The Devil's Library: The Windhaven Chronicles

by Watson Davis

  Gartan crouched beside her.

  She started, glancing at him with fear in her eyes, pulling away from him. He smiled and held his hands out, hoping it would be a gesture she’d interpret as friendly.

  The damned kraken honked once more, its tentacles smashing against the beach beyond their wall of trees, out of sight, but not out of hearing. Hanno and the horses all jerked at the sound, turning themselves to look back at that raucous noise.

  Pohmuk and Sinah redoubled their efforts to calm the horses, stroking their necks, murmuring to them.

  Gartan touched the woman’s back, running a fingertip down her spine, shushing her, whispering, “No worries, girl. It’s all going to end up fine. Just be calm.”

  She glanced back at him, more of a glare. He removed his hand from her back, scrunching up his face in a way he hoped she’d find comedic. She took a deep breath and continued working on Gekisha.

  Gartan stood and walked to the fire, taking a small flat stone from beside the flames with a lightly grilled fillet of fish on it, one side seared. He cut it into bite-sized slices and carried it to Hanno’s side.

  She stood, staring down at the shaman she’d just been healing. Gekisha was dropping off to sleep. Hanno looked at the injured Onei—and Dyuh Mon—on the ground before her and gnawed on her lower lip, her brow furrowing. She raised her hand, whispering a chant, and motes of magic sparkled around her hand.

  The kraken honked once more, and a loud crash came from beyond the camp.

  Gartan grunted, and she faced him. He held up the fish and a knife, offering it to her. “I know healing is hungry work. Davina tells me that all the time.”

  “She can’t understand a fargin word you’re saying to her,” Simthil said, placing another feather on a straightened shaft.

  Hanno stepped toward Gartan, taking the knife and the fish from him, bowing slightly. He bowed toward her, smiling, trying to appear unassuming and not dangerous, and he stepped away from her.

  She stabbed a piece of the fish with the knife and brought it to her lips, nibbling at the edge. Then another small bite. Then she stabbed another piece and shoved it into her mouth, her eyes closing and a sound of satisfaction humming in her chest.

  Gartan smiled and nodded. “Good.”

  Nohel cleared his throat, once, twice. Gartan turned to look at him, along with everyone else in the camp save for Hanno. Nohel removed his battered axe from his belt. He offered the handle to Tayna, and her eyes grew wide, her skin flushing.

  He said, “There never is a right time. But I wanted to know if you will guard my axe with your soul, as I will yours.”

  Tayna jumped to her feet, her hands over her mouth, staring down at Nohel, at his axe.

  He sank down to one knee. She took the handle with both hands and stared him in the eyes. “Yes. I can think of no greater honor.”

  The Onei clapped softly. Nohel stood and they hugged, kissing each other.

  Gartan’s smile faded, his eyes squinting. “Shhh.”

  The atmosphere of the jungle had changed, a sudden quiet, a hush, all the birds, frogs, and insects of the lush vegetation falling silent. Pohmuk and Sinah placed their hands on the horses’ noses, the beasts’ ears twisting on their heads, following a sound Gartan couldn’t hear.

  Gartan’s hand fell to his axe, loosening it.

  A man whistled, the whistle of a pippet, a bird of the Northern Wastes. Gartan breathed. Simthil whistled in answer.

  Brivat, one of the scouts sent out to warn of danger, entered the clearing, his hands up,and all eyes followed him. He said, “Soldiers from that village are heading our way. At speed.”

  “How many?” Gartan asked.

  “Maybe a hundred, but quite a few were those orc beasties.”

  Gartan peered around at his handful of healthy Onei and the Nayen healer. He shrugged and chuckled. “At least it will be a fair fight, and a sure trip to Valhalla.”

  # # #

  Tethan lunged up from the surf onto a stony beach, gasping for breath. A line of trees formed a wall a few steps before him with bushes packed together beneath the shadows created by the thick canopy of big, wide leaves above. He jogged up, seeing the plume of smoke drifting up from further into the jungle.

  More gasps answered him, more Onei surging up onto the beach.

  Finding no path through this dense brush, Tethan hacked at it with his axe, opening up a gap, and he darted through into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, his pace increased from a walk, to a jog, to a run, jumping over rotting logs, the moist wind pulling at his hair, rushing past his ears.

  Birds tweeted and sang, and the leaves of the trees hissed with the passing of the wind. Tethan ran, following his nose to the smell of bodies burning, his side throbbing where the commander’s blade had cut into him, his boots making no noise on the leaves carpeting the soft ground.

  He burst through into a clearing where the sun shone down, a once rectangular platform of branches now crumbling down into the fire beneath it, the flames reaching up almost as tall as the surrounding trees, the smoke rising up into the blue sky.

  His eyes darted around the clearing, looking for the path, looking for flattened grass, for broken tree limbs, for disturbed spiderwebs, and he found them.

  Makal jogged up beside him, surveying the site.

  Tethan didn’t wait, didn’t speak; he followed the trail leading into the jungle, hearing voices, hearing the nickering of horses. He jogged into a clearing with four horses, wounded Onei lying on pallets behind them, and a Nayen woman ministering to them. She whipped around at Tethan’s approach, her eyes wide. She put her hands to her mouth and squeaked.

  Gekisha wheeled around, limping to the side, barking out an incantation, her magic swirling around her hands, injured but ready to fight, but as she glared at Tethan, her fierce expression melted to one of surprise, to relief. She mumbled some words, dispersing her magic safely, and limped up to him, hugging him with one arm and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, thank Enahu you’re here.”

  Fearing the answer, Tethan only asked, “My father?”

  Gekisha released Tethan and backed away, pointing with her hand in a direction, saying, “He’s gone to buy us time. Taken all those still capable of fighting while we get the wounded away.”

  “Thank you.” Tethan nodded, and he ran, racing through the jungle, out of the jungle onto a road of some sort. He urged himself faster, pulling his axes off his belt and into his hands when he heard the sound of battle, the sound of metal striking metal, the clang of steel, mages calling out their spells, men screaming in agony.

  Tethan howled, “Skybears!” and calls of “Skybears” answered him, from behind him and from in front of him. A grin on his face, he rounded a bend and found a small army before him, their blue armor glinting in those few beams of sunlight finding their way through the leaves above.

  Before that small army, flitting in and out of the mass of soldiers pressing down on them, ten Onei fought with long, thin-bladed swords in their hands, Gartan among them and drenched with blood, wielding a sword in either hand—swords taken from the enemy. Two more Onei lay on the ground among the feet of the Council’s soldiers, one dead, the other dying, for all he was still stabbing at the ankles of his killers.

  Council mages, in flowing black robes of shining silk with pale purple pants, levitated above the fray, more mages chanting from the back of the Council’s army’s ranks.

  Tethan threw himself into the battle by his father’s side, his heart swelling in his chest with pride, with joy, his arms hacking and slashing with abandon, banging away at the soldiers before him, orc and human, knocking them down, knocking them senseless if no other target presented itself.

  A Council mage soared forward out of the trees, lightning bolts streaming from his hands, aiming for Gartan, but only finding where Gartan had been, the metallic armor of the soldiers drawing his strikes to them. Tethan ripped a spear out of a soldier’s hand and flung it up into the air, the blade striking the
man full in the face.

  Another mage flung her hands out, shrieking an incantation, and fireballs sprang from her hands, hitting Onei and Nayen alike. The Nayen pawed at their armor, screaming, trying to put out the flames; the Onei threw themselves to the ground and rolled, putting out the flames on themselves, striking with their swords and axes to silence the Nayen screams.

  Makal barreled into the battle, flinging soldiers out of his way, hacking at them until he reduced the bit of his axe to a cudgel, and then he beat them on the heads, smashing the sides of their helmets until they toppled.

  The flying mages fell, one by one, taken down by arrows from Tayna’s bow, from swords and axes thrown by Sinah and Pohmuk.

  Tethan killed another orc, the one behind him toppling forward with an arrow protruding from his eyehole, the one behind him turning to run, and then the enemy broke, all of the remaining Nayen warriors turning, dropping their weapons, and fleeing.

  Gartan lowered his axe and leaned over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

  “Father?” Tethan touched his shoulder, swaying on his feet, the pain in his side flaring as though the knife had stabbed him once more.

  Gartan smiled and threw himself into his son’s arms, wrapping his arms around him, laughing, a tear falling from his eye. Tethan hugged his father, squeezing the older man until he begged for a break so he could breathe.

  Gartan said, “How’s your mother?”

  The Plan Proceeds

  Hanno stumbled up the gangplank, an Onei warrior holding her hand to help her balance as the ship rose and fell with the waves. The ship banged against the pier and the warrior caught her as she lost her balance. She said, “Thank you,” even though she knew the giant person could not understand her.

  “S’nothing,” the Onei said, smiling with guileless eyes. He took her by the waist, raised her from the railing, and set her on the deck.

  She bowed. “Thank you again.”

  He gestured to a door in between two stairways leading up to another deck and said something in his tongue.

  She followed his gesture and knocked on the door, rapping with her knuckles on the flimsy wood and rattling the door. She tried not to listen to the conversation beyond the door.

  A woman’s throaty voice said, “I can’t make any promises.”

  Hanno backed away, folding her hands before her, bowing her head.

  The captain’s wind mage, Mian-on, opened the door, leaning halfway out, holding himself with an arm on the door facing. He squinted, tilting his head to the side. “To what do I owe the pleasure, oh beautiful light of my dreams?”

  Hanno jerked up, staring at him, unsure of what to say.

  He smiled. “Do I know you?”

  “I am Hanno Yunyoyaj, a healer from Varensinth,” she said, bowing humbly. “I have come in hopes of speaking with the captain.”

  “Well, I—”

  “By all that’s sacred,” the woman’s voice said behind him. “Who is it now? The Onei will be here soon.”

  “It’s the healer that came in with Gartan.” Mian-on stepped back, opening the door further to reveal the captain’s quarters, her bed at the far end between a wardrobe and floor-to-ceiling windows, tapestries and weapons on the walls, a heavy table and chairs a few steps inside the door with a map laid across it, and magelights dancing in tiny cages around the room.

  Captain Kalo sat in one of the chairs, an elder woman seated beside her, leaning forward, craning her wattled neck to see Hanno, tilting her head back and squinting her eyes.

  Captain Kalo threw her hands up and motioned for Hanno to enter. “Come on in, and we can make it a party.”

  Hanno took a hesitant step forward, glancing at Mian-on. He scrunched up his nose and said, “She’s in a bad mood. I think it’s her time of the month.”

  Hanno stopped and drew herself up, arching her eyebrows.

  He shrugged and said, “She has to pay all the sailors and mages every month, and she gets grumpy. Come on in.”

  “Oh,” Hanno said, following him into the captain’s quarters.

  The old woman said, “I’m not sure she should be here for this discussion.”

  “There is no discussion,” Kalo said, motioning for Hanno to sit across the table from her.

  Hanno approached the table, but Mian-on got there before her and pulled out the seat Kalo had indicated. Hanno stepped around, allowing Mian-on to slide the seat beneath her. She said, “Thank you.”

  “You’ve never done that for me,” Kalo said, a scowl on her face.

  Mian-on plopped into the seat next to Hanno. “You pay my salary.”

  Hanno smiled, raising her hand to cover her lips. She bowed to the old woman. “My pardon, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  The old woman raised her hands and smacked her lips in frustration. “You go ahead and speak your piece.”

  Hanno touched her chest. “Honored Captain, I came here in the hopes that you would assign someone to escort me back to Varensinth. I have duties to perform, and even now, Deacon Ka-myal may not have noticed my absence due to the circumstances.”

  The old woman raised her hand, gesturing to Hanno. “She is the enemy. She should not be here.”

  “The enemy?” Hanno touched her chest. “How am I an enemy? I am a healer.”

  The woman pointed a grizzled forefinger at Hanno. “You are one of the rulers who put your boot on our necks, who take our children off to be trained to be warriors or mages without so much as a ‘by your leave.’ You are a priestess working for Gal-nya and the Eternal Council. You are my enemy.”

  “What are you saying?” Hanno turned her eyes back to Kalo, her brow furrowed.

  Mian-on leaned toward Hanno and whispered, “She wants to hang you and all the priests and priestesses that serve the Council on the gallows, with the Council right next to you.”

  “You are not helping,” Kalo said. She turned to Hanno and inclined her head. “My apologies, but we’re going to have to keep you here for a while.”

  “You would dare go against the Council?” Hanno asked in a soft voice.

  “She wants me to order the Onei to overthrow the Eternal Council.”

  “You can do that?” Hanno shifted herself forward to the edge of her seat.

  “No, I can’t.” Kalo shook her head.

  “But would they?” Hanno asked, an odd tingling in her stomach at the thought, at the idea of being free of the Council’s rules and regulations. “Would they attack the Eternal Council?”

  “No, they can’t,” Kalo said, slumping back in her chair. “Well, they might, but it would make no difference. There are not enough of them. I don’t know if there are enough Onei in all of this world to go against the armies of the Council.”

  “But what if they took them one by one?” Hanno said.

  The old woman leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “What?”

  “The Council fight among themselves all the time,” Hanno said. “That’s how my husband died.” She stopped, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked her eyes to clear them and found the strength to continue. “It should be possible to play Gal-nya against Sissola, Yakiyun against Nof-ki, and everyone against Yut-hosa.”

  The old woman made a crude magical symbol over her chest, rapped her knuckles on the table, and spat over her shoulder. She whispered, “Do not use their names so.”

  “You make that sound so easy,” Kalo said, a smile creeping across her face. “But it is barely even a possibility. Besides, I thought you wanted to return home?”

  “Well, I do.” Hanno stared down at the grain on the table. “But I do not know why I should.”

  “So stay,” Mian-on said. “I can make room for you in my bunk.”

  “Shut up, Mian-on,” Kalo said. “We cannot ask the Onei to take on the Eternal Council when we ourselves, the people of Nayengim, have not taken up arms against them.”

  “But we have helped them,” the old woman said. “If the Council learn of our aid to them, will w
e not be just as dead as if we charged into battle?”

  “You should at least ask them,” Hanno said.

  The door to the cabin swung open and a tall, lithe Onei stumbled in, a dirty bandage around his torso stinking of infection and decay, pale as they all were, with sweat dripping off of him and his eyes half open with dark rings under them. He said something and bowed, beginning to exit.

  Mian-on said something, waving his hands; Kalo said something else and motioned him forward. She said, “I am sorry, ladies, but the other Onei leaders will be here soon to discuss their plans.”

  The old woman stood, saying, “You will represent us to them?”

  Kalo took a deep breath, looked over at Hanno, and nodded. “I will do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, scurrying to the door. “I can ask no more than that.”

  The Onei stepped aside, letting the old woman and Hanno pass, but Hanno stopped and touched the bandage.

  She looked back at Kalo. “There is something wrong here.”

  Kalo spoke to the Onei, relaying his words, saying, “Tethan says the healers have examined him but cannot fix the damage.”

  “I have not looked at it,” Hanno said.

  Kalo spoke once more to Tethan.

  Mian-on said, “I don’t think he trusts you.”

  “That is fine,” Hanno said. “I do not trust him.”

  Mian-on laughed, nodding. “Fair played.”

  Tethan pulled at the bandage to unwrap it, but Hanno took the bandage and quickly peeled it off. She moved her hands over the wound, chanting, begging the gods for help. She gasped. “He was stabbed by a magic dagger.”

  Kalo spoke to him and then replied, “Yes, a drow stabbed him.”

  Hanno considered asking him to attack the Council in return for her healing, but thought of her calling. She cast the spells as she had for the drow captain, snipping the connection to the blade, cleaning out the infection, removing the necrotic tissue tainted by foul magic, and then cast the spells to help the wound seal itself, giving it the fuel to close and heal completely. She nodded. “If he still has the dagger, he should give it to someone else and have them destroy it.”