A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy)

by Eisenhardt, Leighmon

  Marcius's head still spun and his thoughts were scattered, unable to hold on a single subject for any extended period of time. It was like attempting to catch water in a net and sitting on the cold ground did little to remedy it. His ears rang as a creeping lethargy spread throughout his body.

  The hours ticked away in an agonizingly slow fashion. Somehow, Jared had managed to fall asleep and Marcius's wits slowly returned, but unlike his friend, no sleep found him. How could that blonde idiot sleep when they were in a camp with bandits, not knowing if they would be killed tomorrow?

  Marcius?

  Faerril?! Where were you? Are you okay? Marcius felt guilty. With everything that had happened, he had forgotten about his tiny other half. Despite everything, he felt his confidences soar, emboldened by simply hearing the comforting voice in his head.

  I could say the same to you, Marc. Your mind was like scattered birds, and we were cut off from each other. I can gnaw through the rope, you know. I'm right at the edge of the forest, about. . . and Faerril paused, and Marcius felt a bit of confusion from the wyvrr, I'm not sure about measurement, but I am to your right. Should I help?

  What? Why? Do you not see the huge hulking idiot watching us? Anyway, your invisibility will drop the moment you try anything. It was true. Due to some arcane law, invisibility lasted only as long as one remained an impassive observer. Offensive action seemed to interfere with such a spell, causing it to fail.

  Marcius glanced up at oggron, who was barely more than an arm's length away, sharpening his sword with methodical patience. The orange of the nearby firelight illuminated the one side of the rough gray face, the forceful jaw sternly set as it concentrated on the task at hand.

  Where is Alicia? Perhaps we can work together with her familiar? We can't stay here, Marc! They will kill you, and I can't allow that!

  She's back in the tent, trying, I think, to barter for our lives. Just stay put, for now. We don't have any choice but to trust in her, these guys know what they are doing, and they are all looking out for you, Faerril, and I don't know what I would do if I lost you.

  Instantly he felt a surge of emotion, no doubt from the wyvrr. It was a mixture of thankfulness, pride, and. . . love? It came as a whirlwind, throwing itself strongly in his face then ebbing away slowly, like a tide. His breath was lost somewhere in between. Then a silence that seems to stretch on forever with a sense of strangeness, but it was a comfortable awkwardness, one that Marcius now basked in.

  Finally, the wyvrr found its words. Thanks, Marc. I. . . feel the same. I will wait. . . for now. But if it looks like you might die, I will intervene. The determination he felt from the tiny creature, a strong sense of purpose, was something foreign to Marcius.

  Intervene? No offense, I am flattered, but what could you do?

  Nothing but silence.

  Faerril?

  Long moments passed. Still nothing. It was obvious that the conversation was now over. Had he offended the tiny creature? He worried it might be so. Marcius felt alone and so small right now. Some great wizard he was. He wished he could be as brave as Jared and Alicia.

  Please, please, Alicia, he pleaded silently into the still night, pull through for us.

  He didn't want to die.

  ❧　❧　❧

  "You'll what?" The bandit lord's face twisted in a confused grimace.

  Alicia didn't know whether to be offended or relieved. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her entire body was shaking uncontrollably. It was a trial to keep it under wraps. "I said the barter I offer is myself."

  Aly. . . you don't want to do this. I KNOW you don't want to do this!

  Alicia imagined that she must have worn a grimace on her face right now, because she wore one internally. Last thing she needed was Karhol wearing away her resolve, what little of it she managed to work up. Karhol, do you have a better option? It's the only way out that I can see. This guy doesn't like wizards, that much is obvious.

  But—

  No 'buts', Karhol. I do what needs to be done. If this is the only option, then so be it. You know that. Hell, you are a part of me. You should know that! The only chance we have is to appeal to the basic side of him, one not concerned with titles and professions. If he can see me as a woman and not as a wizard. . . well he IS a man.

  Aly. . . the familiar's cry was faint, and tugged on her heartstrings, but no further argument came from the raven.

  "What makes you think I want a wizard?" the man's question forcibly grasped Alicia back into reality. "Especially since, even if you are right, I could just make you to have me? I do hold all the power right now."

  Alicia drew in a ragged breath, this was the part she had been expecting, but she didn't know if she had the courage to answer it. It was a shot in the dark, at best. But there must have been something beyond his tough exterior, because he was listening, instead of the myriad of other options he held, such as killing her.

  She had to pick her words carefully, with just the right mixture of truth and ego padding. "I don't think you are that type of man."

  That seemed to catch the bandit lord's attention. His eyebrow rose and his voice was insistent, though the expression guarded. "And what sort of man do you think I am? Do I look like one that would take advantage of a woman?"

  Alicia shook her head. "No one is being taken advantage of. It is a simple deal. One night in exchange for our freedom. You can keep the spoils of this encounter and the fact that you had me would allow you to save face with your men. All I ask is that you allow us to walk. We won't pursue vengeance, in reality we just want to reach the Academy."

  The man rubbed his chin, seemingly deep in thought, though he continued to stare at her with those cold blue eyes as if sizing her up.

  The waiting was just the worst part. If his answer was positive, she would have to bed him, something she promised she would never do for self gain. Not again. Yet here she was doing it. And if the answer was negative, well then she would probably be dead come the morning.

  "You didn't answer my question. What type of man do you think I am?" he said softly, breaking Alicia from her trance. He was barely an arm's length from her, and she could hear his steady breathing, feel his indomitable presence.

  She swallowed realizing just how barely she was skirting the precipice of disaster. She silently admitted that he was handsome, in a rugged manly sort of way, but this still wasn't something she was looking forward to.

  Hurriedly her mind raced. What to say?

  Finally she decided on the truth as the best course of action. "Type of man you are?" The bandit lord had to lean forward a bit to catch her words. "A lonely one."

  He just kept staring at her with those terrible eyes! If it wasn't for the sharp intake of breath, Alicia would have thought that perhaps the man had not heard her proclamation. But he had, he most certainly had, and the fact so far nothing had come of it was somehow worse than if he had went on a livid warpath. Alicia had to force herself to stare back, to not betray the twisting knots within the pits of her stomach.

  After what seemed an eternity, the man lifted his hand, with a speed somewhere between fast and careful he brought it up to her face. Alicia counted her blessings that she had not flinched in surprise. Slowly his fingers traced a trail from the side of her cheek to the bottom of her chin, the rough calluses on the finger tips sending goose bumps all over her body.

  His hand flashed out and gripped the nape of her neck hard, intertwining between the soft bronze locks, forcing her forward into a rough kiss. His lips were strong, yet surprisingly soft and yielding, but nonetheless burned with purpose. He was searching for something, something he intended to find from her. It was totally unexpected and only the trepidation she felt kept her from gasping from alarm.

  It started off rough, but there was an intense question behind it. She had never been kissed like this, but the context of why it was being delivered kept her from enjoying it. "Gregory," he whispered when at last their lips parted, mostly for breath
than anything else.

  "Wha. . . ?" her world was swirling and it was all she could manage to speak while holding onto him. Somehow her hands had entwined themselves in the rough leather of his armor, and she found herself staring into his face, and even more terribly, his eyes.

  "I accept your bargain, and I would have you know the name you will be crying out tonight." With that promise and a feral grin, he kissed her again as his one hand went up to undo her shirt and the other smothered the flame dancing from the lamp, bathing the tent in darkness.

  ❧　❧　❧

  It was the crisp morning dew that woke Jared up. The feeling of bone-chilling dampness penetrated along the edges of his pants, and made them stick uncomfortably to his skin. He opened his eyes and then immediately wished he hadn't, because a sharp throbbing pain erupted behind his temples, sending starbursts of light to flash on the edges of his vision.

  Every muscle in his body felt exactly as one would expect from a night of sleeping on cold damp ground while being tied to a hard wooden pole. The gag dug into the corners of his mouth, and a disgusting crust of dried saliva caused his lips to crack painfully when he tried to work his tongue around the cloth to wet them.

  In other words, he felt terrible.

  It took him a couple of minutes to get his bearings, but eventually the sharp throbbing in his head subsided into a manageable steady drone and he was able to concentrate on other matters which required his attention. Like the complete loss of feeling in his hands. Jared tried every conceivable way to loosen the bindings, to get circulation into his fingertips. He wiggled this way, he tugged that way, and he struggled all around, but none of it worked.

  The oggron had been diligent in his duties and there was no way Jarrod could even fathom getting free. The best he could manage was to shift the distribution of weight to where it wasn't, relieving at least some of the strain on his hands and midsection. Inwardly, Jared took a weird sense of satisfaction that he had managed to fall asleep last night despite everything that had happened, but it still didn't change the fact that he was stuck in this uncomfortable position.

  Frustrated, he set his head back on the pole and stared longingly at the gray sky above. A bit of movement along the left edge of his vision brought to his attention that he wasn't alone, something which he must have missed during his preoccupation with being tied up. Slowly he turned his head, and right before him, sitting on a log next to the fire that had, whether by plan or circumstance, kept Jared and Marcius warm during the cold night, was the very oggron that had tied him to the pole in the first place. Jared felt a surge of fear at the sight, which also made him wonder if Alicia had managed to bargain with the bandit leader. Judging from the intense glower he received from the oggron, the beast wouldn't mind being the one to execute him and Marcius. What he wouldn't give to have a sword in his hands right now. . .

  Marcius! The thought caused an intense chill to run down his back. Dreading what he would see, Jared then shifted his head to the right, to where Marcius was tied up. He took note that his friend's eyes were closed, and for just a second, entertained the illogical notion that perhaps something tragic had happened before the telltale rise and fall of his friend's chest soothed those fears. He was only asleep! Breathing a sigh of relief, Jared returned his attention back to the sky. All he could do was sit and wait while a myriad of thoughts swam drunkenly about his head.

  Judging by the slowly brightening sky, an hour or two had passed when the sound of footsteps roused Jared from his withdrawn stupor. A red haired man had arrived, and leaning over, seemed to be intently whispering some instructions to the oggron. Somehow, and Jared didn't think it was a physically possible, the oggron's scowl only grew more twisted with each passing second. Whatever the man was telling him, the grey skinned beast didn't like it.

  Finally, after seemed an eternity, the oggron gave a snort of anger and stood up, leaving the red-haired man alone with Marcius and Jared. Smirking in apparent victory, the man stepped up close to Jared, as if scrutinizing him. Jared stared back. After a bit, the man pulled out a thin strip of cloth. "Congratulations," he said, reaching over to wrap the cloth around Jared's head and eyes, ignoring the flinch of surprise from Jared. "Seems as if the Boss accepted your friend's deal, so you and your friends get to go free. Consider yourself fortunate, we're not usually so nice. The woods are littered with the skeletons of our past victories. Literally. Oh, and understand the blindfold is for our safety, and yours."

  At that, the now blinded Jared could feel the ropes tying him to the pole being undone, the tingling and burning sensation of circulation pulsing throughout his body at the newfound freedom. Yet the bindings keeping his hands together remained. "Again, for security." The man tugged at the ropes on Jared's hands as if reading his mind. Jared's ears picked up the presence of yet another person, and judging by the sounds, they seemed to be rousing and untying Marcius.

  Relief flooded through him. They must be god-blessed to escape such an encounter intact! What deal had Alicia struck? Stumbling, he allowed himself to be led toward what he hoped was freedom. Freedom! Ah, what a noble concept! One never appreciated such things until the threat of being denied them was so very real.

  ❧　❧　❧

  Gregory held his hand up to his face, shielding the early morning sun from his eyes. The musty scent of moist morning earth rose up and about the air. Off in the distance, three figures, all walking, could be seen wearily picking their way through the trail. No one would have expected that two of those figures were wizards. Hell, he would have never thought that only a few hours ago they had been his prisoners. It was even harder wrap his mind around the fact that he had let them go.

  He felt euphoric, glowing even. The previous night had rejuvenated him from many, many nights spent in solitude. The wenches in the cathouse in Harcourt couldn't hold a candle to the performance of that woman last night. He didn't fool himself into thinking it was anything more than physical release, nothing more than an outlet for his ardor, but it became a shelter from his loneliness.

  That woman, that wizard, had done something for him that he could have never guessed was possible. It was such a simple act, really. But it was a simple act not readily available to someone in his position. And it was so easy for him to write it off as a meager deal, and the guilt that should have accompanied such an act simply did not exist.

  Time and circumstance had done much to wear down that armor called conscience.

  He could still see her writhing on top of him, still hear the deep simultaneous breathing with every rocking motion, and the sweat that had clung to the contours of their bodies. That would be a mental image he would treasure. The best part about the whole ordeal? It gave him a valid excuse in the eyes of his men to let those wizards go. He could still hold onto that part of him that wished he was still that honorable knight, one looked upon and revered. Lewdness was perhaps the one defining trait in all men who skirted the law; they would merely clap him on the shoulder for such an action.

  Anyway, his band still had all of the spoils from the raid. The wizards had come prepared for their journey with a bit of gold, enough to quiet the few people who might have grumbled about the possible risk of allowing survivors.

  To kill people in cold blood, to kill people who couldn't defend themselves. . . Well, that was the one thing he had yet to do, other than that wizard many years ago. But that was a valid exception, or at least that is what he told himself.

  "So Boss," Rorian said, coming up to stand next to him. Both of them were standing on the lip of the forest, where the trees became thinner and smaller, eventually melding gently into the flat, expansive rolling hills of the Golean plains. "Was she worth it?"

  Gregory's mind flashed to the previous night, images of skin and curves laid siege on his mind. It was an easy question to answer. "Yes," then, because it was a valid concern he added, "and there was another reason to let them go."

  "Oh?"

  "Do you know that blonde one? T
he one who wasn't a wizard?"

  Rorian nodded, he did. Gregory let the thought settle a bit before continuing. "Well, what would you say if I told you that blonde man was the son of the Bloodhound?"

  The man rocked back on his heels, obviously surprised. "I would ask why you didn't kill him. Surely the lands would be a bit friendlier to those of our profession if it was denied one sired from the loins of that man."

  Gregory chuckled, off in the distance the trio was barely more than a pinprick. Both Rorian and Gregory wordlessly turned back on their own accord to go back to camp. "Don't you see, Rorian? That is precisely why I couldn't kill them." The look on the man's face was questioning, so Gregory elaborated. "Think about it, my friend. Last thing I want is to make a personal enemy out of the Bloodhound, something which killing his son would most assuredly do. If you think that man is tenacious now. . . "

  "Well couldn't you. . . I don't know. . . just keep it a secret?"

  Gregory snorted. "Keep it a secret? Nothing that gets swept under the rug stays there. The bigger the lump, the easier it is to spot. I'll not have that man's death under my rug. For all I know, he could be on a personal errand for his father. Let something else bring the boy down, I'll not do it."

  They were navigating through the underbrush now, toward the camp. Green branches, tinted lightly with the coming autumn, slapping them in the face. "So, when did you realize this?" Rorian asked, fast stepping because his shorter strides made it a bit difficult to keep up with Gregory.

  "When? Probably about halfway through the questioning. Sleeping with the female wizard was just a rather convenient excuse, bit more fun than the alternatives. I'll let her think she saved them all."

  "That good, eh?" Rorian threw him a wink.