With the care of a predator closing on his prey, Evram crept down to the river, using the rocks and foliage to hide his approach. Ashin halted atop a large flat boulder and stared into the churning water. He was only a couple of feet away when she turned.
“Go away!” she screamed. She looked a frightful mess. Even her halo tilted to one side. Her left eye was swollen and bruised. Did the tears streaming from it hurt?
“Your father sent me,” Evram said, trying to sound gentle. “He’s worried about you.”
“More like worried about his good name,” she hissed. “The coward hasn’t even the guts to come himself.” She moved a little nearer the river.
“Please, Ashin,” Evram said. “I love you.”
“Is that why you crippled Joraem Scorael?” Her smile was scornful. “Poor Joraem. All he did wrong was to show me a little kindness. Despite his injuries, he’s twice the man you or TrueFriend will ever be. My beauty has brought me only misery.”
“I love you,” Evram pleaded.
“Stay away from me!” She backed a step too far and tottered over the edge.
Evram lunged toward her, but he could not reach her before she hit the water. He followed her in, thoughtless for his own fate. Icy terror tore at him as he smashed into the Witchmilk. He struggled to keep his head above the frothing water as it coiled about him and pulled him downstream. He could not hear his own screams above its thunderous roar. As he slammed against rocks, he tried to cling to them, but they were too slippery, and he was too weak to fight the urgent force of the river.
A spear reached out from the bank and dangled above his head, keeping pace with the current. He seized it with all of his will, and Fapath’s sons dragged him from the river’s murderous clutch.
“Where is Ashin?” he asked through struggling breaths, as he hugged the dry stone.
“She’s gone to wherever the Witchmilk takes her,” Ilyam Carnath said. “She was face down when I last saw her. May the Forelight have mercy on her tortured soul.”
Ashin had not meant what she said. She had been in the grip of a delirium of the Orstretcherist’s making. TrueFriend had taken her from Evram, and he would have his revenge.
The training session with visitors from Rockstack was nearing its end when someone grabbed AscendantSun’s arm.
“I need to talk you now,” Garscap whispered. “It can’t wait.”
AscendantSun turned to his pupils. “I must go.”
“So, are we finished for the day?” one of the Rockstackers asked.
AscendantSun glanced at the sun. “No. NeverFear will take over for me.”
The Rockstackers emitted a collective, exhausted groan.
NeverFear winked at AscendantSun as he shouted, “Enough of that! Your foes can fight from sunup to sundown, and you must learn to do the same. Let’s do some sparring.”
Clanging of metal and cries of exertion drifted from the training area as AscendantSun followed Garscap in silence to the remains of Leaftea’s furka. Why was Garscap being so secretive? Was this about Ashin Carnath or some other matter? Perhaps he had somehow learned of Grael’s visit to AscendantSun before the attempt to overthrow him.
They halted over the broken stone. Garscap cleared his throat. “Ashin Carnath is dead.”
The news numbed AscendantSun. He took in only fragments of Garscap’s account of her death. Apparently, she had leapt into the Witchmilk and drowned. His shock was nothing compared with what TrueFriend would suffer when he found out.
“I’m telling you in case you experience increased hostility from some of the villagers,” Garscap said. “Many have no love for your kind as it is, and this incident is certain to deepen their hatred. To tell the plain truth, her father demanded I put to death the Orstretcherist who was the focus of her attention. Fapath claimed TrueFriend had cast a spell on her.”
AscendantSun shook his head. The Pigsknucklers had an infuriating propensity for superstitious nonsense.
“Of course, I told him I had no interest in punishing the innocent, and he should keep his slander to himself,” Garscap said. “For all we know, she ran away from home for reasons unconnected to her passion for your friend. Perhaps, old Fapath was responsible. Perhaps, he was a bit too generous with his fist after she made a show of herself.”
“You seem certain of TrueFriend’s innocence,” AscendantSun observed. “You are not swayed by my people’s reputation for seduction?”
Garscap kicked the shattered trunk of the furka. “If he had ravished her, then my view might be different. He had no interest in her. I guess his taste is spoiled by the women of his own kind.”
“Something like that.”
Garscap shook his head as he kicked the stone again. “What possible motive could he have to seduce her and then reject her? What would he gain by driving her mad? He had no reason to ruin her. Nobody does anything without a reason.”
AscendantSun thought of the Harbinger. “Perhaps he is evil.”
Garscap chuckled. “Are you trying to sow doubts in my mind?”
“No. I am astonished by your faith in us.”
“I trust my friends. You are my friends, are you not?”
AscendantSun nodded. “Of course.” He smiled at the questions about Garscap that NeverFear and Saint Sebryn had attempted to sow in his mind. Garscap had proved them wrong. He was someone who could be trusted.
AscendantSun excused himself and set about locating TrueFriend. It would take only a stray word from a Stretcher for news of Ashin’s death to spread rapidly through the Orstretcherists’ camp. TrueFriend had to be prepared for the revelation before it became common knowledge.
He arrived at TrueFriend’s tent to find a sheepish NeverFear standing at the entrance. From inside came the jangle of metal, the soft plop of fabric being stuffed into a leather backpack, and the scrape of leather cords being tautened and knotted.
“I already heard,” AscendantSun assured NeverFear before he could launch into an explanation.
“He will not listen to reason,” NeverFear said. “He is determined to leave.”
A backpack and a shoulder-rack were tossed out of the tent. TrueFriend followed, clad in full armor, a batonaxe in each hand. Rising from his stoop, he laid the weapons to one side and began strapping on the equipment.
“I am going back to Pigsback,” he said. “One innocent death on my conscience is plenty. I want no more.”
“Don’t go,” AscendantSun begged. “None of this is your fault. Nobody, not even Garscap, blames you. You’re needed here. Here, you can make a real difference.”
Deaf to AscendantSun’s pleas, TrueFriend prepared for his departure. After he had secured his batonaxes on his shoulder-rack, something gurgled briefly in his throat but got no further. His eyes glistening with emotion, he nodded farewell and headed out of the camp towards the white peak as his defeated friends watched in hopeless silence.
Streaks of venom rolled down Evram’s cheeks. Rage had wrung all sorrow out of him, and as he leaned over Garscap, he burned with hate like the vengeful hero of some forgotten saga. Garscap would have found the spectacle more impressive if it wasn’t because of a silly crush on a stupid, dead girl.
“I want Ashin’s seducer dead,” Evram demanded.
“On what grounds can I arrest him?”
“Who said anything about arresting him? I said I want him dead,” Evram rasped. “He’ll die, even if I have to raze Pigsback.”
The politician leapt from his seat and connected his fist with Evram’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. Garscap had forgotten how good it felt to punch someone in the face. Evram’s astonishment was quite comical. Lying on the floor, he looked as small as his concerns.
“You hit me,” Evram whined as he gingerly rubbed his jaw.
“Only to knock some sense into you. For your own good. Never speak such nonsense again. Understand?”
“I understand,” Evram muttered, his voice filthy with accusation.
Garscap sighed. It had been
a mistake to take this petulant child into his confidence. He had sought to mold Evram’s naive adulation into the admiring audience so long denied him, but the material was poor. Evram was too impetuous, too temperamental. He was not clever enough. He lacked subtlety. He didn’t understand finesse. Though his loyalty was undeniable. And loyalty was worth a lot. Loyalty was better than intelligence, if a choice had to be made. Besides, Evram was learning. Garscap had to be patient.
Still rubbing his jaw, Evram wobbled to his feet. “Ashin’s murderer is to remain unpunished because his friends are too precious to your schemes to risk upsetting them.”
Garscap smiled. Here was evidence of Evram’s learning. He made no spurious assertion that Garscap was motivated by fondness for the Orstretcherists. Evram understood political considerations were Garscap’s paramount concern.
He nodded at his student. “They are like the scorpion who wanted to cross the river.”
“What?” Evram grunted.
Garscap shrugged. “It is a tale I picked up somewhere. Maybe I heard it in Formicary.” He sat down by the fire and invited Evram to join him with a tilt of his head. Evram plopped down on the far side of the little hearth.
Garscap smiled. “The story begins when a scorpion finds a river fat with rainwater. Searching for a crossing point along the bank, he spies a frog trapped beneath a fallen branch.
“The scorpion says to the frog, ‘I wish to cross the river, but I can’t swim. Promise to ferry me across on your back, and I’ll release you from your prison.’
“The frog is suspicious. ‘I can’t trust you. You’re my bitter enemy.’
“The scorpion says, ‘You have no choice. If you refuse my help, you will die slowly of starvation.’
“‘But you’ll sting me with your tail while we are crossing,’ the frog whimpers.
“The scorpion says, ‘If I do, we’ll both drown, so it’s not in my interest to poison you. To make it worth your while, I promise from this day forth I’ll never strike any frog again.’
“The frog agrees to the bargain. The scorpion uses his tail and claws to free the frog. The frog lets the scorpion crawl onto his back and wades into the stream. All is fine till they’re about halfway across. The frog suddenly disappears beneath the swirling water. When he emerges at the far bank, the drowning scorpion calls to him plaintively, ‘Why did you abandon me? I promised to not sting you.’
“The frog calls back as the river swallows the wriggling scorpion, ‘You said it made no sense for you to poison me while we traversed the stream, but what would stop you from stinging me when we reached the bank? True, you might have kept your promise, but by letting you drown, I’ll ensure your murderous tail will never bother me again.’”
Evram’s eyebrows squished together into an expression of puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”
Garscap sighed. “The Orstretcherists are our scorpion. They may be a temporary boon, but they’re a constant threat. Their consciences could carry them in any direction. They renounced the god of their ancestors. They betrayed their own flesh and blood. They claim they did so as martyrs for our religion, but their actions speak of their fickleness. Their consciences could lead them to betray us as they betrayed their own kind.”
Evram’s eyes narrowed. “So, we are the frog to the Orstretcherists’ scorpion?”
Garscap nodded. “Exactly. Fear not. When the Elves have served their purpose, I’ll gladly help you to exact your vengeance. You must be patient till then. We must do nothing to make the Elves suspicious of us. When the moment is right, we will strike, and by the time the Orstretcherists realize what is happening, they, like the scorpion, will be already dead.”
19
She was the most resplendent gem
That graced the night’s starry booty—
Atop a tower that scraped the sky,
Shone bright this jewel of beauty.
FROM ALACKALAS AND THE FAIR PRINCESS.
Garscap stood beneath Pigsknuckle’s last furka. Harath stood to his right, her head bowed. The breeze riffled through the heap of her belongings to his left. Before him stood her father, bewildered and suspicious.
“Widan, I’m returning Harath to you,” Garscap said.
“What?” Widan blurted, his face boiling with indignation, his eyes darting from his sullen daughter to Garscap and back again.
“I’ve no further need of her as a wife,” Garscap explained.
“What? The saints will never sanction this!”
“But the marriage was never consummated.”
“What?”
“Your daughter remains chaste. We never...” Garscap cleared his throat. “We never engaged in the purpose for which the Forelight created marriage.”
“You never? What? That cannot be true.”
“He never touched me,” Harath confirmed. “He never even hinted he might, and I had no desire to encourage him.”
“Don’t you realize what you have done?” Widan wailed. “You’ve ruined us. You’ve made us outcasts in the village ruled by our family for generations, because you were too stubborn to perform your wifely duties.”
“If you loved the Changeling so much,” Harath snapped, “you should have married him.”
“Even if she had begged me, I wouldn’t have slept with her,” Garscap said. “I don’t find her attractive.”
Widan seized Harath’s hand before it could connect with Garscap’s face. “You cannot strike him here, however much he might deserve it. So, Garscap, this is how you reward me for giving you the thorny crown and staying loyal to you even when others begged me to depose you?”
Garscap snorted. “Come now, we both know that’s untrue. You only warned me of that plot because the conspirators had no intention of giving you the thorny crown. To think you once called me a has-been. Who’s the has-been now?”
Harath screamed as, with outstretched arms, she placed herself in front of Widan to prevent him from attacking Garscap. She clung to Widan as he tried to push by her.
Widan shoved her away and stared at Garscap with murderous eyes.
Drawn by the commotion, several women peered out from their doorways. The men were training with the Orstretcherists at Leaftea. It was a pity that they were not also here to witness the Melkaths’ humiliation.
Garscap bowed. “Now, I must take my leave of you both. Saint Charlin will be arriving soon with my new wife.”
As Garscap walked away, Widan violently castigated his daughter. “To think I raised a fool like you! You are unfit to bear the Melkath name!”
His talk of disowning her made Garscap smile. Their pretenses of nobility lay scattered in the dust, tossed and turned by the breeze, like her possessions.
He awaited his bride in his hut. The saint entered first. Talida Kuny followed with the hesitant trepidation of a kid taking its first steps, round-eyed and skittish. As Charlin introduced them, her wan smile pleaded for reassurance, before it wilted under Garscap’s critical gaze. She was scrawny, underfed. He would have to fatten her up a bit. He must purchase some powders from Forge to conceal her acne scars. Otherwise, she was pretty enough.
Sanctimonious layers of clothing, no doubt imposed by her protector, concealed her figure. Garscap would have the pleasure of discovering her true shape soon enough. He had to be patient. He would buy her expensive dresses, jewelry, and perfume. His intimacy with the whores of Formicary had taught him such feminine ornamentation could transform the plain and ugly into an arousing beauty. She must be regarded as the most beautiful woman in the village. Every man in Pigsknuckle must desire her and envy him. He must deny his enemies the satisfaction of claiming that the Politician of Ogresquern had bested him in the match.
Most of all, his wife should be a constant reminder to Harath of what her own dowdiness and lack of feminine charm had cost her.
“When do you wish to hold the wedding?” the saint asked.
“Today,” Garscap said. “Right now.”
“This is not the custom.�
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Garscap smirked. He declined to point out that changing wives was not customary either. “Do you think the village will welcome a daughter of Ogresquern marrying their politician? Every moment we wait is an opportunity for dissent and mischief. It’s better to marry us now and give the villagers no choice but to accept our union.”
Charlin admitted defeat with a nod. Talida’s brittle smile could not hide her despondency. She probably had expected her wedding to be a more salubrious affair with a great feast and all the other usual trappings. But for Garscap, to suffer through such nonsense once was enough. Besides, it was important for her to learn her place. She had no friends in this village, and her fate depended upon him.
As Charlin droned through the wedding liturgy, Garscap’s attention drifted to his bride. He could feel his excitement growing. How ironic that a man who had known the joys of the most beautiful women who could be bought now trembled at the prospect of feasting on this tatty morsel. He had played the part of a celibate far, far too long. He had much to teach her. She would become the pet of his desires.
The saint’s insistent prompts to recite his vows interrupted his reverie. As he repeated Charlin’s words, the tears rolling down Talida’s cheeks excited him even more. He rubbed his hand over his wolfish grin, assuming it was the cause of her anxiety. His voice thickened and hoarsened as desire choked him. He struggled to retain his composure as the ceremony drew to a close. As soon as Charlin pronounced them man and wife, Garscap wanted him gone. He could hardly breathe till he had swept away this suffocating impediment to his gratification.
Then, at last, he was alone with his sobbing bride. Deprived of the saint’s reassuring presence, Talida shriveled into an even more pathetic, helpless creature. Imagining himself as a bird of prey, Garscap swooped on her, clutched her in his talons, and carried her, still crying, to his bed.
A Bright Power Rising Page 27