Erin Evans - The God Catcher

Nestrix looked at her thoughtfully. "Coins wouldn't do it… not for you. And a promise-well, if you'd take that, you wouldn't be asking." She considered her a moment longer and sighed heavily. She unfastened the pouch from around her neck and handed it to Tennora. "That is my guarantee and yours."

Tennora loosened the neck and peered inside. It had been stuffed with batting and rags. She nudged those aside and found, nestled in the middle, the curve of an eggshell. It was mottled blue and thick as a porcelain bowl.

"You bring me to Aundra Blacklock, I'll teach you the ritual," Nestrix said. "You keep that safe, I will not kill you."

"What is it?"

"A shell from my first clutch," she said. "It's what I have left of them. If you damage it, then I will kill you after all." This she said in as matter-of-fact a tone as she'd used when she'd described their deal.

"All right," Tennora said. "I'll do as you ask. But if Aundra won't see you, then I hand this back and you go on your way."

"Of course," Nestrix said.

Tennora slipped the pouch over her neck. It was lighter than it looked.

You shouldn't trust her, she told herself once more, but it was the memory of her mother's voice that rose up and caught her attention.

"Your wits are very useful," she'd said more than once. "But if your gut disagrees, your wits aren't worth much at all."

"I'll go settle with Mardin."

When she reached the bar, Mardin set aside the mug he was drying and came over to her. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Everything's fine," she said. He gave her a skeptical look. "It is. Look, what do I owe?" "Your coins are no good today, petal." He glanced over at Nestrix. "Who is she? What does she want?"

"Someone I met. Tell me or I'll just give you a pile of them."

"Fine, six coppers. But you tell me if you need help. Where did you meet her?"

"Out." Tennora counted out the coins. "Mardin, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can-wouldn't be your mother's daughter if you couldn't. But that woman looks a mite like the scorchkettle that was shouting in the street earlier."

"Funny," Tennora said. "I hadn't noticed."

"Be careful." He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "And I'll say no more."

No more, Tennora thought, until tomorrow. Or until someone else asked him, and he told his new favorite patron all about dear little Tennora.

Truly, she adored Mardin as if he were her blood uncle. But between Mardin, Aunt Aowena, Uncle Eckhart, and-until lately-Master Halnian, she felt as if too many people were pulling her in too many directions. She could take care of herself, walk her own path, couldn't she?

But oh, how disappointed they'd all be if she didn't listen to them. If she told Aunt Aowena outright that her offer was insulting. If she told Uncle Eckhart she wasn't afraid of her neighbors and only a fool would be. If she told Mardin that she wasn't twelve years old anymore, sweet and quiet standing behind her mother's perfumed skirts, and she knew what she was risking and wanted to risk it anyway.

"It is best," her mother had said on more than one occasion, "to show your elders a polite face and a smile, and please them if you can. There are too many watching for you to miss a step and prove yourself unworthy of your father's name."

And much as Tennora tried not to care, to break herself of the well-trained reactions and choking politeness, she found herself falling back into them like a wheel into a rut.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, she nearly crashed into a man in a hooded stormcloak. She looked up and realized he wasn't a man but a half-orc, broad-shouldered and taller than her by head and a half.

"Sorry," she said, moving to the side. But the half-orc didn't move.

He grabbed her hand-his own was the size of a dessert plate-and pressed a piece of paper into it. "I must warn you. There isn't much time."

Oh gods, Tennora thought. A zealot. The market teemed with them, and some days they wandered down the street of the God Catcher trying to collect souls and alms. They were harmless, and more often than not their intentions were in the right place. But Tennora's soul was perfectly content, and its comportment-as her aunt would say-was not the business of a shifty-looking beggar.

But it was late, and he looked so concerned. She stifled her groan, smiled, and folded the leaflet, stuffing it in her pocket. "Thank you," she said pleasantly, and slipped to one side. "I promise I'll look at it later." If she was lucky there wouldn't be printing on one side and she could use it for notes. She pressed a few coppers into his hand and stepped around him to collect Nestrix and head home to the God Catcher.

Veron watched Nestrix and Tennora leave, twisting the fabric of his sleeve in one hand. He'd expected her to be startled, maybe for her to cry out or tell him off. He hadn't expected to be ignored and turned aside like that. He turned to the bartender.

"You were talking to her," he said. "Do you know where she lives?"

Mardin grunted. "What makes you think I'm daft enough to tell you that?" He looked Veron up and down. "You her fancyman? Veron startled. "I'm sorry?"

The bartender chuckled. "I don't judge. You ask me, my girl needs to find herself a nice fellow. In my book, anybody who cleans up his mess like you did with them pigeon bones gets a good mark, don't matter who his father is. So you can tell me. Passing her love notes?"

Veron felt his cheeks burn. "No, no-just… a concerned party. That person she's speaking to is trouble."

"She can handle it," Mardin said, picking up another mug.

"I don't think-"

"Do you know who that girl's mother was?" Mardin said. Veron Angalen shook his head. "Liferna Uskevren-and if you never heard of her, it just proves she was better at her trade than anyone under the sun before she took up with that Hedare boy, fell in love and into 'society.' A whole line of clever women and not a few damn clever men leads up to that one. Ruthless enough to get the job done, good-hearted enough to come back for you when the odds are tough. Tennora can take care of herself." Mardin frowned. "Though it's easy to forget that."

"She'll need to remember soon enough." Veron paid his bill and looked out the window at the God Catcher. The two women entered through the large door below the statue's chin. He should have been quicker.

He would have to be quicker next time. He was close, closer than he'd ever been.

The God Catcher had quieted down by the time Tennora climbed up the twisting stairs, Nestrix in tow. The children were all tucked into their beds, their families finishing up the day's chores. Behind other doors came the murmur of her neighbors conversing genially and easily with their lovers and friends. A conversation here and there slid through the thin walls-the price of wheat's gone up and there are rumors of blue lightning around Blackstaff Tower and did you see that young man skulking around the square? Tennora caught snippets of them, but her own thoughts were turned squarely toward the tall woman walking behind her-and the leather bag hanging around her own neck.

It was like something out of a legend or one of Mardin's stories. A dragon trapped in the form of a woman-better yet, a dragon who had seen the Spellplague with her own eyes. She had probably seen all sorts of marvels, traveling over Faerun. The Sea of Fallen Stars; the Plaguewrought Land; the city of Airspur. Tennora wondered if she could see them all before she died. She gave her head a little shake as she reached the door of her apartment.

"You're a bright girl," her uncle Eckhart had told her on more than one occasion. "Why, Selune preserve us, would you waste that on daydreaming and fantasy when you could be focusing your mind on improving your status? Or at the least something useful like a trade?" He was right, of course-daydreaming about visiting the earthmotes over Chult wasn't terribly useful. She indulged herself nevertheless, and added a dragon to her dream.