“You’re sure you don’t want some?” she said, offering the bottle.
The soldiers didn’t even acknowledge her.
“No, I suppose not,” she said. “I could have poisoned it, after all. Do you mind if I let my brother have some? His nerves could use some steadying.”
After a moment, the nearest soldier gave a nod, and Genara topped off her glass and gave it to Lem. He shakily took it and sipped at it.
“Wh-what have you gotten yourself into, Genara?” he said.
She sighed. “Evidently this is what one can expect if one is foolish enough to seek out heroism.”
“Heroism? These are the Elite! They’re our own soldiers!”
She took a sip directly from the bottle, briefly allowing her carefully trained decorum to drop away.
“They aren’t the problem,” she said, glancing around to their captors. “I want you to know I mean that. I don’t blame you for this. Your heart is in the right place. The problem is the rest of you is being led astray. You, for instance.”
Genara pointed to one of the older members of the Elite.
“You look like you’ve been in the game for quite some time. Even though you’ve probably been on the road for days, you don’t look nearly as shabby as this fellow.” She indicated a younger, less fit soldier. “No offense, kid, but I’ve heard the queen padded out the Elites lately with some of her friends from the old days, and the lack of discipline shows.” She turned back to the older man. “Desmeres and I spent quite a bit of time together over the last few weeks. I’ve heard the story of the Battle of Verril and the events leading up to it from him. Evidently a few of you had to camp out in this very spot, waiting for what turned out to be Myranda Celeste to leave the cave. Is that true?”
Again, he didn’t acknowledge the question. She continued regardless.
“I’d not heard that bit in any of the other accounts that have trickled through to the public. Small detail, I suppose, but it explains those boxes over yonder, and that ratty old tent canvas. It’s a real shame how often you boys have been used to hunt down people trying to do right by their world.”
Lem finished his cup, but turned down a refill. “I used to worry about you. Constantly. But I didn’t think you’d end up in more danger when you left Clennock’s Den.”
“I’m not sure what I was expecting, but believe me when I say if I’d realized the danger I was putting you and Father in, I never would have ventured out. The problem is this Epidime. If not for him, the Elites never would have been a problem. Staying ahead of them is actually remarkably simple, once you know how they work.” She glanced to the older soldier. “Again, no offense.”
“Epidime… but he was one of the five Generals. And the five Generals are dead.”
“Not dead, not all of them. Most of them are just gone. Or at least, so everyone thought. But now Epidime has shown his face. Or taken someone else’s.” She glanced around to the others. “You at least believe that, don’t you? Because I’ve spoken to Commander Anrack before. And that wasn’t him. Not by a long shot.”
The soldiers gave no reply, though the two former Undermine soldiers among them began to show obvious doubt in their expressions.
“After ages, the man decides to heal his wounds? How precisely did he achieve it? Does anyone know? … I suppose not. One doesn’t question a superior officer. That would be poor discipline. And a complete shift in personality as well. Rather obvious signs. Now I hear him saying something about a code word that give any random stranger complete command over the Elites? Doesn’t that strike you as the sort of precaution one might take if he was, for example, likely to change forms and didn’t want to give up control?”
Lem looked to his empty cup again and shakily offered it for a refill as the weight of the observations pressed down upon him. She poured a splash of brandy into it.
“To tell you the truth, I’m starting to get a feel for how these D’Karon work. Now that I know their ways and means, the thought of them commanding the Elites in secret doesn’t concern me nearly as much as this blatant revelation of their manipulation,” Genara said.
“Why?”
“Because when they run things in secret, like they did for the whole war, it means they’re trying to keep things the same. They don’t want to stir things up. When they reveal themselves, what does that mean? It means they don’t need the cloak and dagger anymore. At least, not the cloak. It means they’re near enough to their goals that secrecy has no value any longer. Epidime senses the end game, and he believes he’s won.” She sipped the brandy. “And I’m not certain he’s wrong.”
“How could going into the Cave of the Beast be a victory? He’ll be killed! They’ll both be killed,” Lem said.
She grinned and shook her head. “I forgot how blind I was before all this started. How much I thought I knew. Bah. I suppose it could all be lies. And at any rate, it scarcely matters. The likelihood of either of us getting out of this alive is practically nil. But you know something, Lem? … I don’t regret all of it. Some of the things I’ve learned… Do you know I actually spoke to the hand of fate? Looked him in the eye… so to speak, he was wearing a blindfold.”
“Fate is blind?” Lem said.
“Yep.”
“That explains a lot.”
“Nice old fellow, though. Calls himself Oriech. And the things I’ve seen, Lem. The things I’ve heard…”
Genara glanced about, no apparent focus for her search.
“I learned a word. A phrase, actually. Sort of musical. It’s supposed to be good luck.”
“What’s the phrase? I’d say now would be a good time for luck.”
She corked the bottle and set it down.
“Narissa Naruma.”
The words may as well have been an invitation for chaos to join their discussion. Twangs and snaps came from all sides. Darts trailing long threads dug into the ground, the trees, and even the stone. The soldiers burst into motion, but the attack was coming from everywhere at once. Tiny, shrill voices filled the air. Small, half-seen figures sprinted from the trees, each toting coils of twine and assorted bizarre mechanisms. Loops found their way around arm and between legs. Coiled springs turned wheels and reeled in hand-held winches. A veritable web of strands formed seemingly of its own accord, tripping up and entangling soldiers. One by one the men tumbled from their feet and the dashing figures hammered pegs and spikes into the earth around them. More rope wove back and forth between the pegs, binding them down tight.
It all happened so quickly. Before they could even react, the less skilled of soldiers were already down. The best among them managed a few quick swipes of their swords and stomps of their feet, but it was too little, too late. Barely a minute after the onslaught began it was over. Every last soldier was pinned to the ground, and one by one, the rescuers stopped to catch their breath. In total, there were thirty of them, gnomes familiar from the celebration, and chief among them was Gwellin himself.
“Many thanks, Gwellin,” Genara said slipping from her seat to crouch before him. “You did a fine job, particularly on such short notice.”
“Bah. You’re just lucky so many of the others lingered in my neck of the woods after we were through dancing.”
Lem, frazzled, peeked out from within the carriage. He’d taken cover as the madness erupted.
“What in heaven’s name was that!? What are these things? And why did they rescue you?”
“I’m a friend of the burrow,” Genara said simply. “It’s a long story. Listen, Gwellin. I need you and your friends to follow me into the cave. Desmeres is inside and—”
Gwellin put his hand to the back of his head. “Um… About the cave…”
“We need to hurry! I had to wait until Epidime was far enough away that he couldn’t stop you from helping with the Elites. If we don’t move quickly he could be too far inside to be found, to say nothing of what he might do to Desmeres at any moment.”
“We aren’t going to help you wi
th the cave, Genara,” Gwellin said.
“But I’m a friend of the burrow! And so is Desmeres!”
“Friendship only goes so far! That is the Cave of the Beast, Genara. Dwarfs don’t even go in there, and it’s loaded with gems. Do you know how hard it is to keep a dwarf out of a good mine?” He hefted his crossbow. “I’m not a fighter, I’m a tinkerer. That still makes me a better fighter than most because, well, I’m a gnome…”
The other gnomes cheered at this. Combined with a bit of a waver to their stance, it suggested they were still pleasantly under the effects of the strong drink they’d been enjoying at the celebration.
“But being a gnome also means I’m too smart to hurl ourselves into the mouth of a beast that’s eaten people who fancy themselves brilliant fighters.”
“I think we can best the beast of the cave!” slurred one of the other gnomes. “After all, we bested that mighty beast.”
He indicated a bank of snow beside the carriage, where Dowser had been hogtied. From the way his tail was wagging and his tongue was lolled out of his mouth, the puppy did not seem to feel this was much of a problem. Genara groaned and knelt beside Dowser to undo his bonds.
“What are you doing! That is my personal conquest!” said the tipsy gnome.
“Gwellin, we have to go in there. Desmeres could die, and I don’t want to think about what will happen if Epidime gets what he’s after. We made a plan!”
“I know but… the Cave of the Beast.”
“According to Desmeres there isn’t even a beast in it! You have to help me.”
“I know, I know. Listen. I put a lot of thought into it, and I am going to help you.”
He gestured to one of the other gnomes, a somewhat burlier one—in relative terms—with an apparatus strapped to his back. It looked similar to the crossbow Gwellin relied so heavily on, but it was somehow less artful, less refined.
“This is the first version of my crossbow. It is a bit awkward and inelegant by my standards. Everything about it is too broad, too big, too rough and with too hard an action. But for you, it just might work.
He handed it up to her, barely able to support its full weight. Genara took it and looked it over. It was a bit small for her hand, but not terribly. If her hands were any less dainty she wouldn’t have been able to access the trigger within its guard. As it was meant as a shoulder-mounted weapon, it required an awkward hand position to aim it. Other than that, though, it looked like a smaller, bizarrely complex version of the weapons she’d seen the bodyguards of some of her wealthiest customers hang at their sides.
“It is simple to operate. Just roll the wheel in the back there to draw the bow, drop a bolt into the notch there, aim, and pull the trigger to fire. Hold it good and tight, though. It kicks like a boar. Thlempin there has a few more bolts.”
Genara looked to another gnome holding five blackened metal darts. She scooped them up and tucked them into a pocket, then hung the weapon at her side.
“Fine. I’ll go alone,” Genara said. “But if I call on you folks again, you’d best remember how you came up short this time.”
“We’ll make you proud!” Gwellin said. “And if you die, I’ll make a fine statue in your honor.”
Lem tugged the sword free from the hand of one of the struggling Elite.
“You’re not going alone, Genara. If you’re going in the Cave of the Beast, I’m coming with you.”
“Don’t be stupid, brother. This isn’t your fight.”
“It isn’t your fight either. And at least I swing a pick and heave a shovel for a living. I might be of some use.”
“You are my younger brother and I forbid it!” she snapped. “What if something happens to both of us? Who will care for father?”
“But…”
“You stay here, see to the horses. Ready bandages and the like. Keep a sword close and if Epidime tries to leave, strike him down. If it seems like we aren’t going to return, you find a way to take care of Father.”
“You always were bossy…”
She stowed her stiletto alongside the bow and picked up Dowser, who was still struggling with the last few loops of cord and attempting to playfully devour or inhale the nearest gnome.
“That’s because I know what’s best. I’m older, remember?”
“Good luck to you, Genara,” Lem said, hugging her as best he could while she was so encumbered. “Come back safe.”
“I intend to,” she said.
He lit a torch for her from the Elite’s equipment and presented it. She took it and moved swiftly into the cave before she could talk herself out of it. Once she was a few steps inside, she set Dowser down.
“I hope Desmeres trained you well enough while I was gone…” Genara said.
The puppy sniffed the ground and ambled forward. Behind her, she could hear most of the gnomes retreating into the woods again. All but one.
“So…” Gwellin said, just at the edge of her hearing. “You’re a Copperwright too? Interested in buying any jewelry?”
“Don’t let him swindle you!” Genara called back to her brother, before muttering to herself as she traveled deeper. “I really thought being a hero would come with a bit more dignity than this.”
She knelt beside Dowser.
“I don’t know your commands, and I don’t know if you can even track Desmeres with those charms of his on, but if that nose is good for anything, use it now.” She pointed to the ground. “Follow. Find them. He’ll be in a bad way if we don’t.”
Dowser didn’t give much of an indication that he understood a word of what she was saying, but he did follow her gesture to the ground. Once his nose was down, it stayed down, and he trotted forward, sniffing all the way. Genara hurried across the slick stone, torch held high and strange weapon tight in her grasp. The farther into the cave they traveled, the sharper and deeper the echoes. As branching tunnels presented themselves, Dowser turned to follow this one or that without raising his head to offer a glance. There was no doubt he smelled something, but having witnessed firsthand the less than impressive intellect of the puppy, Genara did her best to remember which turns she was making. If it turned out Dowser was tracking down the scent of a particularly interesting rabbit or lizard, she wanted to at least have the hope of escaping.
#
The feeling returned to Desmeres’s limbs, and not that it did him any good in the darkness, tears had washed the grit from his eyes. For the last few minutes he’d moved slowly and carefully along the ledge, listening for any evidence that Epidime had survived. When last he’d found his way out of this pit, it had been by creeping with care to the upstream end of the pool where the water filtered through the remains of some ancient cave-in. There, at least decades ago when he’d passed through, he’d eventually found the rusted remnants of a chain mounted into a series of the larger boulders. Presumably it had been installed by a particularly resourceful wizard or warrior at some point in the past while seeking the fabled beast of the cave.
There was little more than the constant echo of water as he worked his way in what seemed to be the proper direction. Not a flicker of light, not the crunch of another footstep. Finally he found his way to the gravely remnants of the collapse and waded into the water. Here the first glimmer of light found him, a faint ember of glow from the gems of his sword somewhere beneath the surface, too far for him to clearly see where it had landed. Icy, stinging fingers were ill-suited to the task of discerning a cold metal chain from frozen stone, but he doubted he had the strength to find his way to the top of the collapse without the chain to help him.
In a moment of profound relief, his fingers closed around an ice-encrusted shape that could only be a chain. Panic washed that relief away when, as he tugged at the chain, he felt fingers close around his ankle. He held tight as the grip threatened to drag him along the jagged stone and beneath the water once more.
Light as weak as starlight flickered from beneath the water, illuminating the vague form of the commander’s body
hauling itself upward, Desmeres’s sword still at his belt. Desmeres reached to his own belt and drew his blade, but Epidime’s other hand reached up and caught his wrist in a crushing grip. Water poured off Epidime’s borrowed body and he spat it from his mouth, fighting a breath in to replace it. The usurped commander’s body climbed fully from the water.
“I must compliment you on the ferocity of your plan.”
His voice was hollow, unnatural, as though his lungs and throat were shredded and ruined, yet somehow still functioning.
“You were not far from correct. This cave is among the most confounding places I’ve had the misfortune to venture. But, as I’ve learned, the human body can be pushed far further than one would imagine. It takes so little strength to keep it moving for hours past the point of death.”
Epidime threw Desmeres aside, tearing the icy chain from his hand. Desmeres landed hard atop jagged stones and heard a sickening snap as a boot came down on his wrist.
“I thank you for your impatience, though,” Epidime said. “I knew you lacked the conviction to take your own life, but I honestly wasn’t certain how you would have sought to stop me. Now that you’ve made your move and failed, I am prepared to make mine.”
He slid a waterlogged torch from his pack and crouched, gripping the end in one fist while he spoke.
“I wonder, have you read our writings on the nature of the Mark of the Chosen?” he said, steam sizzling from the end of the torch. “It really is a remarkable means to protect the most powerful of your world from a threat like me. Marvelously useful. A simple curve and point that summons divine wrath upon those who would do this world harm… But the thing that makes the mark most valuable isn’t that it can so easily be applied. What makes it useful is that it is as much a thing of the soul as it is of the body, at least for the chosen who rightly bear it.”
The end of the torch finally burst to flame.
“Lesser marks, or mundane creatures given the Mark of the Chosen, don’t enjoy this benefit.”
He drove the handle of the torch into the wet gravel, drew his sword, and pulled Desmeres up by his bandaged hand.
The Redemption of Desmeres Page 37
