Smiling and sighing, Slithering Snake glanced at Leaping Elk. “On the way back from Burrow, Lord, Lumbering Elephant and I tangled with that old man with the staff. Remember the one I told you about, lives on the other side of the mountain? We ran into him on our way north last night. I didn't recognize him then, but I remember the smell.”
Lumbering Elephant returned with a large stack of raw silk bolts, in addition to the one she requested. Thanking the levithon, she began to show Leaping Elk several fabrics of different patterns and colors. Some he liked and some he didn't. She made a pile of the cloth he liked. Leaping Elk listened to his lieutenant with one ear.
“Anyway, same smell,” Slithering Snake said. “What I hadn't noticed until last night was that he's invisible to my sight.”
“Eh? What?” Leaping Elk looked at the sectathon sharply.
“Come here, Lord Elk,” the woman said imperiously. “Remove your parka and robes and stand with your back against this rock. I need to take your measure. No slouching, please.”
He did as she bade him, leaving on only loincloth and moccasins. “Invisible? You didn't get drunk to get up your courage, did you?” Some bandits did, and some had no courage except that of intoxication.
Slithering Snake laughed. “Never had to before. The Lord Elephant collided with him, knocked him off the trail and into the gulch. I climbed down to see if he was all right, and that's when I smelled him. The staff, Lord—I saw it move toward his hand.”
“Eh? You were drinking!”
“No, Lord, I wasn't. Upon the Infinite, I swear that's what I saw.”
“Was it a talisman, Lord?” the woman asked, measuring out a length of cloth, the shimmering sheet floating in the air.
Frowning, Slithering Snake glanced at the woman. “That would be my guess, Lady. Later, as we approached the border—”
“What was the hermit doing across the border?” Leaping Elk asked, glancing over at the woman. She'd cut the fabric into a rough shape, and was pulling several threads from the edge.
“I don't know, Lord. We didn't stop to chat, eh? Anyway, as we approached the border, two Wizards began to fight about fifteen, sixteen miles south of us. It was quite a spectacle.”
She draped the cloth across Leaping Elk's muscular shoulders. “What style collar and sleeves do you want?”
“Whatever you think will look best, Lady,” he replied.
“What'll look best on you, Lord, will also be the least comfortable, sorry to say. It's your build. Maybe I can tailor the sides to fit you better. Not many men have such large shoulders and slim hips. Most men are like the Lord Elephant, with shoulders and hips the same size.”
Leaping Elk laughed, the levithon heavy around the middle. “Now I know you were drinking, Lord Snake,” he scoffed at the younger, larger sectathon. “Two Wizards battling with their talents?”
“Ask the Lord Elephant,” Slithering Snake said. Shrugging, he told the levithon in the Eastern tongue, “Tell him about the explosions, Lord Elephant.”
Leaping Elk looked at the levithon, who only nodded. “Incredible. Where did the Wizards come from, Lord Snake?”
“One came out of Burrow with the Captain Probing Gaze, the other from the south.”
“South?! You must be wrong.” He switched to the other language. “You both toxic be, Elephant Lord.”
“ 'Intoxicated,' Lord,” the woman said absently, concentrating on shaping the cloth before her. Two rough-cut edges joined, and a nearly invisible silk thread sewed them together. Making little motions with her finger, she didn't otherwise move or touch the fabric.
“South?” Leaping Elk repeated, not understanding why a Wizard from Burrow would battle a Wizard coming from the south, from the general direction of Emparia Castle. “Did you recognize either Wizard?”
Frowning, Slithering Snake glanced at the woman.
Leaping Elk understood immediately. Usually, he and Slithering Snake conversed freely, no one else in the band understanding the Southern tongue. He shrugged it off as unimportant. “The Traitor?”
Slithering Snake nodded, not surprised his liege lord would guess. South was the general direction of Emparia Castle. While Lurking Hawk had been beyond the usual range of the sectathon's talent, the emissions during the psychic battle had contained enough signature information that the latter had been able to identify the former.
“Elephant Lord,” Leaping Elk said sharply.
The levithon jumped to his feet, hearing command in his superior's voice.
“Old man who other side of mountain live you look, you watch. One day, two, Infinite know, eh? Who he be, you out find, eh? What name be, why he there live, eh?”
“Yes, Lord Elk. I don't have to go into his cave, do I?”
Leaping Elk shrugged. “What require do, Elephant Lord.”
“Why don't you just ask him, Lord?” the woman asked.
“I don't want to go near him, Lady,” Lumbering Elephant replied. “He smells worse than a skunk.”
“Or an animal two weeks dead!” Slithering Snake added, chuckling.
“Can't be that bad.” She returned her attention to a robe almost finished. The lapels attached themselves and a thread secured them.
“When you return, we'll make you bathe even if you don't go near him.”
“We'll see who makes who do what, Lord Snake.” Lumbering Elephant smirked at Slithering Snake's relatively puny frame.
“Elephant Lord, now go. Man yet not return, eh? Cave in look.”
“If you insist, Lord Elk, I'll look into the cave.” Not looking pleased, Lumbering Elephant bowed to them and left.
Slithering Snake yawned, checking his inner clock. Dawn approached. “What do you think he'll find there, Lord Elk?”
“I don't know, Lord Snake.” Leaping Elk tried on the new robe. Pulling it onto his wide shoulders by the lapels, he tightened it around his waist and cinched the sash, wriggling inside it. “Well done, Lady! I haven't had a robe this comfortable in many years.”
“Thank you, Lord, although my skill is poor.” Looking proud of her efforts, she said, “I like how you look in the robe, Lord.”
“Why do you suppose the Traitor was near the border?” Leaping Elk asked.
“Why does a traitor go anywhere, Lord Elk?”
“Indeed, Lord Snake. I'm in need of a bath, Lady. Would you care to join me? The spelunk isn't easy, but once there you'll be glad you went.”
“ 'Spelunk,' Lord?” she asked. “It's in a cave?”
Nodding, he pointed into the mountain, surprised she knew the word. Her vocabulary in the Southern tongue was extensive. Leaping Elk had the feeling that he'd become ensnared in the web of another's plans. Shaking it off, he wondered why she'd come, this woman of breeding and elegance, to the pitiful abode of the Elk Raiders.
“I thought I smelled sulfur. I'd love a bath, Lord.”
“Good. You're welcome to stay for more than a bath, Lady of the unknown name and facile tongue.”
“Well, thank you, Lord. You're very kind. I don't know how long I'll stay, however.” She turned to the sectathon. “Now remember, Lord Snake, never wash those robes in sulfurous water or hot water. Always use cold water and as little soap as possible, eh?” With the regality of an Empress, she turned and walked off, following Leaping Elk.
Slithering Snake wistfully watched her leave.
* * *
Just past the communal area of the caves were the individual abodes, most of them alcoves hacked from the wall of the central cavern. Few were like Leaping Elk's abode, a suite of three rooms above the main cavern itself, connected by a winding passageway. A few heads rose from pillows as the negroid man and caucasoid woman walked past, the flames roaring brightly behind them.
Ahead in an alcove, a four-armed, four-legged monster spun slowly in midair, writhing. Politely, Leaping Elk looked away, but the woman watched fascinated, dismay on her face.
“They're just fornicating,” Leaping Elk said. Their passion began to s
eep around the edges of his mindshields.
Exasperated, she looked at him but didn't reply.
At a quarter mile into the mountain, where only the center of the floor was smooth, Leaping Elk said, “Here the fun begins, Lady.”
“Looks like it slopes downward.”
He grunted. The declension was gentle, the purchase easy. “There'll be steps before this gets too treacherous.” He still wanted to know her name. Not knowing if others were coming up from the baths, he decided not to ask.
The faint smell grew stronger. Darkness began to enclose them. The fire was a bright point of light behind them, too far away to illuminate this deeply into the caves. Leaping Elk pulled a small electrical lantern off his belt. Illumination flooded the murky depths ahead. The lava tube began to narrow. The floor and ceiling appeared to converge not far ahead. His moccasins easily gripped the rough stone floor. Stopping her, he asked her to lift her foot. Looking at her moccasins, he saw that they were also rough-soled. Satisfied, he gestured her to fall behind, the sides narrowing as well. The tube gradually became more vertical. The odor grew to a stench.
“First steps.” He shone the light so she could see. “Watch your head,” he warned, ducking a ceiling protrusion. Nodules of harder rock that lava hadn't melted made the ceiling bumpy.
“Do you always go to this much trouble when you bathe, Lord?”
“Eh, Lady? What trouble?”
Steep now, the steps were only inches wide, the angle of the tube over forty-five degrees. The sulfur stench was now pungent. In the distance, geothermal water hissed and gurgled.
“Why don't the fumes choke everyone back there, Lord?”
“Vents. We haven't seen them because they're so small. We drilled them ourselves to make the main cavern livable. You need to turn your feet sideways now.”
Carefully, she moved down the narrow steps, almost a foot high but only three or four inches wide, the shaft nearly vertical. The smell was a fetor, and the gurgle of water distinct.
Suddenly they arrived. The small lava tube opened into a cavernous cathedral of glittering, tapered columns. At their base was a circular pool of steaming water. Leaping Elk put out the light. Luminescent rock of purple and green glowed on the walls.
“Oh, Infinite bless this place!” Happy as a child, she stepped to the water and dipped her hand. “Warm!” Craning back her head, she spun in place, taking it all in. “Beautiful!” She turned toward him. “May I?”
“Please, Lady,” he replied, enjoying her wonder and fascination.
She wriggled out of her thick clothing quickly, her back to him. Delicately dipping her toe into the steamy pool, she stepped gingerly in, the water coming to her knees. “Oh, Infinite bless this place!” She lowered her backside to the surface. “Oh!” she yelped and immersed herself until only her head was above water. Her shield was amidst her clothes.
Out of respect for her privacy he didn't probe for her name. Smiling, Leaping Elk began to undress, grateful no one else was here. Stepping into the pool, he quickly eased himself to sitting, the warmth of the water encapsulating him better than any blanket.
She'd found one of the submerged benches and stretched out luxuriously, her eyes half-closed in rapture. The water lapping at her armpits, her ample breasts protruded like twin volcanos on the primordial seacoast of her pregnancy.
“Congratulations on your expected one, Lady.”
She smiled through the steam, but her expression quickly turned sad.
Leaping Elk saw it was the grimace signaling tears. Moving across the pool, he held her while she grieved, not knowing why she grieved but knowing his knowing was superfluous. She held onto him tightly, as if afraid to let go, her body convulsing with sobs unexplained and sobs unexplainable. Soon she gave full voice to her pain, her face a mask collapsed by anguish. Of all expressions the human face could take, the ugliest of all was that of loss.
She wore the ugliest while he held her tight.
* * *
“Thank you, Lord Elk,” she said much later, sniffling.
With only a nod, Leaping Elk moved backward a foot in the sulfurous water.
Looking imperturbable again, she adjusted her position on the submerged rock couch. “If I fall in the water, please hold my head up, eh?”
“Why—?”
Suddenly, she lost consciousness, her head nastily striking stone.
Leaping Elk turned her head to check for injury.
The skin was unbroken.
He eased her head to stone and thumbed back an eyelid.
The pupils appeared to dilate and constrict normally. She was breathing, if slowly, and her pulse was regular. Her complexion looked normal as well, from what he could see. Nothing at all looked wrong with her.
Very odd, he thought, wondering what to do now. “Lady,” he said, shaking her, “wake up.”
She sat up, petals of water sliding from glistening skin. Her eyes vacant, she appeared to see neither him nor her surroundings.
Shrugging, he asked her name on a whim.
“The body is that of the Lady Trickling Stream,” the woman woodenly replied in the Southern language. “The voice is that of the Lady Matriarch Bubbling Water, Mother of the Lord Emperor Flying Arrow, Grandmother of the Imperial Arrow Twins.”
Flying Arrow, he remembered, had executed Trickling Stream's mate and children in front of her. Only Bubbling Water would have the temerity to send her here. Leaping Elk guffawed, slapping at the water jovially. “What do you want, Lady Matriarch?”
“Lord Leaping Elk, by the precious seed of the Lord Emperor Jaguar, this woman Trickling Stream is yours to keep if you agree. If you don't, please return her.”
“The woman for what?” Leaping Elk asked immediately.
“A shifting of loyalties toward the Empire at the appointed time.”
“Too high a price! Can you offer nothing more than the woman?”
“She carries the son of the Lord Emperor Jaguar,” the woman droned.
“By the precious seed, indeed!” He frowned. The Matriarch sought to ply him with levers that would only move him the wrong way. Only in public did Leaping Elk and Snarling Jaguar hate each other. Leaping Elk wouldn't use his brother's son as pawn, a fact the Matriarch couldn't have known. “Why this woman, and not another?”
“This is my sister's daughter, whose mate died ignominiously and whose sons followed him into the Infinite's embrace. She wished to fall on her knife, but I asked her instead to become your mate. In her genetic structure is a recessive prescient talent. The gene may become dominant if paired with yours. At thirty years old, she has several years of child-bearing ahead. Those years are yours if you agree to shift loyalties at the appointed time.”
“How will I know 'the appointed time'?” he asked.
“The same way you knew of Purring Tiger's need for a helpful companion.”
Over two years ago, Leaping Elk had prophesied that Scowling Tiger would sire a girl and kill her mother, the Traitress Fleeting Snow. In his vision, the motherless child had become a scourge upon the Windy Mountains, and chaos had reigned in all four Empires. To prevent the chaos, Leaping Elk had suggested that Scowling Tiger trade Fleeting Snow to Snarling Jaguar for a menagerie tiger.
Leaping Elk considered Bubbling Water's proposal. Since to cancel the bargain he needed only to return the woman to her Matriarch, he decided to keep her. “All right, I agree.”
Trickling Stream shook her head, as if waking from a sound sleep.
He smiled at her, his trace prescient talent confirming that he'd made the right decision.
Returning his smile, she rubbed his hirsute chest. “Would you wash me, Lord?”
“Happily, Lady Stream, but that's all. I'd guess you need a little time before we consummate the bargain. Shall we wait until the child is born?”
Nodding and smiling wistfully, she began to sob anew, reaching for him. Through her tears she managed to say, “You're such a considerate man, Lord. I thought you'd be a brute
.”
Leaping Elk chuckled while he held her, caressing her gently. “My being a bandit doesn't mean I have to act like a rogue.”
Sniffling, Trickling Stream nodded, her head against his shoulder. “I need a new name, Lord. Trickling Stream is dead now.” She began to cry again.
What wells of sadness into which we fall, Leaping Elk thought, glad she wanted to rid herself of her name, detritus of her old life. “What would you suggest?”
She hadn't heard him, her body shaking off the pain of her losses.
Content to hold her, Leaping Elk waited.
Awhile later, she pulled away. “Where's the soap?”
He rose to get the chunk of soap from the rim of pool. “What shall I call you?”
Trickling Stream glanced down at her pregnant body, smiling. “I want you to call me … Fawning Elk.”
Chapter 7
Vendetta is a cruel gauntlet, enslaving both the agent and recipient under the scourge of strike and counterstrike, flogging both onto more severe retaliation with the whip of hatred and intolerance, each lash laying upon wounds barely healed, further fomenting the spiraling cycle of reprisal, until the original transgression is a forgotten blur and the requiters resemble raw masses of flayed flesh, the gauntlet rarely killing early.—Lex Talionis: The Unlawful Law, by the Sectathon Wizard Probing Gaze.
* * *
“Are you sure you want to file these charges, Lord Captain?” the pyrathon Colonel Scratching Wolf asked mildly, regarding the other man over parchment.
“I am, Lord Colonel,” Probing Gaze replied.
The Colonel scratched his nose.
As the silence lengthened, Probing Gaze looked around his superior's office. Parchment maps covered all the walls but the north one. Beyond condensation-crusted panes, snow flung furious flurries at him. The weather had deteriorated two hours before dawn. A full-fledged blizzard blasted the Windy Mountains, the storm unusually intense for this region.
The snow's so heavy, Probing Gaze thought, not a soul will be out traveling—not even bandits.
The Colonel scratched his ear.
The cold outside reflected how Probing Gaze felt inside. Across the high tundra within him raged a storm of outrage, of confusion, of disillusion.
The Bandit (Fall of the Swords Book 2) Page 7
