“Ah, now more true to form,” said Mother Alder. “Without her and her stone, you fool, we can’t communicate.”
“You’re suggesting we take her with us?”
“You must, and her Stone too. And when you’re done with the quest, you will bring her and the du Marnian Stone here to House Alder — so that we can meet properly.”
“I’ll go nowhere with them,” said Azura.
“You’ve no choice in the matter,” said Mother Alder. “From this moment forward, you work for the Alders.”
Azura’s mouth hung open. “You plan to kill Thetan? That’s what you said, right?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Then I’m with you.”
“Good,” said Mother Alder, seemingly surprised. “Oh, and deary . . .”
“What?” said Azura.
“Welcome to the family.”
A servant frantically polished the Alder Stone with a soft cloth while Mother Alder and Edith looked on.
“Best you run along and get cleaned up, deary,” said Mother Alder when she noted the girl's stained pant leg and shoes. The servants had mopped up her lost dinner and wiped down her pants and shoes, but the stains needed washing out, if they would come out at all.
“I will, Mother Alder, but I want to know more about the Stone, if you’ll tell me.”
Mother Alder raised an eyebrow. “Even though it made you sick?”
“Especially since.”
“Well, well,” she said, contemplating. “Edith, you’re one of Blain’s, aren’t you?”
“First daughter,” said the girl, nodding.
Mother Alder nodded. “Your father has always been a bit less dim than the others, so it makes sense that you are as well. You’ve promise, lass, not much perhaps, but some, and that’s more than I can say for most of the rest. Sad that as a daughter you’ll inherit next to nothing. Very well — I’ll tell you some things. Not much, of course, since you’re not capable of understanding much of consequence. But a little knowledge, perhaps, can’t hurt and may make it through your skull. A Seer and her Stone are bonded to each other. The Stone will work its ways for no one else, unless the Seer dies or a more powerful Seer steals it out from under her.”
“Has anyone tried to steal yours?”
“Not for a long time, deary.”
“Are you going to steal the du Marnian Stone, Mother Alder?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Some promise, indeed,” she said. “Yes, Edith, I am.”
“No other House has two, do they?”
“Not that I know of, and I would know if they did.”
“That will make our House stronger, won’t it?” she said smiling.
“Aye, lass, it will.”
The servant completed his polishing, folded the cloth, then produced a knife in its sheath from his pocket. He laid the knife across the cloth and held it before Mother Alder.
“The Alder Stone is not a toy, deary. It’s a useful tool, but such things come with a steep price. That’s the way with magic. The risks are often worth it, but not always.”
Mother Alder picked up the knife, unsheathed it, and sliced it slowly across the palm of her left hand, already crisscrossed with numerous scars.
Edith winced and pulled back.
Mother Alder made a fist and held it directly atop the Alder Stone. “The price I pay each time I use the Stone.” Blood dripped onto the stone. The drops fell in slow motion. Each one made a distinctive “plop” as it hit the Alder Stone. Curiously, the droplets didn’t bead down the Stone’s side and fall to the table. Instead, the blood stuck to the Stone. A red stain formed and spread across its surface. Wherever the blood touched one of the pitted areas on the Stone's surface, a sizzling sound could be heard; smoke rose, and a burning scent tinged the air. Mother Alder opened and closed her hand again and again, and squeezed her fist tighter to keep the blood flowing. After a time the entire surface of the Stone was covered in a uniform film of bright-red blood. “Finally,” said Mother Alder, sighing as she pulled her hand away. “I feared I would need a second cut. I hate it when that happens.” A servant was there to tightly bandage her hand in practiced fashion. The Stone pulsed with an inner light casting the entire room in a reddish glow. When the glow dimmed, the blood was gone from the Stone’s surface, and it returned to its normal aspect. “It was hungry this time. I wonder . . .”
X
DWELLERS OF THE DEEP
The day was dark as twilight; thunder pealed in the distance, but the rain eased. Frem Sorlons and Par Sevare stood in a dismal gorge of death — barbaric, brutal, and bloody, the air fouled of spilled entrails. To call the place a battlefield would have marked it too commonplace, too acceptable, too clean. It was none of those. Broken, mutilated bodies, the remains of The White Rose’s missing patrol, lay strewn about the bottom of the shallow gorge. Stone steps led down some dozen feet to the gorge’s rocky floor, which stretched no more than thirty feet across, though it was several times that long. Twenty steep steps carried one up and out on the other side. A trail through the stony landscape led The White Rose’s shore party here via steps carved into the living rock and rugged pathways cut through giant slabs of granite.
“Perfect spot for an ambush,” said Sevare as he surveyed the gorge’s rim where six lugron Pointmen stood on guard, ostensibly looking outward to keep watch, though each glanced down again and again at the horrid scene below them. “They had nowhere to run.”
From atop the stair, Sergeant Putnam signaled Korrgonn’s imminent arrival. Within moments, Ezerhauten appeared at the rim with a squadron of sithians — Ginalli and Korrgonn in tow. The mercenary commander studied the scene and then ordered his men to spread out and bolster the guard along the rim. Soon Ezerhauten, Putnam, Ginalli, and Korrgonn descended the steep steps, made all the more treacherous by cascading water and slick moss. Sevare and Frem met them at the base of the stair, though Ezerhauten ignored them and walked past to examine the grisly remains.
“The whole patrol?” said Ginalli, his face grave.
“Hard to say,” said Sevare. “The bodies are dismembered. Not sure how many there are.”
“There’s twelve heads,” said Frem. “Counted them myself. They were chopped up right good, but there are twelve for sure.”
Ginalli’s face flushed red; his eyes narrowed. He winced and looked past Sevare, but with the darkness and a bit of distance, there was little to see. Korrgonn stood by, stoic and silent.
“Are you saying that someone cut them to pieces?” asked Ginalli through gritted teeth. He looked over at Korrgonn. “A ritual slaying?”
Sevare shook his head. “No, nothing like that. The bodies are torn and punctured as if by claws and teeth. It was animals. A pack of big cats, or wild dogs, or wolves, I would wager.”
“Not eaten,” said Frem. “Just ripped up and left to rot. Best way to count them up was by the heads, what’s left of them anyways.”
Ginalli looked about, alarmed.
“Be at ease,” said Sevare. “They’re long gone, whatever they were. We’ve posted a strong guard. If they come back, they’ll not catch us unawares.”
“Could it have been men that did this?” said Ginalli. “Maybe a pack of scavengers came in later.”
“Checked for that,” said Frem. “We found no arrows or bolts and no sword or axe wounds as far as we can see. Some holes though — could be spears, could be teeth — big teeth, like the fangs of a snow cat.”
“Unless there’s a forest farther on,” said Sevare, “I don’t see how this island could support a pack of big cats or wolves. Nothing to eat anywhere that we’ve seen.”
“Nothing but rocks and some moss here and there,” said Frem. “That’s what has us stomped.”
“Stumped,” said Sevare.
“That’s what I said,” said Frem. “Stomped.”
Ezerhauten completed his study of the remains and rejoined the group. “They died in a circle, fighting back to back at the end. A last stand. Too bad t
here’s no one alive to recount the tale. It would be a good one for the annals. Putnam — you mark it down as best you can. Make sure that you record all their names, and spell them right. Those men should be remembered.”
“Aye, commander,” said Putnam. “I’ll mark it good. Should I leave out the part about the heads?”
“No. We’ll stand on the truth, just as we always do.”
“What did this, commander?” said Ginalli. “Your men think it was animals.”
“Unusual for animals to attack a large group of men,” said Ezerhauten. “And there are no carcasses. I don’t care if it were cave bears, lions, or whatnot; our boys would’ve taken some of them down.”
“So what are we dealing with?” said Ginalli.
Ezerhauten shook his head in frustration. “Can’t say for certain. Maybe it was some backward tribesmen what still use stone spears, bone knives, and such. Had to be a lot of them though to best our men. Several score or more. They must have carried away their dead.”
“Cannibals, probably,” said Putnam.
“Maybe it was a dragon,” said Frem.
Sevare rolled his eyes. “I expect we’ll find out soon enough. There were sixteen men in the patrol. We’ve no sign of the other four. They either ran for it or were dragged off. If we find any alive, Ezer, you may get your tale yet.”
“I assume the rain washed away any prints or blood trails,” said Ginalli.
“Aye,” said Frem.
“We’ll need to stay in a tight formation,” said Ezerhauten. “Sorlons — make sure you stay in sight of the main group at all times. We can’t afford to lose another squadron.”
“What of the bodies?” said Sevare.
“We can’t bury them in this stone,” said Frem. “And burning would get noticed.”
“Have a detachment carry them back to the ship for a proper service and burial,” said Ginalli to Ezerhauten.
“Hold on,” said Ezerhauten. “We can’t split our force. We may need every sword we have. We can pick up the bodies on the way back. It's not as if we’ll find them in any worse shape later.”
Ginalli glared at Ezerhauten. “Your compassion is overwhelming as usual,” said Ginalli.
“Hard words, mercenary, but wise,” said Korrgonn. “That’s what we’ll do.”
“If you wanted someone kind and gentle, priest, you wouldn’t have hired me,” said Ezerhauten. “You would have taken up with the Blue Steel Company or the Wood Rats. Of course, those buggers would’ve already surrendered to whatever killed the patrol.”
Ginalli looked insulted. “Assemble the men,” he said. “We’ll say a prayer for the souls of the fallen before we move on.”
“A quick one,” said Korrgonn. “We need to get to the center of the island. It’s there that we’ll find what we’re here for.”
“Which is what exactly?” said Ezerhauten.
“Don’t overstep your place,” said Ginalli coldly.
Korrgonn paused and took a breath, as if considering whether to respond. “An ancient talisman that will ease our getting past the guardian of the Jutenheim temple.”
“Easing that passage has cost us sixteen good men already. Ten of them, my men. Some had wives and children and will be sorely missed. Are you sure this talisman is worth it?”
“I’m sure,” said Korrgonn.
“Rest assured that the families of our fallen heroes will be well provided for,” said Ginalli. “We take care of our own. All in accordance with our contract, of course.”
“Good. I’ll hold you to that,” said Ezerhauten. He nodded, turned, and marched up the stone stair to assemble the troops. “This is going to get messy,” he said, but no one was close enough to hear.
Frem stalked cautiously at the van, making hardly any sound despite his metal armor and bulky physique. His eyes darted from side to side and took in all that appeared before him, though visibility was sorely limited. The rain had subsided, but the sky remained heavily overcast, the island dark as a moonlit night though it was still midafternoon; thunder and lightning came and went in waves. The brief flashes of lightning offered the only distant views of the stony vista. It smelled of rotting seaweed even here, far inland. Par Sevare and the Pointmen followed in silence closely behind Frem. The bulk of The White Rose’s expedition trudged across the wet stones some one hundred yards behind.
Ezerhauten and a squad of soldiers broke off from the main group and moved quickly to catch up to the Pointmen. “Here comes Lord Sunshine,” said Sevare.
The Pointmen halted and parted for Ezerhauten. “There’s to be no magic thrown from here on out,” said Ezerhauten to Sevare. “None at all. Korrgonn’s orders.”
“Except if we’re attacked, right?” said Sevare.
“Not even.”
“What? Why not?”
“He thinks it will give away our position to someone or something.”
“If something jumps us,” said Frem, “they already know our position, so what’s the risk?”
Neither Sevare nor Ezerhauten seemed to hear him.
“How am I supposed to fight beasts that can tear up our knights without magic?” said Sevare.
“Improvise,” said Ezerhauten.
“Save up a good wad and spit in their eyes,” said Frem.
“Worth a try,” said Ezerhauten. “At least it’ll give that swill you spit some purpose. Go argue with Korrgonn if you want. I’m just the messenger.” Ezerhauten looked to Frem. “I’ll walk the point with you for a while — I trust you’ve no objection.”
Frem nodded his agreement.
Sevare choked down his frustration. “We’ll want your sword close at hand soon enough, I expect.”
“So how much does the League pay the families of our dead?” said Frem as they walked along.
Ezerhauten looked surprised at the question. “Two hundred silver stars went to the wives of our men what the Eotrus killed up by Riker’s. Not so much, but it’ll see to them for a goodly time. Why?”
“My daughter,” said Frem. “I want to make sure she's taken care of, if it comes to it. What about the lugron what died?”
Sevare responded quickly, before Ezerhauten answered. “I’m sure their families got the same.”
“They got nothing,” said Ezerhauten.
“Ezer doesn’t know what they got,” said Sevare, throwing an evil glare at Ezerhauten. “He’s just pulling your chain. We’re all treated equally, I’m sure.”
Frem stopped and turned to face Ezerhauten. “What do you mean they got nothing?”
“I meant what I said,” said Ezerhauten. “They got nothing.”
“Why not?” said Frem, his voice sharp. “Their company got hired on by the League same as ours. Some of them are even believers. Why shouldn’t they get taken care of the same? We’re all equal, aren’t we? All deserving? That’s what the priests say at the services, isn’t it? Why shouldn’t the lugron families be treated the same?”
Sevare tried to step between the two warriors and pulled Frem by the arm. “We need to keep moving.”
“Don’t yell at me, Sorlons,” said Ezerhauten. “You do remember that you work for me, not the League, don’t you?”
“Aye.”
“Good, because I’ve nothing to do with it. I’m just hired help, same as you.” After they walked a while longer, Ezerhauten spoke again, quietly, so that only Frem and Sevare could hear him. “They got nothing because they're just lugron.”
Frem stared at Ezerhauten for a moment. “So they’re not good enough? Is that it?”
“The lugron are not in the club, boy, don’t you get it? As far as the League goes, there are two kinds of folk. The elites — which are the priests, wizards, and noblemen. Then there’s everybody else, the masses — the merchants, tradesmen, commoners, peasants, beggars and all. Everybody is treated the same, just not the same as the elites. You won't hear that in any of Ginalli’s sermons though. Heck, he wouldn’t admit it if you held a knife to his throat. But that is the way it is
all the same.”
“Some folks having a lot when others have nothing is what the League is fighting against, isn’t it? Isn’t that what they’re trying to change? Isn’t that what the League is all about?”
“Of course it is,” said Sevare. “Ezer’s wrong on this one. Dead wrong.”
Ezerhauten’s smile was frightful. “Just be happy you’re in the club and don’t think too much about it.” He looked back toward the main group. They had halted and no doubt wondered why the Pointmen weren’t advancing. “Let’s get moving.”
Ezerhauten walked beside Frem. “You suspected the lugron got nothing, that’s why you asked about them.”
Frem shrugged.
“You’re not as stupid as you look,” said Ezerhauten.
“Oh yes, I am,” muttered Frem as he stalked across the stony landscape.
***
Sevare froze when Frem stopped short and raised his hand, a command to his squadron to halt and go quiet, which they did at once; each man still and silent but poised for action within a single breath. The rearmost Pointman relayed the signal to the main group.
With the men still, the island went eerily quiet despite the strange properties of the stark landscape that distorted and reverberated sounds, causing each word, step, or stumble to carry far and wide.
Frem turned his head slowly from side to side. Sevare knew he had sensed something. But what? And from which direction? Sevare heard nothing, and through the dark saw only stone. About them, nothing but an undulating expanse of bleak flat rock, curved stones, and tall, stark monoliths, upright sentinels that guarded hidden secrets unfathomed by man. Each block, boulder, and slab, weathered and curved, deeply pitted and eroded with age, not a sharp corner or knife-edge to be found. This was old rock, lifeless and barren, that harkened back to another age when the world was young.
Without thought, Sevare crouched, bent his knees, and tightened his grip on his staff for all the good that it would do. Some might take that old mahogany rod for a magical wand, a token of mystical power and esoteric energies that wizards of fable were wont to possess. Others would call it a weapon, for a staff held in skilled hands could oft match sword, spear, or axe. But to Sevare it was just a walking stick, a simple accoutrement, not an instrument of magic or a weapon for battle. He didn’t even know how to wield it, save to swing it as any man would a club. Yet he gripped it all the tighter and drew from it what comfort he could.
Dwellers of the Deep (Harbinger of Doom Volume 4) Page 12
