Night Season wotl-4

by Eileen Wilks

  He'd learned quite a bit about the lovely Theera, hadn't he? "You'd better tell Ruben about her, then."

  "I did. You were busy avoiding me."

  The sorry lump of feeling in Cynna's gut reminded her of when she was twenty. She'd had an abscessed tooth and no money. Rather than borrow from her aunt, who didn't have much, either, she'd tried to ride it out.

  You could do that with some things. Not with an abscessed tooth, it turned out. She didn't know how it would work with the muddled ache inside her, but since there weren't any emotional dentists, she guessed she'd find out. "What kind of information did you give her?"

  "She wanted to know what we'd agreed to do, what the gnomes had offered, how we planned to locate the medallion. I gave her two out of three."

  "Meaning?"

  "I didn't see any harm in her knowing what we'd agreed to, since that's basically nothing, aside from hunting the medallion. Or what the gnomes are offering—also nothing. We find their medallion and we get to survive and maybe go home. She made me an offer on behalf of her sister."

  And what might that have been—a threesome? The words almost slipped out, but Cynna caught them in time. Her priorities sucked. She had to get her damned unruly mind to pay attention to the life-or-death stuff. "What kind of offer?"

  "She claims the medallion doesn't have to be held by the gnomes to keep Edge stable. The gnomes warned us we might hear that, of course, but their warning doesn't make it automatically false. Theera's argument boils down to the inherent superiority of the sidhe at everything, especially all things magical, which makes them the proper custodians for the medallion."

  "She doesn't object to the way it eats brains?"

  "Sidhe do haughty better than a cat. I asked. She gave me to understand it was none of my business." Cullen paused. "If I tell her where the medallion is before it bonds with a holder, I get all sorts of goodies. Spells. Knowledge."

  "She has your number."

  "Actually, I've got hers. Or her call-me." He held out a hand. A small topaz rested in his palm. "This summons her."

  In spite of everything, curiosity pricked at her. "How does it work?"

  "I haven't figured that out yet." His fingers closed, and he slid the topaz into the pocket of the loose jacket he wore. "Haven't figured out how she vanished, either."

  Cynna's heart kicked up into her throat. She swallowed. After failing to pummel the elf-woman, she hadn't stuck around for explanations. Once the faerie bitch vanished, so had Cynna—more prosaically, however, by running out into the hall. Gan had inadvertently helped by showing up just then, full of chatter. Then Steve had arrived, then their servants, then Ruben, and they'd been busy ever since, getting ready to travel the river again.

  Cynna steadied her voice. "She must have faked disappearing. That's probably one type of glamour—disappearing."

  "Glamour is illusion. She can probably make herself invisible, and maybe she could even fool my sense of smell, but she vanished to my sorcerous vision, too. I don't think that's possible unless she literally, physically wasn't there anymore."

  "Translocation?" That was a mythical ability, one only adepts were supposed to be able to use, "We are so out of our league. If sidhe can do stuff like that, why can't they find the medallion themselves?"

  "I don't know."

  She caught herself heaving a great, huge, pity-party sigh. But if ever she was entitled to throw one, this would be the time. "I'm going to turn in," she said abruptly and turned to go, her personal mage light obediently tagging along.

  He caught her arm. "Cynna—"

  "Look, I'm not up to a heart-to-heart tonight. I know better, okay? You're lupus, and I understand what that means. I shouldn't have expected… well, anything. I know that. It doesn't help."

  His voice was tight, frustrated. "She glammed me."

  "Yeah. But you wouldn't see anything wrong with having sex with her. Only you've got it in your head you need legal standing over the little rider, so you're trying to convince me—"

  "I won't be with anyone else. You've my word on it."

  "You're not listening to me! I don't want you to squeeze yourself into some other shape. That won't work. It'll make you unhappy and you'll resent it and then we won't be friends any—"

  He blurred and she went flying. Flying backward, courtesy of him tossing her through the air. Before she landed, he'd spun back around and sent reality whirling.

  Cynna had seen lupi Change. She'd never seen Cullen do it, but she recognized the process. Still, what with landing hard on her ass and watching impossibility take slices out of Cullen's shape and whirl it into something new, it took her a second to see why he'd Changed.

  Something—two somethings—were climbing over the rail, silent as ghosts and blacker than the night around them.

  "Incoming!" she yelled and shot her mage light higher, slapping it with enough power to make it split into five spots of light.

  Slugs. That's what they looked like, though they were man-shaped with the usual arrangement of limbs. They were tall and moist in a way that had nothing to do with the river, and their faces were strictly ugh—lumpy and misshapen, noseless, with no chins below the puckered sphincters that had to be mouths, though they looked more as if someone had gotten confused during assembly and put assholes in their heads instead of their butts.

  Cynna took all that in while scrambling to her feet. She had a split second to glimpse some kind of harnesses on their chests before a huge red wolf launched himself at them.

  Cullen was unbelievably fast in man-form. He was even faster as a wolf. The slugs were fast, too—just not fast enough. One of them had time to draw a sword from the harness she'd glimpsed. The other didn't. The wolf ripped out its throat.

  A wordless shout went up behind her. She turned—and saw a pair of slimy black hands gripping the rail, drawing another slug up—but not yet over the rail.

  Her body knew what to do. She turned sideways, drew her right knee up to her chest, and snapped that leg out. Her foot slammed into the thing's head and she felt the impact all the way up.

  Slug-man felt the impact even more. With an ear-splitting shriek it fell backward into the river. The splash was drowned out by another yell. Cynna pivoted and saw another slug-man heading for her at an oddly gaited lope, a mean-looking blade in his hand, pursued by one of the guard. The guard—one of the two humans—shouted at her.

  Her charm whispered blandly, "Don't touch them. They exude poison."

  Now he tells her!

  Boots. She was wearing boots, so the poison hadn't gotten on her skin, but Cullen—"Hey!" she shouted at the guard. "Behind you!" Two more slug-men were racing at the guard's back. He whirled, leaving Tall, Dark, and Slimy free to swing his oversize knife at her.

  Cynna skipped back. Couldn't spare a second to see what was happening with Cullen and the other slug—this guy was fast. He lunged, making a weird cluttering noise with his misplaced anus, his blade weaving.

  Shouts. A shot—Steve must have joined the fray. Her own gun was in her stateroom, but it didn't matter. She'd used up her ammo on the dondredii.

  The slug-man lunged, and she hopped hack. Don't look at the blade. Look at the eyes. That's what she'd been taught, but this guy's eyes were solid black. She couldn't tell where he was looking, couldn't read him at all.

  The sword swished through the air where her gut had been. She leaned left just enough—but it had been a feint. The blade came back, and she almost overbalanced, dodging again—and tripped. On his dead buddy's foot.

  Cynna went down. Three feet of sharp steel flashed through the space where she'd been. And a wolf went sailing over her and over the sword, twisting in midair to close his jaws around the slug-man's throat, sending out a geyser of blood as the two of them hit the deck.

  She landed on her side, one arm pinned, the other searching for a piece of deck not covered by dead slug, slime, or blood to place her hand. Something grabbed that arm, flipped her onto her back, A dark body loomed ov
er her, reaching for her face with one glistening hand. Blood ran from a gaping wound on the thing's arm.

  An arrow suddenly appeared in its throat—feathered shaft poking out in front, pointy part sticking out in back. Hot blood speckled Cynna's face. The hand that had been reaching for her fluttered up as if to adjust the fit of the arrow decorating the creature's neck. Cynna scooted back, clearing the way for that body to fall.

  It landed across her left calf. She jerked her leg out, panting.

  Cullen-wolf stood over the one he'd just dispatched. His fur was heavily spattered with blood. It dripped from his muzzle. His lips were pulled back, baring his teeth, and a deep growl rumbled up from his chest.

  There was no one left to kill.

  Not all of the lumps Cynna saw on the deck belonged to slug-men. Two guards were down. As she watched, Steve Timms leaped over one of those motionless forms, racing toward her. Tash stood about thirty feet away, a bow in her hand. She was barking out orders that the remaining guard scrambled to obey—Get leather to protect your hand, fool, whispered Cynna's charm. Get those bodies overboard—fetch ash and salt—see what the hell happened to the tritons.

  Cynna wasn't listening. The huge wolf shook his head once, looked right at her, and his tongue lolled out in a doggy grin. Then he collapsed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Floating … thoughts breaking up, shutting down, sliding off into gray…

  I've got you.

  Huh?

  "… don't touch him!"

  "Where's the ash, dammit?"

  Something splashed.

  "Cullen? Oh, God… No! You can't have him!" That was Cynna's voice. He knew it, clung to it, through the haze dimming his mind. "Let go, or I'll—"

  "Don't touch him." He knew that voice, too… Tash. "He's got the poison on Mm."

  "My coat's leather. It will protect me."

  Was Cynna touching him? Why couldn't he feel it?

  Another splash. Funny. He could hear things going on but couldn't see anything, couldn't feel…

  A sigh. "You can't help him, girl. He's gone."

  "No! He can't be." Cynna again, stubbornness personified.

  She was right, though. He wasn't gone. He couldn't move, couldn't see or smell. He had no sense of his body whatsoever. None. He didn't understand what he was, but he wasn't gone.

  Tash's voice, very gentle: "His heart isn't beating."

  Well, hell. That couldn't be good.

  Footsteps, then: "I've got the salt and ash, but you're wasting it, using it on him."

  Cullen didn't recognize the speaker, but the man had used the Common Tongue. He noted that with a quiet corner of his mind. The spell was still working even though, technically, he was dead.

  Didn't feel dead. Where were the tunnel and the white light?

  "Give it to me. Ash neutralizes the poison, right? I need to get it cleaned off—"

  "It is too late, Cynna Weaver."

  Tash was probably right. He wasn't astral traveling. He'd done that twice, and this was nothing like it. His astral form still saw and touched… well, it wasn't the same kind of touching he did with his body, but there was a similar sense. Not this… nothingness.

  "He'll heal it," Cynna was saying stubbornly. "He can heal it. I just have to get the poison cleaned off."

  "Healing doesn't work on poison," Tash said in that gentle voice. "Only with wounds. That's why the obab are so feared. Nothing stops their poison. It's a… I don't have your word, but it paralyzes everything. The lungs stop working, the heart stops beating."

  "Lupi heal from poison. He can heal this. Dammit, Cullen!" Fury whipped her voice. "You will heal, you hear me?"

  Doing my best.

  Tash again. "It doesn't usually act this quickly. He must have swallowed some."

  "I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Who was—oh, Daniel Weaver. "You have to accept that he's gone."

  "No, but anyone who tries tipping him into the river will be. Steve, keep them back."

  "Got you covered," That was Steve's voice. "No one touches the wolf."

  "All right," Tash said, weary. "We'll leave him for last."

  "Hail, Mary, full of grace," Cynna whispered. "Our Lord is with you…"

  Cynna was praying for him? Couldn't hurt. Probably wouldn't help, but it couldn't hurt.

  Another splash. Cullen knew what the sound meant now—dead obab being dumped over the rail into the river. Maybe some of their own dead, too. Couldn't be environmentally sound, but he was more concerned with Tash's intention of doing the same with his body. He wasn't finished with it. He just had to figure out how to get connected to it again.

  "… for us sinners now and at the hour of our—our—oh, dammit, Lady! Bring him back! You can't have him! If you're real, if you want me as your priestess or whatever, bring him back!"

  At once he was all sensation. Pain. A giant had him in his grip and was trying to make lemonade from his chest. His ribs shuddered with the effort to draw in a breath. Alive hurt.

  "He's breathing! Look, he's breathing!"

  Scents flooded Cullen. His other vision came back, too, but dimly. He was about empty. He forced his eyes open… oh, yeah. He was still wolf, which meant his vision was black-and-white. And that was Cynna, her face shiny-wet, scrubbing at his fur.

  Damn fool woman! She was going to get the poison on her. He drew another breath, found the moon's song, and forced the Change.

  And oh, shit, but that really hurt. Took way too long, too. Changing always hurt. Changing away from earth and right after a cardiac arrest… well, he'd survived. "Stop," he whispered.

  "Stop?" She blinked damp eyes. "Stop what?"

  Crying, he nearly said. That would piss her off, knowing he'd seen her crying over him. His lips twitched at the thought.

  "Why did you do that?" She was kneeling beside him, her coat gathered carefully around her to keep her from touching any of the slime the assassins had left behind. Good. She wasn't completely stupid. Fear and joy and anger vied for control of her face… such an expressive face. Those tattoos she hid behind had never concealed her from him. "Why did you Change? You can't afford to waste your power that way. You need it to heal."

  "Got rid of the poison," Cullen pointed out in the whisper that was all he could manage. Whatever was on him—clothing, blood, poison—couldn't follow him through the Change.

  "Oh. Right." Her breath shuddered out. "God, but you scared me."

  Scared himself, too. His eyes were trying to close. Sleep sounded like a fantastic idea, but first… "Steve's here?"

  "Yes. He held them off with his gun so they didn't… we thought you were dead. Your heart had stopped."

  Tell me about it

  . "Need to tell him something."

  Hurt flashed across her face, but she motioned. A moment later Steve's face hovered over him. "Yeah, buddy?"

  "They were after Cynna," he whispered. His eyes were trying to close. "Targeted hit."

  "Don't worry," Steve said grimly. "I'm on it."

  Okay. Good. He'd just rest his eyes for a bit…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A hand stroked the hair back from Kai's face. A warm hand, warm as the body propping her up… Nathan. She lay on the ground, her back against his front, her legs curled to one side. She heard one of the horses stamp, a tail swish.

  The last time she checked in with her body, she'd been standing up.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, voice low and worried.

  Kai nodded. "That was… intense."

  She didn't move or speak for a few moments. Nathan didn't, either. He must have had questions, plenty of them, but he was more patient than she was. Once assured she was back and okay, he relaxed, content to wait until she felt ready to talk.

  "That's the longest I ever stayed in fugue," she said finally. "Not counting when I was little and got trapped there. This wasn't the same. I knew I could get out."

  "What happened?" he asked softly. "Your warning worked. I could see that much." />
  She and Nathan had been ready to turn in. She was getting used to sleeping rough, though she had wistful thoughts of mattresses most nights. Their sleeping bags were excellent quality, but the ground did not remind her much of a bed. Something had alerted him, some sound or stray scent—he hadn't been sure what it was. He'd gone to the river's edge, staring out at the barge.

  They'd gotten slightly ahead of it before stopping, knowing the barge would pull well ahead while they slept. Couldn't be helped, and they hoped to make up the time tomorrow. The river bent around some low, rocky hills up ahead; they'd be able to go straight and meet it around the bend. So the barge had still been upriver of them, but not by much.

  He'd seen or sensed the assassins. So had Kai—but her seeing wasn't like his. Or anyone else's. She'd seen the shapes and colors of their thoughts. She was, she reflected, becoming too familiar with the way the intent to kill shaped thoughts.

  She'd told Nathan she was going to warn the people on the barge, and she'd fugued.

  And now she didn't want to tell him what she'd done. He hadn't freaked over her other abilities, but this… "I guess I'm freaked by myself. I did something I could have sworn wasn't possible."

  He waited. Nathan wasn't one to use words unnecessarily.

  "Those—what did you call them? Obab? They went for the woman. You were right about the sorcerer. He's a lupus. I guess you saw that?" She hadn't exactly seen it happen. Unlike Nathan, she didn't have super-duper night vision, and the glow from a single mage light at a distance wasn't enough for her to make out much. But she'd seen his thoughts change.

  "They killed him," she said flatly. "Or as good as. I've seen animals die. I saw the dondredii die a few days ago. I know what it looks like—the way the thought bodies start to fade, to break up… I hated it! I couldn't just let him die, could I?"

  Nathan was startled. "You had a choice?"

  "He's lupus, so I thought… it seemed that if I could hold his thoughts together, keep him there a little longer, his magic would finish healing him." Now she twisted to look at him. "I didn't do it by myself."