by Paul S. Kemp
"Gods," Baras said. "You talk of this as if they were melons at market."
Egil shrugged again, handed the bone to Baras. "We're tomb robbers. The dead hold no fear for either of us."
Nix worried at the heap a bit longer, looking for a skull, darkening the sky with powdered death. He found shards of bone with every dug furrow, but no skulls.
"Maybe it's a burial mound of some kind," Baras said.
"Not likely," Egil said to Baras. He took the bone from Baras and pointed at various features. "See that? Cracked open for marrow. And those grooves there, those are from teeth."
"Gods," one of the guards said.
All of them made the protective gesture of Orella, even Jyme.
"Maybe we should just leave them be," said Jyme, his voice quaking. "Show some respect for the dead."
Nix left off his digging and stood, his clothes and face coated in the dust of the dead. "The dead need respect no more than they need air or food. Didn't have you as the superstitious sort, Jyme."
"I should be back in Dur Follin in my damned bed," Jyme said.
"Shouldn't we all," Nix said, and wiped his face with his gloved hand. He glanced around. "Bodies, carcasses, whatever these are, they must have been stacked here waist deep. This was the scene of a slaughter."
All eyes went to the hole. The wind gusted, whistled over the opening, the sound like a prolonged scream.
"I ain't camping near this hole," one of the young guards said.
Nods around.
"We could still go back to Dur Follin," said another.
Baras cleared his throat. "No, we can't. And what happened here happened long ago. There's nothing to fear. Let's move, men. Nix, we go. Egil. Now."
When they returned to the caravan, they found Rakon standing near the carriage, looking up at the sky, muttering as if he could speak to wind. When he saw them approach, he made a sharp, dismissive gesture with one hand and turned to face them, hands on his hips.
"What was it?" he asked.
"Holes, my lord," Baras answered.
"Holes?"
The guards around Egil and Nix muttered.
"Unusual holes," Egil said. "Dug by something. With the bones of many old kills near them."
Rakon stared at them, his thin face unreadable. He checked the sky a final time, looked to the west, at the fading light. "We press on a bit more today. Into the cut so we're out of the wind."
With that, he vanished into the carriage.
As the wagon and carriage started to move, Egil sidled up to Nix.
"I'm disquieted by those bones."
"First 'dilatory' and now 'disquieted'? My priest has been replaced by a scholar."
"The bones weren't that old."
"I know," Nix said.
"I think if we don't get clear of this soon, we're going to die here. All of us."
Nix nodded. "We can't go anywhere unless we slip the spellworm. We're in it, Egil. Us and them."
Egil looked at the darkness creeping into the sky, infecting the air. "No one has ever gotten through the Wastes that I've heard."
"Fatalism ill suits you. Recall that you and I have done many things most said couldn't be done. We'll add traversing the Wastes to that list."
"Well enough," Egil finally conceded. "Nix, you see the way Rakon's been watching the sky? He's watching more than the Mages' Moon. There's more afoot here."
"Agreed," Nix said.
Before descending into the cut, the guards took a moment to take torches from the supply wagon and fire them. Nix declined to take one. Instead, he rifled through his satchel until he found what he sought: a fist-sized black globe of polished volcanic glass scribed with the symbol of a closed eye.
"Another gewgaw," Egil said.
"Indeed." Nix held the globe in his palm, spoke a word in the Language of Creation to awaken the magic, and poked the scribed eye with his forefinger. It opened as if alive, squinted at him in anger.
"Come on," Nix said, and poked it again, harder. "Come on."
That did it. The eye closed tightly for a moment, as if charging itself, then opened, emitting a glow as bright as a lantern. The guards looked on with wonder. Baras came over, looked at the globe, looked at Nix, and walked away.
"We could have used that a number of times previous," Egil said. "Where'd you get it?"
"Where else?" Nix said, shining the light around at the red, cracked walls. "The Low Bazaar."
Egil's eyeroll was audible in his tone. "Not a servant of Kerfallen the Grey Mage again?"
"No," Nix said. "I learned my lesson there. This came from a Narascene fortune teller. A pretty one, too."
Egil eyed the bauble skeptically. "Well, if it explodes, at least we'll know who to blame."
"Whom," Nix corrected, and couldn't resist a jibe. "Now leave me alone and go be disquieted or dilatory or something."
CHAPTER NINE
The caravan descended into the cut, leaving even the fading light of sunset behind. The torchlight flickered on the cracked walls of reddish stone that rose to either side and hemmed them in. The meager light provided by the torches and Nix's magic crystal put tall shadows on the wall, but did only a little to dispel the black. The darkness in the cut seemed to have weight, growing heavier as they descended, a blanket of ink that threatened to blot them out.
"Like walking into Hell," Egil said, his voice bouncing loudly off the walls.
"At least we're out of the wind," said one of the guards.
The steep slope carried them down a hundred paces or so to the bottom, where the cut flattened and widened. Boulders and piles of scree flanked the road, but the way ahead looked clear.
A sliver of sky was visible above, through the gash of cut, and the dying light of the day colored it the purple of an old bruise. Looking up, Nix glimpsed a flock of creatures they'd seen earlier, the roiling, spinning cloud of them black against the purple sky. They looked about as big as ducks and flew with the jerky changes of direction typical of bats.
"There," he said, pointing, but they were already gone.
Tense hands went to blade hilts.
"What?" Baras asked, looking around in alarm. "What?"
"That flock of creatures," Nix said. "I just saw them above."
Baras opened his mouth to speak but before he did a high-pitched, uncanny shriek sounded from above. The sound spooked the mounts and those pulling the wagon reared, jolting the cart and spilling two bags of grain. The guards jerked blades from scabbards.
"Crossbows, you dolts," Baras hissed, unslinging his crossbow and readying a quarrel.
While the other guards sheathed blades and readied quarrels, Egil filled his fists with the hafts of his hammers. Nix drew his falchion and shined the light from his magic eye up the irregular face of the cliff. Cracks lined it, veins in the earth.
Another shriek sounded from above, inhuman and savage, but this time from the other side of the cut. The pitch of it put Nix's hairs on end. He thought of the holes they'd found, the heap of bones. He spun around, aiming the crystal eye's beam at the top of the cut. For a moment he thought he caught a flash of movement, but couldn't be sure.
It occurred to him of a sudden that the crystal would make him an easy target from a foe above, so he covered it with his palm and hid under his cloak. The etching of the scribed eye squirmed irritably against his grip. He poked it in the eye with his thumb.
"What in the Pits was that?" Jyme said softly. He scanned the top of the cut behind the aim of his crossbow.
"I thought I saw something move up there," one of the young guards said, pointing up to the right. "Over there."
"Calm heads, men," Baras said, backing toward Rakon's carriage. "No one saw anything moving. You're imagining things."
Rakon's head emerged from the carriage window. "Baras?"
The moment Nix saw Rakon, a sharp pain rooted behind his eye and for a fleeting moment he had an overpowering impulse to charge the carriage, slay the eunuch and the driver, and flee with Rusi
lla and Merelda. The impulse was so strong that he actually took a step toward the carriage.
Of course, the thought and the step agitated the spellworm, sent vomit up his throat and caused his chest to ache. He groaned, staggered a step. Egil's hand closed on his bicep, steadied him.
"You all right?" Egil whispered.
Nix shook his head. "No. They're trying to do something to me."
"Who? The sisters?"
Nix nodded.
"Rakon," Egil called, apparently intent on confronting the sorcerer about his sister.
"No!" Nix hissed. "No, leave it. Leave it."
Rakon looked at Egil, eyebrows raised, but Baras stepped between them.
"Did you hear that sound just now, my lord?" Baras asked.
Rakon looked up at the slit of dark sky visible between the cliff walls.
"The wind, maybe," he said. "Or an animal."
For a moment, Baras said nothing, then, "Probably we should camp soon, my lord. The light is soon to fail entirely. We should set up before that."
"Find a spot of your choosing, Baras."
"Very good, my lord."
Once more Rakon disappeared into the carriage and they started moving. The caravan traveled only a short distance more, everyone wary and with weapons to hand, before Baras called a halt for the night. The shriek did not recur, though the tension lingered.
Even with only torchlight by which to see, the guards set up the campsite with impressive efficiency. In under a half-hour, they'd pitched six tents, kindled a fire, distributed dried meat and cheese from the supply wagon, put feedbags on the horses, and started a large pot of water for coffee. Egil and Nix had little to do but watch. Even Jyme was of more use than them.
They ate with the guards, Egil with his usual volume of gustatory noise, Nix nibbling and still trying to figure out what to do about the sisters. He began to doubt his thinking. He'd seen them, and they did not look capable of working witchery. Perhaps it was the Wastes that was making him feel so off?
But that thinking fled before the fact that he knew their names.
"What's in your mind?" Egil asked.
"The Hells if I know," Nix said.
Rakon emerged from the carriage only once, to tell them to keep the fire low.
"My lord?" Baras asked.
"We don't want to be seen," Rakon explained.
"By what?" Egil asked.
Rakon considered his answer a long time. "By anything," he said, and returned to the carriage.
Later, the eunuch emerged from the carriage to retrieve food for his master. Nix stood, hurried over, and tried to engage the plodding giant in conversation.
"How fare your master's sisters?" he asked. He wanted to see them again, to look them in the eyes, to see if they were the cause of his discomfiture. "I can help you bear this food–"
The eunuch, arms laden with a wheel of cheese and two loaves of flatbread, responded with only a vacant stare so otherworldly that Nix, for once, found himself at a loss for words. He stepped aside so the giant wouldn't walk over him.
"He's a mute," Baras called from around the crackling fire. "And he'll welcome no help."
Nix nodded, eyeing the eunuch as the man walked back toward the carriage. A scar made a pink line above the fold of skin on the back of the eunuch's neck, a scar too clean to have been caused by a weapon. Nix had heard of such scars before, though he could not quite remember where – something about magical chirurgy.
"There's something off in that eunuch," Nix said, when he returned to Egil's side.
"Everything about this is off," the priest answered, shoveling a chunk of cheese into his mouth. "The people and the place. Still need to eat, though."
"Aye," Nix said, and did just that, though he found his eyes returning frequently to the carriage.
After the meal, Baras posted guards and set the watch schedule for the night. The men not on duty lingered around the low flames of the fire, saying little, watching smoke rise into the air. Egil shook his dice and Nix endured nausea to work at the spellworm. He needed to get himself free, now more than ever.
Everyone sat with weapons near to hand but the night got on peacefully.
Above them, the cloud cover broke, revealing a wedge of sky between the cliff walls of the cut. They could not see the skeletal trees standing watch on the cliff tops above, but the branches rattled in the wind like dry bones. As the hours passed, the darkness grew predatory. The wind howled above them, whistling dark promises.
"Heard lots of stories about you two," one of the young guards said to Nix. "Are they true?"
"Lies, all," Nix said, stretching out his legs.
"Can't all be lies," pressed the guard. "Tell us about one of these adventures you been on."
"Very well," Nix said. "Once, Egil and I were forced to travel the Demon Wastes with some guards of a doltish cast. One of these, a young whoreson who couldn't grow a respectable beard, insisted on hearing stories from me. I strangled him while he slept."
Uncertain laughter from one guard, silence from the rest, a frown from Baras.
"Did I give away the ending?" Nix asked Egil.
"I believe you did, yes."
"He was just asking, is all," said another guard, perturbed. "To pass the time. No need to be a prick."
"No need?" Nix said. "Really?"
"Nix," Egil said, but Nix ignored him.
"We're not here for your entertainment, boy, and we're not friends. Egil and I are prisoners. You're our keepers. Do I not speak the plain truth?"
"It ain't like that," one of the young guards protested.
Nix scoffed. "Can we just get up and walk home, then? We're a long day out of Dur Follin. Can we return if we wish?"
Baras frowned in his beard, sipped his coffee. "It isn't personal."
"So you say," Egil said.
"The lumps on my head feel personal," Nix added.
Baras shrugged, scratched his beard. "Have it as you will." He topped his tin cup with more coffee from the pot. "I offer no apologies. Duty is duty, and done is done."
"Duty," Nix said, shaking his head, and Baras said nothing.
"I think you've ruined the mood," Egil said to Nix.
Nix waved a hand derisively. "Bah. What mood?"
For a time, silence, then Jyme spoke, his tone incongruously light.
"It was for me," he said.
"Was what?" Nix asked, leaning back, his hands behind his head, staring up at the clearing sky, the stars. Minnear would rise soon. He did not relish sitting in the dark of the Demon Wastes under the Mages' Moon.
"Personal," Jyme said. "It was personal for me."
Nix smiled darkly. "Of course it was. Egil personally knocked the sense from you. Wait…" He sat up and looked across the fire at Jyme. "Did you mean that as a jest?"
Jyme was smiling, and Nix's frustration went out of him in a rush.
"Egil, is it possible that Jyme, Jyme, has a sense of humor?"
"Come now, no need for insults…" Jyme began.
"I've seen demons and devils," Egil said. "More than a man should. Even bloodied a few, so I know much is possible in this world. But this notion of Jyme having a sense of humor strikes me as preposterous."
Chuckles around the fire, certain this time, and including Jyme.
"I was just pissed, see?" Jyme said, setting down his tin cup. "You beat me down in front of my men. I didn't know you was all right, then. I just wanted to get even."
Nix toasted him with his coffee. "And instead of getting even you got a trip into the Wastes. Well played, Jyme."
More chuckles, except from Jyme, who looked sheepish. He nudged a log with his boot. "Who's got the luck, right? I suppose I'm as much a prisoner here as you two. They made me come, too."
"True enough," Egil said philosophically, then, "Listen, you caught me in a foul mood right then, back in the Tunnel. I had other things on my mind. We'd just bought a shithole, after all. Apologies for the punch."
"None needed," Jyme sai
d, waving it away. "I was owed it. I was rude to that girl and for no reason."
The current of the priest's more forgiving nature caught Nix up in its wake. To the young guard he'd embarrassed, he said, "And a foul mood infected me as well, just now. With that story, I mean. Apologies. I vow not to strangle you."
The young guard inclined his head and Jyme raised his cup. "Well, done is done, as Baras said."
