by Tim Pratt
“We don’t spend enough time in the frozen north, Hrym,” Rodrick said. “We could spend more time in dragon country, though I see certain downsides to the idea. Do you think it’s safe to flee, Eldra?”
“I’d rather call it retreating than fleeing, but yes. I don’t know if the Nirmathi are all gone, but I think it’s harder to hit someone riding a horse with an arrow than it is to hit someone standing around debating whether or not to leave, so we should risk it.”
“Should we wait for Prinn?”
Eldra shook her head. “If anyone can take care of himself, it’s Prinn.”
“Right. We’ll just head for Tamran then.” He looked around the forest. “Er. Which way is Tamran, do you think?”
“East … and north…” She squinted at the sky. “Where’s the sun? We could tell directions with the sun, right?”
“Yes. The sun is behind those clouds.” The whole sky was a blanket of pale gray.
“Isn’t there … something about … moss? It grows on the side that gets the most sun, which around here would be … um…” Eldra squinted at the base of a tree.
“I have noticed, in the past, that moss seems to grow all over trees, without regard for cardinal directions.”
Eldra chewed her lower lip, which was adorable, and meant she was worried. “Now that I think about it, Merihim or Bannerman always led us. I’m sure the Specialist knows what direction everything is. He probably knows all sorts of interesting facts about compasses and moss and the stars and things.”
“How about you, Hrym?” Rodrick said. “Do you have a secret affinity for the north, or something else that can help guide us?”
“Walk, and if you hit snow, you’ve probably gone north.”
“Very helpful.” Rodrick leaned against the tree. “You know, I never thought I’d die in a forest.”
18
A DIALOGUE
“Maybe the horses know the way back home?” Eldra gestured to the remaining animals, who were stamping nervously, aware of all the commotion but not entirely panicked. At least the Nirmathi hadn’t managed to put arrows in them. That was the nice thing about fighting a disorganized rabble. The revolutionaries weren’t as systematic in their ruthlessness as more well-trained forces would have been.
“I suppose that’s an option.” Rodrick had visions of them riding aimlessly on their horses as the beasts followed the smells of grass and water and eventually led them either to a camp of angry Nirmathi or a settlement of equally angry (for different reasons) Molthuni.
“It will do in the absence of an actual plan, anyway. Perhaps we’ll meet a kindly woodcutter who can give us directions.”
Rodrick opened his mouth to say something scathing, but then realized that Eldra, despite being foreign and entirely too fancy-looking to fit in among these coarse forest folk, probably could charm someone into giving her directions, and possibly an armed escort, too.
Prinn dropped out of a nearby tree, landed in a crouch, then slowly rose and walked toward them. His shoulder was seeping blood, but not badly, and he’d managed to get the arrow out, the gods alone only knew how. Since Rodrick hadn’t seen him climb that particular tree, that meant he’d been traveling among the treetops themselves, going from branch to branch through the forest. There was no denying the man had talent. It was a shame his personality alternated between “crazed mink” and “plank of wood.”
“Prinn!” Eldra said. “Merihim and Bannerman escaped with Zumani. We’re supposed to meet them in Tamran. I don’t suppose you know the way back?”
Prinn stared off in the distance, and after a long moment, nodded. He swiftly packed up his belongings, and Rodrick and Eldra followed suit, though not as rapidly: cleaning up a campsite while warily trying to watch the forest in all directions in case of ambush was a complicated affair. Once they had their gear stowed on the horses, Prinn mounted and took the lead. He didn’t seem in any great rush, his horse proceeding at slightly more than a walk, as Prinn swiveled his head left and right in endless arcs, watching for enemies, or omens, or who knew what.
After a time the trees thinned out and they reached a better-maintained path, and Eldra nudged her horse up to ride alongside Prinn. “May I ask you a question?” she said.
He shrugged.
“Is there a reason you only speak to Merihim, and never say a word to anyone else?”
Prinn looked at her for a prolonged interval, then nodded.
“Aha.” Eldra smiled. “Did you make … some sort of a vow?”
Another long look, then a shrug.
“Hmm. But you don’t mind communicating, clearly, so perhaps we can still talk, in a way?”
Shrug.
Rodrick tried to decide if what he was feeling was incredulity or jealousy or both. Was Eldra trying to charm Prinn? If so, would she actually succeed? Maybe he should insert himself into the conversation. He nudged his horse up closer. “Are you a sorcerer, Prinn?”
The man looked a trifle alarmed at all the attention, but he shrugged, which was as good as no answer at all. Rodrick said, “What were you and Merihim doing in—wait, sorry, we have to ask yes-or-no questions, don’t we?”
“Do you have any gold, Prinn?” Hrym said, getting into the spirit of the thing, though they all ignored him.
“Unless Prinn is willing to do elaborate pantomimes, simple questions are probably best,” Eldra said. “But you aren’t much of an actor, are you, Prinn? Have you and Merihim been together for long?”
Prinn shook his head.
“Really! You seem so … strongly connected. I’d assumed it was a partnership of long standing, like Rodrick and Hrym. Have you been together for … five years?”
No.
“Two years?”
No.
“One year?”
Yes.
“Does she pay you well?”
No.
“Do you owe her a debt?”
No.
“She has some other sort of hold on you?”
Yes.
Rodrick was impressed. Eldra was seeking out fault lines, places where a wedge could be driven between Prinn and Merihim, and probably for no particular reason, other than the fact that knowledge was valuable. She continued in this vein for a while, asking broad questions and then narrowing them down, and determined over the course of a long ride that Prinn came from Cheliax; that Merihim was a treasure hunter; that Prinn couldn’t count how many people he’d killed; that he ate so strangely because he had poor digestion, not because of any sort of ascetic vow; and that he worshiped no gods. Rodrick relaxed as he listened to her patient, chatty, but relentless interrogation technique.
She must have been an extraordinary spy; Rodrick had seen no reason to update his operating theory that all Vudrani trained at the Conservatory were spies. Imagine how much information she could get out of someone she was sleeping with!
Of course, he was making the assumption that Prinn was actually telling the truth. Temple said Prinn was a master of infiltration, and he’d demonstrated a great affinity for sneaking and crawling on his belly and stabbing people in the back, so that was a large assumption. The usual cues that gave you some hint about whether someone was lying or not were largely absent when you were dealing with someone who was habitually blank-faced and who only nodded, shook his head, or shrugged in response to queries.
Finally Eldra said, “Do you like working for Merihim?”
Prinn didn’t shake his head. He didn’t nod. He shuddered, and then spat off the side of his horse. He dug in his heels, driving the horse forward, and Rodrick and Eldra matched pace to keep up, which put an end to their conversation.
* * *
Soon it was too dark to ride, and they stopped at a place of Prinn’s choosing, in a little depression in the forest near a creek, to make camp. Eldra kept up a bright line of chatter, but the sorcerer ignored her completely, either regretting his earlier communicativeness or simply having reached his limit of conversation. She gave up when Prinn climb
ed a tree and disappeared into the branches while she was in mid-sentence.
Eldra sighed and joined Rodrick, who was sitting on the ground gnawing on some jerky and trying not to think about what kind of animal the meat had come from. “I thought having an opportunity to talk to Prinn alone might yield some useful insights, but I barely scratched the surface.”
“Who cares?” Rodrick said. “I mean, yes, he’s a fascinating if disturbing enigma, but it’s not as if he’s a target you can shake down for personal profit.”
“We’re all stuck on this team together for the next year, Rodrick. I’d like to know who I’m working with, and where possible points of failure and disaster might be. I also have some interest in creating connections with my teammates—”
“So they’ll be inclined to save your life if it ever needs saving, yes. You really think you can befriend Prinn?”
“He clearly needs a friend. I don’t understand his relationship with Merihim, but she treats him like a well-trained dog. You and Hrym have a more equal relationship, and Hrym is literally an object.”
“I object to being called an object,” Hrym said.
“A wondrous and wise object, of course,” Eldra said. “Prinn clearly hates working with Merihim. I rather think he’d prefer working with me, and having him as a personal bodyguard would increase my life expectancy a lot. I just have to figure out what kind of hold Merihim has on him, and how to loosen it.”
“Stealing away her pet sorcerer would not be good for group cohesion,” Rodrick said.
Eldra nodded. “Do you think he’s a sorcerer? I’ve never seen him do anything that was definitely magical. Anyway, I didn’t say I was going to implement the plan. But working through the possibilities keeps my mind active. Prinn acts as though he’s enslaved by Merihim, and I think she’s forbidden him to talk to anyone else, but how does she enforce that? He could clearly kill her in seconds if he felt like it, so there’s some reason he doesn’t. Is he doubly enslaved? Does Merihim have some magical hold over him, in addition to the hold Temple has over all of us? I was going to ask Prinn if he was magically compelled somehow, and if he wanted my help breaking that compulsion, but he stopped answering me before I could get around to that.”
Rodrick chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and said, “I don’t think Merihim would hesitate to use any means at her disposal to further her goals, whatever those are, so you may be right. But you should keep in mind: Merihim is, somehow, formidable enough to enslave a sorcerous murder savant like Prinn … which means she might not be someone you want to cross, especially when she’s in a position to choose what you do and where you go during missions.”
“Oh, of course, Merihim would have to be eliminated.” Eldra said that almost absently, and followed it up with a dazzling smile. “Then we could make you the tactical leader of the team. You clearly have the necessary abilities.”
“Getting rid of Merihim would certainly make the next year more bearable,” Rodrick allowed.
“Something to consider, hmm? A lot of angles to examine, and such a coup may not be feasible, but as a mental exercise it could help pass the time and keep our minds sharp, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re a very dangerous woman.”
She nuzzled up against him. “I can also be very generous to those who help me achieve my goals.”
“Ah, so that’s it. I collude with you to overthrow Merihim, let you install me as puppet team leader, and then you’ll let me into your sweet embrace.”
“Isn’t it elegant? And everybody wins.”
* * *
“That woman is going to get you in trouble.”
“You don’t sound worried about that, Hrym. Just amused.” They were on guard duty in the deep dark watches of the night, and Rodrick shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to stay awake. Eldra was bundled up asleep by the dim remnants of the campfire, and Prinn was up in a tree, either sleeping too or keeping his own watch, Rodrick didn’t know.
“You just can’t relax and take things as they are, can you?” Hrym said. “Just put in a year of service and then go on your way. You’ve got to get drawn into plots.”
“Temple put together a team of treacherous, duplicitous, selfish criminals. This was bound to happen. I think I’m the most open and honest of the lot.”
“No, that would be the Specialist. I don’t think it occurs to him to lie.”
“Ha. You’ve certainly been lying to him. He knows it, too.”
“What?” Hrym was all outrage. “Why does he keep paying me if he’s realized I’m selling him dirt and calling it diamonds? I’ve made seven pieces of gold off him so far!”
“He says there are little grains of truth in the river of nonsense.” Rodrick paused. He and Hrym had a long partnership, and in truth he had no better or closer friend, but there were certain subjects they seldom broached. “How bad is your memory, really?”
Hrym was silent for long enough that Rodrick didn’t think he would answer. At last the sword said, “I don’t think about the past much. I mostly think about gold, and ice, and about the incomprehensible actions of the humans in my midst. I remember clearly everything from when you found me in that barrow, in the linnorm’s hoard. I remember most of the years before that, back to when I was taken from the white dragon’s cave. And before that … I don’t dream, exactly, but I understand sometimes humans wake from a dream and can’t tell right away if the dream was real or not?”
“True,” Rodrick said.
“There are a lot of things floating around in my mind that might be memories … or they might be dreams, of a sort, from the long years I spent under a dragon in the dark, absorbing his essence. I have a clear memory of looking at clouds—but looking down on them, seeing them from above. And I have visions, sometimes, of a room full of gold, in a temple made of gold, guarded by inhuman soldiers made of gold—but that’s probably just a fantasy? I don’t know. Maybe I took some of the memories of the men who wielded me, all those long centuries ago.”
“Do you think you’re absorbing something from me? That might explain why we get along so well.”
“Ha. I absorb magic. I was once taken into battle by warrior-mages, men and women infused with arcane power, so it’s natural I picked up some of their power. What could I possibly absorb from you? An inflated sense of your abilities? Hmm, that would explain why I keep working with you. No, if I’m becoming anything like you, it’s just because we’ve been together so long, the same way old married couples sometimes come to resemble one another.”
“Wonderful. My life partner is a curmudgeonly old sword.”
“You seem to have a taste for the elderly, judging by the way you pant over great-grandmother Eldra there.”
Rodrick groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m entirely aware of how she’s manipulating me. She doesn’t even try to hide it, and it still works.”
“It’s because she’s honest about it. You’re a confidence trickster, suspicious and cynical by nature, so she knows there’s no point in trying a more subtle approach on you. Instead she pretends you’re equals, and lets you in on the secrets of her technique, knowing you’ll admire her as a fellow professional, as well as a confidante. When she does all that and occasionally presses her bosoms up against you too, you’re lost.”
“It’s good to have allies, though.”
“You’re her ally, but she might not be yours. I suppose she’s made an investment in you, so she might make some small effort to keep you around, but not if it actually costs her anything.”
“You’re very cynical, for a sword.”
“Swords are realistic. It’s our nature.”
“You know, I think this is going to be a very long year, Hrym. I’m in a pit of snakes with no way out.”
“The worst thing is, you’re not even the biggest and most dangerous snake.”
“More’s the pity.”
19
DISSENTING VOICES
They finished the journey to Tamran th
e following day, the weather growing gloomier as they went, crossing the river into Nirmathas at what looked like exactly the same point they’d crossed before—Prinn’s sense of direction was uncanny. They made it to the safe house, leading the horses to the dilapidated stable in back, where the mounts the others had ridden were already taking their ease.
Bannerman opened the door at their knock and beckoned them into the darkness. “Any problems on the way?” he said.
“Prinn didn’t have to kill anyone at all,” Rodrick said. “Once we got on the road, anyway.”
“How disappointing for him. Come on downstairs.”
The basement was the same as before, except for Zumani sitting glumly in a corner, flipping through the pages of a book with occasional pauses to look up and glare at everyone. The Specialist glanced at them distractedly from the alchemy table, where he was distilling something, and didn’t bother to say hello. Merihim leapt to her feet when they entered and crooked a finger at Prinn. The sorcerer went to her obediently, and they retreated to the most distant corner of the basement, Merihim whispering intently into Prinn’s ear and then listening with a scowl to his responses.
“Oh dear.” Eldra’s voice was breathy and amused in Rodrick’s ear. “I think Prinn is telling on me.”
Rodrick turned and put his mouth close to her ear. “Whisper, whisper,” he said. “Secrets, whispers, etc.”
Eldra giggled and went to greet the Specialist. She was still intermittently trying to charm the old man, too, for all the good it did.
Merihim left Prinn, stormed over to Eldra, and shoved her, making her bump into the table and rattle the beakers and vials. “What are you doing, interrogating my partner?”
Eldra rubbed the spot on her shoulder where Merihim had pushed her, then smiled sweetly. “Do you mean ‘conversing with my teammate’? I’m a friendly and inquisitive person, interested in the thoughts and feelings of those around me. Prinn is a fascinating person. I’m not sure you appreciate him properly.”
Merihim moved closer, putting her red face inches from Eldra’s. “You don’t need to talk to Prinn. No one does.”
