tension in Hiram’s back eased a bit more hearing that. If Robb—Marlon—whatever he went by was busy at the inn, then Avery was safe for now. Perhaps Hiram could go to him tonight, once it was dark enough out he didn’t have to worry about being seen.
And perhaps after he’d had a shower to take the rest of the blood out of his hair.
The attack took more out of Hiram than he’d reckoned. He wasn’t left alone until after lunch, a meal that Letty made and served up for him, Mistress Michelson, and Tilda. Uriel and FIlian returned to town shortly after the mayor’s outburst, and Hiram was glad to see the back of both of them. It was ungracious, perhaps, seeing as Filian had done his best to heal him, but Hiram was tired, grumpy, and in pain. The longer he had to put on a pleasant face, the harder it got.
It was Tilda who saw it and made his excuses for him. “You must be desperate for some more rest, Hiram,” she said as she set down her empty teacup. “We’ll give you some privacy.” Mistress Michelson followed suit by standing up and heading for the door, but Letty paused.
She leaned in toward Hiram and whispered, “Do you really think my father could be…dead?”
“I really and truly do,” he told her. He almost apologized as tears welled up in her eyes, but then she beamed a smile at him.
“Thank you, Master Emblic!” She bounded over to the door like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and finally it was just Hiram and Knight once more.
And Phlox.
“Honestly, you’d think they have better things to do than hang around here all day.”
“Don’t start,” Hiram murmured, rubbing his fingers across his aching temples.
“And that healing. So shoddy.”
“He did the best he could.”
“That doesn’t speak very well of his god’s power or favor, does it?”
Hiram groaned softly, then said, “He is dead, isn’t he? Granth?”
“Quite. Esme made very certain of that.”
Ah, Esme. Of course it had been her. She could have eaten Granth whole, no telltale blood stain left behind. That she’d done so meant she’d intended his death to be known. Now there would be no uncertainty haunting the rest of the Devane family, no fears the man might ever come back. He was gone, forever and ever. “She’s a good friend,” he said.
“I think she did it for the boy, personally. You know she’s grooming him to be her next high priest.”
That should have alarmed Hiram more than it did, but honestly he was so tired right now he could barely sit upright. He glanced over at the stairs, and just the sight of them fatigued him more than he could say.
His armchair, though, was quite close and very comfortable in and of itself. Hiram got up and staggered over to it, settling back with a wince. “I might be getting too old for this sort of thing,” he muttered.
“Sleep then, old man,” Phlox said, his voice taunting and gentle all at once. “I’ll guard your slumber.”
Hiram leaned his head back and let go of consciousness. Unkempt and ill-healed as he was, he still slept like the dead until a loud knock on his door jolted him awake. There was almost no light coming in through the windows now; he’d dozed off for at least five hours, perhaps more. He felt as though he could easily sleep another dozen.
Maybe I can just ignore it…
The knock sounded again, louder.
Or not. He pressed wearily to his feet and forced himself to methodically place one foot in front of the other on his way across the room. He opened it on a yawn, then—
“Master Emblic.”
Oh. Oh. What in the name of all the heavens was he doing here?
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