“Where is Nelby?” she screamed at her dangling captives.
“Don’t be killin’ ‘em, Em!” the constable called at her back. “Ask your questions and let ‘em go.”
The giantess growled in frustration and slammed the three thralls to the ground, stunning them. Before they recovered, she stood on their feet. The pain brought ‘em ‘round right quick.
“Ahhhhgggh!” they all cried in unison, like a chorus of the damned.
“I won’t ask again,” said Mardine, through clenched teeth. “Where. Is. Nelby?”
“Ain’t seen ‘er,” groaned the oldest of her captives, a grey-haired ghost of a man.
“I’m dyin’! I’m dyin’!” moaned the younger man.
“Dunno,” the third captive, a woman, managed. “I dunno nothin’, I swear.”
“She and her man rode out by the north road,” came a fourth voice.
Mardine looked up. A slightly plump woman with dirty blond hair and bare feet looked back at her, face set in a permanent frown. By now, two of her three captives were not-so-quietly sobbing in their fear and misery. The old man just endured.
“And you know this how?” Mardine asked the other woman.
“’Cause her man used ta be mine,” the woman admitted. She scanned the crowd defiantly. “I been spyin’ on ‘em for a couple ‘o weeks now.”
The giantess stepped off and away from her prisoners, eliciting a final cry from each. “And how do I know you’re not lying to me in order to throw me off the scent?”
The thrall had a ready answer. “You can take me with you. You find out I’m lyin’, you do what you gotta do.”
Ah. The woman scorned, looking for a little revenge. Mardine had never experienced such feelings herself, but she’d seen them often enough to recognize their dark power. “Come along, then,” said she. “I’m after them right now.”
The crowd parted, allowing the thrall woman and Mardine to make their way back up River road and into the village.
Trailing along behind her, Dyx said “You need any supplies, Em?”
Without looking back, Mardine answered, “I’m fine, thanks. Could probably use a pony for this one, here. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
“I got one as y’ can borrow,” one of the other townsfolk called out. “Long Pete’s been mighty helpful to me and mine. Figure I owe you at least that much.”
It didn’t stop with the pony, though. In half an hour’s time, Mardine’s neighbors and friends had outfitted her and the thrall woman like royalty on tour. The giantess nearly wept at the townsfolk’s generosity; the watchful eye of her companion stopped her. In short order, Mardine and the thrall were back on the road, escorted along by a chorus of farewells. She hadn’t realized how much she loved the little village and its outlying farms. She wondered when or if she’d see them again.
*****
“You have a name?” Mardine asked the thrall as they plodded along.
“Tresa,” the woman said.
“And this man o’ yours?”
“He ain’t mine no more.”
“Right. This man travelling with Nelby…what’s his name?”
“Jaddo.”
Mardine tried the name on her tongue. “Jaddo. Jaddo.” She paused. “I don’t recognize it.”
Tresa laughed a short, bitter laugh. “He’s kinda like termites in your walls; you don’t know he’s about unless ye go lookin’ for ‘im.”
“You figure he’s the one took my daughter, or was it Nelby and he’s just along for the company?”
Tresa screwed up her face. “I’m guessing Jaddo. Nelby ain’t never seemed too smart to me.”
Mardine bristled at this. “You think it was smart to take my Esmine?”
The thrall wasn’t cowed in the least. “I mean, it sounds like one o’ Jaddo’s schemes.”
“This is why you people have such a hard time getting back on your feet,” Mardine said irritably.
“Oh!” said Tresa, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Is that why? I thought it was the lack o’ work.”
“Seems to me there ought to be plenty ‘o work, back where you came from. Not to mention folks who miss you.”
Tresa stopped in her tracks and shot Mardine a look of such contempt it unnerved the giantess. “And how’re we supposed to get back there, eh? That’s a journey of months, and none of us has so much as two shims to rub together. How’re we supposed to buy supplies, horses and all o’ that? Oh, the crown said they’d help us after the war, but all they done is dump us into everybody else’s laps. Nobody’s got enough work for all of us. Nobody’s got enough food, nor shelter. What we are is just a bunch o’ hangers-on, and nobody likes that.”
Obviously, this was a speech Tresa had heard or delivered on many occasions, and Mardine was underprepared to debate the logic of it. “But…stealing and kidnapping don’t make you any more welcome…”
“Say somebody gives you a mangy old hound. For a while, you feed ‘im and care for ‘im. Time goes by and you get bored or tired o’ feedin’ and caring for im. But the hound’s gotta live, no? So, he starts sneaking food when you’re not lookin’. It’s nothing ‘gainst you, but he’s gotta eat. That make ‘im a bad dog, or you a bad master?”
“But we never asked to be your masters!” Mardine countered.
“Then you shouldn’t-a never taken us in!” Tresa yelled back. “You shoulda said ‘sorry, but we cain’t help you’ from the get-go. Woulda been a lot more merciful!”
“None o’ that excuses stealing my little one. None of it. And if she’s not right when we find her again, there’ll be two fewer thralls looking for food and shelter.”
*****
Early summer meant longer days; longer days meant more miles travelled before camping each night. For the first few days, Mardine and Tresa were so exhausted by the time they made camp that they barely had time to start a fire and eat something before falling asleep where they sat. Often, Mardine would get up in the middle of the night and drape a blanket over the thrall woman – not out of kindness or pity, but because she didn’t want the woman dying on her before they found Nelby, Jaddo and, most importantly, Esmine.
During these mid-night periods, Mardine inevitably began worrying about things, anything, everything. What would they do when they came to a fork in the road? Sooner or later, they’d have to choose a direction. What if they chose wrong? And then there was the issue of bandits. Or worse. There were things in the wilderness between towns that had no love of men…or giants. Mardine was confident she could handle up to five men, maybe even seven or eight if they were sick or doing poorly. More than that, though, she hoped she’d never see. She worried, too, about what she could expect from Tresa in a fight. For all she knew, the woman would turn on her when she was otherwise engaged and stick a knife in the giant’s back. Not that a single knife would do much damage, but it unquestionably wouldn’t help.
More than anything, she worried about her daughter. Were her captors treating her well or had they abused her? Surely they’d want her in good health if they meant to sell her into service or slavery, wouldn’t they? Even if they weren’t beating and starving Esmine, Mardine feared the experience alone could traumatize the child for years to come, break her spirit and change her essential nature forever.
The irony of the situation was not lost on Mardine. Oh no, far from it. Her husband’s departure to investigate the kidnapping of the Queen had directly created the circumstances under which Esmine could likewise be kidnapped. Hang her for treason – if you could find a rope stout enough – but Mardine would save her daughter’s life over the Queen’s any and every time. Besides, the old hag had lived her span and then some, whereas Esmine – sweet natured, beautiful Esmine…
Mardine hoped the Queen was suffering, wherever she was. Then she regretted such thoughts. Then she feared she’d jinxed herself and her daughter. Then she cursed Mahnus and Alheria. Then she repented. Then she started all over again.
Mornings, Mardine questioned T
resa over and over again about what she’d heard, seen or suspected. The giantess understood she’d run off half-blind, but what else could she do?
“You’re positive you heard this Jaddo planning to head north?” she’d say for the hundredth time.
“Dead certain,” Tresa answered, time and again.
“It makes no sense, though,” Mardine complained. “On the river, he could have made much better time in either direction than travelling over land. And it’s much simpler to follow him now, too.”
“Might be he figured you’d take to the river and his escape to the north would be that much easier.”
Mardine shook her head, frustrated. “And what’s to the north but more small towns? He won’t reach a bigger one for a week or more.”
“Unless he ain’t aiming for a city.”
Disturbing thought, that.
“You don’t trust my word, we can always head back, find a boat and search the river…” Tresa offered, knowing full well Mardine would decline.
“We’ll press on,” said the giantess stoically.
*****
Aoife, at Sea
Aoife had never been so indolent. There was really nowhere to go on the little ship and nothing to do once you got there. Anyhow, that’s what she’d been trying to tell herself for weeks now. The truth was, despite all her prayers and meditation, she hadn’t found a solution to the problem of Tarmun Vykers and his damnable…charisma, for want of a better word. She wished she had Toomt’-La’s counsel, though she could well guess what he might say. He had little use for humans at the best of times and no use for their warriors. So, Toomt’-La would tease her, nimbly walking a fine line between gentle humor and biting cynicism. One moment, he’d have the A’Shea laughing, the next, she’d feel tempted to vex him with agues. But if anyone could keep her away from the Reaper, it was he.
Without warning, there was a thunderous noise, and the whole ship shook so violently for an instant that Aoife cried out, certain the end of the world had arrived. From the alarmed shouts of the crew, she was not alone in this fear. To her surprise, however, and before her heart had even returned to its normal rhythm, the same crew could be heard cheering and then outright roaring with laughter. What in Mahnus’ name was going on? Well, she had to know, even if it meant running into Vykers. Resigned, Aoife climbed out of her bunk and made her way into the narrow hallway that ran to the stairs. She passed the tiny cabin the Frog shared with Hoosh and the Historian and noticed that all three were out. A party on deck? And she hadn’t been invited.
When at last she arrived on deck, she discovered the entire ship’s population at the port railing, staring out to sea and raining laughter and curses in the same direction. Had they run aground? Spotted land? Pushing her way through the crowd, she, too, stared out to sea and was shaken by what she saw. A bowshot away, a serpentine creature of unimaginable proportions raged and thrashed in frothy waves of its own making, bleeding profusely from an area Aoife took to be its head. In its agony, the beast knew no particular direction, but writhed and spasmed in a chaotic and unpredictable manner.
“What in Alheria’s mercy is that thing?” she breathed.
“That,” the captain beamed, “is the reason nobody’s ever returned from a voyage across this ocean. Don’t rightly know what it’s called, but he’s a big bastard, ain’t he?”
Big? Aoife had seen pictures of whales as an initiate to the Sisterhood. This thing could have swallowed a school of whales and not even noticed.
“And it rammed us?” the A’Shea asked. “How is it we’re not dead?”
The captain gave her his best, toothy grin. “’Cause I knew there was something like him out here. I seen too much wreckage washed up on shore, too many broken hulls. I fitted my lady here with six foot spikes all over her bottom. And I painted those spikes with poisoned pitch, to boot!” He pointed to the monster, still boiling away in the distance. “Our lad here came along and thought to sink us, but came away with a brain full o’ steel instead.”
Aoife would have liked to feel shock or revulsion. All she felt was relief. She had no trouble believing the creature had ruined entire fleets of explorers and merchants. And he was but one of his species. Surely there were others. The monster began to scream and wail, and Aoife observed that its bleeding increased. Suddenly, the water around it was alive with sharks and other, less identifiable predators. The leviathan’s death struggle soon became too vicious, too brutal for the A’Shea, and she turned to leave, only to run smack into Vykers’ chest. She reached out a hand to ensure she didn’t collide with him and inadvertently placed it on the upper left side of his chest. It was like touching a stone. At first, anyway. It shortly became a much more pleasant and therefore unpleasant experience.
“Feelin’ the merchandise before you buy, are you?” Vykers grinned.
Aoife pulled her hand away and looked down. She hoped no one else was watching. “I’m not buying,” she said.
“Then mayhap you’re selling?”
“You know I am not.”
Vykers took her chin in his hand, gently but firmly, made sure she looked into his eyes. “D’you think we’ll live forever? That we’ve got forever?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He traced the surface of her lips with his thumb. “I’ll not lie to you: as a boy, I took what I wanted from women and had no regrets. That’s how it was in the army. But I’ve learned a thing’s worth less if you have to steal it than if it’s given outright.”
“It will never be given.”
The Reaper cupped her face in both his hands, drew her close. In a whisper, he said “Words are not actions, my lady. Remember that.”
“Land!” A voice yelled from the rigging. “Land off the Starboard side!”
Vykers withdrew from Aoife so quickly there was almost a vacuum in his absence. Despite his injury, he jumped for the nearest rope and climbed up into the rigging himself, anxious to see this land with his own eyes. “True enough!” he called down. “We’ve crossed this Mahnus-cursed sea at last!”
*****
This latest near-kiss was perhaps harder on Arune than on Aoife and Vykers combined. While the Reaper possessed an impressive ability to put the A’Shea out of his mind when necessary, Arune was shockingly weak in that area. The feel of Aoife’s skin in Vykers’ hands had been tantalizing, whetting Arune’s appetite for a “more” that never came. If it was possible for a ghost to be sexually frustrated, the Shaper had accomplished the feat and even mastered it. What she had not yet riddled out was whether her yearnings were a part of Brouton’s Bind and, thus, the feelings of her host, or whether she, herself, had actually fallen for the A’Shea. It mattered little: she was mad for the woman, and every day, hour, minute or second Vykers managed to ignore her was torture for Arune. If she was ever going to obtain what – and who – she wanted, Arune was going to have to force the issue and manipulate the Reaper.
That, she knew, could be very, very dangerous.
*****
“And that there’s your second reason we’ve had no return traffic from this coast,” the captain said, pointing up at the towering cliffs, topped by an equally forbidding wall. ‘Tis madness to even contemplate scaling such heights. How many have died tryin’?”
Vykers stared at the cliffs, brooding, echoing the general mood on board, which had gone from elation at first sight of land to defeat upon closer inspection. “That’ll be our last resort, then.”
“Which leaves sailing up or down the coast in hopes of finding some more hospitable shoreline.”
Vykers turned to the Historian, who’d been standing at his side for the past hour. “You mighta mentioned this,” he grumbled.
“And I would have, you can be sure, if that wall had been there last time I visited these shores.”
Sometimes, it was easy to forget the Ahklatian was almost eight hundred years old. Vykers returned his attention to the cliffs and wall, now bathed in the pinks and oranges of
sunset. It was a pleasant evening, as such things went, but the Reaper was largely unaware of it.
“Question is, was that wall built to keep us out, or the natives in?”
The captain looked confused. “What difference does that make, ‘specially if we ain’t gonna bother with it?”
“It matters,” the Historian cut in, “because whoever resides behind that wall is more likely to have patrols outside it if it was built to repel rather than contain.”
“Just so,” Vykers agreed. “Guess we’d better plan for either contingency.” He put his back to the rail and surveyed the ship, its passengers and crew. A breeze from the west wafted across the deck and the Reaper took a moment to enjoy the relative peace. Soon, he and his companions would be on the move again. Soon, there would be running, fighting and perhaps even dying.
As Flies to Wanton Boys (Immortal Treachery Book 2) Page 21
