The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  The expression of concern and surprise on the half-blood’s face was unsettling, but I didn’t understand why.

  Unless…

  “Wait,” I mimicked lifting a finger, “do you not know what happened? You were there the night of the fires when the Witch Hunters killed Gavin. The black arrows, the chain-wielder illusion that scared off the Ma’ab. You were watching and acting. Do not deny.”

  “I do not, but…hm,” he began, using the pause to flick his long tongue out and peer around. “I left that night to scout farther out. As you say, the death mage did not escape and was killed, and the innkeeper wanted to keep a close eye on you, seeing him ignore the Ma’ab and his entire posse to find and follow you.”

  I waited. “And?”

  “And I thought, without Sarilis’s apprentice, that you would either sneak out alone or would leave with the Hill Dwarf in a few days.”

  “Or I’d be forced to stay until you wandered that way again.”

  “Or that.”

  Gavin turned his grey-hooded head. “You thought you had more time.”

  “Correct,” the merc confirmed. “I did not know you would return in such a spectacular way, Deathwalker. I am sorry I missed it.” He paused. “Will you tell me what did happen?”

  I cut in before my scholar to respond. “Only with even exchange, like for like.”

  Those golden eyes narrowed at me. “I can put together some of it from meeting you now.”

  I showed him my teeth in a feral grin. “The details design the web, Melthra’vlos.”

  “This truth, I know. But I cannot answer anything you want in exchange. You should consider with care the details you want in return.”

  “One question first,” Gavin asked. “Are you a devil rather than a demon?”

  “No,” came a ready and unresisting reply. “I am To’vah-krav. I claim no admiration for either the Abyss or the Hells, though I know their methods and may use such tactics against them.”

  Does he meet them so often?

  “Why would a demon claim your words are ‘binding’?” I pressed. “And to be wary of making bargains with ‘your kind.’ Is that true?”

  “Who claimed that?”

  “The dagger, of course.”

  “Hmph.” Morixxyleth smirked. “That comes from demons aggravated that a Dragonblood never forgets the details of his bargains. It would be to the Abyss’s advantage if we did.”

  I scowled but listened. Forgetting one’s bargains certainly seemed true for the Abyssal-touched Davrin, from the Valsharess down to the scavengers.

  Unless it is a compulsion which forces us to keep it.

  Which were outlawed in Sivaraus, except when the Queen used it.

  “How many Dragonbloods are there to bargain with?” Gavin asked.

  “Not many,” the hybrid replied easily enough. “Few and far in between.”

  “You’ve met another?”

  “Two in over three hundred years.”

  “What happened?” I asked, and the merc smiled at me without showing his sharp teeth. I could hear him repeat himself.

  You should consider the details you want in return.

  Gavin waited, and I hid my eyes from the light again until the throbbing lessened.

  “More food?” the merc asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  He retrieved another pressed ration from the saddle bag, unwrapped it, and gave me the bar whole without breaking it up. I nibbled on it and pondered our exchange.

  “I must know who your real target was,” I said, “and why you interfered between me and the Ma’ab. In exchange, I will tell you what happened after you left to ‘scout around.’”

  The half-blood nodded, no longer smiling as he glanced at the ruby swinging from my neck. “That is balanced, Sirana. What about you, scholar?”

  Gavin grunted, nodding in his hood. “You have said that you wagered Sirana would leave Troshin Bend after I died, and this was enough for you to leave after the Witch Hunter attack without staying to confirm. This does not confirm your real target, but regardless seems premature and hurried. What drew you out of town?”

  “Indeed, that is a different exchange, Deathwalker. What will you offer in return?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “If you have any intention to travel to Manalar this year, and if so, why.”

  That’s direct.

  And, thanks to our recent mindlink, I knew enough to bargain if Gavin wouldn’t answer. The mage seemed to recall that as he glanced at me mid-stride.

  “The intention is likely but negotiable.”

  Was Gavin lying? I wondered. Either way, it was enough to interest the big male nodding in contemplation. After a lengthy silence, he went first.

  “My original marks were Kurn Divigna and Castis Orlien. I was tracking them to the Ley Tower.” Golden eyes looked at me. “Then you appeared, Vloszia Dalna, and I knew a lot had changed at the sight of you.”

  He did not overwhelm me with details but allowed time for this to sink in. I returned, for an instant, to the moment Tamuril had run from me. The Pale Elf had been afraid for someone.

  For the “Godblood,” the Captain at Manalar.

  Fucking Goddess, someone had stopped me from tackling her then, too.

  “That was your spell that interfered,” I muttered. “The noise that sent me to the ground, the fear spell to make me run to the tower instead of chasing the Druid.”

  “Correct,” said the Dragon’s son without remorse.

  “Why?”

  “You were acting strangely. The Druid has been hurt enough by the Baenar.”

  “What is that word?” I demanded. “Baenar. This is not what we call ourselves. Is it an insult, as we call a Witch Hunter instead of Dyos Guerrimos?”

  Morixxyleth looked at me with surprise, as if a little impressed. “No. The word is what Dragons call you.”

  “You are half ‘Baenar.’”

  “I am.”

  “Half Davrin.”

  “Perhaps.”

  My head hurt.

  In the shade with my nose against the mare’s musty mane, I struggled to get my thoughts on point. “You followed me from that moment?”

  “Oddly, yes, because you traveled willingly with my marks. I watched Kurn run you down on his mount and seize you, take you to the courtyard. You did not kill him, so…”

  Because I couldn’t… I grimaced inside my hood as a sharp ache erupted inside my head.

  “I assumed you were allies somehow. I would wait and watch.”

  A pained laugh escaped my lips. We were not allies!

  Yet I could not explain my actions with the damned brute the same as I could not say why a fearful Soul Drinker failed to use me to stab this Dragonblood.

  “It was clear he attacked you in the canyon, intending rape,” the mercenary continued, “but you lead him on a dance of some sort. Intriguing but strange. I could not tell your purpose, Vloszia Dalna.”

  I growled. “What was your purpose in stopping me from stabbing him with his own dagger? That falling boulder which startled me, and again that wave of fear!”

  He didn’t deny this. “The Ma’ab was my mark, and he was vulnerable to submit to part of my contract.”

  “Part of your…?”

  He showed the point of one fang. “The price on the loner’s head included torment where possible. You offered perfect arrangement, Sirana, and I’d seen you hesitate to kill him yourself. I would not let it go to waste.”

  Hesitate.

  This geas was going to get me killed.

  “That is why he was so panicked in the morning,” Gavin said.

  “Indeed. He had a difficult night.”

  That should have made me feel better, but it didn’t.

  “And the chain illusion that made him run at Troshin Bend?” I asked. “More torment?”

  “Correct.”

  “What did he
see?”

  “His father. The one who authorized the contract.”

  “Divigna, the century-old Hellhound,” I said.

  Again, the merc seemed impressed. “Correct, again. Kreshel Divigna is infamous in the cold North.”

  While Kurn was barely a quarter century.

  “How is a Human that old breeding?” I grumbled.

  “I do not know. Something the Ascended have done to extend his life.”

  “And… you were not helping with the Hellhound training, correct?”

  The expression on the To’vah-krav’s face was genuine, even with my hazy sight in the sunlight. He was baffled and disgusted. “Why would I?”

  They still have the Sathoet. And maybe the Priestess.

  Helplessly, I shook my head, lips pursed in the next wave of discomfort.

  “Kurn told you something like that?” he pressed me. “What did he say?”

  “Different bargain, Dragonblood,” I replied.

  “Then I’ve completed my part. I’ve told you why I interfered in you killing the Ma’ab. Now, complete yours. Tell me what happened that you possess both the sorcerer’s relic and the Ma’ab’s ruby, and reportedly stabbed the innkeeper of Troshin Bend but did not kill him. Why is this, Davrin? Any female I knew below would have finished it, especially if she was pregnant.”

  Hearing his tone, the pain moved beyond my head; now my entire body ached, and my vision blurred with tears. I felt their hands on me, their cocks jammed inside. I couldn’t escape. I’d kissed the ancient one, sucked on his tongue as his wife had, determined to outlast them, to lull both men long enough to reach for the nearest weapon. The weapon calling to me. And after I was free…?

  Like-for-like.

  I’d confirmed this mercenary’s existence from Kurn’s own lips, relished his wail of disbelief with a blunt object jammed up his rear. Then I’d flat-out denied the demon as it shrieked for me to kill them all…!

  No. Denying them all what they wanted from me, escaping as soon as I could, had been of greater importance than “finishing it.” Or it had been when I didn’t know what might happen after, or when Gavin needed time to complete his ritual, or when Osgrid looked at me like I might be insane.

  Meanwhile, my Valsharess held most of my threads, and I knew I had run out of time.

  How did I fail my Elders’ training so badly?

  The forest path tilted again, and my body began sliding. The large half-blood caught me before I could catch myself, pushing me onto the rotting cart horse who did not react at all. His palm rested on my back to hold me steady.

  “Well?” he prompted. “What happened?”

  I gritted teeth, watching the ground pass by. “The Deathless and the Ma’ab were fighting over me like dogs on a piece of meat, mercenary, trying to break me for ‘service’. If the Druid was hurt enough by the Baenar then I’ve had enough of the same by Human men, and at least my sergeant dragged the pale one out of the dark and let her escape after she finished.”

  The mercenary fell quiet, asking no details. It appeared I’d answered just enough to fulfill our first bargain.

  For now.

  CHAPTER 7

  My thoughts went dark for a while. Quiet. I woke to someone shaking me, and the horse had stopped moving.

  “You’re sweating,” rumbled a low voice. “Sit up. You need water.”

  My lids lifted the barest crack before I squeezed them shut. Bad idea.

  Sensing my guardians nestled at my nape, I made the solid effort to lift myself up to drink. Strong hands took my shoulders, assisting me up, and one supported me once I got there. The other hand left to retrieve and raise a waterskin; his, again. Wordlessly, I accepted and drank deeply.

  When I stopped, he asked, “Have you need to relieve your bladder?”

  At first, I wasn’t yet aware enough of my body to say but… by the time I lowered the skin, I knew. My head shook in the negative. He grunted.

  “Very well. Finish the skin if you can. Better we discover now how long it takes before you need another break.”

  I sighed and drank the skin empty, handing it back with my empty stomach bloated. “How can we tell a trusted source?”

  The half-blood turned a thick neck, looking North again, his tongue flicking out. “I can smell it. We are perhaps a day away.”

  I didn’t know whether to believe him. The distance was reasonable, but smelling it from that far away?

  “Indeed,” Gavin offered. “The few hills we’ve crested, it looks about half a day before we are out of the barren forest.”

  That reminded me, and I forced myself to open one eye for a peek, looking at the closest area around. There were a lot of shadows because there were a lot of trees still standing. They lacked half their leaves, and the ground was thickly carpeted in grey and brown leaves in the wrong season. Many remained in the twisted shapes of before, but some displayed a new burst of spring green.

  “Question,” I said.

  Both males made noises of acknowledgement. My mouth twitched in vague amusement.

  “Why hasn’t the entire corrupted forest turned to grey dust like near the source? Why do I see new leaves? And is there truly nothing we dare eat or drink here?”

  Gavin tilted his head and passed that one off to the Dragonblood with a wave of a walking stick he’d found somewhere. The large male exhaled slowly as he peered around.

  “The trees are woven together through their roots in a forest as thick as this,” he said. “If you can imagine this, they resisted corruption for as long as they could, entwined together, sharing water and defenses, though some were overwhelmed anyway. The trees which turned to dust were the same as the cannibals who attacked us; they could not be saved but their bodies can be returned to the cycle. Those that stand farther from the center could purge themselves through the Sun and the magic surge, and live.”

  “You speak as if they can think,” I remarked.

  His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Maybe they can despite having no mouths. It is not unheard of, is it, Baenar?”

  I didn’t reply.

  Gavin pointed his finger, which immediately shifted grey to black in the light. “Are those green leaves safe to eat for an animal who wants them?”

  “A first attempt at healing, yes. They need the spores clinging to their roots to hatch and begin again. They need the insects and birds and animals to venture back, to provide their dung and seeds to the soil. They need the rain to fall from the clouds. It will take time, and you and I best not strip what few resources remain for them to survive this final struggle. They are in a fragile state.”

  Before either of us could respond, the To’vah-krav focused metallic, eerily familiar eyes on me. “The trees are like you, Red Sister, in resisting corruption from the dagger for as long as you could. You have survived the danger and threat around you for months since approaching the Ley Tower, but you are spent and cling to your last strength. You need food, water, and a safe place to rest. I will see that you have this.”

  I narrowed pained eyes at him. “For what price, mercenary?”

  He lifted a talon. “This once, no price. And I told you my name if you will use it.”

  “Well, it is a difficult name to speak under pressure,” I admitted, “and I do not want to insult you by doing poorly. Is ‘Morix’ acceptable?”

  “No, it is not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you insult me by breaking it.”

  I rubbed my eyes and adjusted my hood, sensing my ever-resilient spiders creep out of the heat of my hair. They chimed clear as a bell to me. As often as the Dragon’s son had rested his hand on me to prevent falling off the horse on steep grades, my magic-touched guardians never reacted as if we were under threat, nor were they lethargic as if affected by a spell. As far as I knew, they were at ease around this one, and I could not ignore that while my instincts were so scrambled.

  “Until I can grasp the nuan
ce of your full name,” I said, “is there a simpler one you would accept instead?”

  “Why should I accept that?”

  “It is reasonable, bargain-maker. I do not require you to use my full Elven name every time you address me.”

  “Which is?”

  I smiled and wetted my lips. “Sirana d’ Vloszia Dalnanin draeval uz’Thalluensareci.”

  Gavin sighed so I could hear him. “Surely you are inventing that to add to your banter.”

  “I am not!” I replied, sounding offended.

  “She is a noble,” said the half-blood as if that explained it all.

  Perhaps it did as Gavin glanced at me, reflected briefly, and nodded.

  “Do you claim not to be the son of a noble, fighter?” I challenged my stalker. “Who but a noble or a cleric could have bargained with your sire to conceive and birth you? You disliked my assuming she was a cleric, so a noble she must be! What is your Elven name, the one given by your mother?”

  His expression heralded an answer I regretted before he said it, like swallowing a cold, hard stone to sit in my gut.

  “It was Tighrabalt Mal’rak Ilharess’Dalninil,” he answered, a tense and deep bass underlying his words. “And my mother did not give it to me. The matron did.”

  After that, the gold-eyed hybrid didn’t blink but waited for my response as I stared at him, speechless.

  Once again, my scholar’s curiosity offered a way to slide out from where I was pinned. “What does the title mean, if I may ask?”

  The To’vah-krav looked to the Human between us. “Roughly, ‘Mourn Forever the Sister to the Grand-Mother.’ I was called ‘Tighra’ for short, but that is a dead name, Baenar. Let it stay so.”

  Gavin’s brow furrowed further, his face quite homely as he concentrated on these new sounds. “Mourn, um, hm. The grand… mother?”

  “Uh,” I stammered. “I-it means you two have something in common, Gavin.”

  The Deathwalker’s pale blue pupils lifted from his contemplation. “Oh?”