by E. V. Greig
That Kaiwan had been delivered in the far off desert of Ixran would stand as an impediment to her status within her mother’s culture. The failure of Kyshaa’s companions to return her body to the Rowan Tree mound for proper burial compounded this. The Ullensian culture held that the souls of the dead could not truly rest unless they were buried with their ancestors. Riders and steeds alike were laid in state beneath the pale stones. Here they waited for the end of times: the final battle that would see them called forth by Ullen Himself. That much at least, Kaiwan knew, and it troubled her.
Perhaps a mile from where they stood was a trade meet: around two hundred tents and three times as many riders. The stench of horse manure and unwashed bodies hung thickly in the air.
“Your people are primitive indeed, sorceress.” Bandhir took in the sight and smell of the trade meet. “That spot shall be poached by the time that they leave it!”
Saylii cackled. “Oh now, you mustn’t criticise the great Ullensians, Lord Bandhir! Their God will smite you with lightning if you do!”
“And yet I see no lightning. Still, I take your meaning, Saylii. They are a proud people, eh? I shall be careful of that.”
Kaiwan startled them all then as she burst into tears. “What’s wrong with her?” Drithik stared at the Ullensian in bemusement. “Isn’t she glad to be home?”
Bandhir frowned. “Sorceress – what is wrong?”
“I have always wanted to come here, Efrym, but I was never allowed to do so – and then I lost Uleno.”
“Forgive me please, sorceress, but who is Uleno?”
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “He was my herdmate: a pale stallion, although not nearly so pale as Seranor. He died protecting me and my guardian’s son.”
Nala shook her head. “The Ullensians may not easily accept you once they know that you have lost your herdmate.”
Drithik felt sorry for the Ullensian. “That’s hardly fair.”
Kaiwan shook her head. “It does not matter. I can never ride with them, but I am still an Ullensian. And Efrym asked me to be his guide, so they may view me as that.”
Bandhir patted her arm. “You may ride with me, sorceress – I should like to see any Ullensian that can outride us, or the horse that can keep pace with Seranor!” So saying, he urged the pale mare on into a trot. Saylii and Drithik looked up expectantly at Nala.
The ulnyr groaned. “Fine, climb up then – but this is the last time!”
∞∞∞
“Are we any closer to the end of this road yet, Ruiryk?” Hugo was concerned.
“I – I’m not actually sure. The last time we came this way was before the plague struck. I was still a child then myself, and Banor was asleep for most of it. Slo’annathorys knew the route.”
“Well, are you sure that we haven’t taken a wrong turn somewhere? Only we’ve been travelling for days now. Our water supply is half depleted – mayhap we should turn back if we cannot be certain of reaching the other side of the cliffs before we run dry.”
Ruiryk blanched at that. “Damn, I knew I had forgotten something!”
Hugo put his head in his hands. “What is it?”
“There’s nowhere to find water on the other side, Hugo: these cliffs open out onto the fenlands of Nandor - a vast salt marsh! And past that is only sand: the desert wastes of Ixran. There are wells there, but only the local people know how to find them.”
“Ruiryk? Go somewhere that is not near me for a time, please.” Hugo’s voice was eerily calm.
The young Anyosian fled to the far end of the column. Javia tugged at Hugo’s sleeve. “Lost?”
“Aye, child: that we are.”
∞∞∞
Ranulf glanced up in surprise as the door to his study opened and a familiar figure slipped in. “Naomi – why what is this? My dear girl, why are you sobbing?”
She ran to him then and buried her face in his chest. He felt her tears soak through the fine red silk of his shirt. “Uncle, forgive me please! I just need to be allowed to cry for a time!”
He frowned and stroked her hair. “Niece, has this to do with the negotiations with the sylvanthir?”
“No: nothing so very important, Uncle.”
“Have you received ill news of Kaiwan or Master Khuff?”
“No news at all, so far.”
“Are you sick, or dying?”
She laughed a little at that. “No, not sick, not dying! I’m sorry: I just needed to cry it out, that’s all.”
Ranulf stood and raised Naomi to her feet. Catching her by the chin, he wiped the tears from her face and gazed into her eyes. “Was it Skegyl?”
“He agreed to let me go. I should be happy.”
“Well then, why are you crying?”
“I – I am a little hurt at what he said when he was leaving. I’m being foolish, aren’t I Uncle Ranulf?”
“You are certainly murdering the grammatical structure of the Alnaiean language, but as I do not know precisely what Skegyl said to you, I cannot possibly judge as to whether or not it is worth crying over.”
Naomi dabbed at her eyes and managed a faint smile. “Well. I need to get back to work drafting our terms.”
“Good gracious, Naomi! You mean to say that you still have not finished? Well, hurry along then, my dear niece – it is scarcely an hour until sunset!” Ranulf hustled her out of his study and closed the door behind her. Shaking his head slowly, he sat back down at his desk and considered his options.
∞∞∞
Hugo led the way back out of the pass. “We’ll find some other route to the wyrm’s lair,” he promised. “We shan’t abandon Slo’annathorys. But there’s no way we can make it through those damned cliffs! I’m sorry.”
Ruiryk and Banor nodded gratefully. Squeaky edged forwards. “Where are we headed to now then, boss?”
“Now we need to find somewhere that we can leave Javia.”
∞∞∞
The Ullensians stared at them as they entered the trade meet. There were few other outlanders there: a handful of Ixranian merchants, and a few veldaans bickering over the price of salt. Drithik grinned and slid down from Nala’s broad back to run and join his fellows. “So long, tall folk!”
Nala fidgeted pointedly until Saylii dismounted. “Well, I promised to escort you and the sorceress to Ullensia. My debt is paid, mercenary. Good winds to you both.” She cantered off away from the trade meet and was soon merely a distant speck on the horizon.
Saylii pouted. “So our little group is broken then! But where am I to go to?”
“You would do well to get out of Ullensia before we kill you, veth’kyr!” A lean Ullensian man had stepped forward. He was clad in simple furs, with a hard look to his dark brown eyes and an oak tree tattooed upon his brow. “Go back the way that you came – we have no liking for your kind here!”
Several dozen others shouted in agreement: drawing their weapons and encircling the newcomers. Saylii cringed back against Seranor’s flank. “Lord Bandhir, please don’t let them kill me!”
Bandhir sighed and drew his falchion. “Peace, please, all of you! Do not force me to do you harm.”
The ringleader laughed at that. “We outnumber you greatly – what shall you do? Bleed on us?”
Kaiwan raised her hands then, and lightning crackled about the feet of the mob. “Let our friend be! She has done you no harm!”
The other Ullensians gasped and scrambled clear. The man with the oak tattoo scowled at Kaiwan. “And what is this? A kinless witch who rides with outlanders and monsters – where is your herdmate, witch? Why have you no clan markings?”
“The sorceress rides with me. She was raised apart from her people – it was not her choosing. It has taken great courage for her to come here in search of you.”
“So is she your slave then, outlander, or your whore?” The Ullensian was circling them now: keeping well clear of Seranor’s hooves. “Perhaps she is both, eh?” He laughed and made a crude gesture towards Kaiwan. “Ho there, kinless o
ne! Do you hope that your master will sell you to one of us? Would you throw sons or daughters? You should know best: you are a witch, after all!” All of the Ullensians within earshot were laughing now, and pointing too. “Will you sell her to me then, outlander?”
“Halun: enough!” Another Ullensian shouldered his way past Kaiwan’s tormentor. He was somewhat taller than Halun, and carried the mark of the rowan tree upon his brow. There were fine streaks of silver in his long black hear. “Let them be, fool! Do you not see who this must be? Are you blind to her looks?”
Halun sneered. “One kinless whore looks much like another to me, Naikran!” He stalked off.
Bandhir eyed the newcomer somewhat warily. “I am Efrym Bandhir, and this is the sorceress Kaiwan, and our companion, Saylii.”
Naikran merely nodded. “So you have finally come then: as the shamans foretold that you would. Welcome, Kaiwan, twin sister of Kalios – now we may finally determine which of you the Ca’Ryln is!”
∞∞∞
“What do you mean that none of the townsfolk are willing to take her in?” Hugo was disgusted. “But Squeaky, she’s only a child – an orphan!”
Squeaky shrugged. “There’s been another famine, boss. Folk can’t even provide for themselves, let alone seeing to an extra mouth that’s no kin of their own. And she does keep insisting that people are going to die. It isn’t really encouraging anyone to adopt her.”
Hugo sighed and picked Javia up. “It looks as if I’ll just have to care for her myself then!”
“Can you get her to stop predicting everyone else’s deaths then, boss? I know she’s harmless, but there are times when it gets to me anyway. And the rest of them have been grumbling about it too. Well, apart from old Marwyn, that is. He just smiles and nods.”
“He’s a very sensible man.”
∞∞∞
Misericord was watching the Lady write the final words of the terms. “Something has saddened you, my Lady.”
“I’ll live.” Her voice sounded brittle, which bothered him. “You have kept well clear of me today, Misericord. Don’t you approve of our settlement?”
“Luath is loath to let you know of all that occurred, my Lady.”
Naomi’s hand froze mid sentence at that. “Speak plainly, Misericord.”
“He has been harmed by the sylvanthir, my Lady. He did not deign to discuss the details with me, but I would wish to wonder as to the rate of reparation made when a messenger is mistreated.”
“What kind of mistreatment? Has he seen a healer yet?”
“He belittles his bruises in preference of preserving the peace, my Lady.” Misericord ducked his head slightly as he dodged the detail of her question.
She shot it back at him. “What kind of mistreatment, witchfinder?”
“Rape, my Lady.”
His mistress stood then. “Fetch Luath here immediately please, Misericord.”
He bowed. “As my Lady levies.”
∞∞∞
Slo’annathorys slipped out of the dungeon and climbed the dank stones of the prison stairwell. He could see light above him: most likely candles. There was little chance of natural light this deep inside Nandor Keep. The sylvanth gripped the hilt of the blade that he had taken from one of his late torturers. Prepare to join your young, wyrm: I shall have vengeance for my beloved Coorinne!
The sudden scrape of talons on stone alerted him and he ducked just in time to avoid the nhynquara’s attack. “Hello, hussbaand!”
He stared at the thing that had once been his wife. “Coorinne?”
She cackled at him and lunged forward once more: her impossibly long hair entangling Slo’annathorys and dragging him inexorably towards her gaping maw.
∞∞∞
Luath glanced warily from Misericord to Naomi. “May I ask what this is all about, Lady Naomi?”
“Misericord told me everything.”
The par’anth flinched at her words. “Please – I do not wish the actions of one general to destroy the peace! I ask that you let this pass unmentioned.”
Naomi shook her head. “Not an option, Luath. What was done to you was wrong: there has to be reparation made for it. And besides, you are my guest. You are under my protection. When you visited the sylvanthir and their king, you went as my messenger, on lands that have been declared to be mine. That means that the perpetrator has also betrayed the traditions of hospitality, and abused a messenger, and a guest of my household. These are very serious matters by Alnaiean law.”
“If you challenge them on this, Lady Naomi, then there may not be lands or a keep left for you to rule over. For all our sakes, you must ignore what was done. Besides, King Gilvaneous is not to blame. He merely ordered me to the stocks for an hour as punishment for rudeness. Whatever happens to a prisoner there is the concern of no one.”
She hugged him then: seeking the image of the one that had assaulted him. “It concerns me, Luath. Now you must not worry about the peace: I’m not about to abandon it! But King Gilvaneous must be told of this offence to the sanctity of Briersburge. Our traditions demand that a ruler be responsible for their minions’ actions.”
Luath was unused to such familiarity. He tensed in her arms. The memory of how the sylvanthi general had gripped him slipped unbidden to the surface of his thoughts, and he shuddered. “Please let me go!”
Naomi stepped away from him immediately, almost stunned by the degree of fear that still resonated through him. “I am sorry, Luath. It was not my intention to trigger such a reaction. Please – rest here a while, until you feel able for company.” She indicated a low settee. “Misericord and I must go to deliver the terms now.”
“But Lady Naomi: King Gilvaneous shall be expecting me to return the terms,” the par’anth protested.
“I promise to explain it to him using small words, Luath.” Naomi was gathering up her papers and checking her hair in the mirror.
“But – but you are female! It is not safe for a female to wander through an encampment of sylvanthir!”
“I promise not to allow any of them to bleed out if I have cause to castrate them, Luath.” The Alnaiean noblewoman smiled at him then. “Poor Luath – you do not know what I am capable of at all, I am afraid! Rest assured that I can manage myself around an army. Besides which: I do not go alone. I take my loyal bodyguard with me and dear Spellsnitcher too, of course.” She wrapped a finely woven lace shawl about her head and shoulders. It matched her current gown: a high collared, long sleeved affair of crimson silk. “Misericord, Spellsnitcher – we must depart for our meeting!”
Chapter Five
Hugo was beginning to regret having volunteered their services in ridding the local farmers of the giant spider that had been devouring their livestock. His company had been hunting for the creature for almost a week with no sign of it. Well, aside from the webbing. That was everywhere: and furthermore it was extremely sticky. Whenever someone became trapped in it, which happened all too often, the others had to spend almost an hour freeing them – all the while wondering whether this would be the time that the accursed monster would strike.
Even Squeaky was disheartened. “Maybe we should just give up, boss.”
The mercenary shook his head. “I gave those farmers my word. A mercenary’s reputation depends on him keeping his word, and getting the job done.”
Ruiryk groaned. “Well there must be a better way of finding this stupid spider! Following its webbing hasn’t worked so far. I don’t understand how something so big as this thing is supposed to be can stay hidden!”
“It’s a giant spider, lad: they’re infamous for being stealthy!” Banor belched. “Might be easier to just lay a trap and wait for the bugger!”
Squeaky pointed to where some local men were driving sheep to market. “We could buy some of their flock to use as bait, boss.”
“I’m tempted to use Waneve!” Hugo glared at the horse. “Fine then: Squeaky, you and Ruiryk go buy a few sheep. Banor, you dig a pit. We’ll cover it with a latti
cework of poles and put the sheep on top of it to lure the spider in.”
“What good will that do?”
“Simple: there’ll be a half dozen of us hiding in the pit armed with sharpened stakes! Once the spider comes after the sheep, we’ll stab up into its underbelly. Damn beast should bleed out.”
Alyrra covered her ears. “Poor creature! Couldn’t we trap it and let it go elsewhere, away from the farms?”
Hugo stared at her. “It’s a giant spider, not a rare species of bird! Why would we want to let it live?”
“It’s only trying to survive, Hugo.” The healer frowned at him reproachfully.
Marwyn nodded. “The farms that are being affected were only recently built. That spider has probably been here for decades, living off wild animals...well, that and the occasional traveller.”
“I don’t care: the farmers are the ones who hired us, and they’re paying us to kill it!” Waneve reared then: squealing and kicking. Hugo swore and stormed over to where the horses were picketed. “Now what’s wrong with you, you mad brute?” He cuffed the stallion on the withers. “Stand, damn you!” Waneve snorted: his eyes rolling back in terror. The cart horses nickered warily then and trotted to the far side of the makeshift pen. A sudden awful suspicion touched Hugo’s heart. Turning slowly, he peered into the tall meadow grasses that surrounded their encampment. “Oh fuck!”
The spider was at least as large as three warhorses. A pale green banded with dark brown, it blended perfectly with its surroundings. Which explained why he hadn’t noticed it before now: even though he had passed within inches of its huge fangs to deal with Waneve. The mercenary gazed into the creature’s multiple eyes. The spider gazed back into his one. Hugo tried to speak but his voice caught in his throat. He stood frozen to the spot in mute horror at his predicament: wondering how to warn his companions without startling the beast into attacking him or them.