“You need to make amends,” Solyara said. “You can’t let them blame Pietrus for this. Or ruin everyone’s life because of what you’ve done. Bad enough you’ve ruined your own.”
“I … I know,” Myklan said. “I will. When we get back to the city. While Sheridia is helping them battle … whatever it is. I’ll go to Djena, I’ll tell her … I’ll tell her everything. I swear it.”
Aric took some comfort in that. Rieve and her family would be allowed to return to their home, their lives. There would be a scandal, of course. But if Myklan was willing to take the blame, then the others might get past it.
The conversation tapered off. No one, Aric included, wanted to press it anymore. People settled down under blankets, between the twin blazes that held off the night but could do nothing against the darkness in men’s hearts. No one spoke to Aric, not even Ruhm. He was alone again, here in the company of those he’d considered friends. He had seen the truth and spoken it, that was his crime—that, perhaps, combined with being half-elf. Being the event that had, after all, driven Myklan to murder.
He wasn’t surprised that no one came near him, no one accidentally brushed him as they settled under their furs. Before they reached Nibenay, if they did, the others would probably find some reason to leave the group, not to help him battle Kadya and Tallik, after all.
It would be Aric’s fight in the end. One individual, trying to make a difference, despite the odds.
Quiet sobs erupted here and there during the night, and Aric doubted anyone would get much sleep. But, to his own surprise, he drifted off quickly, while Corlan stood guard.
3
Corlan’s head drooped toward his chest. He was in danger of falling asleep before his turn on guard was over. The breakneck trip from Nibenay to catch Rieve, then captivity in the raiders’ fort and the wild escape—these things had sapped the strength from him. Activating his psionocus had taken more energy than he had expected, as well. But someone had to stay awake.
He shook his head to clear it, then rose to his feet and walked around camp. Snoring, wriggling forms were barely visible beneath heavy layers of furs—an arm over here, a foot there sticking out, but for the most part his companions were well covered. The fires had diminished a little, and fuel in this part of the land was hard to come by, so he didn’t stoke them quite yet. He would before it was time to wake Amoni for her shift—the fires couldn’t be allowed to go out, or everyone would freeze, furs or no.
Walking around the outside rim of the fires’ warmth, Corlan considered the night’s drama. Myklan, a murderer? Hard to believe. The man had confessed, though. And in truth, he had never known Rieve’s father that well. Solyara, yes, and Tunsall, and even Sheridia, who had often been busy at some pursuit or other that Corlan now knew probably involved her magic. Myklan kept to himself, though, when he wasn’t out overseeing the family businesses. On those occasions when Corlan had spent time with him, it often seemed that his thoughts were elsewhere, far away. Now Corlan realized, with a shiver, that at any of those times he might have been thinking about his killings, or dwelling on the lust for elf women that was the source of his self-loathing.
One aspect of Myklan’s confession, though, came as good news to Corlan. He had recognized a growing attraction between Rieve and the half-elf Aric, and that, on top of his unthinking response to Rieve’s troubles, had made him worry that he was losing her. But if she and Aric were half-siblings, then Rieve wouldn’t act on that attraction, however strong it was.
His feet crunched on the desert sands as he walked in circles, determined to remain alert. He didn’t know something else heard him, something that lived underground but could sense prey moving about on the surface.
Then it exploded out of the ground, sending up a flurry of sand. Corlan heard it and cried out. He grabbed for a bone sword he had liberated from a fallen raider at the fort.
Some of his companions awoke, lurching upright as the desert mastryial attacked.
The beast was as long as Corlan was tall, a giant scorpion almost invisible until firelight glanced off its dark brown carapace. Its huge pincers clacked together and its tail arched over its back, the stinger at the tip bobbing as it scuttled forward on six legs.
Corlan thrust at it with the bone sword, but it only glanced off the creature’s hard chitin, which was widely prized for its excellent armor. He shouted again, a wordless sound, and swiped at it again, holding off the advance of those fearsome pincers.
The half-giant, Ruhm, charged forward wielding his greatclub. He gave a cry and swung the club down at the mastryial. The weapon smashed into the thing’s left pincer with a great cracking sound, and the mastryial gave a squeal of pain. Its other pincer darted faster than Corlan’s eye could follow, grabbing the club and wrenching it from the grasp of the mighty goliath. When the tail stabbed toward Ruhm, he had no choice but to leap backwards, out of its path, and the creature hurled the club far from the firelight. Ignoring the darkness, Ruhm dashed after it.
Amoni, Aric, and Myklan arrived at Corlan’s side together, and a few steps behind came Sellis, his twin swords whistling in the dark, and Mazzax bearing his heavy-headed maul. Amoni’s cahulaks spun on their rope, and Aric jabbed at the beast with a sword of gleaming steel. Amoni closed with the mastryial first, her weapon biting into its carapace. It skittered backward, stabbing at Amoni with its long, segmented tail.
Sellis sliced at that tail, but it whipped about so fast that his blades cut only air. Aric thrust his sword’s point into one of the segments. The mastryial grabbed at his blade with one of its pincers. Having seen what it did with Ruhm’s club, Aric tried to yank his sword away. The thing’s grip was too firm, and it tugged Aric forward, off his feet.
The creature darted forward and back, its many legs carrying it in quick, jittery motions. Too many tried to fight it, and with Aric sprawled before it, Corlan bumped into Amoni and tripped over Aric’s legs. He landed on Aric’s back with a heavy thump, pinning Aric to the ground. The mastryial’s stinger hovered over them.
Putting all his strength into the effort, Aric heaved his chest and shoulders off the ground, rolling Corlan off his back. Aric got a foot under him, but the stinger darted toward him.
And then someone landed on the mastryial’s back, flinging arms around the tail, keeping the stinger from sinking into Aric.
It was Myklan. Amoni lunged forward, attacking the thing’s free pincer with her cahulaks, cutting the tender flesh just beneath it. The mastryial dropped Aric’s sword and tried to grab Amoni with the other pincer, but Sellis blocked that attempt. A few mighty swipes with his swords severed the other pincer. Aric scooped up his sword and stabbed the beast repeatedly, as the dwarf pounded on its carapace with his maul. Corlan jabbed his bone sword into the thing several times.
But that tail whipped up and over itself. It buried its stinger in Myklan’s skull. The man screeched, his face twisted in agony. But only for a moment. As the venom took quick effect, he froze. The mastryial freed its tail from his grip and the man toppled over. The beast tried to back away. It was bleeding from a dozen wounds, though, many of them serious, and it only made a few steps before Aric raced past the slowing tail and drove his sword downward through the thing’s head. The mastryial twitched its legs several times, then went still.
Myklan was half buried beneath it. Amoni, Mazzax, Sellis and Corlan lifted the beast while Aric pulled him out. Too late, however; Myklan was dead, his eyes open, face still contorted in pain and fear, mouth open as if to catch one last breath that he would never draw.
Ruhm wandered back into the firelight, half frozen, clutching his beloved club. At the same time, Rieve caught a glimpse of her father’s still form. Corlan ran to intercept her, not wanting her to see the sight, but she twisted free of his grasp. “Father!” she cried. “Oh, Father!”
The rest of the family gathered around as Rieve fell to her knees, burying her face in Myklan’s chest. Her back and shoulders spasmed with sobs. Pietrus joined her ove
r the body, his own grief accompanied by anguished wails. Tears traced down Tunsall’s face, but he stood still, mourning Myklan with quiet dignity. Sheridia and Solyara, mother and daughter, stood back a few paces and watched.
Corlan threw aside his bone sword and crouched beside Rieve, draping an arm over her back. He tried to whisper soothing words, but his tongue seemed tied in a knot and she couldn’t have heard him anyway. He settled for just being there, hoping she knew that he was.
4
Aric wondered if Myklan had not confessed to the affair with Keyasune, and to the murders, would the women have been more disturbed by his death? None of it seemed to matter to Rieve, whose grief was abundant and loudly expressed, but the others were more reserved in theirs.
Aric tried to feel something, but he couldn’t.
Myklan had saved his life. More than once, probably, over the years, but directly, indisputably, just now. For all he knew, though, Myklan’s action this time had not been the selflessly heroic one it had seemed, but yet another evasion of responsibility. Myklan had agreed to accept the blame when they reached Nibenay. Had he meant it? Or had he never intended to see Nibenay again? He had, after all, hidden from Aric’s mother, and even when he took some interest in Aric’s life it was from a far remove, a safe distance. He had allowed himself to keep on killing, even when he must have known on some level that it was wrong. Was this just the final, self-preserving act of a small-minded man? Was a quick death preferable, in Myklan’s mind, to the public humiliation and no doubt agonizing punishment that would have faced him at home?
Aric regretted Rieve’s grief. He worried about Pietrus, who, without Myklan’s confession to protect him, might still be held responsible for the murders, if the family still chose to accompany Aric and the others back to Nibenay. And he regretted not having a chance to see his father meet justice. But he couldn’t manage more than the slightest twinge of sorrow over the man’s death.
He walked away from the others, closer to the fire’s warmth, and let the family mourn their dead. For Aric, having lost the father he had never known and hated for his absence, there would be no mourning at all.
XXI
NIBENAY
1
They were too late. From the top of a hill they could see the fertilized fields flanking the city walls, the Plain of Burning Water, and Nibenay itself, gleaming in late afternoon sun. But rolling through the Mekillot Gate were wagons laden with steel. They were spread well apart, but one was just passing beneath the musicians atop the gate, and others had already entered the city. The expedition had beat them home, and Kadya—Tallik as well, no doubt—with it.
Aric had been surprised that the others, those of the Thrace family, had kept to their original agreement. Even without Myklan, they would return to Nibenay with Aric, in hopes of warning the Shadow King or, failing that, of finding a way to stop Kadya. That fact filled Aric with relief—if they hated him, they would still see through the struggle ahead.
The night of Myklan’s death, no one had rested much. In the morning, after a brief discussion, they had pushed on, driving themselves and their kanks ever faster. The procession had been a grim one, with little laughter or spirited conversation, but in the end, although it made the days feel long, it probably made the trip shorter.
And here they were, and they were too late, and Aric felt like he had swallowed an erdlu egg, shell and all. It sat between his throat and his chest, aching.
All of it, the journey, the battles, rescuing Rieve and her family, and for what? Kadya would have entered the city in the first argosy, or mounted, even on foot—but at the head of the procession, so everyone could see her triumphant return. By now she was deep in the city.
“Now what?” Ruhm asked. The goliath had come up behind Aric, loomed over his shoulder, and Aric hadn’t even noticed.
“I don’t know.”
“Kill the demon,” Mazzax said. Aric looked around. Everyone had dismounted, and stood gathered together on the hilltop.
“Not so easily done,” Aric said.
“Why not?”
“We don’t even know where Kadya is now. Or who’s protecting her. If she’s with Nibenay, or with her sister templars …”
“As long as the city stands,” Myrana said, “we have a chance, don’t we? Perhaps the demon bides its time.”
“We’ve come this far,” Sellis added. “And it was a hard slog. I’m for Nibenay, either to kill a demon or to have a drink and find a bed to sleep in tonight.”
Pietrus shivered with terror. His mother cradled him in her arms. “We’ll let nothing happen to you, Pietrus. We all heard your father confess to the crimes you were accused of, and any blame will be laid at his feet. You’re safe now.”
“He had better be,” Rieve declared.
“Kill the demon!” Mazzax repeated.
“Yes,” Aric said. “Let’s kill the demon.”
“Do we know how?” Ruhm asked.
“Haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Magic!” Mazzax pointed to Myrana and Sheridia. “Kill it with magic!”
“Good a plan as any,” Aric said. “Let’s see what we can do.”
They started down the hill. As they descended, they saw smoke rise up from the city’s center, tinted green and yellow and blue. “That’s from the Naggaramakam,” Tunsall observed. “They’re already celebrating.”
“A celebration that’ll go far into the night,” his wife added. “They’re lighting fires for warmth, and adding color to the smoke to display their joy.”
“Then they must not know yet,” Aric said. “About Tallik, I mean.”
“Myrana’s right,” Rieve said. “The demon probably isn’t acting right away. He’s been confined beneath Akrankhot for a thousand years or so, right? And then freed by Kadya, and carried inside her? He probably wants to see how things are before he stirs things up. For all he knows, the entire city-state will be as welcoming as Kadya was. If it is, then he might not be bent on its destruction, but on preserving it to use as his new home.”
“Whatever the demon’s got in mind,” Sellis said, “I doubt it’s anything good.”
“I’m certain of that,” Aric agreed. He watched colored smoke drift into the still air above the city, and a thought came to him. “But if they’re already celebrating, then Kadya must be inside the Naggaramakam. She’ll be the toast of the celebration, right? That’s where we’ll find her—and the Shadow King. Perhaps we can still do something.”
“But … nobody’s ever been inside the Naggaramakam,” Corlan pointed out. “No free person. How do we get in? And even if we do, how do we get out again?”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever get out,” Aric said. “But I haven’t come this far to fail now. As for getting in?” He pointed at the last argosy, its mekillot struggling to haul the weight up the road toward the big gateway. “We’ll use that.”
“What?”
“Just come with me!” Aric broke into a run. Behind him, some tried to prod their exhausted kanks on faster, then gave up and dropped off them.
The final argosy was just near enough the gate to hear the musicians. As Aric raced toward it, he could see its drivers swaying, already caught in the music’s irresistible spell. There wouldn’t be many people inside, if any—the thing looked as if its wheels would give out at any moment, so it was burdened by the weight of a massive amount of metal.
Aric had easily outdistanced his companions, but he had to act fast, before he was seen, so he didn’t wait for them. He jumped onto the argosy’s side, landing with quiet, sure-footed grace, and climbed to the top. He could hear the music, too, and had to fight not to give in to it and start dancing. He let the music fill him just enough to add a sinuous fluidity to his motions as he crept toward the front.
Ruhm’s footfalls pounded closer, in counterpoint to the music wafting from the gate. “What’s that?” one of the drivers asked.
Aric reached the argosy’s front just in time to see another poke hi
s head out and spot Ruhm. “It’s a goliath,” he said. “Running at us.”
“Well, kill him!” the first one said.
Aric drew his sword, and before the second could tuck his head back into the argosy’s depths, he crouched low and swung it. It sheared through the man’s neck, and the head flew out, bounced, and vanished beneath the big wagon.
“What—?” the driver cried.
Aric heard him fumbling with the panel that he could close, to keep those inside safe from Athas’s winds and cold. The reins went slack as he worked it. Aric climbed down, and Ruhm reached the wagon at the same time, jumping up onto the tongue. The driver managed to slam the panel shut but not to latch it, and Ruhm’s massive fist opened it again. Aric slid through the gap, sword in hand. He ran the driver through while the man was still drawing his own.
“Sorry,” Aric said as he pulled his sword free and the man died. “It’s nothing personal, but we need this thing.” He stuck his head out the window. “Go around back!” he told Ruhm. “Open the doors so we can get rid of some steel!”
Ruhm dropped off the wagon without comment. Moments later, Aric heard him pawing at the doors, then they opened and light flooded the inside. As he had expected, there were no other guards, just a mass of metal, stacked as high as the single mekillot could manage to pull.
“We need some speed!” Aric shouted.
Ruhm climbed up and started hauling out chunks of steel, throwing them into their tracks. The others were beginning to reach the wagon, and one by one they climbed in, tossing out the pieces they could lift.
Then they were getting close enough to the gate to worry Aric. This would be the hard part. “Everyone inside, now!” he called. “Get those doors closed!”
City Under the Sand: A Dark Sun Novel (Dungeons & Dragons: Dark Sun) Page 34
