The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Seizing his opportunity, Tae moved in, drawing up beside her. “Let me guess.”

  The Pudarian stiffened, spinning to face him in a deadly crouch. A moment later, she shook aside the unevenly cut curtain of hair, attempting an air of casual disinterest surely meant to convey she had noted but chosen to ignore his approach.

  “When the guards came to get Perlia, you were robbing her stand. They mistook you for her, and you played along to avoid punishment.”

  Apparently, Tae had struck too close to home for her to deny it. She stuck out her lower lip. “How’sit your bizniss?”

  Tae did not bother to address the rhetorical question whose answer they both knew. “What’s your hanno?” The Pudarian street slang meant the nickname used by gang members. Months in Pudar, outcast by his friends, learning roadways like a map had left Tae with a savvy he never thought he would use.

  “Hain’t got no hanno. Hain’t no ganadan.” She used the word for gang member, sidestepping beyond Tae’s reach and still clutching the dagger menacingly.

  Assessing the girl’s competence by the few movements she had made with the weapon, Tae found her wanting. Though acutely aware of the unpredictability of the untrained, he trusted himself to evade any attack she might make against him. “Only a streeto, a street orphan, would know to say ganadan.”

  “Ya hain’t no streeto,” she grabbed a handful of hair to keep it from falling into her eyes. “An’ ya knows ganadan.”

  “Eastern streeto.” Tae indicated himself.

  The Pudarian made a sound that resembled spitting, though nothing left her mouth. “Ya hain’t no streeto.” She fluttered her fingers through the air to indicate his dress and demeanor, then repeated for the third time. “Ya hain’t no streeto.”

  “Used to be.” Tae smiled gently. Ra-khir’s tough stance may not have driven a frightened girl into Tae’s confidence, but he had at least gained Tae a chance to talk. “Things have changed for me. They can for you, too.”

  The Pudarian snorted. “Maybe I hain’t wantin’ change.”

  Tae refused to argue. The gangs considered themselves families, especially in Pudar; but the lone streetos universally despised their lives.

  “An’ my name’s Rascal,” she added.

  “Sounds like a hanno to me.”

  “Hain’t. ’S my real name.”

  Tae doubted it but saw no need to argue. “Look, you’re stuck with us for the moment. When we get back to Béarn, I’ll explain the mix-up and see that you go free. And get safely back to Pudar.”

  She glared, the look incongruous with the generous assistance he had just offered. “I hain’t sleepin’ with ya.”

  “What?” The word was startled from Tae.

  “I ha’dly sleeps, and if’n ya tries to rape me, I’ll kill ya.”

  “We’ve got a Knight of Erythane in the group. No one’s going to rape you.”

  “Hain’t never met a raper who sayed he’s goin’ ta, least not till he’s got ya trapped.” She continued fiercely, “An’ the ones what try ta ack holy and mighty’s the worsest of the bunch. Bin attact by priests, I has.” Her scrutiny turned as savage as her tone. “He hain’t survive nuther.”

  Kevral interrupted the discussion. “Tae, there’s a path down this way.” She made a vague motion toward the opposite end of the clearing. “We’re all thinking we should head that way. You want to scout ahead?”

  “Sure.” Tae sighed, abandoning his new charge for a mission that needed him more. Barely off the streets, and I’m already trying to save the world. He trotted off in the indicated direction. “By the way, her name’s Rascal, and we’d better curb our tongues and our battles. We hain’t got no healer.”

  “We what?” Kevral’s voice trailed Tae into the shadows.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Price of Understanding

  All the knowledge of the universe is worthless without the wisdom to wield it.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  THE close dampness of the forest dragged sweat from Darris, and he sought to capture every sight and aroma in perfectly remembered detail. Insects buzzed past his ears, occasionally alighting to feast on his blood. Ra-khir seemed to bear the worst of the assault, his leather gloves slapping against flesh with rapid regularity. Surely the layers of clothing, mail, and padding had grown dangerously warm as well, though he suffered without complaint.

  Tae disappeared and returned at intervals to lead them in another direction, just as he had when they broke trail through the Westland forests. The elves trailed in silence, though Darris paused to wonder whether they communicated with one another through singular khohlar. He tried not to focus on the thought too long. To do so would incite it to an interest that required satisfaction. Too many more significant questions faced them to worry for trivialities that, ultimately, would have no effect upon the mission nor his chronicling of it. He saw no sign of Rascal. No one else appeared to notice, aside from Tae who mumbled something about foolish loners.

  Andvari approached Kevral as they walked, his usual warrior composure disappearing, Darris realized now, whenever he drew near the Renshai. His hands twisted together, fingers blanching beneath the pressure, and the smile he assumed seemed strained. For several moments he paced her, until Kevral finally abandoned her search for enemies to glance in his direction.

  “I just wanted you to know,” the Northman said carefully, “I bear you no ill will for being . . . well, you know.”

  Kevral’s eyes narrowed. “Being what?”

  Andvari’s fair cheeks showed a scarlet flush quite clearly. “Being . . . well, being of the Renshai . . . type . . . people.” He finished lamely, with obvious difficulty.

  Darris knew that, historically, the Renshai had once lived among the other nine tribes of the North, hated for their savagery and for dismembering enemies. At the time, Northern religion had supported the notion that a body not brought to pyre intact could never enter Valhalla. Eventually, the Northmen had slaughtered all but a few of the Renshai, and the tribe had taken centuries to recreate itself in the West.

  “Ill will?” Kevral blinked with unhurried deliberateness. “I should hope not.”

  “Of course not,” Andvari fidgeted more, if possible.

  “Well,” Kevral said, surely impatient to continue her vigil. “Did you have something more you wanted to talk about?”

  Andvari glanced at the trees that had thinned from towering deciduous varieties to first growth. “No. That was all.”

  Kevral did not wait for his response before returning her attention to the surroundings. When Andvari wandered to the back of the party, she shared a smile with Darris. “Renshai type people?”

  Darris shrugged. “Be gentle with him, Kevral.” He broke into song:

  “The wars in the North have barely ended;

  Svartalf-stirred prejudice finally tended.

  Their hatred for Renshai much older and stronger—

  Getting past that might take a bit longer.”

  Apparently, Ra-khir overheard. “It’s been centuries, Darris.”

  “Time apart can heal the wounds

  The pain grows lesser with the moons

  But nearness allows the two to learn

  The samenesses that take their turn.”

  “I think you mean that distance hasn’t allowed Northmen and Renshai to work out their differences.” Ra-khir gave the bard a sidelong look. “That’s about the worst job I’ve heard from you.”

  Darris took no offense. “Close enough. You try composing rhymes and tunes instantaneously.”

  Tae appeared from a copse of trees to their right. “Just don’t ask him to interrogate anyone.” He spoke directly to Ra-khir now. “You’re impressively pathetic.”

  “Oh, dear,” Ra-khir returned in mock self-deprecation. “You’ve destroyed my long-worked-for dream to become a torturer.”

  “Sarcasm,” Tae said, “doesn’t become you.”

  “My father will be so disappointed.” Ra-khir examined
Tae through judgmental, green eyes. “Now, explain why you told me to act like a boorish dolt. I trusted you to have a good reason, and you’d best.”

  Darris winced, worried for the dangerous line Tae paced. Another verbal jab now might turn a playful exchange into warfare.

  Apparently, Tae, too, recognized the edge of threat that had entered Ra-khir’s tone. He became appropriately serious. “You handle the royalty. Trust me to deal with the underclass.”

  Ra-khir pursed his lips, nodding at the reasonability of the request. “If it means you’ll follow my lead in situations requiring respect and finesse, I can live with challenging strangers now and again.”

  Darris guessed at Tae’s strategy. Street rogues rarely trusted, and then only ones of their ilk. By placing Rascal into apparent jeopardy, Tae had hoped to drive her to confide in him.

  Kevral finally joined the conversation, addressing Tae. “So where is she now? Listening to every word?”

  Tae shook his head. “She headed west and hasn’t circled back. Seems to be trying to put as much distance between us as possible.”

  Andvari paced the polite boundaries of the discussion, clearly feeling misplaced. The elves waited with their usual silent patience, sun glinting from gemlike eyes.

  Kevral shook her head. “How in deepest Hel did Béarn’s guards confuse a grubby little sneak-thief with a merchant healer?” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she shook her head again.

  Tae shrugged. “They found her where Perlia should have been, probably taking money. Rascal got desperate. Just because she doesn’t speak well doesn’t mean she can’t. Probably kept her replies brief, went along.” He made a gesture of dismissal that implied the details held no significance and would probably never come to light even if they did. “It happened.”

  Darris could not help surmising: Confronted by burly Béarnide guardsmen, a frightened thief might adopt another’s persona to avoid rotting in the dungeon—or worse. Depending on the seriousness of the transgression, or the previous history of the thief, Pudarian law allowed for mutilation or death.

  Tae moved on. “None of this matters. We’ll ditch her when we get back. Or here.”

  “She’ll have to face Béarn’s justice.” Ra-khir clung to his honor. “And return anything she’s taken.”

  Tae ignored the knight. Surely he knew arguing would accomplish nothing, so he changed the subject instead. “I doubt we’ll find the Pica shard by aimless wandering.” He looked at the elves. “Can you find it with magic?”

  Chan’rék’ril shook his head, soft hair fluttering around sharp features, then glanced at El-brinith. A single crease appeared around his eyes, and the edges of his lips barely wilted. The female spoke then, “Depending on how tightly Captain wove the Pica and our presences into the sending, we might.” Though she had included Chan’rék’ril by using the plural pronoun, she sought no assistance from him, settling amidst the shed needles and moldering leaves on the forest floor. Belatedly, Darris thought to offer his blanket, realizing as the consideration rose that she would refuse it. Centuries on a world without weather or the need for shelter made elves far more comfortable among natural than among man-made constructs.

  El-brinith clamped her hands around her thinly hammered leather boots, rocking in a graceful rhythm, eyes closed. For several moments, Darris stared in fascination. After a while, Tae, Ra-khir, and Kevral moved away so that their conversation would not interfere with El-brinith’s efforts. Darris found himself incapable of joining them, worried to miss an instant of magic rarely performed in a human’s presence. He would not, could not, miss this for anything.

  Suddenly, El-brinith belted out several strident gutturals. Though prepared for anything, Darris stiffened, heart rate unstoppably brisk. He drew a deep breath through his nose, loosing it with a slowness designed to calm. The maneuver brought no reprieve. Though the surprise lessened, the excitement of learning kept his heart beat uncomfortably quickened and a tingle dancing through his chest.

  Then, as quietly as she had prepared, El-brinith rose. No great flash of light, no illusions, and no sound announced her new knowledge, but she pointed a long finger toward the southeast. “It’s about three hundred lengths in that direction.”

  Darris glanced behind him to alert the others, but they had already come.

  Tae went straight to matters of security. “What else is there?”

  “No way to know.” El-brinith did not bother to look at Tae as she spoke. “Could be nothing or an army of nine hundred. General direction and distance is all I can get, and just once per world. And that’s only because Captain bound well.”

  Darris believed he caught something in her tone or, perhaps, in a mental sending that accompanied the words. It bore the suggestion that the competence of Captain’s fusing might prove as much detriment as windfall. He wondered about the details without questioning. Soon enough, he suspected, he would know.

  Tae did not await further information, slipping into the brush without a sound, stems bowing and rattling in his wake. Andvari looked after him, massive hand clamped to the haft of his ax. For the moment, his discomfort seemed to have passed.

  They headed southeast, guided at intervals by Tae. The Easterner appeared irregularly, without warning; and even knowing that this would happen did not prepare Darris. At every parting, he promised he would not allow Tae to startle him; and, every time, his quiet companion did so. At length, Darris abandoned the game, surrendering to thoughts better left untapped. If Tae could catch him unaware, would-be assassins might also. He worried for his assignment as the high king’s guardian and consoled himself with the knowledge that Rantire currently warded Griff. He hunched his pack higher on his left shoulder and adjusted his mandolin more carefully onto his right. His hand fell to his sword easily. He would need to watch that his belongings did not hamper his defenses.

  Kevral and Ra-khir talked softly together. Andvari did not join them, though surreptitious glances in their direction suggested that he wished he could. The elves stayed together at the back of the group, no more a true part of it than the middle-aged Northman, though they seemed to take no notice. The elfin individualism often judged by humans as aloofness stemmed more, Darris guessed, from differences in social convention and subtlety of expression.

  Tae materialized from a copse behind and to Darris’ left. Again, the bard stiffened before turning to meet his companion. Finding his fingers instinctively on his hilt gratified Darris, slightly easing his concerns.

  “There’s a clearing and a cottage ahead,” Tae announced to the group. “A lone old man on the porch.” He winked at El-brinith. “Didn’t see any armies.”

  Darris blew out a long breath, muscles uncoiling. This would likely prove as simple as he first believed. Presumably, the Pica had shattered in a random fashion, and they had no reason to believe their mission would involve worse than finding pieces nestled against tree roots or sparkling on a native’s windowsill. Native? Darris amended his own thought. Captain had warned that creatures outside of human and elfin experience might dwell on these alternate worlds, but they should not find their own kind here. Humans had existed too long without any magic to travel between planes, and the elves knew every individual for as long as their eldest, Captain himself, had lived. All the tension Darris had shed returned in a wild rush. Once more, his hand found his hilt.

  Tae broke the ensuing silence. “Do you want me to try to . . . find it?”

  The pause brought other words to mind, most notably “steal.” Darris suspected Tae had chosen his phrasing to bypass Ra-khir’s notice, but it failed.

  “No,” Ra-khir said emphatically. “Peaceful bargaining first. Violence if unavoidable.” He glared at Tae. “Stealing, never.”

  Tae made a gesture of surrender. “Did I say anything about stealing? I just thought locating it might make bargaining more . . . um . . . effective.” His brow knitted tightly, “Taking what we need peacefully should not be preferred to bloodshed?”

  Da
rris saw the logic in Tae’s words, but Ra-khir’s frown only deepened. “Bargain first,” the knight said, though Darris read more. Tae’s final words could only reaffirm Ra-khir’s worry that, upon finding the shard, Tae could not resist taking it.

  Kevral added, “We don’t even know this old man has it, and you’re already arguing over method.”

  I think we can count on it. Darris kept the thought to himself. He realized now that the Pica likely had a mystical attraction to it, even broken; and the backwash of elfin magic would assure the tasks proved more difficult than the simple gathering of chips of fragmented gemstone he had considered only moments ago. For the first time, he doubted Captain’s assurances to the contrary. Lifting a spell of such power as the sterility plague would not happen without sacrifice.

  Tae waved to indicate Ra-khir should precede him. His expertise had ended, and he would not take the blame for a failed parley.

  Ra-khir took over at once. “We need to look strong, businesslike, and in control; but there’s no need to frighten this elder. Please keep hands away from weapons and avoid doing or saying anything menacing unless such becomes necessary.” He headed into the brush from which Tae had just emerged, tabard displaying Erythane’s orange and black swirling behind him.

  Kevral grunted to indicate the painful obviousness of Ra-khir’s words, though only loud enough for Darris to hear. They followed him. The elves came next, with Andvari; and Tae vanished again.

  Shortly, the forest gave way to stumps, then to a small clearing. A carpet of dull, brown grass spread around a tiny cottage, and a white-haired man sat on a rickety chair on a ground-level deck. Smoke curled from a pipe clutched between his lips. As the party emerged from the woodlands at the side of the house, the old man’s head swiveled toward them.

  Ra-khir strode the grassland toward the cottage, his posture perfect and his every movement confident. He raised his right hand in a broad, arcing greeting. Darris and Kevral followed, and the bard could hear Andvari at his back. The elves and Tae made no sound.