by Tom Deitz
Yet even that was not the worst of the waiting; for every moment, she feared to hear the slapping tread of heavy reptiles approaching. Forbidden, she and Krynneth might be—to one geen; she doubted the others would care, if they were still unsated.
But to her surprise, they seemed to have eaten their fill. Or at least they left the now-silent stable and, one by one, stalked back into the yard to disappear through the open gate to the right.
All save one.
Merryn’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that one. It still had the sword, she realized with a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. And it grasped that sword very much as a man would grip one.
Twice, that geen stalked about the yard as though searching for something—and Merryn had a terrible feeling she knew what. Indeed, it paused the second time it passed what remained of her window into the courtyard. A yellow eye peered in at her. Somehow, Merryn met that gaze clearly—until it blinked and continued on.
She lost sight of the geen after that, and did not locate it again until it had reached the ruined gate. It turned there, raised the sword once more, and slashed it down.
Lightning followed it straight into the stable. And Merryn knew no more.
CHAPTER VIII:
SCAVENGING
(SOUTHWEST OF ERON–HIGH SUMMER: DAY LXXV–LATE AFTERNOON)
Merryn had gone blind.
That was her initial assessment, anyway, of eyes that did not seem to want to open properly. Certainly something was keeping them restrained, something crusty, she determined, as awareness increased a level. And perhaps that something was connected to the throbbing in the back of her head, or else to the sharper pain between her brows. She raised a hand without thinking, felt something slide off her shoulder to clink noisily to the floor. A stir of her legs produced the sound of stone grating against itself.
Her fingers found her head at roughly the same moment that she got one eyelid open, from which she concluded that she had been struck by something that had fallen from the ceiling, or else she had struck something when she had fallen, and that the crusty matter in her other eye was blood old enough to have dried. Groaning, she tried to push up on an elbow, heard more stone shift and grind, and then had to halt abruptly, as pain throbbed through her head with sufficient force to make her want to vomit.
Concussion, she told herself. Nothing that couldn’t be survived …
Survived …
What had she survived, anyway?
And what about Krynneth?
Oblivious to the pain it cost her, she sat up in truth, clawing at the recalcitrant eye. The lid moved a little—enough that she could see more, if not better. Enough, in any case, to confirm that she lay on the floor of the stable, and that a good chunk of the front wall had collapsed, bringing down a fair bit of the roof along with it, much of which now spilled down around them, revealing an opening into the courtyard beyond.
It took Merryn a moment to realize what that meant. “Free,” she muttered. “We’re free.” Then hard on its heels: “Danger.”
There were geens about, after all.
Geens, in fact, had done this.
No, one geen had: a geen with a magic sword. Her magic sword.
As to why it had done that: called the lightning down on the very place Merryn and Krynneth had been imprisoned, she did not want to contemplate. Instinct perhaps? Or impulse? Or—just possibly—altruism? She had no idea. Eight! Had the beast actually acted on her desire for escape, which it had admitted knowing? Or had she been controlling it, all unknown? Or had the sword?
No! She wouldn’t think about that now. Not when death had receded the smallest increment. Not when she still had to see to Krynneth.
It wasn’t hard to find him, for all he was covered with a skim of stone dust like a fish floured up for frying. He sat hunched up by the wall with his arms clasped around his knees. His eyes were wide-open, his jaws clinched, and he was repeating over and over, “Don’t eat, don’t eat, don’t eat.” By which Merryn assumed he meant that he was not to be eaten. She didn’t blame him, either. At least she was marginally rational. But Krynneth? Who knew what lurked in his poor tattered mind? Perhaps it had snapped entirely and she would never again enjoy even those brief periods of lucidity that had passed between them before their captivity.
In any case, this was no place to linger. The walls of their prison had been shattered, but she and Kryn still wore manacles and chains that could easily spell their doom in the world at large. But the keys …
She swallowed hard. Where were the keys, anyway? She remembered keys mostly from a ring Inon had worn. And Inon was not only dead, he had been … sampled by an inquisitive, hungry geen.
Still, this was no time for delicacy or squeamishness. Leaving Krynneth where he sat, Merryn made her way to her feet and began clumsily picking her way toward the rift in the stable’s wall. It was close to sunset out there, and the shadows were long already. She would have to hurry if she wanted to accomplish anything. There was reason to think that Inon had not had the particular keys she sought; but in that case, who would? Ivk had locked her and Krynneth away, then gone bathing. But it had been Tahlone who had observed a shade too loudly that they only had one lock suitable for securing the tack room door, and since Tahlone was older, it made more sense for him to control its key than the boy. On the other hand, Inon had been the Ixtians’ leader, so he was likeliest to retain the keys to the manacles. Surely not Shaul, who was not a pleasant person, or Orkeen, who had dared don the regalia, gone mad for his pains, and stepped—or been driven—into the fire.
Did it really matter? All the bodies would have to be searched eventually. Setting her jaw against what was already an unpleasant stench of burned meat, freshly exposed viscera, and excrement, Merryn made her way to where Inon lay sprawled upon the earth. She remembered how he had wound up there, too. He had rushed Orkeen in a rage, slammed into the “magic” shield, and the shield had done as it was designed to do: absorbed the force Inon had hurled into it and returned that force tenfold, while stripping away the top several fingers of Inon’s flesh to finance the effort. Which was why she could see the gleam of ribs, cheekbones, and pelvic crests, along with a fair expanse of the poor man’s guts. He was also missing a leg, courtesy of a rapacious geen. Fortunately, he had been shirtless when he died, which meant that there was that much less to search. And the shield didn’t act as efficiently on metal as on flesh, so perhaps the keys—if he’d had them—were still intact. In any case, Inon’s leather gear-belt was gone in front, but the buckle—albeit somewhat abraded—was still present. And while there was indeed a key ring, she saw at a glance that none of the keys worked the manacles.
Ivk had fallen into the fire upon his death, and had only worn trousers in any case, so she postponed inspecting him. Which left Tahlone as next most likely guardian. Tahlone had been killed by a single sweeping blast of the Lightning Sword, and had crumpled where he stood. A mug of brandy had ignited in his hand and consumed his baggy sleeve to the shoulder, but his body was largely intact, if rather scorched in appearance and missing its hair. He also had the keys: a large ring of them, in fact, among which Merryn quickly identified the ones she wanted. A bit of deft finger work freed first one wrist, then the other, before turning to her ankles. The ring still in her hand, she stretched luxuriously, letting her limbs explore limits that had been denied them for days.
But only for a moment. A deep breath, a quick check for lurking geens, and she returned to her erstwhile prison, intent upon releasing Krynneth. But even as she sank down beside him, fumbling for the most likely key, she wondered if she was wise to release him, given that a scant ten days ago he had been able to overpower her rather handily, thereby beginning the first of two captivities. More to the point, he had been half-crazy even then, which fact she had seriously underrated until after she had dropped her guard long enough for him to clout her on the side of the head with the hilt of a knife—thereby precipitating a period of unconsciousne
ss from which she had awakened to find herself neatly and thoroughly bound. He had feared “the burners” then—and had completely misread her motives in possessing the regalia. Which were the only reasons that even vaguely supported such an otherwise preposterous action.
But would any of those reasons have altered?
Could she risk such an untrustworthy ally now?
Could she afford not to? At least he had stopped the litany of “don’t eat … don’t eat … don’t eat.”
“Come on, Kryn,” she muttered, helping him to his feet, but leaving his manacles in place for the nonce. “There are better places to be than here.” Somehow she steered him through the shattered wall and into the clearer ground of the courtyard, trying as hard as she could to keep him from seeing the carnage that lay there. It was time to continue the search, she supposed—but first, she snared a bottle of unopened wine from the several that were strewn about, the contents of which had provoked the drunkenness that had precipitated the Ixtians’ disastrous bout of fratricide. Popping the cork, she raised the bottle to her lips and treated herself to a long draught, even as she acknowledged the foolishness of that act. Still, it warmed her and gave her strength. She passed the rest to Krynneth to do with as he would.
For herself …
The answer to that question was easy enough; after all, she still had a duty to perform.
Steeling herself for whichever of fear or disappointment found her first, she trotted toward the gate through which the geens had departed. Every nerve she possessed tingled as she approached, and she wished she had thought to bring a sword, lest the beasts still be lurking about. Fortunately, logic caught up with impulse in time to remind her that ducking below wall level might be a good idea, and she was, in fact, almost scooting along on hands and knees when she finally reached the gate proper and, very cautiously, peered beyond it.
She saw nothing. Nothing that hadn’t been there before, anyway. Nothing, that is, except geen tracks everywhere, all heading out into the sere grass and sand that surrounded the hold. She followed them a dozen paces—far enough to see them turn north, paralleling the river. More to the point, she remained there long enough to determine that the geens themselves were nowhere in sight. Not that she expected them to be; at a run, geens could cover ground in a hurry, and these were sated and would want to go to ground for the night to sleep off their loathsome feast.
She almost followed them anyway—the lure of the sword was that strong, and stronger still was the onus of responsibility she had taken on herself when she had begun her quest to conceal it. But there was still Krynneth to consider, not to mention the fact that she was tired past moving and so hungry that the sun-dried grass was starting to look tasty.
Besides, it would be dark soon, and the geens would have the advantage. Besides, geens had dens, so if she was patient and followed their spoor, she would still come upon them in good time. Granted there was still the problem of the sword, but she suspected the sword would do more harm to the geen that carried it than the geen would do to the sword, and with all those arguments pointing her toward rest and recovery in lieu of immediate—and probably foolhardy—action, she turned smartly and marched back toward the hold.
The dead men hadn’t moved, of course, and Krynneth was still sitting obediently where she had left him. Setting her jaw, she strode past him—straight to where the remaining pieces of regalia still lay where Orkeen had shed them before wading into the fire. To her surprise, however, she was strangely reluctant to touch those marvels of metalwork—and wound up using a fold of Tahlone’s cloak as insulation between her skin and the actual metal until she could secure them more properly. Helm first, then shield, she shifted them to the shadows beyond the hold’s empty back door.
A dozen anxious breaths were all it took to confirm that the horses were indeed thoroughly and messily dead (which fact further supported her decision to remain where she was for the night), and she turned her attention to the dead men in earnest. The Eight knew she didn’t want to leave them strewn about like that: burned, sword-blasted, and half-eaten—yet she had no inclination whatever to bury them, even if there had been time, which there wasn’t, what with night drawing on and the sword now a rogue element in the world. To postpone decision, she stripped the intact Ixtians of valuables—mostly finger rings or ear studs—and weapons, which included a number of daggers.
But not, she discovered to her dismay, the cache of loose gems she had demanded that Avall, Strynn, and Rann surrender upon her departure on this errand. Those, she had sewn into her pouch, but that had been discovered long since and claimed by Inon, along with the ring that contained the finding stone. The pouch had not been on Inon’s body, however—unless it had been blasted away to the Overworld by the shield, which did not seem likely. Nor did Tahlone have it—or Shaul, or poor young Ivk—as a quick search proved. Which left Orkeen.
She tried not to think about him. Though not a pleasant man, and clearly rougher and more volatile than the rest of Inon’s crew, no one deserved to die as he had: controlled, as it seemed, from without; his body forced to step into the flames of the cook fire and remain there until his clothing ignited and he died.
But if he’d had the gems …
Who knew what effect flames would have on them? Especially if they were, as Avall suspected, partially sapient.
She debated checking the packs first, thereby saving the worst for last, but finally concluded that a cursory inspection of Orkeen’s body was in order. The pouch had been leather, after all; perhaps it would not have been consumed entirely. If she saw it, she would inspect it. If she did not, she would check the packs.
Even so, she almost missed it. Blackened as it was, it was hard to tell from a section of viscera that had erupted from Orkeen’s abdomen when intestinal gases had thrust those organs through charred muscle and skin. But that had to be it; she could even see the embossed sigil of her clan through all that ruin. Holding her hand across her mouth in anticipation of a stench that would surely make her gag, she reached forward with Shaul’s eating dagger and snared the remains of the pouch’s ties. She had to rake it through cold ashes to avoid touching Orkeen’s body directly, but she managed, cursing herself for squeamishness all the while.
Wrapping it, like the shield and helm, in a fold of cloak, she rose and bore it away, sparing a glance to confirm that Krynneth wasn’t up to mischief.
He wasn’t. Indeed, he didn’t seem to have moved from where she had left him, like a particularly obedient—or dispirited—child.
Slumping down against the stable’s most intact wall, she opened the fire-hardened leather and tumbled the gems into her hand.
They were still red, and still bore sparkling motes in their depths, but it was obvious that something about them had altered—luster, perhaps, or brightness. And not only their physical appearance had changed; it was—there was no other word for it—as if they were asleep. Or perhaps, like Krynneth, they had been driven so deep within themselves they could no longer respond to her presence.
Krynneth stared at them with absent interest. “Jump,” he said, increasing his vocabulary again.
Merryn raised a brow. “You keep that up, we’ll be able to talk like real people before long.”
“Jump,” Krynneth repeated tonelessly.
The brow lowered as quickly as it had lifted. “Maybe, but not now.”
“No?”
“No,” she echoed patting his hand. “They were in the fire, Kryn,” she went on, speaking aloud partly for his benefit, but equally as much for her own: to hear a human voice that was not giving orders or sounding afraid. And because talking helped clarify her thoughts. “They don’t look the same, and given their capricious nature, we’ve no guarantee they would act the same, either. If they’re like Avall thinks: somehow alive, the fire could have killed them. If not … well, jumping isn’t the first thing that would occur to me to do with them, anyway.”
She scowled at that, wondering what the first thin
g was. “I suppose the right thing to do would be to see if I can bond with one of them—probably Strynn’s. Then try to bond with you. That way”—she gnawed her lip. “That way, maybe I could … fix you.”
She broke off abruptly, wondering whether she had said too much, given that she was still not certain whether Krynneth should be considered an ally or a foe. In either case, she would have to keep an eye on him. Prove himself he might—eventually; but until then, she would have to watch every move he made—which would make even simple acts a drudgery.
As for jumping—well, the gems could certainly jump one to a person or place. But she could think of only one place to which it would be useful to jump, and that was to wherever the geen with the sword was.
Which might, in fact, be possible—if she took the remaining two pieces of regalia with her. But which could also get her killed in a heartbeat if the sword wound up amid a nest of geens. Granted, she seemed to have achieved some rudimentary rapport with one of the creatures, but that was nothing to rely on. Besides which, there was Krynneth. If she jumped away, she would be stranding him on his own, and the Night Guard code of honor would not let her do that. Yet if she took him with her, it might be to his doom.
Of course he might die anyway—they both might. But she was still on a royal quest, and if she so chose, she could look on the last few days as a merely an unplanned diversion. She had intended to go west, anyway. And this was west. Beyond that, the only real criteria she had established as far as a viable hiding place for the regalia was concerned were that it be as far from human habitation as possible—even deserted habitation, which ruled out anywhere nearby, since there was no reason this hold could not be resettled—and that there be some kind of identifying landmark sufficiently near at hand that it could be recovered at need in future years.
