SongWeaver

by Derek Moreland

  Nothing left.

  So of course, that was when he heard the thud of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  Let them come, his weary thoughts sighed. Let them see what I have done, in all its terrible glory. I deserve it. His eyes blurred with threatened tears. Ugh. I get weirdly poetic when I’m about to die.

  Poor Tholan. Doubt he gets that extra meal after all.

  Then, for the second time in as many hours, he heard a voice he’d never expected to know again in his lifetime.

  “Ven?” X’on asked. His head was tilted, birdlike, to accommodate the low roof of the basement. “Are you okay?”

  Ven sniffed, tears wetting his cheeks, his beak. “No,” he said. “Not really.” He pointed. “X’on, meet Jakat. I’m pretty sure I just killed him.”

  “Oh, Ven,” X’on said. “I am so sorry, my dear friend.”

  The tears were coming hard and fast now. Ven didn't think X'on had meant to use those particular words, but they triggered a heaving sob nonetheless. X’on reached out, and Ven hugged him. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. “I don’t know what happened, I just got so angry….”

  “Almost thirty years of anger, hurt, and sorrow,” X’on said, his manner consoling. “You were both ready to tear the other apart as soon as he walked into this place. He was going to have you killed once your conversation was finished.”

  Ven sat up, blinking away tears. “What? But how could you even... ?”

  “I overheard the guards talking outside. Don’t worry, I took them out of commission. As well as the master of the house and his playmate.” He smiled a little. “This would be a pretty poor rescue if I hadn’t, after all.”

  “Rescue?” Ven was confused. “How did you even know where to find me?”

  “Well,” X’on said, “when you didn’t show up at the rendezvous point, I figured you had decided to go after the Beast of Gevaudan after all. I checked with the Guild office that morning, and sure enough, a gargoyle bounty hunter had taken a contract on the creature--except the contract was for a female. I surmised that there was a good chance your stated fear had come to fruition, that you had been recognized, and so made my way to the Providence listed on the female’s contract. Once I got here, it wasn’t too hard to figure out the rumor of a gargoyle with a certain irregularity being held in this mansion was probably you.” His grip on Ven got a little tighter. “Can you stand, my friend? I do believe speed would be in our favor now.”

  “Just…just a second,” Ven said. X'on's story felt too easy, too clean, too pat. And if he was that good an investigator, why had he hired Ven in the first place? But his head hurt, probably from the stupid crying, and he didn't want to think about it anymore. Thalon.

  “Did you… kill anyone? There was another Tanith…?”

  “Merely incapacitated,” X'on soothed. “They'll awaken in a few hours, most with a concussion. Nothing a trip to the nearest medical facility won't fix.”

  Not that Thalon will get any of that care. And he may very well be killed for letting me escape. That's another innocent on my conscience. Something nagged at him, a stray thought… could they take Thalon with them? But the pain in his head surged, and he couldn't remember why he'd thought to do that. So he kissed the tip of his talon, and laid it gently on Jakat’s still form. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry you gave up on me.” He stood. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Part 5: Here Be Monsters

  Chapter 24

  There was no small amount of luck involved in Ven’s escape from Lathshia’s Blessing. The first stroke came when X’on was able to escort him to their traveling wagon with no witnesses. The hour was late, and most of Lojare’s neighbors appeared to be long in their beds. X’on hid Ven with the false bottom they had rigged to secure his sleep during the day, then covered that with the hay they used to canvas their movements. They really needed some new chaff, Ven noticed as he climbed into his compartment; their current stock was starting to mold--it must have gotten wet somewhere between Siplait and the Blessing.

  Amazing what your mind will seize on when you’re trying not to think of anything, he mused. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on listening to the murmur of sounds outside his concealment. The stark blonde yellow blended with stomach-churning teal stench of the hay above him pretty much nullified his preternatural sense of smell. But his ears were still good, and he planned to use them.

  For a long time, all he heard was the slow roll of steel-reinforced wheels churning up the dirt along the thoroughfares of the Blessing. He tried to keep track of the minutes in his head, hoping he could get a rough estimate of when he would be going dense, and gave up when he realized he wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been in Lojare's basement. The little slit high up on the wall hadn't been wide enough to pace the moon as it crossed the sky, and he'd been too busy trying to stow himself in a wagon to notice its position once they'd left.

  Just before dawn, the second stroke of luck came. X’on was exiting the Valley of Spirit when Ven heard the wheels, whose movement had been so regular it felt almost hypnotic, slow and then stop. He strained, holding his breath as a muffled X'on began talking with a Lanthess security guard. From what Ven could tell, this was a routine customs inspection, and since he was crossing the border, X'on would have to show identification. Mercifully, he still had the badge Ven had gotten made up for him back in Jernot Mey. Then they searched the vehicle.

  X’on’s natural chattiness must have put the Lanthess at ease. Ven stilled his body as the guard ran an easy talon through the hay over his hidden door. He knew he was in almost no danger; if the Lanthess had been at all suspicious, he would have been prodding the chaff with a sword instead of taloned fingers. This close, Ven could even pick up a whiff of aquamarine gentility wafting through the stink he had grown accustomed too. After no more than a cursory investigation, X'on was waved on his way, Ven gently bumped about as the wheels began turning once more. Dawn broke as the cart rolled out of the valley, and out of Lathshia’s Blessing, with the gentle motion rocking him, the grind of the casters like an old lullaby. Ven fell asleep, if not a free man--he would surely be declared a fugitive before he next arose, despite the fact that he’d lawfully fulfilled a contract--then at least a man who understood the consequences of his actions.

  *

  Ven’s new status as a creature on the lam required selling the cart and a return to prior traveling arrangements, at least according to X'on.

  “We'll be safer on foot. Easier to hide. Quicker to move,” he consoled Ven as they ditched the wagon into a shallow gully the next night.

  “Uh huh,” Ven sulked. “Easy for you to say. You don't turn into a statue for two-thirds of the day.”

  “I'll protect you,” X'on said. And somehow, that was supposed to be enough. In the end, Ven went along, partly out of inertia--Ven pretty much always seemed to do what Xon had decided they would do--but the other part was a secret, black hope that he would be caught in the pen, and smashed to bits while he slept. Slept, and dreamed of Jakat, and nights long gone.

  X’on, ever prepared, had picked up fresh supplies and packs before mobilizing his rescue. Unfortunately, such preparations had almost completely depleted their coin. Ven had a strong feeling he would be pawning off the rest of his new armor soon. Maybe that was for the best. He didn't deserve it anymore.

  The expedition took on a feel very similar to how it had begun, those long months ago in Grok’s Hollow in the spring. By day, Ven would sleep in some hideaway the pair managed to find; at night, they would swat at mosquitoes, hunt for food and journey westward, ever westward, out of Gedeva and across the border into Rabin’aralle.

  Ven noticed one striking difference from before, however. Early spring had become late summer, and nights that had once been cool and temperate had become uncomfortable, heavy and balmy. Ven had spent months in X'on' company, so many that a season had passed and he'd barely noticed. They didn’t talk as much
as they used too, either. X’on’s once prodigious diatribes regarding the landscape around them dried up like a stream in the summer heat, and Ven curled within himself, ignoring the kaleidoscope of unfamiliar smells around him, caging his tongue in his own thoughts. Thoughts that, more often than he wished to admit, included the desire to abandon this contract, screw his debt to X’on, and crawl off somewhere to die. He felt broken. Unmoored.

  Alone.

  It wasn’t until they had left the border of Gedeva three nights behind them before X’on finally spoke again. “You need to forgive yourself.”

  Ven glanced up at him. “What?”

  “You need to forgive yourself,” X'on repeated, steady as a swordsman's swing.

  “Uh. Why? For what?”

  “Killing Jakat,” X’on said. He made it sound simple. “Perhaps you could have talked your way out of that trap. Perhaps. But you were both too emotionally connected to the situation. As I said, he was just as ready to kill you and be done with it.”

  “I am really not in the mood to talk about this,” Ven grumbled.

  “You’ve been in no mood to talk, period,” X’on said. “And yet. You have had time enough to grieve, my friend. Our journey is about to become far more dangerous, and I need you back to your fighting self. Soon.”

  “I think I liked you more when you weren’t talking to me,” Ven snarled. “Your voice is giving me a headache.” X’on was right, though. Ven could see that now, even with his head suddenly pounding. Was he really mourning the loss of his friend…or was he just sulking, using Jakat’s death as an excuse to wallow in self-pity? He was Tanith Ven, damn it. He’d dealt death far more lackadaisically before. He was the Elves’ Shadow, the boogeyman, the thing in the closet. Why was he letting this one eat away at him? In the end, Jakat was like all the rest--another contract successfully executed.

  Something tickled the side of his face. He wiped at it with an idle talon, then looked at the stuff smeared across his palm.

  “Uh, X’on?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did I…scratch myself, or get hit recently or something?”

  X’on frowned. “Not that I know of, why?”

  “Are there any mosquitoes, any bugs around here?”

  “Probably. I haven't seen any.”

  Ven looked at the trace of crimson along his talon. “I, uh... I think my ear is bleeding.”

  X’on peered down, then shrugged. “You may have scratched it,” he said. “It’s not a deep cut, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Okay,” Ven said, a light tinge of suspicion in his voice. He wasn’t sure X’on was being straight with him.

  Do not trust him. The thought, one not his own, came unbidden. Where had he heard that? It felt like so long ago. But no, it'd been less than a month. Hadn't it? He’d danced with Death, or a ghost who had thought itself Death, and she had…she’d warned him, right? He is closer to me that you ever will be. She’d said that, or something like that. Ven hadn’t understood then, and it made just as little sense to him now. And they'd danced in the gore of those she'd taken, the blood....

  The blood....

  Is this the first time my ears have bled on their own this trip?

  A pulsing ache rocked through his brain, scattering his thoughts. Ugh. Have I been eating wrong again? He didn’t think he’d been so prone to headaches before…maybe it was all the change in elevation since they'd moved out of Gedeva.

  “Ven,” X’on’s voice was gentle, almost so quiet it seemed he heard it in his mind rather than with his ears. It broke his reverie.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sun’s coming up in about ten minutes,” X’on said. He’d definitely said it. Ven had seen his mouth move and everything. No wonder I’m having issues, clearly I need some sleep. He slowed his pace, and began scanning the area for a good napping spot. It took him a few moments, but he saw a cluster of trees less than a furlong ahead of them that looked safe. He started jogging towards it, his legs and eyelids weighty. “Thanks for the heads up. Have a good day,” he yawned over his shoulder.

  Sleep well, was the response Ven heard.

  *

  It wasn’t until the next evening that X’on hit him with the news. “Wait, we’re going where?!?” Ven balked.

  “Overseas,” X’on said again, the picture of patience. “We’re almost to Buzzard’s Bay. When we get there, we’ll charter a ship and take it out over the ocean. We’ll be at sea for a few weeks, that’s all.”

  “But…but that takes us out of the Known Lands,” Ven stuttered.

  “Well, yes,” X’on said, a devilish gleam in his eye. “You didn’t think a dragon hoard would be anywhere someone could just find it, did you?”

  “Buzzard’s Bay,” Ven repeated. He’d heard tales of the kind of folk who frequented that particular port city. Thieves, liars, murderers--ostensibly, Ven’s kind of crowd. But he’d never really taken to being roped in with those folk. Sure, he could run a con, he could nick a wallet. He could kill without batting an eye. But what he did, he did in the service of something. A code, if not precisely the law.

  He wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t a good guy either, not by a long shot. But the denizens of Buzzard’s Bay were the kind of detritus Ven was often hired to take out. “You sure that’s the port you want to take a chance with?” he asked.

  “Indeed,” X’on said. “It’s close, only a couple of nights away. And I’d like to get out to sea as soon as possible.”

  What the cold hell, he decided with a mental shrug. Might even stumble on an open target by accident.

  Chapter 25

  Those two nights of walking were unremarkable; the monotony of the journey broken only by the slowly increasing glare of light that marked their destination. If Weipare was the biggest city in the Known Lands, then Buzzard’s Bay was certainly the brightest--not to mention the noisiest. Ven could hear the drunken shouts, the brawls in the street, the garish, grating laughter of scum and villainy furlongs before he and X’on had set foot within it. He could also see the ocean, past the haze of light and smoke that surrounded the bay; a black, empty, merciless pool that stretched to infinity before him.

  Ven had been aware that there was a thing called “the ocean”, and that this “ocean” had more water than any river, lake, or stream he had ever encountered. And he had thought himself a fan of moisture, as a concept, that the rain and the damp were comforting, especially since his own home had seen so little of it. But now that he was confronted with the concrete actuality of it, he had a sudden, implacable realization: I am terrified of the ocean.

  He mentioned this newly discovered character flaw to X’on, who found it more amusing than anything. “The ocean is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “It’s what’s underneath that should scare you.”

  “Not helping!” Ven snapped.

  *

  For the first time since Siplait, X’on opted to rent a room in the city, though it took the last of their coin to do so. Ven cast a mournful look at his gauntlets as they unshouldered their packs onto the twin beds and took stock of their remaining provisions.

  “Can I at least keep the breastplate?” he asked.

  “We’ll see what I can get for everything else first,” X’on promised. “Keep in mind, however, that we may need to get winter wear before this journey is complete. Come on. Let’s find a smithy.”

  After an hour or two of walking through the city, Ven stopped sulking over his lost gauntlets and began to feel he may have misjudged the place based on reputation. He’d been to populous cities before; they, too, had had a thriving and vibrant nightlife. Buzzard’s Bay put them all to shame. Lights pulsed and flashed in ways he had never experienced, or even dreamed. Music filled the streets around him, each sound clashing into the other as he walked block to block, a riotous din that should have been a discordant mess, but somehow wove itself into a strange, organic harmony. There was food of every culture on every street corner, and beings of every sort partaking of them;
there were games of chance being played right in the streets, and strong drink being served to the gamers; and everywhere Ven turned, all he saw were folk having a good time. And one particularly green-tinged Lutin puking next to a dumpster.

  X’on put an arm around his shoulder, pulling his attention from the inebriated fellow.

  “We’re here,” he said, and pointed.

  Ven looked up to the nameplate of the gray slate stone building before them. Butcher’s Island, it read. The plaque displayed a picture of a cleaver buried deep into a block, a cartoonish shank of ham sitting beside it. That wasn’t tremendously reassuring, but he went in anyway. He made sure to adjust his breastplate under his cloak, just in case.

  *

  Ven headed for the bar, but once again felt X’on’s beefy hand on his shoulder. “We need a booth,” he said. We’re hoping to meet someone here.”

  “Oh? How did you find a captain already, we just got in?”

  “I haven’t,” X’on said. “But rumor has it that this bar is also a haven for pirates and smugglers, those who will deliver travelers and cargo for monetary compensation and no questions. Just the kind of security we need.”

  “I brought in a pirate once,” Ven said in a low voice as they sat down. The whole place smelled a deep, vibrant brown, a mix of honey and mead and meat. The light was dim, perfect for scurrilous encounters. “The contract stipulated he had to be brought in alive, so when I found him, I just bought him ale until he passed out. Good times.” He paused. “They hung him afterward. Not sure why they needed him living.”

  “Were I you, I would most likely not wish to share that bit of personal history,” X’on said. He took a battered black cloth from his tunic and placed it on the table in front of them.

  Ven eyeballed it. “I’m guessing that’s the signal…or you want to give the table a quick polish.”

  X’on chuckled softly. “It is indeed the former,” he replied.