“Can’t sleep?” he said, conversing with his unseen guest. “I can’t blame you. It’s too hot in the village. Water’s good, though. Help yourself.”
He turned to go. As he passed through the gap in the Offertory walls, he heard the rapid patter of feet coming at him. Puzzled, he faced the oncoming sound.
Out of the darkness hurtled a slender figure, wrapped in a black ox hide cape. He got a fleeting impression of a pale face wreathed in curly auburn hair. The next thing Amero knew, a span of sharp bronze penetrated his buckskin shirt, then the flesh below his left ribs.
Astonished, he grasped the two hands holding the dagger’s handle and forced them back. The blade twisted as it was pulled out. Blood sluiced from the wound, pouring down his leg and over his feet.
“Die, traitor!” said a high, quavering voice.
*
Duranix devoured six full-grown elk before midnight and then settled down to sleep off his prodigious meal. His heavy, dreamless rest ended suddenly when he felt a sharp pain in his lower left side. The sensation was so strong and so real that he felt along his scaly flank, expecting to find a fresh wound. There was none.
His long neck snapped around, and he stared at the intervening mountains. Something was wrong – deadly wrong.
“Amero,” he said, and launched himself skyward.
*
Karada took her hand out of the fire. Since Amero’s departure, she’d been testing herself, seeing how long she could bear a flame against the palm of her hand. Zannian continued to snore behind her.
She counted the thud of her heartbeat silently. One, two, three, four... the skin on her palm began to blister. Suddenly, an even stronger pain lanced into her side. Karada gasped and slumped away from the hearth. Under the wolfskin robe the flesh on her left side, between her ribs and hip bone, was unbroken, but it felt for all the world as though she’d been stabbed.
Zannian snorted and stirred. He pushed himself up on one hand, muttering obscenities. “Who did that?” he growled, obviously thinking himself still in command of his raiders. “Which one of you scum poked me with your dagger?”
Karada tied a beaded belt tightly around her waist and grabbed her sword belt. If she and Zannian both felt the stabbing pain in the same spot at the same time, Amero must have felt it, too. Something about that thought filled her with dread. A sense of urgency sent her running from the tent.
She had to find him. She had to find Amero now.
*
Lyopi sat up a long time, waiting for her man to come home. She knew his meeting with Karada would he difficult, but she didn’t begrudge him the time it would take to say good-bye to his powerful, troubled sister. Midnight came and went, and still Amero did not return. Patience gave way to annoyance. Certainly, this wasn’t the first night they’d spent together, but it was supposed to be an important one. Where was that inconsiderate, overgrown boy?
A sound at the door flap sent her striding to the opening. She drew back the flap, and a bloody spectre barred her way. Lyopi was not easily frightened, but this unexpected apparition brought a cry of surprise to her lips.
The gory vision raised its head, and Lyopi felt her stomach clench in horror.
“Amero!”
He fell into her arms. She backed inside, half-dragging her blood-soaked mate with her. After lowering him to the floor, she felt at his neck for a pulse. It was there, weak and rapid, but he’d lost – by the ancestors! – he’d lost so much blood!
There was a deep wound in his left side, obviously made by a metal blade. No flint knife could make so thin and clean a cut, though it appeared the knife had been twisted in the wound.
All this she took in even as she was frantically wadding a piece of doeskin and pressing it to the bleeding wound. Amero stirred, trying to escape the pain her pressure created.
“Be still!” she snapped, fear coursing through her. “You’re bleeding to death!”
He coughed feebly, his body spasming. He said something, but the words bubbled so horribly in his throat she couldn’t make them out.
“What?” She pressed hard on the makeshift bandage with her strong hands. “Who did this to you, Amero?”
“Sensarku girl.”
He must be delirious. All the Sensarku had died on the western plain with their leader, Tiphan. There were none left, in Yala-tene or anywhere else.
Amero trembled violently. His teeth chattered. Lyopi pulled a fleecy hide over him and cradled his head in her lap. Looking toward the doorway, she shouted for help.
“Lyopi,” he whispered.
“Shh, don’t talk.” She shouted again for help.
“Don’t be angry,” he said weakly.
“I’m not angry, Amero, but I’ll never forgive you if you die!”
“Duranix...”
Tears of terror and frustration were coursing down her cheeks. “I don’t know where he is!”
“So many things to know... so many.”
He exhaled a long, slow breath. It was his last.
*
Duranix had never flown so fast, not even while chasing Sthenn around the world. He couldn’t seem to find any greater speed, no matter how he canted his wings or knotted his tremendous muscles. He would be too late. He knew it.
Amero spoke his name, and he demanded, Why didn’t you wait? I was coming!
Like a fading echo, he heard: So many things to know... so many. That was all. Though Duranix called and called, he heard nothing more.
His wings slowed. The throbbing strain in his flying muscles eased, but a more pervasive and subtle pain held Duranix in an unbreakable grip. He roared at the empty sky. His bellow solved nothing. The pain remained. He flew on.
*
Karada ran a hundred steps before she staggered to a stop, falling against a tent pitched by the path. Down she slid to her knees, feeling as though she were plunging into an icy river. Vicious cold climbed to her neck, then her eyes. When it reached the top of her head, it slowly left her.
Someone was calling her name. “Karada! Karada!”
Her vision cleared. Mara was kneeling in front of her, shaking her by the shoulders.
“What? What?”
“Karada, we’re safe now!” Mara said, green eyes ablaze. “I saved us! I saved us all!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I stopped the Arkuden!”
Cold fury as hard and sharp as flint put strength back into the nomad chief. She seized Mara by the hair and hauled her upright.
“What have you done?” she snarled, shaking the girl so hard her neck bones creaked.
Mara’s hands clutched futilely at the strong fingers entwined in her hair, her words punctuated by yelps of pain. “I struck him down, Karada! For all of us! For you! He was your brother, but he was a traitor! He gave us over to the Silvanesti —”
Karada uttered a scream of pure anguish, punctuated by Mara’s whimpering, and drew her sword.
The tumult awakened the nomads, and they spilled out of their tents. They saw their chief, tears streaming down her face, holding the girl Mara by the hair. Karada’s sword was bared.
“I’ll kill you!” Karada rasped.
“Karada, please, listen! I did it for you! Your fight to drive the elves off our ancestral lands was doomed! The Arkuden betrayed you —”
Up went the gleaming sword. Mara stopped clutching at her hair and threw up her hands as though to ward off the blow. It never fell. Karada’s sword hand was held harmless in Pakito’s mighty grip.
“Let me go, Pakito!”
“No, chief. I don’t know what’s happened here, but you can’t kill this helpless girl.” He yanked the sword from her hand. Turning, he gave it to Samtu, who stood behind him, her own weapon at the ready.
“Let her go, Karada,” Samtu said. “We won’t let her get away.”
The nomad chief opened her hand, releasing her hold on Mara’s tangled hair. The girl dropped heavily at her feet, weeping. When she tried to wrap her arms
around the chiefs ankles, Karada kicked her until she shrank away. Mara groveled, not even protesting the blows she’d taken.
“What’s she done?” Samtu asked, grimacing at the distasteful display.
“I think... she’s killed Amero.”
The assembled nomads exclaimed and swore in amazement.
“When did this happen?” demanded Bahco, clutching a panther-skin wrap around his waist.
“Just now,” whispered Karada.
The nomads looked around, as though expecting to see Amero’s body lying at their feet. “Where? Where is he?”
Karada repeated the question to Mara. When the wailing girl did not answer, Karada kicked her hard. Pakito promptly lifted his leader off her feet and set her down out of reach of the girl. Samtu took hold of Mara’s collar and pulled her to her feet.
“The Arkuden betrayed us!” Mara sobbed. “He traded our bows and arrows to the elves in exchange for the secret of making bronze!”
The assembled nomads muttered loudly at that. Pakito bellowed for silence.
“This girl is addled!” he said angrily. “You can’t go by what she says. The Arkuden is a wise and honorable man. He wouldn’t betray us to the Silvanesti!”
“There’s one way to find out,” said Bahco. He dressed quickly and gathered a few men. They headed to the village foundry.
Samtu laid a gentle hand on Karada’s arm. “Let’s find the Arkuden,” she said. “Maybe this is nothing more than a bad dream the girl had.”
“My brother is dead,” was the flat response. “She killed him.”
Pushed along by Samtu, Karada went with Pakito and two dozen nomads to the village. They found the streets filled with torch-bearing villagers. All of Yala-tene seemed to be awake.
Karada led them unerringly through the crowd, directly to Lyopi’s house. By the hearth, covered with an elk hide, lay Amero. Lyopi sat by his head, hands clasped to her lips. She looked up when Karada entered.
“Sensarku girl,” Lyopi said weakly. “When I asked who stabbed him, that’s what he said.”
Karada nodded. “It was the girl Mara. We have her.”
Lyopi turned away, looking back at her dead mate. Karada whirled and walked outside, unable to bear the sight of her brother’s still, slack face – the face that in life had always been so animated, so full of curiosity and vitality.
Spying the trail of blood outside the door, Karada followed it back to the Offertory. There was more blood there, and something else – a bronze dagger. She picked it up, hands shaking. She recognized the weapon; she’d taken it from Balif the night of his capture. It was the same one she’d let Mara keep after expelling her for her false accusation of Harak.
She ran back to Lyopi’s house through lanes filled with stunned, silent villagers. Outside the house, Mara was slumped on the ground between two angry-looking nomads. Karada stalked over. She lifted Mara by the front of her doeskin tunic until the girl’s toes barely touched the ground.
“No matter what happens, no matter what anyone else says or does, I’m going to kill you,” Karada said. All color drained from Mara’s face, leaving her freckles standing out starkly. She was speechless with terror.
Pakito came out of the house, and Karada thrust the bloody dagger at him. “Take this,” she commanded. “Keep it safe. It’s what she killed him with.” Pakito carefully put the weapon in his belt, then watched his chief warily, prepared to intervene should she try to harm Mara.
Karada noticed his scrutiny. Disgusted, she threw Mara at his feet. “Put her in Nacris’s old tent. Chain her so she can’t run away!”
Pakito gestured, and two nomads spirited Mara away.
Lyopi emerged, supported on Samtu’s arm. Tears ran down her cheeks. The breast of her tunic was soaked with them, but her grief was silent. She took Karada’s hands in hers.
“The dragon must be told,” she said, her voice harsh and low with anguish. “Who will tell him? Who will tell Duranix Amero is dead?”
Karada lifted eyes to the night sky, an unnatural chill raising gooseflesh on her arms. “Duranix already knows,” she replied.
Chapter 21
Bahco led half a hundred nomads to the elves’ camp. By torchlight, the men ran among the sleeping Silvanesti, kicking them awake, then holding them at sword point. A few elves fought back, and a real battle might have broken out had not Balif intervened. His considerable presence managed to calm not only his own soldiers but Bahco’s angry men as well.
“What’s this about?” the elf lord demanded once some order had been restored.
“The Arkuden has been killed!” Bahco snapped, his sword still in his hand.
Balif’s eyes flickered with surprise and concern. “How did it happen?”
After giving Balif the few details he knew, Bahco ordered his men to search the Silvanesti baggage. Balif’s protests were overridden as the dark-skinned nomad asked, “Is it true? Did the Arkuden trade bows and arrows for the secret to making bronze?”
“I had no dealings of that kind with the Arkuden.”
At that moment, the searchers found the hidden bows.
“No dealings?” Bahco raged, shaking a bowstave under the elf lord’s nose. “Then what are these – tent stakes?”
Balif drew his robe and his dignity close around himself. “Take me to Karada. I will explain everything to her.”
The nomads mouthed ugly threats as Balif walked out with Bahco. The elf lord wanted reassurances they wouldn’t harm his elves. Though Bahco refused to make such a promise, he raised his voice for all to hear and said, “If your people behave, my men will not harm them.”
Balif surveyed his small, outnumbered troop. “Sit down,” he said severely. “Do nothing and say nothing until I return.” When they hesitated, he commanded, “Do as I say!”
One by one, the elves complied, sitting down on their bedrolls and closing their mouths into thin, stubborn lines.
Bahco, Balif, and the newly discovered bows went back to Yala-tene. Amid the weeping, wailing crowd outside Lyopi’s house, Bahco found his chief. She seemed unnaturally composed. Her icy demeanor alarmed Bahco.
“Mind what you say and do, elf,” he muttered. “She’s very angry!”
Balif stepped out in front of Bahco and bowed to Lyopi. “Lady,” he said solemnly, “my deepest condolences. The Arkuden was a great and wise man. What aid may I give you in this dire time?”
She looked up at him, tears standing in her shadowed eyes. “Amero was sick of war. Please, whatever the cause, do not fight here.” Lyopi said this as much for Karada’s benefit as Balif s.
Wordlessly, Bahco handed Karada the bows taken from the elves.
She looked at them and her strangely calm face seemed to grow even more still. “So, it’s true,” she said.
“No, it is not,” Balif insisted.
She struck him across the face with a bowstave. The tough fruitwood cracked loudly, and Balif was knocked to the ground. People in the sobbing crowd exclaimed, reminding Karada of Lyopi’s stricture against violence.
Balif stayed where he was. Ears ringing from the impact, he put a hand gingerly to his face. The skin wasn’t broken, but he would have a tremendous bruise there – if he lived so long.
“Is this how you repay my trust?” Karada shouted at him. “Stealing our weapons? Your treachery has cost my brother his life!” Her face had gone ashen by torchlight, the scars on her throat standing out lividly.
“I did not steal the bows,” Balif said clearly from his position on the ground. “Nor did I exchange bronze-making information for them with the Arkuden or anyone else. My soldiers bought the weapons from members of your band, Karada. They traded gold and bronze for them. Shall I name the nomads who bartered with us? Better yet, to satisfy yourself of the truth of what I say, examine your warriors. Ask the ones carrying gold and no bows if they have adequate answers for why their weapons are missing.”
Karada regarded him wordlessly for the space of three heartbeats, then she exploded
into action. She drew her sword and whirled in a circle, howling and slashing at the air. Villagers scattered, and even her own people backed quickly out of reach. Balif was happy he was still on the ground.
“Is there no honor left in Karada’s band?” she cried when her frenzy abated.
Silence greeted her question, then Balif announced, “I’m going to stand.” He waited for her reaction, but she simply stood there shaking with rage and grief.
He got to his feet slowly. “I did betray your trust, Karada,” he said, “but I had reasons for doing so. My people also had misgivings about my sharing the secret of bronze-making. They wondered if I was betraying my sovereign and my race, but there was no betrayal. Beneath the giving of metal and the taking of bows is a more important principle: peace. I did it for peace.”
Exclamations of disbelief greeted this. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, Balif raised his voice and continued. “By giving you knowledge of bronze, I know I’m equipping you to be even more dangerous. That’s part of my goal. By making you more powerful, I hope to dissuade my lord Silvanos and his counselors from warring on you. If we both have bronze armor and blades, the cost of battle will be too high. I sought to bring home examples of your new throwing weapon for the same purpose. If we are equal in strength, no sane mind should crave war.”
Lyopi spoke up before anyone else could do so. “I believe you, Lord Balif. I think Amero would have approved of your actions, if he had known. Peace is what he wanted more than anything else – even more,” she added, choking back tears, “than he wanted the secret of bronze.”
Everyone looked to Karada, waiting for her response. It was a long time coming, but finally the sword fell from her hand. It rang loudly when it struck the ground.
“I’m taking back all the bows,” she said, almost inaudibly. “I’ll find who traded them to you and deal with them later. Go back to your camp, Balif. Stay there until we leave. I don’t want to see you or hear of you until then.”
Balif bowed curtly to her, then to Lyopi with more feeling. He vanished into the crowd. People gave way to him slowly, but no one raised a hand against him.
Sister of the Sword Page 26
