The Horsemen's Gambit bots-2

by DAVID B. COE

  The rest of them followed the man, Torgan bringing up the rear. He was still shaking, even as his fingers caressed the osiers hidden within in his coat. He felt sick to his stomach, as if the woman's plague was making him ill. He had to fight an urge to throw the basket back onto the ground.

  I don't have to do it, he told himself, trying to ease his nerves. Not yet; not ever, if that's what I decide. But at least now I know that I can.

  This thought calmed him. By the time he reached his mount, he felt composed enough to pull his hands from his pockets and reach for the pommel of his saddle. As he climbed onto his horse, he realized that for the first time since being captured by the Fal'Borna, he had some hope of getting away.

  Chapter 6

  FAL'BORNA LAND, WEST OF THE SILVERWATER WASH

  They were losing ground with each day that passed, held back by cold and wind, by the madwoman who rode in the old peddler's cart, rocking back and forth, mumbling nonsense to herself, and by Besh's own physical limitations, which humiliated and appalled him. The trader who had bought Lici's cursed baskets, who was no doubt selling them to the Fal'Borna already, was by now days ahead of them.

  Perhaps he knew what he carried; perhaps he understood the peril that lurked in those innocent-looking wares. But even if that was the case, he could only know this from experience, from having sold the baskets to unsuspecting Qirsi and then having watched them die.

  It seemed more likely that he had sold some baskets in a marketplace in some sept on the northern plain, and then had moved on, determined to sell more. There was no telling how much damage the merchant had done without intending to, without even being aware that he was hurting anyone. At this point, if Besh could have stopped the man at the cost of his own life, he would have done so gladly, so much did he suffer for every moment delayed, every hour wasted.

  Sirj, the husband of Besh's daughter, Elica, did his best to keep them moving. He woke early each morning to restart their fire and prepare food for breakfast. While Besh and Lici ate, he readied the horse and cart, so that they could leave quickly after eating. And in the evenings, he gathered wood, started a cookfire, and set up their simple shelter of tarpaulin and wood.

  Still, despite the man's efforts, they barely covered a league each day. Besh had thought that having Lici's cart would allow them to travel faster, but with Lici's cart came Lici herself. It sometimes seemed that she actually wanted to slow them down, so that her baskets might do as much harm as possible. She would make them stop in the middle of their travels so that she might relieve herself behind a rock or in a small copse, and then she would wander off aimlessly, picking blades of grass and saying that she needed to weave new baskets. Besh and Sirj usually tried to coax her back into the cart, and on some days she complied. At other times she didn't. On one such occasion Besh tried to force her bodily back toward the wagon, and she turned on him viciously. They had taken away her knife, for their protection and hers, but she was preternaturally strong and her fingernails were long enough to rend flesh. Besh still had marks on his face and neck from his fight with her.

  There were other days, however, when she wailed inconsolably at the mere thought of the plague she had loosed upon the land and seemed to be in as great a rush as Besh and Sirj to find the merchant to whom she had sold her baskets. And at still other times she spoke to herself, rambling on seemingly about nothing. In short, she was part demon, part doddering old witch, part madwoman. From one day to the next-sometimes from hour to hour-the two men couldn't be certain which Lici they would encounter.

  For several days now, Besh had tried to get Lici to tell him something-anything-about the merchant to whom she had sold the baskets. He also needed to know how to stop the plague she had created, but that was a far more complicated matter, and it seemed to Besh that finding and stopping the merchant ought to be their first priority. He often asked Lici about the man: his name, what he looked like, what other wares he carried in his cart. Anything that might have helped them if they happened upon a sept or other merchants. But Lici would tell them nothing. Whenever he pressed her for more, she began to scream about how the man had lied to her.

  "He said he was going to the Y'Qatt! That's what he told me! But he lied! He lied! He lied! He lied!" She would then lose herself in sobs and incoherent babble, punctuated now and again by her cries of "He lied!" It was much the same litany they had heard the first day they found her near the ruins of Sentaya, her home village, which had been ravaged by the pestilence more than sixty years before. At this point, Besh was torn between his desperate need to know more about the man and his reluctance to raise the matter at all. More than once it occurred to him that she might engage in such hysterics for just that reason. Perhaps, while regretting that some Fal'Borna would die as a result of her curse, she still held out some hope that the merchant would take the baskets to the Y'Qatt and thus fulfill the dark ambitions that had led her to conjure her plague in the first place.

  From reading the journal of Sylpa, the Mettai woman who had taken Lici in when she was newly orphaned, Besh knew that the Y'Qatt, Qirsi who eschewed all use of magic, had refused to help Lici save her family and friends. She had gone to them in the hope that Qirsi magic might do what Mettai magic had been unable to do: cure the people she loved who were dying of the pestilence. But the Y'Qatt feared the disease as much as she did, and they sent her away, even threatening to kill her if she refused to leave their village. Since that day sixty-four years ago, Lici had hated the Y'Qatt. Knowing her as he did, Besh wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she had been planning this twisted vengeance ever since.

  "I have to stop."

  Besh was walking alongside the cart. Most of the time, he rode in it, resting his aging legs. But he'd been cold today, and he felt restless. Sirj walked a short distance ahead, leading Lici's white nag.

  "I have to stop," Lici said again.

  "Why?" Besh asked wearily. It wasn't yet midday, and already they had stopped twice since breakfast.

  She smiled at him shyly, her expression that of a little girl, though with her wizened face and long white hair, the effect was ghoulish. "You know," she said, sounding coy.

  The old man sighed. "She wants to stop again," he called to Sirj.

  Sirj halted and ran a hand over his face, looking as frustrated as Besh felt. But he simply shrugged and said, "All right."

  Lici scrambled down off the cart and started off toward a cluster of grey boulders.

  "Just do what you have to do and come straight back," Besh called after her.

  She glared at him over her shoulder, but said nothing.

  It had been so long since last they saw the sun or the moons that Besh found it difficult to keep track of the days. One seemed just like the last, and since Besh couldn't see the moons to mark their progress through their cycles, he was reduced to guessing what day it might be. But if he was right, this was the fourteenth day of the waxing. Tonight, both moons would be full, and tomorrow would begin the waning. They were halfway through the Hunter's Moon, and they'd found nothing.

  Besh could hear Lici speaking, her voice rising and falling as if she were arguing some point or chastising herself. Sirj walked back to where he was standing and shook his head.

  "She's going to run off again," he said.

  "I know. But I can't very well tell her that she's not allowed to relieve herself, can I?"

  "I know it doesn't seem right," Sirj said, not even looking at him. "But that's what you think I should do."

  "It's what we should do," Sirj said. "But yes, that's what I think."

  "You're probably right. Next time then."

  Sirj nodded.

  "In the meantime," Besh said, "how do we get her back in the cart?" Lici stepped out from among the boulders, her eyes bright and alert, like those of a wildcat.

  "Come along, Lici," Besh called to the woman. "We have a long way to go today."

  She grinned and began to back away, as if daring them to come after her.
>
  "Lici!" Besh said, warning her with a tone he usually reserved for his grandchildren.

  She laughed, turned, and started to run. For an old woman, at times she could be surprisingly nimble.

  "Damn!" Sirj said, starting after her.

  Besh followed, though he was probably slower than both of them. As they ran, he saw that Lici was scratching at her hand; picking at it actually. She's trying to draw blood!

  "She's drawing on her magic!" he shouted to Sirj.

  He heard the woman mumble something, a spell no doubt. An instant later, just as Sirj was pulling his own blade free, probably to conjure a spell of his own, she stopped and spun around thrusting out her hands. Bright golden flames leaped from her fingers, catching Sirj full in the chest and knocking him backward and to the ground.

  Somehow Besh had his knife in his hand; he didn't remember pulling it free. He dragged it across the back of his hand and bent to pick up a handful of dirt. Mixing the dirt and the blood from his hand in his palm, he chanted the first spell that came to mind. "Blood to earth," he said. "Life to power, power to thought, earth to stone!"

  With these last words he flung the dark crimson mud from his hand. Instantly the mud turned to a fist-sized rock that flew at Lici with unnatural speed. It struck her in the back of the head and she fell heavily to the ground.

  She was old enough that such a blow might well have killed her, but at that moment Besh didn't care. He rushed to Sirj's side with hardly a glance at the woman.

  The younger man had managed to extinguish the flames that had engulfed his overshirt and he lay on his back, panting, his eyes closed. His clothes were blackened and still smoking. He had burns on his face and hands, and probably elsewhere on his body.

  "Are you all right?" Besh asked, looking him over, searching for any other wounds.

  Sirj nodded, although he kept his eyes closed. "I have burns," he said, sounding weak. "My chest, my neck."

  "Yes. Your hands and face as well."

  He nodded again.

  "All right. I'll… I'll heal you."

  Sirj sat up slowly, grimacing with the effort. Then he removed his shirt, inhaling sharply through his teeth several times, so that Besh found himself wincing along with him.

  Besh had never been good with healing magic, but right now he didn't have much choice. Lici certainly wasn't going to help him, and Sirj was in no shape to heal himself.

  "Use the magic slowly," Sirj said, as if reading his thoughts. "That's the secret to healing. Just let it seep from your hand."

  Besh nodded, recalling how skillfully Sirj had healed him after his first encounter with Lici just outside Sentaya. "I'll try," he said.

  He cut himself again, took hold of another clod of dirt, and mixed the blood and earth in his hand.

  "Blood to earth," he murmured. "Life to power, power to thought, power to life."

  He felt the mud in his hand change, felt it come alive, as if he were holding a handful of bees. Not that it stung, but it… it hummed. It vibrated. Besh had to fight the urge to release it all at once. Instead, he placed his fist over Sirj's chest and let the magic run from his hand like wet sand. It was an ugly burn, blackened and angry-looking. It seemed that Sirj's skin had just melted in places.

  The younger man winced again as the magic started to penetrate the wound, and Besh jerked his hand away.

  "What? What did I do?"

  "Nothing," Sirj whispered. "It's supposed to hurt, at least at first. You're doing fine.

  Besh swallowed and took a breath before putting his fist over the burn again

  Sirj winced again. Besh tried to ignore him, concentrating instead on keeping the flow of magic even and slow.

  "Where's Lici?" the younger man asked after some time.

  "Over there in the grass."

  Sirj craned his neck. "I don't see her."

  "No, I don't imagine. She's on the ground. I'm hoping she's just unconscious."

  "As opposed to…"

  "As opposed to dead," Besh said.

  "What did you do to her?"

  "I hit her in the head with a rock. It was the best I could think of in the moment."

  Sirj raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I wish I'd thought of it. That's good enough," he said, looking down at his chest. "My neck now, and my face."

  Besh shifted the position of his hand, still keeping a tight hold on the magic.

  "We can't keep on this way, Besh. She's a demon, and eventually she's going to kill one or both of us. We thought taking her knife would work, but clearly we were wrong. We can cut her fingernails to stumps, but then she'll just use her teeth, or a scrap of wood, or something else that you and I can't even imagine because our minds don't work as hers does. The point is if she wants to use magic against us again-and of course she does-there's really nothing we can do to stop her."

  Besh could hardly disagree with anything the man said. "So, what would you suggest?"

  Sirj shook his head. "I really don't know." But he wouldn't meet Besh's gaze.

  "There's nothing you could say that I haven't already thought of. Nothing."

  Sirj did look at him then.

  "Before we found her, you spoke of killing her. You said that if that was what it took to stop her from spreading her curse, you'd do it."

  "I remember," Besh said.

  "Do you still feel that way?"

  Besh frowned, even as he continued to heal the man's burns. For several moments, he didn't answer.

  "That's better," Sirj said eventually, gently probing the wounds with his fingers. "Thank you."

  Besh sat back and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The magic had dissipated, although he still felt a faint tingling on his palm. He rubbed it with his other hand.

  "If I thought she still posed a danger to the land," he finally said, choosing his words with care, "I wouldn't hesitate to do everything necessary to stop her. And that includes killing her. But she doesn't pose a danger to the land anymore. In fact, at this point, she may be the only one who can find this merchant she talks about, which makes her the land's best hope. She only poses a danger to you and me, and that's not reason enough to take her life.”

  "I know that," Sirj said, sounding weary. "I needed to hear you say it, but I know it's true."

  "But it doesn't solve our immediate problem."

  Sirj reached for his shirt. "It doesn't solve either of them."

  "Either of them? What's the other?"

  "We need food. We've enough to last another day or two, but after that we're going to need to find a settlement where we can buy more." He shrugged and gingerly put his shirt back on. "Now that we're feeding three, we're going through our stores faster."

  Besh exhaled, looking toward Lici, who still hadn't stirred. Perhaps he'd killed her without intending to. Despite what he'd just said to Sirj, he couldn't deny that he felt a surge of hope at the thought.

  "I want to go home," Besh said, his eyes suddenly stinging. He could almost smell Elica's cooking. He could hear the laughter of his grandchildren-Cam and Annze, and of course Mihas, the oldest, with whom he passed so many of his days in the garden or wandering through the small marketplace.

  "Then let's," Sirj said. "Let's leave her here and just go home. She can have her cart and her horse. Her baskets are gone and I don't think she has it in her to make more and spread her plague again."

  Besh said nothing. He didn't have to. Once, not very long ago, he had thought Sirj a fool and had lamented Elica's decision to be joined to the man. Perhaps he had wished for a richer husband for her, someone who could have given her more than Besh himself had been able to give his beloved Ema. Or perhaps, as Ema had once told him, he wouldn't have been satisfied with any man Elica found. No matter the reason, he had always dismissed Sirj as someone unworthy of his respect or even his consideration.

  He knew better now. Sirj was strong and kind. His quiet manner masked a keen intelligence and simple wisdom. And in their present circumstance, it wouldn't tak
e him long to come to the same conclusion that Besh had reached. Now that they knew about the baskets Lici had made, cursed, and sold to her mysterious merchant, they could not stray from the path they were on. Even if Sirj was right, and Lici was no longer capable of making new baskets and casting her dark spell on them, she had done enough harm to keep them on the plain, and away from their home.

  For several moments neither of them spoke. At last, Sirj climbed stiffly to his feet and heaved a sigh. "Well, it was a nice thought, anyway."

  He smiled, and Besh grinned in return. Lici gave a low moan and rolled onto her back.

  "It seems I didn't kill her." He glanced at Sirj. "Sorry."

  The younger man shook his head and laughed.

  They both walked to where the woman lay and squatting beside her they helped her sit up.

  "What happened to me?" she asked, her voice weak.

  "You used magic to set Sirj on fire," Besh said. "So I hit you in the head with a rock."

  She stared at him for a moment and then looked at Sirj's blackened shirt. "I did that?"

  "Yes. And the next time you do anything of the sort-in fact, the next time you use magic at all, I’ll kill you."

  Her eyes snapped back to his face, narrowed and glinting dangerously. "You really think you can?" she asked.

  It often amazed Besh how quickly Lici could go from seeming addled and confused, to speaking with the grim assurance of a hired blade. Besh could never be certain what she feigned and what was real. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she couldn't remember what she had done only moments before, or that she herself was awed and slightly embarrassed by some of her more outrageous actions. But this voice that he heard now-hard, fearless, and so malevolent that it chilled him just to hear her speak-this struck him as her truest self. Not long ago she might have cowed him with the look she gave him, but not on this day. He was leagues away from the only home he'd ever known, from the only people left on Nlined's earth whom he cared about. She'd taken enough from him.