Magience: second edition

by Cari Silverwood

  “I thought they were supposed to be ferocious,” Ellinca muttered.

  “Only if you let them make a burrow,” said the leper, kneeling and scratching Gangar under his chin. There was a sound like someone rubbing sandpaper against a rock.

  “Oh. Really?” Where did he get all this knowledge from? For some reason it made her angry.”What is your name? And...and why did you help me?”

  “Shouldn’t we attend to your friend first?”

  Now she was both angry and ashamed. Blanching, she ran over to where Pascolli lay. He was still unconscious.

  “I need to get him to a healer. Very fast. I’m afraid he might die if I don’t.”

  “I...came across the tracks of some people with pack-quaggas to the west of here, heading up to Skysplitter. Is this still Argnust?”

  “Yes.” How could he not know the month?

  “Then the army will have withdrawn to the border.”

  “How can you...”

  “I just know,” he said flatly. “Whoever they are, these people are not Burgla’le soldiers.”

  Blast it all but she couldn’t read his expression behind that mask. She chewed her lip. He didn’t know the month but knew details about the army? It was perplexing to say the least.

  “These people would have a healer?” she asked.

  “Perhaps. My guess would be smugglers, and most of them are Andonny. His people, if I’m not mistaken?”

  She nodded. It made sense. The Andonny were an opportunistic people. They had a different way of looking at life to most and their disregard for the law or the borders of a country was well known. Money and family were the tenets, the very pillars of their existence. If anyone would trade with the Grakkurds it would be the Andonny. The army might try to stop them but if the rewards were great enough they would find a way around any obstacle.

  “The Andonny stick together like tar. At least with them we can be certain of a welcome. Of course, if they’re not Andonny...smugglers are as likely to stick a few arrows in you as help you.”

  She blinked. A dribble of sweat ran into her mouth. “I’ll take that risk.” Her voice croaked. His nearness made her skin crawl. “Can you help me gather some stout sticks? I’m going to have to make a travois.”

  He showed no sign of moving away and, instead, leaned over to examine Pascolli, though thankfully he did not try to touch him. “What is wrong with him?”

  “He was whipped. There is a spot that refuses to heal...and now...now.” On impulse she folded back the neck of Pascolli’s shirt. “This.” The single red streak had become a web of red lines over bone-white skin.

  “Ah. He has blood poisoning.” She thought the leper had other words to add to that but he held them back. Shaking his head, he straightened. “The disease has not taken my strength yet. I can carry him...if you will let me.”

  She shifted back on her heels and felt the pulse throb across her forehead and behind her ears. An ill feeling washed her stomach. There was no reason not to let him carry Pascolli. Not really. Leprosy wasn’t that infectious. She could pull a travois, but very, very slowly, and the track it left would be like an arrow pointing to where she had gone.

  “What is blood poisoning?” Pretending ignorance, she’d said it to stall for time. A vile taste came to her mouth to think of the leper holding Pascolli.

  He sighed. “Something very bad. You must decide quickly.”

  She could do something here and now. As long as the Bloodmen didn’t come back with reinforcements. Frope might not be far behind. The leper would be the only witness if she did, somehow, use magience, but Pascolli had forbidden her to. She could hurt him accidentally. She looked at her hands. Which risk was greater?

  “Okay. Carry him.”

  He bent to pick up Pascolli. Grimacing, she shuffled back. With the gentlest of touches he slid his arms under Pascolli, and rose to his feet with no sign of the weight he held. “My name,” he said, “is Dost Ex.” He paused, saying nothing, waiting as though his words should carry some weight.

  She frowned back at him. He turned, and loped clumsily away down the hill. She snatched up the pack, tucked the axe into her belt, hoped she wouldn’t cut herself while running, and set off after him.

  Ex was a middle name for the nobility, but one so common that it meant very little unless one knew the last name. But Dost, now that was uncommon. She had heard it before, somewhere. He had not said why he helped her. It could wait. Helpers were not exactly commonplace hereabouts.

  She quickened her steps. Keeping up with the leper, Dost, would be difficult. She was tired but mustn’t show it – for all she knew, he might be planning to eat Pascolli. She had to keep up.

  Chapter 10

  A Wicked Awakening

  Night fell within the hour and the forest became a dim, alien world full of hidden traps to entangle the feet and bodies of any weaker, daytime creatures that dared to be awake. It was easy to lose one’s way – especially if not sure where to go in the first place. One could also easily lose his or her life if happening across something bigger or hungrier or better-armed.

  All these things occurred to Ellinca as she stumbled panting after the leper. When she fell behind, sweat dripping in her eyes despite the night coolness, she kept on going in what seemed the right direction but soon she was utterly lost. The wondrously tall and elegant mountain ash forest surrounded her. Not a single thread of moonlight leaked through the canopy. Faint light glowed where luminescent fungi clung to some rocks and from a scattering of roaming fireflies. Otherwise the forest was submerged in a murky sea of darkness.

  “Okay,” she said quietly. No matter how loud her breathing or how easily a night creature might scent her, she was not going to trumpet her whereabouts.

  “I shall stay put ’til morning, and Dost, or whatever his real name is, had better have gotten Pascolli to safety, or...” She would leave thinking of something terrible to do to him for a later date.

  She found the largest tree – its ancient trunk fully ten yards ’round. Carefully she unpacked the glass wolfsbane ball of aconite and herbs, and hung it from a stout branch she thrust into the soft earth. She found another large fallen branch and laid it on the ground nearby. With a sigh, she settled with her back resting against the cold bark, drew out the axe and placed it across her lap. Tiredness dragged her at her eyelids.

  A piece of dried meat and a few swallows of stale water were all she had for dinner. She shook the water bottle – half full. It might be a while before she could refill it. Now all she had to do was stay awake, survive until morning, then find the camp.

  Awake. She pressed her eyes shut then open. Half the forest was stirring. Mosquitoes and midges whined hungrily about her ears. An owl hunting for its next meal hooted somewhere overhead. As she huddled against the tree some nocturnal insectivore, perhaps a potaroo or a dunnart, dug in the leaf litter, crunching up bugs and worms. Everyone was eating.

  She licked at a wicked scratch that ran across her lip and tasted blood. There were creatures that could smell blood from miles away. She prayed they were in the half of the forest that slept at night.

  Three or four times something large whooshed by far overhead, above the very tops of the trees. It traveled so fast she could only wonder at its cause, dreaming that the forest must be a home for some enormous night bird. Dreaming...

  Someone called her. “Ellinca!”

  She blinked. Through the darkness she could see moving lights. Three lanterns, hooded to show only a narrow beam of light. She blinked again. Something big padded close by. It breathed out gentle billows of foul warm air. Against the dappled and deepest shadows was one ominous shadow. It glided silently, growing larger, then stopping, crouching low. A stray glint of light revealed two green eyes.

  She raised the axe, her grip like iron. A spear was what she needed. Too late she thought of sharpening a branch.

  “Haraa-aarr!” Away to the right someone crashed through the trees, roaring loudly. Whoever it was held no
lantern but the others had heard the noise. Two of the light carriers looked to be headed directly for the source of the yell. As they all drew closer, their light washed across the forest.

  An immense saber cat crouched before her, muscles quivering, ready to leap. It was all tawny-gold fur with hungry, staring eyes that pinned her to the tree – like a piece of meat skewered on a plate. Drool dripped from the sword-like teeth. She bared her own teeth. One stupid move and it would pounce. It rumbled a low growl. A warning to these new predators it sensed closing in on its prey – her.

  The light carriers hesitated then came on at a slower though steady pace. She didn’t blame them. Every hair on her body was standing on end.

  “Skagwolf,” someone cried, and they added something else she did not understand. She wished they were right. Ellinca tensed. To stand, and make a better defense...or stay where she was and hope it would forget about her and leave? Not likely. She swallowed, tensing herself to both grab the cut tree branch and jump to her feet at the same time.

  “Yaah!” In an explosion of snapping branches and crunching leaves the leper arrived. The saber cat spun round, snarling.

  The leper pushed his head forward and drew in a huge, noisy breath until Ellinca thought he might explode. Then once more he bellowed. The black sound of it thundered through the air. For a fleeting second, Ellinca imagined she even saw the hair on the cat’s back ripple as if blown in a wind.

  What was that?

  The saber cat flattened its ears and shrank back a half-step, hackles up. It snarled at the leper, challenging him. They faced each other less than a yard apart.

  She leapt to her feet and wrenched the branch from the ground. What to do? The cat was bound to win a fight. She eyed the wolfsbane ball. It swayed wildly at the end of the branch, scattering flashes of light. A red shape wriggled within. The thing that had eaten her dagger – it had crawled into her haversack and was lodged in the ball.

  The saber cat screamed – its attention caught between the two of them.

  An idea arrived. It was worth a try – solve two problems in one go or die trying.

  With all her strength she swung the branch, swooshing it round in a great sideways arc. The orb smashed against the cat’s mouth. Glass splinters and shreds of aconite exploded into the air. The saber cat went into a frenzy, screaming and pawing at its mouth and sending gobbets of drool flying as it shook its head.

  In one whiplash motion, it dived away and fled in great bounds.

  Ellinca stared after it. That had succeeded far, far better than she could ever have hoped. Her thumping heart slowed. What had just happened? She shifted her gaze to the leper. “How did you...” She shook her head. Silliness. She had only just awakened. The loudness of the sound was simply her imagination at work. “You are mad!” Getting angry was the best way she could think of to stop herself from collapsing in a muddled heap.

  Dost bowed lazily. “So, are you.” He was smiling again, she knew it.

  “But you have no weapon! To jump before the saber cat like that... You might have been killed!”

  His blue eyes regarded her. “Oh?” Was he mocking her?

  “What? You think that just because you’re a leper your life is worth nothing! You should savor every moment...” She fell silent. It was easy for her to criticize. She wasn’t him.

  Behind that mask of bandages his face was being eaten away, day by day. He was dying anyway. What must it be like to know that to the rest of the world, it was as if he were already dead?

  “Um... Thank you,” she added.

  Like ants turning up late for a picnic, the rest of her rescuers rushed forward, gathering around both of them. All their lights were quickly extinguished.

  They must be afraid of drawing attention to themselves. But then smugglers would be. They had risked discovery for her. She felt grateful and humble.

  As they waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness they talked quietly in some language she could not understand but sounded familiar. The only occasional word she recognized was gheist. Before she had time to think everything through, one of them picked up her haversack and she found she was in the middle of the group and running. With gentle nudges at her elbow they steered her in the direction they wanted her to go.

  Both the men and the women in the group were dressed in dark breeches and shirts of rough cotton and wool. Some wore various pieces of leather armor and all had the look of warriors about them. They were well-armed, with recurved bows, swords and heavy spears, and she couldn’t help but admire the sensibleness of bows or spears for taking on skagwolves or saber cats. Many were fair-haired. To her eyes, the men were overly fond of moustaches. They were not Andonny, of this she was certain.

  A tiny worm of unease wriggled in her stomach – how quickly they had formed around her with scouts out to either side. Was this a war band? If they were not smugglers or in the Imperator’s army...

  They had let her keep her axe. Maybe she didn’t appear much of a threat to them.

  She found Dost running next to her with that odd gait of his that was off-balance much of the time, as if he lost track of where his limbs were now and then. It must be the leprosy. Did her rescuers know he was a leper? They had not bothered to give him even a spear while they searched the forest.

  There was a thought: why would anyone, let alone a leper, wander the wild areas unarmed and unprovisioned with the most basic of supplies? Did Dost seek death?

  Cramping badly in her thighs, she stumbled to a halt and immediately her escorts stopped running. Hands on her knees, she caught her breath. Then, quietly, as though she had heard something unusual, she looked about her. She smiled at any who looked back at her. There were people to the front and back and sides, no hope of evading them. Of course, whoever they were, Dost had delivered Pascolli to them already.

  “Who are these people?” she whispered to him. “They are not Andonny, are they?”

  “No.”

  “Couldn’t you find the smugglers?”

  “I found them.” Dost gave her a strange look. “If you want to reach your friend we have to go on.”

  “Are they Grakkurds?”

  “Yes. They are. Trust me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Trust you? When you’ve...” She heaved out a sigh. “I’d like to know why the Grakks trust you. They followed you into the forest without knowing where you would lead them. Why do they trust somebody, a leper even, that they’ve never seen before? And why didn’t you go to the Andonny? Aren’t they sworn to always help their own?”

  It irked her that after that he would say no more. She must have insulted him. Something about him smelled of dishonesty, of some terrible dark secret. Nobody sane would want to eat a leper. He was safe. To a cannibal she must look like a juicy snack.

  After a short rest she was urged onward. They ran on and on. Exhaustion hammered at her. Where were they going? Once they got there she could stop. Stop, collapse and at last rest, but not in someone’s dinner pot. She prayed that rumor was untrue.

  At some point the tuskdog rejoined them. Harsh breathing came from knee level somewhere to the right. Then, in stray shards of moonlight, she glimpsed the brown and silver scales of his well-armored body and the short tusks beside his mouth.

  She grinned. It was in some way comforting to know he still followed her, even if he had so far showed not the slightest interest in defending her from enemies.

  They encountered a creek that must descend from the slopes of Skysplitter, crossed it quickly and headed upstream. When she heard a low whicker, Ellinca saw that they were moving past a small herd of the horse-like quaggas. A cloaked man, cradling a crossbow, watched them silently.

  “May you have a quiet watch,” someone said to him in passing. He grunted in reply.

  They could speak La’le after all.

  Beyond the sentry was a small clearing where several men slept on the ground beneath blankets. Some of them woke and raised their heads.

  The Andonny smugg
lers? No fires were burning but she supposed they would not want imperial scouts to find them. Here was her chance to escape. They’d refused to help Pascolli, hadn’t they? Or so the leper implied. And the nearest Grakkurd, a man built like a minotaur, was bedecked with enough weapons to turn her into a pin cushion. She would go on. It was the only sure way to get back to Pascolli.

  They continued onward and upward.

  The creek tumbled down through a small valley. To navigate the well-vegetated river bank, the warriors reformed into a column. It was perhaps a half a mile farther on that they encountered an expanse of rock. Owls not of the winged sort hooted above them – more sentries, for soon after, several figures silently attached themselves to the rear of the column.

  It was jarring when at last they stopped and she was told to hand over her axe. Outnumbered twenty to one or not, now she felt really defenseless. Ellinca gave them her weapons.

  They slipped, single file, through a disguised entrance in the side of the hill into a narrow passage. No one protested when Gangar barged in to trot behind Ellinca. Dost was a step farther back.

  That night many had given Dost a wide berth but wherever the tuskdog went hands had reached down to trail across his back or caress his stubby ears. He would wrinkle his forehead, squint with pleasure and smile in that wide-grinning doggy way. Had she dreamt the confrontation in the stable?

  Was this how the Grakks had confused and defeated the Imperator’s army for so long? By hiding underground in caves and tunnels? No Bloodmen were likely to find her in here, but then neither was she going to find her way out.

  Chapter 11

  Lies, Lies and More Lies

  An order was snapped out. She heard grating and rustling and guessed the entrance was being sealed in some way. Even if she could return here, there would be no easy escape.

  The space between her shoulder blades prickled. Unsettling, it was as if she sensed danger. Dost followed her. Though she could not hear his breathing she imagined the air brushing past the rotting flesh of his lips. It was almost enough to make her gag.