He told himself he didn't need his stolen strength. He could hold a hostage down with his weight, and menace him with the lethal sharpness of his blade. He floundered after the necromancer with the maimed hand, but now the mage was the quicker and stayed beyond his reach.
Until a mesh of sticky cable abruptly materialized on top of Bareris, binding and gluing him to the ground. "I did it!" So-Kehur crowed. "I took him alive, just like you wanted."
"So you did," the other wizard gasped, rising unsteadily, "and now I'm going to kill the wretch." Using his intact hand, he fumbled in one of his scarlet robe's many pockets, no doubt seeking the talisman required to facilitate some sort of death magic.
Enfeebled as he was, it was difficult for Bareris even to turn his head. Still, praying she could help him somehow, he peered around for Tammith, only to see her slumped on the ground clutching at a bloody wound in her leg. An orc stood over her, spear aimed to stab her again if she attempted further resistance. Elsewhere, the creature's fellow guards had all but completed the task of catching and subduing the rest of the slaves.
Bareris would have taken any risk to rescue or protect Tammith, but those things were no longer even remotely possible. He had to escape alone now in the hope of returning for her later, if, indeed, he could even manage that.
Rapidly as he dared-too much haste and he might botch the casting-he started singing. Weak as he was, he felt short of breath and had to struggle to achieve the precise intonation and cadence the magic required.
His would-be killer seemed clumsy with his offhand and was possibly on the verge of sinking into shock from the amputation of his fingers. He was slow producing his talisman, but when he realized Bareris was attempting magic, he managed to snatch it forth, flourish it, and jabber hissing, clacking syllables in some foul abyssal tongue.
A thing of tattered darkness, with a vague, twisted face and elongated fingers, swirled into existence between the necromancer and the prisoner caught beneath the sticky net. The wizard pointed, and the shadow pounced.
At the same instant, Bareris completed his spell-song. The world seemed to shatter into motes of light and remake itself an instant later.
The greatest spellcasters could work magic to whisk themselves and a band of comrades hundreds of miles in a heartbeat. Bareris had seen it done. He himself had no such abilities, or he would have employed them to carry Tammith to safety as soon as he clasped her in his arms, but he had mastered a song to translate a single person several yards in a random direction. A desperation ploy that could, with luck, save a man's life after other measures failed.
Thus, he now sprawled on his belly a short distance away from his enemies and the slaves. As best he could judge, no one had spotted him yet, but somebody unquestionably would if he couldn't conceal himself within the next few moments. He tried to crawl, and with the curse of weakness still afflicting him, the effort was so difficult it made him sob.
Crouching low, the shadow-thing started to pivot in his direction. Then something grabbed him by the sword belt and yanked him backward.
CHAPTER SIX
26 Mirtul, the Year of Risen Elfkin
Mari Agneh rarely had much of an appetite, and this morning was no exception. She scraped the eggs, fried bread, and peach slices off her dish into the chamber pot then performed what had come to be a ritual.
First, she slid the edge of the knife that had arrived with breakfast across her forearm. The blade appeared sharp but failed to slice her skin. In fact, the length of steel deformed with the pressure, as if forged of a material soft as wax.
Next she gripped the spoon. It too was made of metal and had an edge of sorts. A trained warrior, striking in fury and desperation, should be able to hurt someone with it, but when she thrust it at her outstretched limb, she felt only a painless prod, and the utensil bent double.
That left the pewter plate. She slammed it against her arm, and it didn't even sting. It was like swiping herself with a sheet of parchment.
It was always thus. Every item that entered her prison immediately fell under the same enchantment, a charm that made it impossible for her to use it to hurt anyone, herself included. Strips of bed sheet and portions of the skimpy whorish costumes that were all she was given to wear unraveled as soon as she twisted them around her neck and pulled. Even the walls turned soft as eiderdown when she bashed her head against them.
She wondered how many more times she could perform her tests before accepting the obvious truth that her captor's precautions would never ever fail, before abandoning hope.
What would happen to her then? Would she let go of the last shreds of her pride? Of sanity itself? The prospect was terrifying yet perversely tempting too, for if she broke or went mad, perhaps the torments would be easier to bear. Perhaps Aznar Thrul would even grow bored with her. Maybe he'd kill her or simply forget about her.
She struggled to quash the weak, craven urge to yield and be done with it, then noticed the vapor seething through the crack beneath the door.
Mari's first thought was that some malevolent god had seen fit to grant the prayer implicit in her moment of despair, that Thrul, or one of his servants, was blowing a poisonous mist into the room to murder her. She didn't actually believe it. The zulkir hadn't shown any sign of growing tired of his toy, and she was certain that if he ever did decide to dispose of her, he'd at least want to watch her die. No, this was something else, which didn't make it any less alarming.
The vapor swirled together and congealed into a towering creature with purple-black hide, four arms, a vaguely lupine countenance, and a brand on its brow. Mari retreated and picked up a chair. Like every other article in her prison, the seat would fall to useless pieces if she tried to strike a blow with it, but perhaps the demon, if that was what the thing was, didn't know that.
Of course, it was ludicrous to imagine that such a horror might fear a nearly naked woman brandishing a chair in any case, but it was all she could think of to do.
The demon either smiled or snarled at her. The shape of its jaws was sufficiently unlike the structure of a human mouth that she couldn't tell which.
"Greetings, Tharchion," it rumbled. "My name is Tsagoth, and I've been hunting you for a while."
"I don't believe Aznar Thrul sent you," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "If he wanted you to molest me, he'd also want to be here when you did it. If I were you, I'd think twice about bothering me without his consent."
Tsagoth snorted. "You're right. I am here without the zulkir's permission, so scream for help if you think anyone will come. Let's get that out of the way."
It-or rather, he, for the hulking creature was plainly male- was right. She could try calling for help, but she wouldn't.
"No. No matter how bad it gets, I never beg the swine for anything."
Tsagoth's hideous grin stretched wider. "I like that."
His attitude didn't actually seem threatening. Rather, it was… well, something else, something anomalous.
Still wary, but increasingly puzzled as well, she asked, "You like what?"
"Your toughness. I know something of what you've endured, and I expected to find you ruined, but you're not. That will make our task easier."
"What task?"
"Killing Thrul, of course. Attaining your revenge."
She shook her head. "You don't look like you need help to kill anybody you take a mind to kill."
"You flatter me, Tharchion. I'm more than a match for most prey, but I'm not capable of destroying one of the most powerful wizards of your world. Nor, perhaps, is anyone, so long as he's on his guard and armored with his talismans, enchanted robes, and whatnot. But what about those occasions when he lays aside his staff, divests himself of his garments, and is enflamed and heedless with passion? Don't you think he might be vulnerable then?"
"You mean, you want to hide here and attack while he's… busy with me?"
"No, we can't do it that way, not when we don't know how many days or tendays it wil
l be before he next visits you. I'm supposedly a slave here in the palace. If I go missing, people will search for me, and even if they didn't, I imagine Thrul would sense a third party-a denizen of the Abyss, no less-lurking in your chamber. You'll have to be the one to kill him, and though I know little of humans, I suspect you'll prefer it that way."
"I would if it would work," Mari said, "but I don't see how it can. His magic prevents any object that enters the room from serving me as a weapon and limits me in other ways as well. If he gives me a direct order, I have no choice but to follow it." No matter how degrading. She felt nauseated at the memory of the laughter of the sycophants he'd brought to watch her perform.
"You won't need a weapon if you are the weapon," Tsagoth said, "and your puppet strings will break if you cease to be the sort of creature they were fashioned to control."
"You want to… change me?"
"Yes." Evidently the mark on his forehead itched, for he scratched at it with the claws on his upper left hand. "I'm a blood fiend. An undead. As vampires prey on humans, so does my kind prey on demons, and like vampires, we can, when we see fit, share our gifts and essential nature with others."
"But you normally transform other creatures from the netherworld, don't you?"
"Yes," Tsagoth said, "and to be honest, I don't know if it will work the same on you. You mortals are fragile vessels to contain the power I hope to give you. I can only tell you that he who summoned me cast spells to increase the likelihood of our success."
"Who are you talking about?"
"I'm forbidden to say. Someone who wants to help you avenge yourself. Does anything else truly matter?"
Mari frowned. "It may. I'm willing to risk my life. As a warrior, I did it more times than I can remember, but if I change into something like you, will I still be the same person inside? Will I keep my soul?"
The blood fiend shrugged. The gesture looked peculiar with four arms performing it. "I can't say. I'm a hunter, not a scholar of such esoterica, but ask yourself if this spark you mortals prize so highly is truly of any use to you. Does it make your punishments and humiliations any less excruciating? If not, what good is it compared to a chance for retribution?"
Maybe he was right, and even if not, it abruptly came to her that in all probability, he was going to transform her whether she consented or not. Ultimately, he was as much a slave as she was and had no choice but to carry out his master's commands. He was offering her the opportunity to agree because… she wasn't sure why. It seemed preposterous to imagine that such a being could like her or consider her a kindred spirit, but perhaps her initial defiance had elicited a measure of respect.
If so, she was glad to have it. It had been a long while since anyone, even the servant who brought her meals, had shown her anything but contempt. She didn't want to forfeit that regard by showing fear, by obliging him to treat her as victim and pawn instead of accomplice, and perhaps that was what ultimately tipped the balance in her mind.
"Yes," she said. "Make me strong again."
Tsagoth grinned. "You were never truly strong, human, but you will be." He clawed a gash into the palm of his lower left hand and held it out to her. "Drink."
His blood was like fire in her mouth, but she forced herself to suck and lap it anyway.
Bareris wasn't sure if he was a guest or a prisoner of the gnolls, and at first he was nearly too sick to care. So-Kehur's curse of weakness was to blame. Ordinarily such afflictions passed quickly, but the effects of arcane magic, partaking as it did of primordial chaos, were never entirely predictable, and maybe some lingering vestige of the illness from which Bareris had only recently recovered rendered him particularly susceptible. In any event, it had taken him well into the next day to start feeling any stronger at all.
Thus, when, guards shouting and cracking their whips, the caravan resumed its trek, he'd had no choice but to simply lie and watch, not that he could have prevented it in any case. Lie and watch as Tammith's captors marched her away into the gathering darkness.
Once the procession vanished, the gnoll who'd dragged him back into the low place in the earth, thus hiding him from the Red Wizards and their minions, rose, hoisted him onto its back, and headed north. A head taller than even a lanky Mulan, the creature with its hyenalike head, coarse mane, and rank-smelling spotted fur manifestly possessed remarkable strength and stamina, for its long stride ate up the miles without flagging, until it reached the rude camp-three lean-tos and a shallow pit for a fire-it had established with several others of its kind.
Evidently they were all out hunting and foraging, for as the night wore on, they returned one or two at a time with rabbit, edible roots, and the like, which they grilled all together in an iron skillet. Bareris's rescuer-or was it captor? — insisted that he receive a share of the meal, and while some of its comrades snarled and bared their fangs, none was as big or powerful-looking, and their display of displeasure stopped short of actual resistance.
When the sun rose, they mostly lay down to sleep, though one stood watch. When Bareris's strength started to trickle back, he wondered if he could take the sentry by surprise, kill it or club it unconscious, and flee while the other gnolls slumbered on oblivious.
If so, it might be prudent to try. Gnolls had a savage reputation, and it was by no means ridiculous to conjecture that eventually the hyenafolk meant to fry some bard meat in their skillet.
Yet he was reluctant to strike out at anyone who, thus far at least, had done him more good than harm, and his lingering weakness, coupled with his frustration over his failure to liberate Tammith, nurtured a bleak passivity. He simply lay and rested until sunset, when the sleeping gnolls began to rouse.
The big one walked over and peered down at him. "You better," he said. As his form was half man and half hyena, so was his speech half voice and half growl. If he hadn't possessed the trained ear of a bard, Bareris doubted he would have understood.
"I am better," he agreed, rising. "The curse is finally fading. My name is Bareris Anskuld."
The gnoll slapped his chest. "Wesk Backbreaker, me."
"Thank you for hiding me from my enemies."
"Hide easy. Sneak around humans and stinking blood orcs all the time. They never see." Wesk laughed, and though it sounded different, sharper and more bestial than human laughter, Bareris heard the bitterness in it. "Or else they kill. Not enough gnolls to fight them. Not enough singer, either. Crazy to bother them like you did."
Bareris sighed. "Probably."
"But brave. And fight good. Like gnoll."
"That's high praise. I've seen your people fight." No need to mention that he'd witnessed it during his wanderings and had been fighting on the opposing side. "Was that the reason you rescued me?"
"Help you because you chop fingers of Red Wizard."
"Did he wrong you somehow?"
Wesk snorted. "Not just that one. All Red Wizards. Gnoll clan fight in legion. Wesk's father. Father's father. Always. Until Red Wizards say, no more war. Trade now. Then they make blood orcs and say blood orcs better than gnolls."
Bareris thought he understood: "To save coin, someone decided to reduce the size of the army, and you and your clan brothers were discharged."
"Yes. Just hunters now. Robbers when we can. Not fair!"
"On the ride north, I heard that Thay's at war with Rashemen again. The legions of Gauros and Surthay are looking for recruits."
"Recruits?" Wesk snarled. "Crawl back to take orders from blood orcs? No!"
"I understand. It's a matter of pride." A mad thought came to him. "If you won't serve a tharchion, what about working for me?"
Wesk cocked his head. "You?"
"Why not? I can pay." In theory, anyway. In fact, most of his wealth was in his sword belt and purse, which the gnolls had already confiscated, but he'd worry about that detail when the time came.
"To kill Red Wizards? Want to, but no. Told you, gnolls too few."
"I understand we can't wage all-out war on them, but we
can make fools of them, and maybe it will involve bleeding an orc or two along the way."
Wesk grunted. "Everyone needs to hear, but some not talk your talk. I… " He hesitated, evidently groping for the proper word.
"Translate? No need." Bareris sang softly, and the growling, yipping conversations of the other gnolls abruptly became intelligible to him. While the enchantment lasted, he would likewise be able to speak to them in their own language. "Let's gather everyone up."
The impromptu assembly convened around the ashes of last night's cook fire, and Bareris found that the unwashed-dog smell of gnoll was markedly worse when several of the creatures gathered together. Some of the hyenafolk glared at him with overt scorn and hostility, some seemed merely curious, but with the possible exception of Wesk, none appeared cordial or sympathetic.
But a bard had the power to make good will flower where none had existed before, and as he introduced himself and spun his tale, he infused his voice with subtle magic to accomplish that very purpose.
Yet even so, he wondered if a story of a loved one in peril could possibly move them. If gnolls were even capable of love, they'd never, so far as he knew, permitted a member of another race to glimpse any evidence of it. On the other hand, they were tribal by nature. That suggested something approximating a capacity for affection, didn't it?
In the end, perhaps the person he moved the most was himself. Spinning the story made everything he'd experienced acutely, painfully real, and when he told of seeing and touching Tammith only to lose her again immediately thereafter, it was all he could do to keep from weeping, but he couldn't allow the gnolls to think him a weakling.
He ended on a note of bitter anger akin to their own: "So you see how it's been for me. I undertook what should have been a simple task, especially considering that I was willing, nay, eager, to reward anyone able to help me, but I met contempt, betrayal, and bared blades every step of the way. Now I'm done with the mild and reasonable approach. I'm going to recover Tammith by force, and I want you lads to help me."
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