by Tanya Huff
Lifting trembling hands to shoulder height, Aurek clung to what little focus he could find and shouted out the words of the spell, fighting not only the power that animated the golem but his own pain and exhaustion. Sweat ran hot, then cold, down his sides under the ruin of his clothes. His vision turned yellow, then orange; then black spots crept around the edges of his sight.
His abused lungs screamed for air.
The torn muscles across his back began to jump, each involuntary motion sending new agony to distract him.
He wasn’t … going to be … strong enough.
He could taste failure like rusty iron in his mouth.
Then, one bone at a time, the golem collapsed.
Panting, Aurek collapsed as well, barely managing to keep his face from smacking into the stone floor. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lie there for an eternity or two until the world stopped spinning around inside his head. But it wasn’t over yet.
He couldn’t stand; his body refused to hold him, so he crawled to where the horned skull crowned a pile of bone. He had to be sure that it was truly, finally destroyed.
Passing his uninjured hand over the pile, he found a shaky focus and tried to detect any remaining trace of magic. For one horrifying moment, he thought he could feel an aura of power clinging to the bones, then they shuddered and, as time caught up with them, crumbled to dust.
Aurek knelt where he was, counting his own heartbeats to convince himself he still lived. Overhead, the three globes of light became six smaller globes, then eighteen specks, then nothing at all. Caught in a darkness so complete it was like being wrapped in fold after fold of black velvet, Aurek did the only thing he could think of.
He laughed.
Laughter. Touched with hysteria, but human laughter nonetheless. It sounded good after all the screaming that had been going on. Louise smiled and groomed her whiskers. She had her weapon, and she had Dmitri, who would teach her how to use it. Soon, she would be second-best no longer; she would be Lord of Richemulot.
And Jacqueline would be dead.
It took him half a lifetime to find his pack and another lifetime for his shaking hands to tumble out the tinderbox, strike a spark, and get the lantern lit. He had nothing left. No hidden strengths. No reserves. Nothing. But he was still alive, and the way to Natalia’s freedom lay clear.
Dragging the pack, pushing the lantern across the floor in front of him, Aurek crawled to the chair and somehow managed to pull himself up into it. When his torn back hit the horsehide, he sucked air through his teeth and jerked forward. No. It wasn’t time to relax. Not yet.
He rummaged in the bottom of the pack and fumbled out the package of food Edik had insisted he take. It was only cold meat and a biscuit with a small flask of water, but as any apprentice wizard soon learned, power used had to be replaced; it didn’t miraculously reappear. As he chewed and swallowed, Aurek tried to hold a vision of the food spreading throughout his body, replenishing his strength. By the time he finished, he could sit without swaying, but nothing else had changed.
It wasn’t important. He had the book.
He was reaching for it when his gaze fell upon a circular indentation in the cover.
The amulet had been a key, but the amulet no longer existed. The book would be protected—by more subtle protections than zombie guards and bone golems. He couldn’t feel the protections, not in his current condition, but they were surely there.
Slowly, he drew his hands back.
In time, he would be able to open the book. He’d opened a number over the years of his scholarship and had no doubt that this one would succumb to careful, painstaking research as all the others had. In time. But not now. Not when he had no idea of what he faced. Even touching the book, unprotected by the amulet, could destroy it, or him, and he couldn’t take that chance.
Nor could he wait in the workshop until he regained his power. If the wizard who created the bone golem—and who very likely had been destroyed by the pact made with the Dark Powers in order to do it—had left any lesser precautions, he’d be helpless to deal with them. To have prevailed so far and then fall before a minor spell would be bitter irony indeed. His death would doom Natalia, regardless of how close to success he was at the time.
He had to live for her.
Picking up the lantern, but leaving the pack with its broken straps behind, he staggered to the archway and out onto the stairs. Somehow, he reached the bottom without falling.
On the landing, he turned and stared up at the dark entrance to the workshop. He should feel triumphant, but staying on his feet in spite of exhaustion and pain took all the strength he had. “I will come back,” he promised, clutching the stones for support. “My redemption is here, and I will claim it.”
From the shadows, Louise watched Aurek Nuikin stagger forward and decided that if her weapon was going to make it out of the catacombs in one piece, he needed help. Bone and muscle stretching and changing, she sat back on her haunches and then continued rising up until she stood on two feet, furred but vaguely human.
The flickering flame of his small lantern made it easy for her to stay close by his back and remain unnoticed. She matched her footfalls to his, though she suspected he wouldn’t have heard her had she blown a trumpet by his ear. Her nose twitched continually at the blood-scent rising up off the wounds on his back, on his hand, and on his head, the rich, meaty smell enveloping him. When her stomach growled, she began to wish that she’d eaten the goblin regardless of the taste.
This wizard is much too valuable to be wasted as a snack, she reminded herself, swallowing a mouthful of saliva.
Although drawn by the bloodscent, the goblins stayed back. She could hear them, smell them. Once or twice she even saw a stealthy shape leap back into a side tunnel. They wouldn’t approach as long as she remained on guard and, as it was in her best interests for Aurek Nuikin to arrive home safely and regain the full use of his not inconsiderable powers, she wasn’t going anywhere.
Unnoticed by them both, the foul-smelling mist drifted up the stairs and into the workshop. A moment later, an ebony wererat, identical in every way to Louise Renier except that both its ears were whole, appeared in the doorway and stared thoughtfully down into the catacombs.
At the gap in the ledge, Aurek sagged against the damp stone of the catacomb walls and weakly shook his head. He had no power to use the leather loop and no strength to jump. The gap had looked less treacherous when he’d crossed it on his way in.
It’s no wider than it was, he thought. If I inch forward along the broken edge, I can step over. A bit of stone crumbled under his boot and plopped down into the water.
He got one foot across, looked down, and froze. It must’ve been a trick of the lantern light, but it looked as though the ripples from the stone had turned. As he watched, a ripple rolled under his spread legs and lapped against the wall.
And then another.
And then another.
And then a ripple that by rights should be called a wave.
Aurek couldn’t move. Couldn’t get his other leg across to save his life. He stood, stretched over the gap, as a second wave joined the first.
Something pushed him hard from behind.
He catapulted forward, slipped, went down on one knee, and barely managed to keep his hold on the lantern. He wanted to scream but suspected that attracting more attention would not be a survivable idea. His heart pounding so loudly he thought he could hear it echoing through the tunnels, he dragged himself back onto his feet and forced himself to keep going. He didn’t turn around to see what had saved his life—a small, barely functioning part of his brain insisted he didn’t want to know.
At dusk, it stopped raining—good news and bad news combined. The good news: the end of icy water running down collars and up cuffs. The bad news: it was dusk. In a very short time, it would be dark.
The boatman peered anxiously into the Narrows, where shadows lengthened and hunters stirred. Calling himself sever
al kinds of fool, he decided to wait just a few minutes longer. The next time he moved out into the river, he wouldn’t be coming back.
When he stumbled down the steps of the townhouse and into the pallid light of early evening, Aurek dropped the lantern and let it shatter on the cobblestones. He no longer had the strength to carry it. He was beginning to doubt he had strength enough to make it to the river.
Staring around him, searching for the route he had to take, he tried to remember climbing back up the rusted ladder and couldn’t. Likewise, his journey through the townhouse was a kaleidoscope of images, cohesion shattered by pain and exhaustion.
The river was …
The river was …
He didn’t know where the river was.
The scrape of claws against stone drew his head around. Fifteen or twenty rats, their humped bodies low to the ground, came out of the ruined park. Another half dozen had followed him out of the townhouse.
Whatever direction he went, staying where he was wasn’t a good idea.
As it grew darker, more and more rats came out of the shadows. They never quite cornered him—there always seemed to be a path he could take—but Aurek knew that wouldn’t last.
He also knew the rats were not the only hunters in the Narrows.
So close, Lia. I’m so close. I can’t, I won’t die before I free you.
He fell once, the impact with the cobblestones surging through him like a red wave. His individual wounds no longer hurt, but that was only because his entire body had become pain. Somehow, before the first rats reached him, he lurched to his feet and kept going. He had finally found the spell to free his Natalia.
Aurek clung to that for strength and refused to think of the second trip that would have to be made back into the catacombs in order to retrieve it.
When, as the last of the day was failing, he reached the river, he gave thanks to the fates who’d guided him and reeled toward the dock.
The boat …
… was there.
He was …
… safe.
The long braid of silver-blond hair was unmistakable, even if the one who wore it looked little like the gentleman who’d left him in the morning. His boat braced against the remains of the dock, the boatman couldn’t stop a horrified exclamation as his employer pitched face first into the bilges, and he saw the full extent of the damage.
He bit off his initial impulse to ask if the man was all right—it seemed a fool question under the circumstances—and bent his back to the oar. The best thing he could do for them both was to get his employer home.
As the blunt nose of the canalboat swung into the current, he thought he saw, just for an instant, a black rat larger than any he’d ever seen silhouetted on the shore. An instant later it was gone, and as he rowed he worked very hard at forgetting he’d ever seen it.
It was much, much safer that way.
The Boatman Tied up in Front of His Employer’s house and wondered, brow furrowed, how best to get the injured man to safety. Had their sizes been reversed, perhaps he could have carried him over the esplanade and up the stairs into the house. But as it was, he doubted he could even lift his tall employer onto dry land. Unfortunately, given the blood-scent hanging over him, leaving the injured man in the boat while he went for help wasn’t the answer. Coming out of the Narrows, he’d had to ship his oar and use his gaff when something had tried to climb over the side. It had been too dark to see what it was but, given the feeding frenzy he’d heard when it fell back into the water, it hadn’t been alone.
Shouting to attract attention could easily do more harm than good, given the type of attention likely to be attracted after dark in Pont-a-Museau.
He prodded his employer in the thigh with the toe of his boot. “Sir? Can you stand?”
Apparently not. The harsh rasp of labored breathing was all that indicated the man was still alive.
Maybe he’ll die, and I can just dump the body. The boatman sighed. The longer he hung on to this cargo, the greater the risk to himself. On the other hand, he’d gotten him this far. It had become, though he wasn’t in the habit of using the phrase, a matter of honor.
He trimmed the stern lantern until the flame shone clear and bright, then picked a careful path to the bow, trying not to step on sprawling bits of Aurek Nuikin. When the bow light also burned as brightly as possible, shoving the shadows out another few feet from the boat, he leaped up onto the shore and ran for the house.
Carriage lamps burned on either side of the door, and he noted with astonishment that the brass knocker had actually been recently polished. The only things that usually gleamed so in Pont-a-Museau were eyes in the night. The third time he slammed the knocker down, the door swung open, and he found himself staring up into the broad features of a yellow-haired servant.
“I gots your master in the boat,” he said abruptly. “He’s hurt.”
The manservant asked no questions, merely ran for the river. By the time the boatman arrived on his much shorter legs, the other man had leaped down into the boat. It rocked wildly with the sudden addition of his weight, and a rat scrambled from its perch on Aurek’s thigh to the gunnels. A hand shot out, there was a crack of breaking bone, and the limp body of the rodent flew through the air, silhouetted for an instant in the bow light.
“How did this happen?” the manservant demanded, his Borcan accent nearly obscuring the words as he carefully gathered his master up in his arms.
Still on shore, the boatman shrugged, the gesture unseen but apparent in his voice. “He came outta the Narrows like that. I don’t know how it happened.” He would not mention the giant ebony rat. He tried not even to think of it. Braced for the accusations that would surely come, the servant’s next question took him totally by surprise.
“Do you need refuge for the night?” the servant asked as he stood up, his master’s body resting across his broad shoulders like an elongated lamb.
The boatman stared at the larger man, amazed he’d even thought to ask under the circumstances. “N-No,” he stammered when he found his voice again. “I can make it home.”
“Good. Return with the daylight, and you will be well rewarded for this.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” He wiped his hands on dirty trousers. “Do you, uh, need help?”
“Thank you, no. I can manage.”
The boatman watched their progress to the house, uncertain if he was merely curious or if he actually intended to help should they be attacked. His gaze kept returning to the swaying blond line of Aurek Nuikin’s braid, its gentle back and forth motion sketching an almost hypnotic pattern across the night. It flared, then disappeared in the general illumination as they reached the circle of light around the door.
Then the door closed.
The boatman jerked at the sound, suddenly realizing he was alone in the night. Breathing a fervent prayer to whatever benevolent gods might be listening, he cast off and stroked strongly for home. In order to return in the morning for his reward—and, though his lack of doubt surprised him a little, he believed the reward would be given as promised—he had to survive the night.
Buttoning his beribboned vest, Dmitri walked out onto the second floor landing and frowned down into the entryway. “Who’s banging on the door at this hour, Edi—Zima veter!” Astonishment jerked out the Borcan exclamation, though upon crossing the border Aurek had self-righteously insisted for fluency’s sake they not speak their native language. Dmitri threw himself down the stairs, touching maybe one in three. “What happened to my brother?”
“The boatman says he came out of the Narrows in this condition.”
“The boatman?” Dmitri frowned, trying to place the man and finally touching a dim recollection of a shadowy, faceless figure standing at the stern of the canalboat. “And you believed him?” He tried to push past, but Edik left him no room. “Get out of my way, and I’ll deal with this boatman. We’ll see what he knows.”
“Had he injured the master, he would not have been
so stupid as to bring the body home.” Edik shifted Aurek’s limp weight across his shoulders. His face wore no more expression than usual, but the edge in his voice betrayed a certain amount of inner agitation. “I will continue straight to his bedchamber.”
“You can’t carry him upstairs like that.”
Edik set one foot carefully on the first step. “I believe there is room, sir.”
“No!” Dmitri grabbed his sleeve. “I mean, you can’t carry him like that!” His emphasis laid indignation over horror that his brother should come home in such condition, to be draped like a slaughtered stag across Edik’s broad shoulders.
“If I do not carry him like this,” Edik said, continuing to climb, his sturdy linen sleeve pulling out of Dmitri’s grasp, “I cannot carry him at all. If you will note, sir, his back has been laid open and cannot be touched.”
Dmitri spread his hands, unable to argue but needing to rail at something. “Well, yes, but …”
“If you could keep the master’s skull from impacting with the wall, sir.”
“I can do that!” He leaped forward and gently cupped one palm over Aurek’s head, knuckles brushing the flocked black roses in the wallpaper. Unfortunately, this brought him distressingly close to the three slashes across his brother’s back—their edges drying, their centers still seeping blood. Every movement cracked open the few scabs that had formed. “He looks …” Dmitri swallowed and tried again. “He looks as if he’s been attacked by a big animal of some kind.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But what kind? That’s the question.”
Edik carefully maneuvered down the second floor hall, his steps becoming more and more deliberate as the space grew narrower. “I suggest you ask your lady friend, sir.”
“My lady friend?” Dmitri ducked past Aurek’s head and opened the bedchamber door. “What are you implying, Edik? Why would Louise know anything about this?”
“Servants hear things, sir. And I have heard that both the sestra Renier know everything that occurs in the city.” He stopped, knees pressed against the side of the huge bed. “If you could take the master’s feet, sir.”
