“Thou shalt remind your children of their heritage, so they will know you place the Tunga above all others.” Arianne’s voice was fevered as she lifted a glowing hand above her head. She held her arm toward Nikla and opened her hand. Fire burned in her palm.
The Fire of the desert gods? Is this a trick the Bone Reader taught her, or is it real? Quint realized he’d always just assumed the Fire was a symbol, a metaphor for the strength of their faith. If that were not the case—if there was truth behind the stories of the desert gods’ power—he wondered how Nikla could ever hope to sway her people back to a faith in dragons.
“Bringing anyone to your bed is punishable by death.” Arianne pointed at Nikla, and the Fire engulfed her hand. “Bringing anyone to your bed is punishable by death!”
Arianne’s twisting the words. The Tungresh forbade relations with one of the Dragonborn. I’m a foreigner. He moved forward to speak, to attempt to quell the chorus of accusations from the crowd, but the Mother’s guards crossed their staffs to block his way. You’ve helped enough. Nikla’s words from the night before banged in Quint’s mind like the Reaping drums.
“Children!” Nikla screamed, momentarily quieting the clash of voices. “We have enough enemies without making enemies of each other. We leave in the morning for the cave.” She finished speaking and strode off with long, angry strides, the two guards close behind.
The Dung, Chapter 65
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There’s a wonder to going far—
A magic to returning home changed—
A sorrow in learning home, as well, has changed.
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—Preface to A Life Lived
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The Dung
One Moon Later
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“Ewww.” Whym raised his forearm to cover his nose. “You really can smell the Dung before seeing it.”
Kutan smirked. “Not the welcome back you were expecting? Since we’re staying the night, you’ll smell the same come morning.”
“Couldn’t we just stop briefly?” Whym asked Stern, giddy at the prospect of seeing Kira and his parents. After Aldhaven, the daily struggle to survive and hold on to his sanity had pushed away all thoughts of returning to them—all hopes for the future. But after burning Endeling, when it appeared he might survive the journey after all, those hopes began to resurface. He’d held them at bay at first, fearing something would happen to dash them. But now, with the walls of Riverbend silhouetted against the horizon, he allowed himself to think of his parents and Kira with the certainty of an approaching reunion. Almost there, he could picture the joy and surprise on their faces.
“You’re forgetting Endeling.” Stern’s staid demeanor was in sharp contrast to Whym’s giddiness. “A lot can change in the time we’ve been gone. We must take our time and be careful. One night in the Dung won’t tell us all we need to know.”
On the uneventful return trip, Stern had daily introduced new reasons to avoid a return to Riverbend, insisting they wouldn’t even be safe in the Wildes. Losing the toad’s toe had only intensified his efforts. None of his arguments had dented Whym’s determination to return. When he’d first learned about the trap in Endeling, Whym had believed joining the resistance might be his only option. After all he’d experienced, though, he’d gained enough confidence that he felt escaping and hiding was a viable option. Even if he did ultimately agree to join the resistance, he wanted to make sure Kira and his parents were safely out of Riverbend first. He didn’t want Lord Fen to be able to use them against him as Samir Fen had used Whym’s grandfather against ArWhym.
Kutan slapped Whym on the back, hard enough to sting, but not quite hard enough to warrant retaliation. “It’ll be a good test of Kira’s feelings for you when you show up stinking like one of the Heap.”
“Remember, you can’t reveal anything at this point.” Stern’s seriousness threw a wet blanket over the banter. “And promise the girl nothing.”
“I’ve already promised,” Whym reminded his master. “When I leave, I’m taking Kira with me.” Stern had agreed to help resettle Whym and his parents with friends of his in the Vinlands even if Whym refused to join the resistance. Oddly, Whym felt like his discovery of magic—in particular, his skill with animals—had left Stern less, versus more, insistent Whym join.
“Hey, I’ve got a couple lady friends I’d like to bring,” Kutan interjected. “More the merrier, right?”
“If you’ve saved enough coin.” Stern delivered his dry humor with a face devoid of amusement, and kept walking.
They reached the Dung by late afternoon, when the heat of the late summer sun had baked the manure and the inhabitants, leaving both the animals and people lethargic. The crossroads bustled in the mornings and evenings, but the sizzling hot afternoons were a time for waiting and napping.
The spot Stern had chosen to stay was a rundown tavern at the edge of the Dung where the seeker believed he wouldn’t be recognized. “Whattya want?” the tavern owner asked without looking up.
“Room for the night,” Stern answered. Whym stood close behind him, and Kutan pulled up the rear, doing his best to conceal his face and the prominent birthmark.
“One’s five cads, two’s eight, three’s ten.”
Stern placed five cads on the table.
The tavern owner pointed the way with a languid sweep of his arm. “Take the one on the end.”
The room—four mud walls, a keyless door, and a single grass mat—was barely large enough to fit them and their packs. They crammed inside anyway.
Stern pulled a bag from his pack and dropped it on the floor. “Here’s food.” He took off his sword belt, but slipped a thin dagger into his boot. “Don’t leave this room,” he whispered.
Kutan started to protest, but the seeker placed a finger over his lips to stop him, then bent close enough he could have licked their faces. “Assume anything you say can be heard.”
Whym watched the rickety door close behind their master, already regretting his insistence on accompanying Stern to the Dung. The seeker had wanted to go alone and scout, but Whym had insisted his new talents could be of assistance.
“Can you do it?” Kutan whispered. “From inside, where you can’t see the animals? Can you still see through their eyes and listen with their ears?”
Whym felt the warmth of the Unum in the palm of his hand. He knew from Tedel’s tales that the Unum wasn’t necessary after bonding, but that it strengthened the magic of the holder. Needing all the help he could get, he closed his hand around the stone and shut his eyes. Animals abounded—pigs wallowing, chickens pecking the dirt for bugs, a rat sifting through the refuse behind the tavern. He was drawn to one of the strange humped creatures the Changa spice merchants rode from the deserts. Soon, Whym was resting under the beating sun, chewing a mouthful of dried grass while his masters spoke in low voices nearby.
“No point even stopping in the city these days,” the turbaned man complained to the local watering the animals. “By the time they take their cut, there’s nothing left. Lots of merchants are skipping Riverbend.”
“Don’t think the Council don’t know,” the Heap man cautioned. “Word from folks returnin’ is all the towns be raisin’ the levees. If you don’t got a paper sayin’s you paid here, there’ll be soldiers at the next stop ready to take it from you.”
The merchant pointed toward the tall walls above them. “I’d ruther pay another town than those thieves.”
Whym struggled to force the animal to keep listening and not drop its face into the freshly filled water trough. “Suit yerself. But the money’ll end up in the lords’ pockets no matter where you pay it.”
“I think they’re just using the war in the Fringe as an excuse to raise taxes.” The merch
ant leaned back against his pack and rested his legs on a rock nearby. “Them tribesfolk is so backward, a group of us coulda burned down the whole Fringe by now.”
“Maybe so.” The man stacked the now-empty buckets beside the pole he’d used to carry them from the river. “But before you start talkin’ too tough, you oughta speak with a trader or two that supplied the army. Every one of ‘em says them Shades is fierce. Some even claim they got magic.”
“Magic?” The merchant rolled his eyes. “You believe that, I reckon you’ll believe most anything.”
Whym opened his eyes.
“So?” Kutan waited.
Whym smiled. “Amazing!” He relayed what he’d overheard to Kutan then sought out the next animal he planned to occupy. They repeated the cycle until Stern returned in the early morning. Whym was exhausted. He’d been listening and watching almost non-stop, but had heard nothing he considered useful. He could provide secondhand or worse updates about the Fringe, but the rest of the conversation had been talk about business or stories of their travels.
“Pack up,” Stern said curtly, “let’s get moving.” His look told them questions should wait.
They each left the tavern alone so they wouldn’t draw attention, then met back at the rendezvous point outside town. From where they stood on the hill, they could look down on the Dung and out to the walls of Riverbend. “What’s the urgency?” Kutan demanded when Stern arrived.
“Riverbend’s not safe.”
Whym jumped in. “Why? We listened all day and heard nothing of concern.”
“The Council’s outlawed whispers—under penalty of death.”
“Haven’t whispers always been illegal—under penalty of death?” Whym asked. “Isn’t that why Fink’s so important?”
“Now they’re enforcing the rule.” Stern exhaled, blowing away the strand of white hair dangling in front of his eye, then shook his head. “They beheaded Shady and Alana. Even Marvil was charged, and he was close with a couple lords. I don’t know why, but they’re getting rid of all the seekers.”
“Have they charged us?” Kutan asked.
“I don’t believe they think we’re alive.” Stern looked at Whym. “We shouldn’t go to Riverbend. It’s not safe.”
Whym could feel his window of opportunity to get Kira and his parents out of the city narrowing as they spoke. “I’m not leaving without seeing my parents and Kira.” He folded his arms over his chest.
Stern shrugged. “I expected as much.”
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Stern and Kutan watched in the predawn glow as Whym wound his way up the curve of the valley beyond and toward the city gate of Riverbend. “I’d feel better if one of us would have gone with him!” Kutan said when Whym was no more than a small dot on the landscape.
“They won’t be expecting him to return alone,” Stern said. “More to the point, have you looked at him lately?”
“What do you mean?” Kutan turned toward his master.
“They know the boy we led from the city after the Choosing.” Stern stroked the stubble that had formed along his jawline. “He’s going back a man. Our presence would only tip them off.”
“But what happens if they do recognize him?” Kutan squinted to try and locate again the dot climbing the road to the city.
“You’ll need to get him to safety.”
“What?” Kutan spun around. “You just said he was going alone?”
“You’re a true seeker.” Stern gripped Kutan’s shoulder. “Even with that ugly purple mark on your face you can hide among the crowds as well as anyone. And maybe Salazar’s right, and they’re not looking for you.”
“That again?”
“It’s not a slight. It means you’ve done well not being noticed. That’s what good seekers do. If you want to go and protect him, I won’t stop you.”
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After Kutan left, Stern stood alone on the hill, the sun rising hot behind him. His shoulders bowed with fatigue, but his mind was set. The message he’d sent the night before should have reached Salazar. He hoped the big man would finish the task before their meeting time that evening.
Northern Edge of the Fringe, Chapter 66
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“Whether to stay and fight and die, or run and hide and die? I’ll stay and hope to share my death with one of our enemy.”
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—Fadia’s last words to Quint
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Northern Edge of the Fringe
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“No spear to the belly for me,” Dermot grumbled. “Damned tooth’s gonna get me first.”
“Witch woman told ya to yank it,” Spence curled his lips into a peevish grin, “but you was too busy yankin’ somethin’ else.”
Dermot covered his left eye. The head-splitting pain made him dizzy when he tried to look through both. “Already left half an ear. Don’t plan to leave nothin’ else in the Fringe.”
“Said she’d yank out the evil,” Spence continued to goad his superior, “but if she started doin’ that, there’d not be much of ya left.”
“Can’t see straight.” Dermot shoved some more of the dried moss under his cheek. He didn’t believe the woman’s claim of magic, but whatever she’d dried with the moss was magic enough for him. “I’ll get it fixed near Bothera.”
“Bothera?” Spence chortled. “You know somethin’ I don’t?”
“You heard the boy. These Dragonfolk will make a last stand. The army’ll be turnin’ another direction soon. So will we.”
“If they’s lookin’ to die, remind me what we’re doin’ here? Why not head back now?”
“We’re not leavin’ the boy.” Dermot wasn’t the type to change his mind once it was made up. Why others would keep trying to change it perplexed him.
“Guys,” Quint hissed, poking his head into the brush. “I can hear you from halfway down the mountain. Unless their scouts are deaf, they’ll know you’re here before you see them.”
“Sorry,” Dermot responded. Spence looked askance at his officer. Other than the lady leader of the Shades, the former slave took orders from no one.
“Let me get this straight.” Spence eyed Quint’s back as he left, and dropped his tone to just above a whisper. “That marked-up freak convinced him the army cain’t track a whole tribe. All’s we gotta do is kill a few scouts and they’ll jus’ pass by?”
“Yep.” If Spence had called Quint such names, Dermot would have busted his nose—again. The girl was fair game. He cinched the pouch of dried moss and stuck it back in his pack.
“Bet the other tribes wish they’d thought of this.”
Dermot understood the concept of sarcasm. He just didn’t like it. He’d found it was best ignored. Any response begat more of the same. Plus, the plan was foolish. The army would find the Dragonborn, kill them, then move on. He suspected Quint knew it, too. But the girl had him wrapped around her tattooed finger.
They waited in silence for much of the afternoon, watching for the Council’s scouts. “How long’s this meeting gonna last?” Spence finally asked as he beat the numbness from his legs.
Dermot stood and stepped out of their hiding place in the brush. “Wait here. I’ll be back.” He headed to where Quint and Gurch were watching the western slope of the mountain.
As he came up behind them, he shook his head. Quint was looking toward the cave instead of watching the path below. Gurch was fast asleep. He kicked the sleeping man hard in the ribs. “Wake up!” Gurch folded his chest to his knees, but muffled his complaint when he recognized who’d kicked him.
Dermot squatted beside Quint despite his knees’ cracking protests. Big men aren’t meant to squat. “How long you plan to wait?”
“Why don’t they just split? Those who follow the girl—”
“Nikla,” Quint corrected.
“Why don’t some stay, the rest go? The more who leave, the better the chance the army would pass without finding the cave.”
From Quint’s wistful expression, Dermot guessed he’d argued much the same. “She feels an obligation to her people. Same reason you’re protecting the Dragonborn, instead of leaving them to fend for themselves.”
Dermot let the misconception pass without comment. He’d not joined the Shades because he supported their cause. He’d joined because there was no better choice for an escaped slave. Likewise, he wasn’t there to protect the Dragonborn. He’d be of more use attacking the supply lines or leading sorties to harass the edges of the camp. He was with the Dragonborn for Quint—Quint alone.
“How long can a meeting take?” The discomfort in his gut was warning him something was wrong.
Quint looked up the mountain and frowned. “I thought they’d have come for us already, but we’ll head back before dark.”
“We’ll be waiting.” Dermot tromped back to his hiding place in the brush. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped the army would pass by. Leaving Quint holed up in the cave until the fighting would be a blessing for him—a weight off his shoulders. But if they didn’t pass, he planned to take Quint away. Dermot often struggled to read people, but he was well-acquainted with the look he’d seen in the girl’s eye. She was prepared to die. He didn’t plan to give Quint that option.
“Get yer orders from the boy?” Spence needled.
“Yep.” It was easier than explaining.
Birthrights_Revisions to the Truth Page 42
