CHAPTER 45
The cold darkness of the shanjin wrapped its lonely arms around them as they left the camp. The first crescent of Tirlum — the blue moon — rose in the northeast, skirting the northern horizon from east to west. Butu could sense round shapes sticking out of the sand, barely visible in the moonlight. At first, he thought they were stones rounded smooth by the wind, but the stench as they came closer betrayed the horrible truth.
The heads of other spies killed the same way I’m about to be killed.
They set him down, and pressed a shovel into his hands.
“Dig,” someone growled. “It must be deep enough for you to stand in.”
Butu stared at the shovel in wonder and terror. He looked at the ground and smelled the rotting stench of death in the air. He suddenly gagged on it and vomited on the sands.
“He’s too weak,” another soldier said, voice low and deferential. “He’ll never finish before sunrise.”
“Then the water-starved tem will face the sun before he faces the speckled snakes.” The soldier cuffed Butu. “Get digging.”
Butu stuck the tip of the spade into the sandy ground and threw the first shovelful aside.
The longer I delay, the more likely I’ll survive long enough for someone to rescue me.
With that in mind, Butu took his time. The soldiers shouted and occasionally hit him, but he only dug more slowly. Eventually, the squad’s leader lost his patience.
“Coward of a spy — and all spies are cowards by nature!” he raged, snatching away the shovel and tossing it to one of the other soldiers. “You three — dig this coward’s grave for him. You thought you’d delay death, but you’ve only hastened it,” the soldier snarled in Butu’s ear.
Butu said nothing as he watched the Akdren soldiers dig the deep hole that would become his grave unless a miracle occurred. It took them far less time than he had hoped it would.
When it was done, a peremptory, “In,” was snarled in his ear. Butu hesitated, and several strong hands grabbed him. He fought as hard as he could, dragging his feet, kicking, and squirming to stay out of the hole. Curses rose as he smashed someone’s nose with his knee, but with a strong twist to bring his legs together and a jerk downward, he plunged into the hole. His splayed arms creaked as he slammed down on them. As he gasped in pain, a swift lift of his collar and kick to the chest drew his arms in, and they dropped him again.
He coughed and tried to climb out as sand was shoveled around him, but someone put a booted foot on his head to hold him down until only his head stuck out of the ground. Panting from exertion and the pressure of the sand against his chest, he howled in misery. The stench of death was overwhelming, now, almost as if the earth itself was a decaying corpse. Butu fought down another wave of nausea.
“I’ve nothing against you personally,” someone said, looming over him. “But this is for making my job harder than it had be.”
Butu suddenly heard the sound of water splattering on the ground a moment before a stream of liquid poured over his shaved head. The smell of urine as it ran down his face made him gag. Moments later, more streams of piss watered him until he could feel it soaking into the ground around his neck and chest.
Butu wasn’t sure whether to be angry, ashamed or disgusted, but nausea suddenly turned into wracking sobs. The sand around his chest seemed to tighten with every quick, involuntary breath. Then, one-by-one, the streams of urine faded away, and the soldiers left him to die in a puddle of their reeking piss.
If I had the right talent, I could shape the sand away from myself and escape. It’s far enough away from the camp that no one would see me in the dark.
He didn’t have that talent, though. He had his own, which for once was more of a terror than a blessing. He sensed dozens of tiny snakes sliding across the sands, steering clear of the commotion, for now.
Our mission will succeed, at least, he thought, trying to hold back tears. And even if Lujo and I don’t survive, the others are as safe as they can be. Maybe the Kadrak will win the battle before Philquek finds out the truth about Pisor. At least the king will owe his throne to the Ahjea.
He found he lacked the ability to care.
Butu sighed heavily, and the ground squeezed his chest a little tighter. The cold night air made his skin prickle. His stomach growled suddenly, and he snorted in misery — what was the point of hunger at a time like this? He had never felt as alone as he did right now.
Something brushed his right ear. Butu jerked in instant terror.
Why can’t I sense it? Is my magic fading?
He tried to shake his head to keep the speckled snake from crawling inside, but the sand held him tightly. The touch vanished for a moment and then its source landed on his shaved head with a click.
A beetle. Only a beetle, he thought, weeping with relief. It’s too small for me to sense.
It walked around, tickling his scalp until it itched like mad before taking off, again. Butu’s stomach growled again. He heard a soft moan, and for a moment he thought it was his own voice. Then he heard it again, not far behind him.
“Hello?” Butu said, but all he could manage was a whisper. It was comforting to think he was not dying alone. The face was vaguely familiar, but not familiar enough that Butu could identify him.
The other man didn’t answer except to moan again.
Maybe he didn’t hear me.
Before Butu could suck in enough breath to speak again, though, the moan became panicked breathing. Butu needed no magic to know the snakes had found the man.
“Get away! Leave!” the man cried, voice weakened by the earthen fist closing around his chest.
Sorjot al’Zatkuka, Butu realized in sudden amazement.
The desperate anger became frantic terror. “No! No! Aaah!”
Sorjot began to scream, and Butu closed his eyes, wishing he could plug his ears to block out the horrible sound. It wasn’t even very loud. He wouldn’t even have heard it if it hadn’t been so close.
It wouldn’t matter if I was deaf. I can still feel them.
Butu sensed several speckled snakes coming toward him.
Maybe if I chant...
The more he spoke, though, the harder it became to breathe, and the ground gave no sign of releasing him. The closer the snakes got, the greater his urgency, and the more he thought about how the magic had to work, the less it would work.
Butu suddenly felt something slide along the back of his neck — something small and scaly. Behind him, the doomed kluntra’s screams grew muffled.
They’re plugging his nose, Butu noted, and a moan escaped his lips without his notice.
Butu felt something tickle his earlobe and then vanish. He tried to shrug, but the sands held him fast. The tickling sensation touched the back of his ear for just a moment and vanished again. Butu heard the soft whisper of scales against sand at extremely close range.
Every muscle tensed uselessly against the sand around him. When the tickle touched the delicate bones of his ear around the opening, Butu roared at the speckled snake, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper, and the sand fist tightened around him. He tried to take a deep breath to shout more loudly, but his chest couldn’t expand. His breath was shallow and quick just to keep him from suffocating, and the pounding fear was not making it any easier for him to catch his breath.
His eyes bulged as a tiny reptilian head no wider than his finger slid into the canal of his ear — no deeper than he could reach when picking his ears. Silence suddenly wrapped around him. For a moment, he thought the snake had stopped up his ear and blocked the sound, but then he realized the Zatkuka kluntra had stopped screaming.
Butu’s head was light, and he felt slightly giddy as spots danced in his eyes.
It won’t be long now.
He giggled hysterically and then broke down into breathless sobs, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he tried to breathe. His ear crackled as a tiny tongue probed its depths in search of a warm place to curl up.
I�
��m going to die.
The fist of the earth crushed out the last of his breath. A shadow passed over his eyes, blotting Tirlum from sight as he struggled without success to take another breath.
Kingmaker Page 45
