by Welcome Cole
“We… we sent…” Feck stopped. The gleam in her eyes swelled as she wrestled against her tears.
“It’s all right, Feck,” Mal said gently, “Nothing here can harm you. Tell us who attacked the Outpost.”
She seemed to shrink before him. He suddenly felt a queer urge to protect her, though he couldn’t say from what, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“Feck Fedalia Grimsun Went,” he said softly but firmly, “Pray, finish your message.”
After a moment, she gave him a barely perceptible nod. “Our agent found no evidence that a single Vaemyn or other manner of earthbound threat had stepped foot inside the outpost. Nor that they’d approached said post closer than sixteen miles out. The truth, my Lords, the sorry, gods-weeping truth, is that we found no evidence of a ground encroachment by anyone. In spite of our diligent efforts, we uncovered no tracks, two footed or four, wheel or skid. We found no fallen enemy combatants within or without the city. We found no fire, no arrows, no damage, no signs of a ground invasion whatsoever.”
Feck stopped. Her eyes remained so rigidly locked with Mal’s that he could barely breathe. The horror radiating from her gaze was nearly incapacitating.
“Go on,” he forced himself to say, “Hellsteeth, finish it already.”
She leaned back in her chair and gripped the armrests with her gloved hands, gripped them so tightly that Mal expected the wood to splinter under the pressure. Then she said plainly, “There was no evidence of an invasion by land, my Lords. The attack came from… from above.”
“Above?” Lucifeus demanded, “Are you saying the Gods of Pentyrfal assaulted our town?”
“Nay, my Lord. Dobb’s Outpost was attacked by the hellish creatures known as prodyths.”
Mal felt the temperature in the room plummet. He was sure he’d heard her wrong. “Prodes? Did you just say prodes?”
“Yes, my Lords. My words embrace the dark truth.”
“I find this a little hard to believe. Prodes have been extinct for decades, possibly generations. How do you know it was prodes that attacked Dobb’s Outpost?”
She slipped her gloved hand into her robe and removed a long, thin scroll of leather. This she laid too carefully on the table before her. Without waiting for the command, she reverently unrolled it. When she at last laid the cloth open, six black, glistening quills, each as thin as a boar’s hair, each greater than a foot in length lay exposed, their brackish oil soiling the buffed tan leather.
“This is how I know, my Lord,” she said, looking directly at Mal, “And because I witnessed what horrors they left behind. I saw the twisted remains of those sorry victims. I saw the agony still locked in their sightless eyes. I witnessed scores of men, women, and children strewn irreverently through the dirty streets, their pathetic bodies riddled with quills, their faces still twisted in evidence of the horrors they’d beheld in their dying moments. And let me tell you this, my dear Captains, let me tell you this most true… I will ever after see those sorrowful faces. I’ll ever after see their terror and their agony. I’ll ever after be looking into those tormented eyes. I will see those eyes for the rest of my sorry life.”
The gleam in her eyes erupted into tears that escaped her bronze mask and trailed down the cold, metal cheek, and in that moment, the mask looked almost alive. She fell back into the chair and again seized the armrests. She was trembling harshly, though she made no sound for it.
“Gath!” Lucifeus yelled, as if reading Mal’s mind, “Bring this woman some mead, and damn me, be quick about it!”
Gath was there in a heartbeat, filling a mug from a cloth-wrapped bottle. He then placed the mug carefully into her hands and left the bottle on the table before him.
Mal watched intently as the Mendoph eased her mask up just enough to expose full, blushing lips above an ivory chin. He realized this was the most flesh he’d ever seen on a Mendoph, and the sight pleasantly surprised him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, perhaps something hideous or diseased, but surely not such... normalcy.
The courier quickly downed the full mug.
Mal felt the heat of Tree’s eyes burning into him even before she spoke. “You see?” she snapped, “It’s coming. Even as we speak, it’s coming! How can we abandon the Freehold now? How can we simply ride off on this fool’s errand when the end of times is bearing down on us?”
“I don’t recall opening the table to discussion at this particular moment,” Lucifeus said directly at her. Tree began to protest, but Lucifeus slammed the table hard enough to rattle their mugs.
Everyone at the table stiffened. The mood grew immeasurably darker.
“Feck Fedalia Grimsun Went,” Mal said, “Did anyone see the prodes themselves? Do we have any idea how many there were or where they came from?”
The sound of the Mendoph’s laugh felt like ice water on his spine. “Where would you think they came from, sir?” she said.
Lucifeus reacted like he’d just been slapped. “I’d advise you to speak carefully, Mendoph.”
Feck leaned into the table, leaned so far into it that Mal thought she might climb all the way across it. “It wouldn’t be an astronomy lesson, my Lord. Where in the Nine might you think they came from? Do you truly require the words of a courier to explain it? Who living in Calina’s world is insane enough to send prodes? That lunatic in Dragor’s Field released the monsters. They came from Prae the Biled!”
With that, she grabbed the bottle of mead and hastily refilled her mug. Then she dragged her mask completely off and dropped it to the table, and she drank heartily of the wine. The amber fluid dribbled over her chin and spotted her flawless red robes below.
Mal felt an odd rush of embarrassment at her action, like she’d had her clothes torn off in public and was left standing naked in the town square. In all his years among them, he’d never seen a Mendoph expose any skin at all, let alone an entire face. In fact, he’d never seen one even eat or drink in public before.
More shocking than the exposure of a face never seen, however, was that she was absolutely lovely. Even with the blood red eyes and skin so white it seemed to defy the color surrounding it, he found her beautiful, even breathtaking. Her face was thin with strong cheekbones, her lips lush and red, her nose slender and long, her long, loose hair as black and deep as a starless night. Renegade strands tickled down across her ghostly cheeks like coal oil on fresh snow. His heart pounded at the sight so that he wondered for just a moment if he might forget how to breathe.
Once she drained the mead, she threw the mug down on the table, threw it hard enough to send it rolling across the wood. Freer quickly rescued it and set it right before her again. Then Feck Fedalia Grimsun Went dropped back into her chair and slowly, carefully replaced her mask and readjusted her hood, and Mal had never felt so relieved for any mortal act in his life.
“I don’t believe it,” Lucifeus growled, “There aren’t enough prodes left in the world to attack a herd of goats, let alone an outpost.”
“I’d pray you tell that to the corpses paving the roads and bedrooms in Dobb’s Outpost, wouldn’t I?” Feck said back.
“You have a few quills there,” Lucifeus said, “But I hardly find proof that the Outpost was massacred. Did you actually see any prodes? Living or dead?”
“Nay, my Lord. Not living prodes, for certain. I saw a few dead ones, though, didn’t I? Saw lots and lots of quills, as well, didn’t I? Saw the wretched dead they left littering Dobb’s Outpost like it was a butcher yard, didn’t I?”
Lucifeus glared back at her. “I don’t think I like your attitude,” he said, though there wasn’t much enthusiasm in it.
Mal took the square insignia from the table and tossed it down to her. It landed in the puddle of mead pooled on the table before her spilt cup. “Take that. I want you to go back to Bobomar. Tell him to keep his scouts on the trail of that siege army. Tell him to send additional scouts north, west, and south. Tell him to intercept and capture or kill any Vaemysh warriors they encounter.
Do you understand my instructions?”
“Yes, my Lord, I do.”
“We appreciate your—”
“Meaning no disrespect, my Lord, I find myself unable to comply with tendered orders.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, my Lords, that I’ll not do this thing for you. I’ll be returning to my people as soon as your questions are satisfied.”
“Like hell you will!” Lucifeus bellowed, “No one quits us and walks away. You’ll do as you’re ordered or I’ll damned well see you dancing from a rope.”
“Nay, sirs, I’ll not,” she said as matter-of-factly as if refusing a cup of coffee, “I’m going back to my people. The Vaemyn are attacking my homeland. My people will need every soldier they can roust. It would be treasonous for me to consider doing less than returning to them.”
Chair legs scraped back against the wood as Lucifeus rose to his feet. “I’ve hanged scores for less serious infractions than this. It’d cost me no sleep to do the same with you.”
The Mendoph was on her feet with a sword drawn faster than Mal would’ve imagined possible, given all the fabric of her robe. She backed from the table, blade out, her head slowly shaking behind the mask. “Nay, my Lords. I’m going back to my people, and you’ll honor yourselves not to make a fuss about it.”
Everyone in the room was standing. Yet, before a command could be issued, Fletch had her disarmed and restrained. Mal hadn’t even seen him move until he heard the sword clattering to a stop beneath the table. Feck, to her credit, wasn’t even resisting the Baeldon’s grip.
“Gath, take her to the brig!” Lucifeus yelled, “We’ll hang her tonight as a send-off.”
“Belay that order!”
“Like hell!” Luce said, glaring at Mal, “I said, take her out—”
Mal stood up. “Hellsteeth, Luce! Don’t you cross me on this! There’ll be no hanging tonight, hear me straight and true!”
Lucifeus bristled nearly hard enough to snap his spine. “How do you dare cross my—”
“Stow it, Lucifeus! Just shut up for once in your miserable life. Gods almighty, she’s seen horrible things, things few people have witnessed and lived a comfortable life after. The savages lay siege to her people. She wants to go back and help them, exactly as she should. We’re not hanging her. We’re not even keeping her. We’re letting her go.”
Lucifeus stammered, struggling to find words as he tried to make sense of his brother’s insurrection.
Mal looked over at Gath. “Take her to the secure quarters and keep her there until morning. Once we’ve moved out all the troops, she’s free to go. Provide her with a fresh horse and any supplies she requests.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Tree,” Mal continued, “Send two trackers with her for safe keeping.”
Tree looked at him like he’d just ordered her to fly around the room. “I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask!”
Tree again bristled, but to her credit, kept her mouth shut.
Mal turned to the Mendoph restrained in silence at the end of the table. “Feck Fedalia Grimsun Went, we’re deeply sorry for what you’ve had to witness in our service, and we appreciate your loyalty far more than our gold can demonstrate. But you’ll have to beg our indulgence in restraining you until morning. It won’t do for the crew to hear about the events south of here before we lead the army out. I pray you understand.”
Feck shook free of Fledge’s grip. As she straightened the folds in her robes, she offered Mal a bow, saying, “Thank you, my Lord. You’re a man of deep honor, and I commit to you my respect and my word for as long as Calina sees fit to let me live. When my people are free of the savage plague, I vow to return to you and oblige my services to your will until such debt can be repaid.” Then she grabbed the bottle of mead and the empty mug. “I’ll make no attempt to leave the Freehold until the morning bells sing, though I don’t expect to steal much sleep in the meantime. In truth, I may never sleep again.”
With that, she nodded and marched out the door with Gath close on her heels.
Lucifeus wasted no time turning on Mal. “Don’t you ever—”
Tree slammed the table. “Surely you’re not still planning on going forward with this march to the forest?” She shoved her chair back and stood to face Lucifeus head-on. “We need to fortify our defenses immediately. An attack is coming, surely you see that.”
“Sit down, Tree,” Lucifeus said.
Rather than complying, she pounded the table again. “Feck’s news changes everything! The bastards are coming. If we leave now, we might as well torch the place ourselves.”
“Sit down, Tree,” Lucifeus said again.
“It’s worse than foolish, don’t you see that? It’s bloody suicidal! You might as well give the Nolands to the—”
“I said! Sit! Down!”
The Vaemyn clearly recognized Lucifeus’s tone, a tone no sober or sane crewmember would ever disobey. Though she made no pretense of liking it, she did as she was told.
“Everyone sit down,” Lucifeus said, looking out across the room, “You, too, Fledge. Sit.”
Fledge nodded. He stuck the wood sliver back in his mouth and resumed his position leaning into the wall back in the corner.
Mal studied the faces lining the table. It was too much to expect them to blindly follow their seemingly insane orders, especially considering the dire news just spilled in this room. How could he expect their trust if he didn’t give them his? He had to do it. He had to tell them everything. He had to put his faith in their loyalty.
“We haven’t told you the full story,” he said, looking from one face to the next, “There’s more to this decision to assemble the army than we’ve revealed. Much more.”
“Mal, what are you doing?” Lucifeus said.
“They need to know the truth, Luce.”
“It’s not—”
“We should’ve told you right from the start.”
“Mal, it’s not—”
“It’s a family secret,” Mal continued, again looking from one face to the next, “A very old and deeply guarded secret.”
“Goddamn it, Mal, don’t even—”
“For the past thousand years there’s existed in this world an occult order known as Lamys te’Faht...”
XXII
THE ROGUE’S FLIGHT
SOMETHING BUZZED IN THE DISTANCE.
He tried to ignore it, but the noise was untiring and doggedly persistent. It sounded like voices, like conspirators whispering their betrayals in the dark corners. It was…
Chance opened his eyes.
It was dark.
The ground beneath his back was hard and cold as ice. He pushed himself upright. He didn’t know where he was. Then he saw the faces hovering before him. He cried out and tried to push them away.
“Chance, it’s us.”
Chance froze at the voice. Then he recognized Mawby squatting beside him. Jhom stood a pace further back, towering over them both, leaning sidelong into a marble sarcophagus.
The tunnels. They were still in the tunnels.
“Well, it’s about damned time.” It was Jhom. He was grinning.
Mawby squeezed his shoulder. “How’s your trail, Chance?”
Chance shifted himself higher and looked at the Vaemyn.
Wenzil sat against the wall directly across the wide corridor from him. The leg of his leather breeches had been cut away and his thigh dressed with bandages cut from strips of the tent blankets. There was a scarlet bull’s eye of blood drying in the middle of it.
Chance glanced around the corridor. The bodies of the runners laid together several yards further down the hall. The air smelled of the sickly sweet odor of rot.
“What time is it?” he asked, looking at Mawby again.
“Early,” Mawby said, “Hour or so past dawn.”
“How long?”
“The half-breed did you a favor, brother,” Jhom said, grinning, “You needed a good nap.�
�
“How long was I out?”
“Eighteen hours or so, near as we can reckon.”
“What?”
“Yesterday and last night came and went, my brother. You snored right through them.”
Eighteen hours? He did a quick assessment of himself for damage, but found nothing amiss, no lumps or tender spots on his skull. In fact, he felt better than he had in days. Whatever Beam did to immobilize them had apparently also offered respectable healing properties.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking over at Mawby.
“No worries,” Mawby said as he dropped into a cross-legged position, “We’re all good. Wenzil tried to catch an arrow, but only managed a half assed job of it. He woke up this morning to find it half healed already. Looks like the rogue’s caeyl did us more good than harm. All he cost us was time.”
Chance again peered about the corridor. The spectral images of long dead Baeldonian soldiers looked down at him from the sarcophagus-burdened walls. Green torchlights flickered in the ever-present breeze. It was all normal, and all completely foreign.
Then he remembered why it seemed so different. The caeyl light was gone. “Where’s Beam?” he asked Mawby.
Mawby’s face darkened.
Chance felt another kick coming. He looked up at Jhom. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” Jhom said.
Chance looked over at the shadowy tangles of ropes and blankets marking the ruins of the makeshift tents across the wide hall. Beam was gone. Koonta’s bedding was empty as well.
He climbed to his feet, fighting Jhom’s mothering all the way up. “I’m fine,” he said, shaking off the supporting hands, “Where the hell are they?”
“Gone,” Mawby said as he rose beside him, “They left after he put us out.”
“Left? She wasn’t in a position to go anywhere. Did you search the tunnels?”
“Ay’a. The tunnels and more. She’s gone with him, Chance. That’s a fact.”
“How the hell is that possible? He drained the venom from her, but she was still too weak to stand, let alone travel. Hell, she wasn’t even conscious yet.”
