Tae’s thoughts raced, seeking anything that might aid the situation. His mind brought no answers but a comfort born of an eerie idea. If the Chaos Lord’s magic indeed rendered the fall infinite, Kevral and Chan’rék’ril could never strike a bottom. The elf might manage to rescue Kevral. Logic intervened. The two would eventually reach a depth that Chan’rék’ril’s strength could not overcome, and an eternity spent falling would prove no kindness. The longer they remained in the hole, the less likely they would ever return.
Ra-khir started stripping off armor he had donned in case this task proved as much a battle as the last. “I’m going after her.”
Tae interposed himself between the knight and the hole, though he did not turn.
Andvari seized Ra-khir’s arm. “There’s nothing you can do.” The Northman spoke the simple truth.
Tae nodded, staring into the darkness. He had come to the conclusion that the hole had to have a bottom, no matter its depth. Memories surfaced of his plunge from the side of Béarn Castle, the instant dragged to eternity by terror while air shrieked past his ears, then the bruising slam of his body against ice that mercifully gave beneath him. If it hadn’t, he would have died there. Finally, he swiveled his head to Ra-khir. The knight’s green eyes glazed with agony. Tae supposed he relived his own, more recent, fall, assuming unconsciousness had not stolen the recollection. It only remained to discover whether Chan’rék’ril caught Kevral before the bottom, without crashing into it himself in his rush to dive below her. And whether he had the power to haul her back to the top.
Tae glanced back into the hole and saw movement. A rush of excitement warmed him before he could think to keep it guarded. He stiffened, a clear signal that sent the other three rushing to his side. A moment later, Kevral’s head emerged from the hole, El-brinith and Chan’rék’ril struggling to support her. Ra-khir reached dangerously far out over the chasm, Tae, Darris, and Andvari scrambling to steady him. Kevral leaned, managing to catch Ra-khir’s wrists as he caught hers. Chan’rék’ril faltered, scrabbling for a hold. Tae loosed Ra-khir as Darris and Andvari dragged the knight and his new burden from the edge. Tae grabbed for Chan’rék’ril, guiding the elf’s small hands to the lip. With El-brinith’s assistance, he managed to lug Chan’rék’ril partway across the verge. While he lay there, panting, El-brinith struggled over the edge as well.
Tae let them rest, though he worried for the stability of the ground beneath them. At any moment, it could collapse, pitching them back into a fall they no longer had the strength to battle. He clung to Chan’rék’ril’s hands, doubting his grip could manage much more than assuring he fell with the elf. Then, suddenly, Ra-khir clasped Chan’rék’ril’s forearms. Andvari and Darris held El-brinith. The three hauled the elves to safety.
“I’m fine,” Kevral said, anticipating the question. “I’d always heard that when you’re falling, a few stories feels like a million lengths. It seemed like we fell forever, and the way back up didn’t seem any shorter.”
Darris’ eyes widened, and he tipped his head, pleading for someone to rescue him from the need to sing.
Tae tried, “As long as you were down there, it almost had to be a million lengths for you not to strike bottom.” He glanced at Darris to see if he had handled it all, but the bard still wanted more. “If there even is a bottom.”
“They’s allus a bottom.” Rascal spoke her first words since their arrival, sitting well beyond the danger. She had not assisted.
“I believe I saw it, too.” Kevral glanced at Chan’rék’ril for confirmation. “The air grew suddenly, intensely cold. The darkness opened to a dull gray, and I thought I saw a cavern. Some movement, maybe. Then, the elf caught up with me.”
Chan’rék’ril sucked air in gasps. He could not have spoken, but his khohlar reached them clearly. *It was Hel. Had we reached it, we could not have returned.*
El-brinith rolled her head toward her fellow. *Elves don’t wind up there.*
*I would have been the first. I had to fight its pull even as close as I came. I don’t think I could have escaped.*
“Elves don’t go to Hel when they die?” Tae studied the breathless outworlders. “What happens to them?”
Kevral changed the subject awkwardly. “How twistedly ironic. Dying a death without glory and winding up in Hel, body as well as soul. I wonder what would have happened to me?”
“Let’s not find out, all right?” Ra-khir followed Kevral’s tack rather than press Tae’s question, to the Easterner’s surprise. Of them all, Ra-khir most wanted to understand the afterlife.
Tae glanced at each of his human companions in turn. Darris, Kevral, and Ra-khir all returned cautioning looks. They knew something about elfin afterlife that they did not want to become common knowledge. He only hoped they could read his own silent communication. He would drop the subject for now but expected a full explanation when Andvari and Rascal were not among them.
Tae suspected Chan’rék’ril had evaded a worse fate. He also lacked a soul. Since he had flown down, he might not have died on impact. A living creature trapped for eternity in Hel seemed the worst possible fate.
Andvari smoothed his tunic and shook dirt from his braids. Wound through with trinkets and feathers, they clicked together with the movement. “Tae, earlier you said you didn’t believe this was an earthquake. What did you mean by that?”
Andvari’s memory of an offhand comment in such a tense situation surprised Tae, but he knew his reply would shock his companions more. “I believe this was a deliberate trap.”
Every eye found its way to Tae. Rascal questioned first. “Ya thinks some ’un dugged a pit alla way ta Hel so’s we ud not git a piecea stone?”
“Not necessarily us,” Ra-khir corrected. “Nor to protect the Pica shard.” His eyes narrowed as he considered the unlikeliness of even a general trap. “It seems awfully dangerous to protect a citadel in such a way. Come home late one night. Tired. In the dark.” He made a falling motion with his hand. “Not to mention the danger to legitimate guests.”
“I doubt the Father of Lies had a lot of legitimate guests,” Andvari pointed out. “By legend, Loki led the hordes of Hel at the Ragnarok. It probably didn’t pose any particular danger to him.”
“Poison’s dangerous to the bearer, too,” Tae said, certain his companions would remember how Kevral had nearly died from a superficial wound because of a toxic arrow. “But it doesn’t stop some people from painting it on their weapons.”
“It would fit Loki’s humor to make a pitfall that drops you to Hel.” Kevral walked kinks from muscles surely knotted in fright during her lengthy fall. She stopped at Tae’s side. “What makes you so sure it’s unnatural?”
Tae hated to admit he had expertise in the matter. His father’s myriad enemies had made hiding a priority, and Weile had sometimes warded his secret refuges with the most devious traps his followers could design. Tae had also learned much from the thieves in his father’s employ who bragged about evading the best tricks of kings and rivals. His own experiences came mostly from avoiding the snares his father’s enemies set for him as he fled from Eastlands to Westlands, and the sweeps of soldiers attempting to eliminate the gangs with which he had run in his teens. “The speed of its fall and the regularity of its spread suggested an unstable surface bridging a predug hole. Also, the soil on the lips isn’t fresh.”
Darris still seemed unconvinced. “No one could dig a hole that deep. Where would he put all the dirt?”
“Magic could.” Chan’rék’ril finally returned to normal speech. Tae noticed the elves seemed to prefer it, apparently because they could more easily control how far their speaking voice carried. They mostly used khohlar when engaged in singular conversation when they did not wish others to overhear.
“But he wouldn’t trap the inside of his home,” Kevral tried, attention fully on Tae. “Would he?”
“Troublesome House.” Tae despised his answer. “I think we can count on it.” He noticed that most of his companio
ns studied the hole to Hel warily. “Once you get used to walking in certain ways, to avoiding certain areas, to unlatching in certain sequences, you can learn to live with a house full of traps.”
Ra-khir rescued the shed pieces of armor. “Not lethal ones, though. Why would anyone risk dying in his own home?”
Andvari said, “What’s lethal to us might not be to a god.”
Tae had another answer. “If your system for avoiding your own traps is strong enough, the danger is immaterial.”
Ra-khir looked up from his work. “Not really.”
Tae shrugged. “Really enough. From what I understand of Northern/Western religion, Loki started out mischievous and became more evil over time. Opposing the gods and working toward world destruction does not strike me as particularly self-preserving. Or merciful.”
El-brinith found a sitting position, her voice soft and weak. “Are you suggesting we give up now?” She rolled her eyes toward the pit. “I don’t think I could do that again.”
“I know I couldn’t,” Chan’rék’ril added. “Not without a long rest first.” He paused, before inserting, “Probably not even then.”
Tae had to explain, though he knew his words would not comfort. “Surely Loki had more imagination than to use the same trick repeatedly. Each one will likely pose a unique challenge.”
“Tae,” Ra-khir said in a teasing singsong. “You sound almost excited.”
Tae snorted. “You’re mistaking me for your wife, Red. Only a Renshai could find entertainment in charging toward death. If we didn’t have so much at stake, I’d suggest we turn back.”
“Ev’n if’n there’d be piles o’ gold inside?”
“Even if’n,” Tae responded to Rascal’s query. “My life’s worth more, thank you. And you can bet anything valuable is surrounded by the worst Loki has to offer.”
“Like the Pica shard?” Kevral offered.
Tae doubted it. “A chip of sapphire without magic? A curiosity at best. It’s surprising enough that any god would place enough value on it to bother keeping it in his home.”
“So.” Darris summarized, sticking with information already divulged by his companions to rescue them from an aria. “We’ve got the shard in a house probably full of lethal traps. Unless you’re wrong, Tae, it sounds hopeless.”
Tae hated to play both sides, but he saw no recourse. “I’d venture to guess that every trap in that house can either be dodged, easily dismantled, or avoided. Otherwise, Loki could not have lived there.”
Darris rocked his head from side to side. “That seems logical. But how can you possibly know Loki’s method for skirting every one?”
“We can’t,” Tae admitted, only then realizing another among them might have some experience with locks, snares, and pits. “But we can apply logic. Something has to trigger a trap, or it would activate at random. Trips, no matter how well camouflaged, can be found. Unstable surfaces leave cracks and often don’t lie flush. If we move slowly, stay alert . . .” He shrugged. “We have a reasonable chance of finding the dangers before we trigger them. Ninety percent of an effective trap is surprise, and we’ve already negated that by realizing they probably exist.
“Once we find the mechanisms, we should be able to figure out the essence of the trap. And dismantle or avoid it.” Tae glanced about to find every eye intent on him. He realized they expected him to bring them all safely through the Trickster’s deadly pranks, a trust he seemed likely to betray. The hunting snares of Weile Kahn’s enemies could not compare to a god’s complexity, and he had never had to locate or to evade the deterrents constructed for his father.
Tae sighed, accepting the responsibility. “No one likes splitting the group, but it might prove best this time.” When no one questioned his reason, Tae explained anyway. “The fewer who go, the less area we cover and the less we weigh as a group. Gives us a better chance to randomly avoid trouble.”
Ra-khir folded his arms over his chest, apparently willing to listen but not wholly convinced about the need to separate. Tae guessed the particulars of his division would sway the knight one way or the other.
“I’ll go, of course.” The complete lack of reaction made it clear Tae had read their attention properly. “Only an elf could find something activated in a magical fashion.”
“I’m best,” El-brinith said. “Feeling magic. Separating and defining it. I’m good at that.”
Tae knew that from their encounter with the spirit spiders.
Chan’rék’ril made a gentle gesture with his fingers that meant nothing to Tae. “You should have me, too. In case El-brinith misses something. I’m an artist, so I might have a better eye for determining detail. And I’ve got more healing practice should something go wrong.”
Tae did not voice the opinion that, if something went wrong, healing would likely not suffice. “Thank you. I’m certain we all have talents to add, but we can’t afford duplication. In this case, avoiding danger seems more important than coping with the aftermath. El-brinith could serve the cause better, if she’s willing.”
“I am,” the female elf assured.
Tae continued his list, “I’ll need someone with an excellent grasp of the religion.”
“That’s me.” Andvari volunteered enthusiastically, cut short by a withering glare from Kevral.
“Or me,” she said. “Did you think living in the North gives you more knowledge?”
“No, I didn’t.” Andvari backed down, not for the first time. “I just, I mean I thought—”
Tae had tired of the bickering. He knew Kevral’s bullheaded loyalty to her people caused most of the problem, but Andvari’s lackluster attempts to tiptoe around offense played a role as well. “Don’t let her get away with that.”
Andvari and Kevral both jerked toward Tae.
“You’re not going to get respect from Kevral, or any Renshai, unless you fight back.”
“What?” Andvari managed.
“Look, you both know she’s Renshai and you’re Nordmirian.” Tae gestured at each in turn. “Stop worrying that you might commit the sin of saying the wrong thing. Just say what you mean.”
Andvari considered the words several moments, studying Tae. His expression fairly pleaded with the Easterner not to trick him into worsening the situation.
Kevral’s look turned hard, but she no longer faced off with Andvari. Now Tae weathered her glare, a much safer target. Strong, like everything about her, her derision could wound as deeply as her sword. He had suffered it, too, but never as severely as Ra-khir. It had taken him embarrassingly long to finally realize that those whose pride stemmed from their sword work became the casualties of her contempt. Andvari could redeem himself by demonstrating warrior competence, but he had not had the opportunity to do so. Strength in words might, at least, lighten her attitude. “Do it,” Tae said.
Andvari turned his gaze to Kevral. For once, his blue eyes did not dodge hers. “Stop treating me like something you clean from your sword after a battle. I volunteered to accompany Tae and El-brinith because I’ve got a good grasp of Northern religion and a good fighting arm, not because I believe you don’t have those things. Not everything I say or do has anything to do with you.”
The hostility vanished from Kevral’s face, leaving something akin to appreciation. She glanced from Tae to Ra-khir, who nodded. Finally, she turned her attention to Andvari. “Accepted. I offer myself for the position as well.”
Tae sighed, hating the dilemma he had created. He could not afford to take them both, and he knew which one he most trusted at his side. He gestured to the pit. “Easily triggered, but only in the center. Inside, Loki wouldn’t have had the luxury of space. Poking ahead should reveal anything likely to disappear beneath our feet, unless it requires more weight. I’d prefer taking only companions lighter than me, though I’ll defer to the group’s decisions.”
Kevral saw through to the significant. “That’s me.”
Tae nodded. “And El-brinith.” He searched for the quietest o
f their companions, finding her standing apart and well away from the edge of the chasm. “And Rascal, if she wishes to come.”
The girl looked up through a ratty snarl of brown bangs. “Oh, yeah. I’s be wantin’ ta git misself killed.”
“Might learn something useful.” Tae tried to entice. Ordinarily, he would have preferred to leave the babysitting to others, but he suspected Rascal could prove more useful than any of them believed. Her thieving surely gave her some experience, and she could fit into small places that Kevral could ordinarily handle, if not for her grossly swollen abdomen.
Rascal said nothing.
Tae gave her a furtive look, brows highly arched. “Think about it.” He had the words to convince her, a simple description of the wealth of the robbery victims who could afford such protections. Learning to dodge or disarm the simplest of Loki’s traps could get her past the defenses of the most paranoid noble. He did not dare speak the idea aloud, knowing Ra-khir would not approve.
Rascal’s hazel eyes narrowed, then widened. Her fingers twitched at her side. “I’ll go.” She made it sound as if she did Tae a reluctant favor, fooling no one. They all knew her well enough to realize she would perform no action that did not directly benefit herself.
Ra-khir sighed, but he did not pry or chastise. “You’ll need at least one more sword.”
Tae shook his head. “It’s not going to be that kind of fight.”
“How do you know?” Andvari asked.
In truth, Tae had no way to know what they would face. It would not surprise him to find no traps or tricks at all. “We know Loki’s dead some three hundred years, and his house lay vacant for several centuries prior even to that. Anything alive inside would have succumbed long ago. No one’s come by here, or they would have triggered that pit before us.”
“Magic,” Kevral tried.
“Cannot create,” El-brinith reminded. “Especially living things. Anything onto which he placed transport magic would also have died long ago.”
The Children of Wrath Page 51
