Oracle

by David Dickie

  Then there was a long sliver blade sticking out of one of the ohulhug’s chests, while the other one was wearing Aurora around his head like a hood. She swung her hand down hard and planted a dagger in the middle of the ohulhug’s chest, straight through leather armor, a pretty impressive blow. The ohulhug didn’t seem to notice it. It grabbed Aurora by her hair and flipped her over its head. She thudded into the ground so hard it made stones jump into the air. While she was still stunned, it took its sword and rammed the point straight through her and several feet into the dirt under her.

  Grim was on his feet by then, leaping, the pain in his side suddenly a distant thing, barely worth notice. His hand with the dagger was back, ready to thrust. But the ohulhug was fast and outweighed him by more than two to one. It was going to smash him to the side with nothing but its body weight.

  Without warning, everything went into slow motion, and the sounds of the distant battle went low and guttural. It was Aurora’s Kydaos spell. Grim could see exactly where the ohulhug’s arm was going, and he ducked under it easily. Grim saw an expression of surprise slowly appearing on the ohulhug’s face. It was almost complete when Grim jammed his dagger in the thing’s eye up to the hilt. It took two steps backward and collapsed. Grim spun around and dropped to his knees by Aurora. Her hands were around the blade of the sword that was stuck through the center of her chest, pinning her to the dirt.

  “Hey, she said weakly, “buy me a drink. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” And then her eyes closed, and her body relaxed.

  “No, damn it no,” said Grim. Tyrgo was suddenly next to him, and Grim grabbed the front of Tyrgo’s shirt. “Heal her. I know you have the spells. Fix her!”

  Tyrgo was looking at Aurora, eyes and face frozen. “Would that I could. Healing’s not instant, and that’s a lot of damage. I couldn’t do anything fast enough to keep the rest of her organs alive, even if I could repair her heart and arteries, and I’m not sure the best healer in Kethem could manage that. I’m sorry, Grim. It’s her time.”

  Grim stood, suddenly furious. “‘It’s her time.’ Don’t give me that religious bullshit, not here, not now. I didn’t ask you to do this. I didn’t ask you to come with me. You’re both idiots. You knew this would happen. You should have left, you should have, should have…” Grim stopped and turned away. “Get away from me.”

  Tyrgo stood. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d rather you got away from me. I need to take care of my sister’s body.”

  Grim just walked off, not looking back, not looking where he was going. Then Tyrgo was suddenly beside him again, clutching his shoulder. “Grim, you’re wounded. You’re leaving a trail of blood behind you.” Grim looked down and saw his shirt and pants on his right side were soaked with blood. He knew he should be concerned about it, but it seemed a long way off, like it was someone else’s blood, someone else’s body. He looked at Tyrgo again, trying to summon a little hate, a little anger, but the faint glow that came was a muffled, vague thing. There was something wrong with Tyrgo’s face. It was in shadow, the glow disks from the building behind it, but even so, it seemed fuzzy somehow. “What’s up with… with…” and then everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When Grim woke, he was in a room of white marble with tapestries on the wall. The bed was large and comfortable, a four-poster with a canopy overhead. His head was on what had to be the softest pillow he’d ever known. After blinking a few times, he sat up. The room was richly furnished, with bureaus and chairs in dark, gleaming wood and crushed velvet. Stegar was in one chair, Daesal in another. Daesal, relaxed against the high back of the chair she was in with her eyes closed, appeared to be asleep. Stegar was watchful and had the dark circles under his eyes of someone who had been up all night.

  Grim took stock of his condition and found it substantially better than he expected. He was dressed in some kind of night robe, soft and silky. His side itched like he’d rubbed up against fireweed, although when he touched it there were none of the lumpy blotches normally associated with that kind of encounter, just smooth, unblemished skin where there should have been a giant, inch-deep gash. He felt a little weak. And hungry, his stomach gnawing at him like it was trying to digest his own internal organs.

  Grim nodded at Stegar. Stegar nodded back. Stegar stood, walked quietly over to Daesal, and touched her gently. Her eyes opened. “Grim’s awake,” said Stegar.

  Daesal looked at Grim, smiled, then stood and stretched. “Good morning, Grim.”

  Grim closed his eyes for a moment. “The Kydaos priestess that was traveling with me that I told you about, Aurora. Do you know her condition?”

  Daesal and Stegar glanced at each other. Stegar said, “Dead. I thought you were there when it happened.”

  Grim nodded. “I was, but things are a little fuzzy and I was hoping…” he trailed off. “In any case, with that, have to say, it’s not a good morning.”

  Daesal said solemnly, “There are a lot of those kinds of not-good mornings this morning. I’m sorry. We were told you killed the ohulhug that was responsible. That between you and the two Kydaos priests there are four dead high ohulhug. Generally, a high ohulhug is considered the equivalent of a six-man squad in the Kethem Guard. It was a miracle you survived. You did everything you could.”

  Grim laughed bitterly. “No, no I did not. She and Tyrgo told me this would happen. They warned me, and I thought I would stop it by just… I don’t know, by just not allowing it to happen. I should have sent them away. I should have gone and pissed on the floor of the closest Kydaos temple, told that miserable god just what I think of his misbegotten plans for his clergy.”

  Daesal and Stegar exchanged glances again, both frowning. Daesal said, “It sounds like there is a story there, but it will wait. How are you feeling?”

  Grim shrugged. “Can’t say good as new, but pretty good. All healed up and ready to go, other than a little itching. Tyrgo do that?”

  Daesal shook her head. “No. Tyrgo did other things. You almost died.”

  Grim frowned. “It wasn’t that bad a cut. I’ve had worse.”

  Stegar said, “It was that bad, and it was from an ohulhug weapon. Wounds from those fester, carry diseases that can kill in hours. And you’d lost a lot of blood. It was touch and go, Grim. They have competent healers here, and between Tyrgo’s initial intervention and their ministrations, you pulled out of it.”

  Grim sighed. He felt dull, couldn’t find the anger any more. Finally, he said, “Tyrgo around? I should thank him.”

  Stegar shook his head. “Burial ceremony for his sister. He’s transporting the body to a Kydaos temple in Nyquet. Headed out this morning. He left a note for you.”

  Grim said, “I’ll wait on that. More important things at the moment. Alan and Lug are ok?”

  Daesal nodded. “Yes. They gave a good accounting of themselves at the docks. They would be here, but Alan seemed to think you would prefer our company to his.”

  “Did he tell you who he was?”

  “An elf magicked up to look human, here to make sure we didn’t uncover anything that would be embarrassing to the elves in the records from the old empire? He did.”

  Grim smiled a bit. “Point to Alan. Fayyaad?”

  Another glance. Stegar said, “There’s something wrong with him. His wounds from the battle were mostly superficial. He has a concussion. Nothing the healers can do about that. But… he tried to kill himself when he came around. Did a pretty good job messing himself up before they could get the knife away. If a healer hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have made it. He’s restrained at the moment so he can’t hurt himself, but he won’t talk to anyone. Hasn’t eaten either, no food or water.”

  “What did Tyrgo tell you about him?”

  “That Fayyaad was outside, unconscious when he and Aurora arrived.”

  Grim laughed bitterly. Tyrgo must have been too busy fighting the ohulhug in the hallway to have noticed Fayyaad was helping kidnap Rotan. “Fayyaad was leading the ohulhug to
Rotan. I think Fayyaad drugged Rotan ahead of time so he wouldn’t escape to the temple during the attack. How could I have missed it? He was always slipping out when we arrived anywhere new. No wonder the ohulhug knew we were in Eleyford, and then in the enclave. Fayyaad was relaying our plans the minute we finished making them. That stupid bracelet he wears must be a communications artifact.”

  Stegar looked shocked. “A human spying for the high ohulhug? They kill or enslave humans on sight. Who would work with them?”

  Daesal looked at Grim sympathetically. “It’s easy to trust too much, Grim.”

  Grim snorted. “For you, maybe. For me, distrust is a way of life.”

  “You trusted us,” said Daesal. “With information that you know could put your life in danger.”

  Grim couldn’t refute that, so he did the next best thing. He changed the subject. “I want to talk with him.” Grim put a hand to his chest. The amulet was missing.

  Stegar pulled it from a pocket, walked over and handed it to Grim. “Held it for you. Your other things are with the acolytes. Well, the salvageable things. Your clothes were pretty much done for.” Grim had told Daesal and Stegar about the amulet. Knowing what he did now, the million rimmi Fal had offered in Eleyford was laughable. Grim didn’t have a clue how to price it. Ten million? A hundred million? It could be the most valuable item in all of Kethem. He nodded his thanks. Stegar reached in another pocket and took out the artificer’s weapon. “Figured out what this must be. I found an enchanter to charge it up, but just one charge. We can get it topped off later.”

  Daesal looked a little startled. “You could have told me. I would have done it.”

  Stegar shrugged. “I didn’t want you drained of mana until it was clear the attack was over and done with.” He turned back to Grim. “You can talk with Fayyaad, but it wouldn’t hurt to have some food and stretch a bit. Clear your head.”

  Grim got out of the bed, feeling a little foolish in a silk night robe. “My cloak?”

  “That survived. I think the acolytes know about all the little things sewn into it, but I didn’t think a thief’s tools would be too much of a temptation, so I let them clean it.”

  Grim nodded. It didn’t have much, nothing like the one he’d lost when the Venture went down with his real thief tools, his tattletale, his mana drainer. Those had been expensive. “Did you check Rotan’s room? He had the rimmi his friend in Eleyford gave us.”

  Stegar nodded. “Found and accounted for. All they took was Rotan.”

  Grim nodded slowly. Whatever Fayyaad had been promised, it wasn’t money. Grim remembered the expression on Fayyaad’s face, desperation, someone trapped. But he couldn’t think of a scenario that would force Fayyaad to work with ohulhug. They killed on a whim. No one would think a hostage was safe in ohulhug hands. Grim put it aside. He would know soon enough. He slipped on the amulet.

  Stegar pointed to a drawer. “Clean clothes. They should fit you.”

  Grim opened the drawer and there were the basics, undergarments, a cotton shirt, wool pants, a pair of socks and a belt. Stegar pointed to the door. His boots were tucked to one side.

  “Turn around, please,” said Grim, mostly to Daesal, who looked confused, then colored and turned to face away from him. Stegar did the same. Grim changed quickly. “Done,” he said when everything was in place. “What happened on the docks? Was it the black ship?”

  Daesal shook her head no. “Nothing like what you described, and yet just as strange. You know how the ore barges work? Ingenious devices, I must say.” Grim nodded. “The ohulhug were in smaller boats with the same type of paddle-wheels for propulsion. But ohulhug, at least the wild mountain ones, do not worship the gods. Instead of Storm Bull spells, they used captured dragons.”

  Grim looked at her, confused. “A dragon was powering the paddle-wheels?”

  Daesal paused. “Perhaps. Perhaps not a dragon. The creature was in a large metal cylinder, a cylinder with a hot fire heating it. The creature breathed out hot gases that would escape with an angry hiss. And that… somehow made the paddle-wheels spin. I am surmising it was after they had Rotan on board, but they suddenly ended the attack and headed downstream at a speed the ore barges could not match on their best day. Faster than I have seen a water vessel move before, even a Kethem Frigate.”

  Grim frowned. “A Kethem Frigate can do twenty knots. Nothing river-borne could match that speed.” Which was not completely true. The elves had magicked up boats that could beat a Kethem Frigate, but those were all ocean-going vessels as far as he knew.

  Daesal shrugged. “It did.”

  Grim thought about it. The black ship with its demon-tubes. Ships propelled by hot creatures in metal cylinders. It didn’t add up—there was no obvious connection between the two other than the ohulhug having new and strange magic at their disposal. While he was thinking about it, Grim’s stomach growled so loudly that Daesal smiled and Stegar laughed.

  “You need something to eat. Let us be about it,” said Daesal.

  “Where are we, anyway?” asked Grim.

  “Master Brandin’s quarters,” said Stegar. “He insisted on housing you here until your healing was complete.”

  “Nice of him,” said Grim. He wasn’t sure he liked that. He didn’t want to be indebted to Brandin or the enclave. But what was done was done.

  They exited the room to a hallway. Down a short distance was a dining room where an acolyte was on duty, a young, brawny, short-haired man with the flatter facial features of an ohulhug half-breed. He blinked a few times like he had been close to falling asleep, which Grim realized might be true. It seemed like everyone was still recovering from the attack last night. Everyone but him.

  The acolyte grinned, showing blunted fangs, and said, “Please have a seat! I’m afraid the kitchen’s morning routine is a bit off schedule, so there’s no fresh pastries, but we have eggs, breakfast meats, and juice. What would you like?”

  After they had all ordered a variety of food and drink, they sat down. Before a conversation could get underway, Brandin came striding into the room.

  Daesal called out, “Master Brandin, a good morning to you!” and tried to stand, but Brandin waved her down.

  “Our philosophy is that formalities should only be observed on a full stomach. May I join you?” Daesal smiled and nodded. Brandon took a seat opposite Grim.

  Brandin looked at Grim and said, “How are you doing this morning? Looking fit, at least.”

  Grim said, “Physically fine.”

  Brandin nodded. “The Kydaos priestess, Aurora. I am sorry for your loss.”

  Grim said a little uncomfortably, “We weren’t close.”

  Brandin said, “That wasn’t what I meant.” And then, a little more thoughtfully, “Although I think you are not being completely honest with yourself. You had more than a small attachment to her, even it if was platonic.”

  Grim sat back and felt a small burn of anger. He tried to tamp it down. “We were not close,” he said again. “And what did you mean, that wasn’t what you meant?”

  Brandin sighed. “There are other Kydaos clergy here. They knew the two, brother and sister, born of a man who was touched by their god. They knew the two were on a channel quest, and that it involves you.”

  “Really,” said Grim. “And did they know it was foretold that Aurora would die protecting me? Did they sit back and enjoy the little show their god decided to put on?”

  Brandin looked at him sharply. “Channel quests always come at a cost that one does not disclose. This cost was so high… she did something amazing, something special. She will be remembered and revered for as long as Kydaos temples stand in this land.”

  “I’m sure that will bring a lot of comfort to her. Oh, no, wait a minute, she’s dead,” said Grim bitterly.

  Brandin sat back at looked at Grim appraisingly. Finally, he said, “My advice to you is to stop feeling sorry for yourself and to venerate her, her and what she did for her god, and for you.”

  G
rim’s anger has been rising, turning into fury, into the need to lash out at someone. Brandin had just handed him a target. He found his hand reaching for one of the butter knives on the table. It was dull, but stab someone hard enough and the knife didn’t need to be that sharp. Brandin just watched him, calm, even, placid. Stegar was pushing back his chair as if he was going to intervene, but Daesal put an arm on his chest, and he stopped.

  Things teetered in the balance for a second. Then he wondered why Daesal had stopped Stegar. She was perceptive, beyond anyone he knew, beyond what a human was capable of. He looked deep into Brandin’s eyes. Brandin wasn’t just calm. He was waiting to see Grim react, waiting to see if his barb had gotten through. He was pushing Grim on purpose.