The face of a skull stared at him, then walked away. Was I saved by the risen?
A heavy sack thudded next to his head. “Should keep you fed for a couple weeks. There are furs in there too, for warmth. Goodbye, Lavery.”
“Wait!” Lavery said, rolling onto his stomach. His entire body ached. He got to his knees, then to his feet. Laythe stood before what had once been a wall in which faces of sacrificial sorcerers were burned. Now it was a gaping hole leading into a snowy expanse filled with marching risen. “The crown,” he said, feeling for it atop his head.
“It fell off,” Laythe said. “It’s likely buried now.”
A blend of fury and confusion rose up within Lavery. He felt its burn in his chest and throat, like acid after a spicy supper. He had countless questions to ask and even more accusations to make—so many that his mind couldn’t possibly contain all of them. They spilled out of his mouth one after the other.
“You’re a necromancer,” he said, a stomp of his foot. “And a traitor! You’re a cheat! A swindler, a liar, a thief! You stole the crown. You stole it. That was my crown. Mine! You heard Baern, I know you did. He said only I was to wear it, only I was to command the dead.”
“And wear it you did,” Laythe said, expressionless in the face of Lavery’s verbal assault. From his pocket he revealed a violet gem. “It’s not the crown, boy. It was never the crown.”
Lavery’s nostrils flared. “What is that?”
“Fifteen thousand souls.”
“I… don’t understand.”
Laythe polished the gem with his thumb. “Dead things are useless unless bound, Lavery. Bind their souls to their bodies and you give them free will. I, of course, did not want that. I bound them to this gem. Whoever commands the gem commands the dead.”
Lavery’s mouth opened and closed. “But the crown…”
“The Twin Sisters had been after me for some time, long before they settled Silderine. They knew I had bound my risen to something, they just didn’t know what. They wanted to strip me of it, of my army. They thought they’d infiltrated my fortress with spies, but I knew those sleuths lurked about.
“I fed them false information, and they scurried back to the Twin Sisters, insistent it was the crown the risen answered to. When I—”
Lavery couldn’t help himself. A hundred questions ricocheted around in his mind. “Why wouldn’t you just kill the Twin Sisters instead of misleading them?”
He lifted a brow. “I’m not in the business of killing gods.”
“Gods? They’re—you weren’t lying, then? They were actually gods?”
“Gods don’t die, Lavery, not like you and me. You may kill them in the flesh, but they survive still in the thoughts of those who pray to them. Belief permits their existence, and with enough belief—with enough faith—they return to the flesh they so desire.”
Lavery felt himself shaking. He couldn’t decide if he was cold or simply scared.
“I needed to bolster my army,” Laythe said. “I went south, beyond the Sanctum Woods. I’d heard rumors of a cursed graveyard where souls had been imprisoned there, unable to depart for a restful sleep. I knew the Twin Sisters would hunt me; I did not think they would kill me. A miscalculation on my part.
“I had intended to leave the crown when I sensed the Sisters and Daughters coming, taking with me only the gem. They’d not hunt me if they came into possession of what they thought ruled my risen. Unfortunately, they sprung a trap that I fell into. Fortunately, I still possessed the gem. Imagine my surprise when I awoke five hundred years later.”
With a trembling finger pointed at the necromancer, Lavery said, “You… were dead?”
“It’s a wonderful feeling being alive again.”
“Why would someone, anyone, bring you back to life?”
Laythe shook his head, disappointed. “Use your mind, Lavery. Who could have awoken me? Who was the one person who not only had a connection to the restorative realm but also had a memory of my existence?” He stuck his chin out in a c’mon-now-you-can-get-this kind of way.
A realization struck Lavery like a fiery bolt of lightning. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Baern would never—”
“Yes,” Laythe said, “he would. And he did. I’m not an evil man, Lavery. Not as far as evil men go. The Keeper understood this. Even if I was evil, well—he needed me, you see. He knew dragons were coming. My risen would need to be called upon.”
Lavery bunched up his face. His complexion turned ruddy. “I was supposed to lead them. He told me as much!”
“He lied to you. Because he loved you. You were the only one he knew of who could retrieve the phylactery. I came to understand why he permitted your abduction—it was the easiest way to remove you from the throne and keep your powers unknown and secret.
“But he could not allow you to rule the dead. You’d be damned to an existence that’s not good for a boy like you. You’ll have to trust me.”
Grinding his teeth, Lavery stepped up to Laythe; he wished he was just as tall so he could go at him nose to nose. “The phylactery was useless! You had the gem. What could I—”
“Not useless,” Laythe said, nodding at Baern’s corpse. “It was the only way for the Keeper to pass and thus for the seal to be broken. I hope this brings you closure; that is a sincere hope, for I may be a necromancer, but I am not mad and deranged and emotionally void. I made a promise to the Keeper to ensure your safety, and I have fulfilled that promise. Goodbye, Lavery.”
Lavery lunged for the gem. “Give me that!”
Gynoth threw a palm into his chest, shoving him away. “Go, boy.”
Huffing now, with drool seeping from his mouth, Lavery unsheathed his sword—the one Elaya had told him never to unsheathe unless his life was in danger. “I said, give me that.” He charged Gynoth again, sword high above his head. Before he could swing it, a chilling warmth soaked into his shirt.
His face twisted and his blade fell to the ground. He looked at his belly at precisely the same time Gynoth pulled away with a bloody dagger in hand. A dagger that Elaya had given him, much like she had given Lavery that sword. This was her fault.
Gynoth regarded the weapon with distaste. He chucked it down the tunnel, a snarl on his lips. He watched Lavery for some time, until the boy fell to his knees in shock, his face paling and body convulsing.
With a disappointed shake of his head, the necromancer turned and waded once more into the far reaches of the North. He paused, taking in the empty, brutal landscape. Then, in a voice equal parts melancholy and pride, he said, “Your god has returned.”
Chapter Forty-One
Elaya had stopped rocking. That was progress. But she hadn’t much moved from her seat in the snow aside from peeing off the cliff. Her thoughts weren’t quite so dark now, though. Not so depressing.
No, she hadn’t drifted beyond the wretched plane of sadness and into one of more tolerable emotions. And neither was she struck with a lightning bolt of realization that she still had her life, her mercenaries, her future, and for that she should be thankful.
Her woes and crushing misery hadn’t actually fled; rather they’d been temporarily replaced by intrigue. She hadn’t, after all, expected to see a limp Lavery Opsillian in the arms of a risen.
And she most certainly had not expected to see cadaverous dragons looming behind the dead army. Those winged beasts vanished behind the twists and turns of Silderine’s pervasive mountains and crags.
“He killed ’em, obviously,” Paya said. She was one of four Eyes left. All the others had abandoned Elaya.
Elaya had just now realized an entire conversation had been taking place around her. For how long, she didn’t know.
“Killed the fookers and rebore ’em,” Tig said. “Or is that reborn? Adom, help me out.”
“I don’t know,” Adom said. He removed his wool cap, exposing his steamy baldness. “I’ve seen more unbelievable shit in the past week than I’ve seen in all my years prior. Supposed goddesses,
a bunch of dead bony bastards running around, a necromancer, Lavery Opsillian and whatever the piss he is. It’s all a bit much, if you ask me.”
“Don’t forget the dragons,” Kaun said.
“Right. How could I ever?”
Elaya stood, ushering in silence. Behind her, Tig watched cautiously, a hand ready to dart out and grab her in case she dashed for the edge. The Eyes were convinced she’d try to off herself soon.
She unsheathed her blade, walked to the sloped path off the hillside.
“Er,” Adom said. “Where you goin’?”
She kept her face aimed at the walls of Silderine, kept walking. “There’s nothing left for me here,” she said. “I want to see.”
Adom waited for the conclusion to that statement but never received one. He chased after her, and so too did Tig and Paya and Kaun.
“Wait up,” Adom called. “What’s there to see?”
“I’m not sure,” Elaya said, emotionally detached. “That’s why I want to go.”
Adom looked at Tig. The two shared an expression of raised eyebrows and shaking heads.
“Er, Elaya,” Tig said, “I think we’re on, uh, two different planes o’ existence right now. Our thoughts ain’t meshin’ with yours. We’re not real sure where you want to go.”
Snow began falling again from ubiquitous muddy clouds. It was a wet snow that seemed to cling to Elaya’s hair like fat, engorged lice.
“I remember,” Elaya said, each step off the hill slow but meaningful, “Enforcer Teriel calling it the forbidden beyond. I hated her, do you know that?”
“I’ve still no goddamn idea what she’s going on about,” Kaun said.
“Are you boys daft?” Paya asked. “She wants to follow the risen.”
Adom rolled his eyes. “Then why not just say so?”
“’Cause,” Paya explained, “she’s in shock. Ever been in shock? Your mind isn’t in the right place. It’s floating.”
“My mind ain’t never been floatin’,” Tig said. “Swimmin’? Sure. It’s gone swimmin’ a whole lot after throwin’ back some ale. But never floated. Dead things float.”
At the base of the hill, Elaya turned. She stabbed her sword into the snow, halfway up the shaft. “I am not in shock, and my mind is not floating.” She closed her eyes. The bags beneath threatened to rise up and swallow her lids. “I thank you four for staying at my side. I cannot convey with the appropriate emotions what that means to me—not now—but I appreciate you. Each of you. The Eyes of Aleer have died. You must know this.”
“We can rebuild,” Adom said.
“You four can. Not me. I have failed in every way imaginable. I failed as a Daughter. I failed as a lone adventurer. I failed as a mercenary. I failed as a leader. I have not one purpose left in life. I wish to die, and I will. But I’m too much a coward to jump or to slide steel across my throat.
“So I will venture into the forbidden beyond. If it’s as forbidden as Mistress Teriel insinuated, I will die there. Else, perhaps I’ll find a new purpose. Goodbye, Adom. Goodbye, Tig. Goodbye, Kaun. Goodbye, Paya. I love you all.”
She yanked her sword up from its snowy sheath. She sniffed and she nodded. Then, with a slow turn, she faced and started toward the yawning gate of Silderine.
“Like hell,” Adom spat, hurrying after her. “You think I’m going to let you alone see what no one else has seen in six hundred years?”
“Fat chance,” Paya said, joining him.
“If it’s forbidden,” Tig added, “it’s for me.”
With his arms crossed, Kaun watched from a distance. “Why do I do these things to myself?” he muttered. “Wait up, I guess.”
Elaya said nothing as the four mercenaries matched her step for step and passed into the empty city of Silderine. They came upon a tunnel shortly after.
“Tunnels in winter,” Adom said, shivering, “never a good thing.” A bitterly cold wind poured in and seemed intent on staying.
Elaya had seen the tunnel before as a Daughter, but she had never gone in. Doing so would have guaranteed her execution. Being in such a foreign and forbidden place should have chilled her bones, pimpled her arms. But the heavy burden of death she carried numbed her. Apathy, not the excitement of an undiscovered secret, settled into her chest.
But her slow-beating and aching heart thumped a little faster as she passed the last bend of tunnel. Blood tends to spike your emotions, even if those emotions are mostly eviscerated and few of them remain.
There were droplets at first, then squiggles not unlike those made from leaky paint down an artists’ canvas. The squiggles broadened into a pair of flattened, smashed brushstrokes the size of legs. It looked as if someone had been bleeding out and crawled away.
The brightness of a snowy wonderland sprayed inside from the obliterated seal at the very end of the tunnel. There, a crown moved. It moved because its wearer was dragging his bloodied body out of the cavern.
“Holy shit,” Adom blurted. “That’s—”
“Lavery!” Elaya shouted. She sheathed her sword and ran to the boy, dropping to his side. She put a hand on his back. “Lavery, what happened?” She saw his hand cupping his belly, blood trickling between his fingers. “Help me flip him.”
Adom got there first. He took one arm and Elaya took the other, turning Lavery onto his backside.
“Here,” Elaya said, gently moving his hand away, “let me see.” She made no expression when the raw, exposed wound presented itself—just in case Lavery was looking. “Dagger, went a quarter way in, it looks like. Adom, get me herb of the mother.”
Adom hurriedly searched the many pouches stuffed in his pockets. They’d brought plenty herb of the mother from Tactin’s Fist. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, fumbling with a pouch.
“Here,” Paya said, dropping to her knees. She patted down minced green herbs into Elaya’s palm.
“This might hurt,” Elaya said. “But it will keep the infection out.” She sprinkled some of the herbs into Lavery’s gaping wound, then packed in the rest—forcefully at times. Lavery, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch. “We need to wrap this. They keep linens in the dorms. Tig, carry him. Adom, Paya, come with me.”
Please don’t be another wrong decision, Elaya thought as she jogged back toward the tunnel entrance. Once outside and standing before the city proper again, she, Adom, and Paya scaled a couple short walls of ice and rock, pulling themselves up to the first dorm.
Elaya considered chancing a look at the fortress, just to be sure. But doing so would have bred doubt in her mind.
“Stay outside,” she told Adom and Paya. “If the fortress doors open, yell for me.”
“Wot ’bout me?” Tig hollered from below, cradling Lavery.
“Why are you still here? Get him to the camp!”
“You never bloody fookin’ told me nothin’,” Tig grumbled. “Just said carry ’im. So I carried ’im. And now—” His voice trailed off as he lumbered toward the gate.
Elaya flexed her fingers. Right, she thought, taking off into the dorm. A couple faint bands of snowy light filtered in, but it was mostly black inside. The candles had all burned out. Elaya didn’t need light, though. She got to her hands and knees, crawled around on the dirty floor.
The moment a stiff stalk of straw scraped her finger, she smiled. Every “bed” in the dorm was made from molded hay. At the top of each lay a folded sheet of linen. If a Daughter failed to fold her sheet before leaving the dorm, she could look forward to the whip.
Elaya grabbed the sheet, tucked it under her arm and bolted out of that despondent, horrific place.
“Let’s go,” she said, racing past Adom and Paya. The three departed Silderine as fast as their legs could carry them through thick, wet snow that’d piled up to their shins, which is to say not very fast.
Once they arrived at the campsite atop the hill, Elaya unfolded the sheet. She sliced it into a long strip that she wrapped tightly around Lavery’s abdomen several times.
“That sho
uld serve well until we reach Tactin’s Fist. There will be needles there, to stitch him, among other supplies. Saddle the horses.”
“That’s a two-day ride in not the most pleasant conditions,” Adom said. “I don’t know he’ll make it that long.”
Elaya booted snow onto the fire, squelching it. “He will,” she said, resolute. “Whoever stabbed him didn’t do it to kill. The dagger was perfectly placed and inserted shallowly enough that his organs will be fine.”
Tig lifted Lavery onto his saddle. Paya kept him secure while the hulking mercenary hefted himself up.
“If you say so,” Adom remarked. “I suppose you found that purpose you were looking for.”
“I suppose I did.”
The two mounted their horses. “What will we do with him?”
Elaya fluffed her hair out of her eyes. “I’m not sure. Maybe we’ll raise him.”
Adom chuckled. “Raise him? Like our own kid?”
“Yes. We can’t nurse him to health and then leave him, can we? And he’s not exactly kingship material, despite his birthright.”
“No, that he’s not. What are you smiling about?”
Elaya clapped the snow from her gloves and took hold of the reins. “Four mercenaries and a Wraith Walker.”
“What?”
“Aleer never did bless us much, so I’m kicking him from the team. We’re now Four Mercenaries and a Wraith Walker. What do you think?”
Adom blinked. “I think that’s a long bloody name. It needs work.”
“But?”
“But… oh, what the hell. Sure. How about we leave this place?”
Elaya took one last look at the eerie emptiness of Silderine. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Just hours ago, exhilaration had stirred Oriana into a frenzied emotional state of excitement and fear, sadness and joy. Now, she sat on the steps of the citadel inhaling the smoke of charred wood, coughing up the stench of burnt hair and flesh. A sobering sight, to be sure.
Sooty faced and with splinters of wood in his hair, Rol shuffled down the cobbles. “Gathered ’em all,” he said. “Twelve livin’, thirteen at rest.”
The Dragon Thief (Sorcery and Sin Book 1) Page 40
