SongWeaver

by Derek Moreland

  The arching roar dissipated into a gurgling cough. The monster clawed at its newest wounds, desperate to force the spike through and out. Freed, X'on delivered another crushing punch to its snout. It fell backwards with a dull thud, crunching the shattered glass beneath it. The bloody paws were still wrapped around its own neck, trying in vain to stem the tide of gore that surged like thin pink jelly from its injuries. Ven stared, weary, as its breath shortened to gasps. He watched as its limbs shook and spasmed; finally, he closed his eyes and breathed again as it lay still.

  Then X'on was standing over him, concern etched across his face, his beefy hand extended. “Let me help you up,” he said.

  “I got it,” Ven groaned, pushing himself slowly to his feet with his good arm, using the brick behind him for leverage. His spine ached. Everything hurt. But he was alive, and that had to count for something. “You okay?”

  “Finding it difficult to breathe, but otherwise relatively unscathed. You?”

  “I'm golden,” Ven grunted. That got a low chuckle from the half-giant. Tenderly Ven touched his beak, his elbow. He sighed. “You saved my life.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “No, you did.” Ven licked his lip ridge gingerly, tasting copper blood. He still couldn't smell anything. A slight smile crept over his face.

  “I accept your offer, SongWeaver X'on Doth. I accept by the codes and terms of my Guild and myself.” He groaned. “File at your leisure. I have a feeling this'll take a while. And I have a couple of conditions.”

  “Name them.”

  “One: we travel by night. And only by night.”

  “Done. We leave as soon as your injuries are sufficiently recovered.”

  “No. We leave tomorrow. Pack a lunch. Heh.”

  “But your wounds... ”

  “I heal fast.”

  “But... ”

  “Trust me,” Ven muttered through gritted beak. “I'll be fine.”

  X'on sighed. “If you insist. And the second term?”

  “Don't look for me during the day. Hunt, sleep, keep watch, whatever. But do not disturb me during the daylight hours.”

  X'on nodded. “Consider it done.”

  Ven turned to the bar. The wait staff were beginning to creep out from behind what was left of the furniture. “Can I borrow something sharp, preferably silver? Thanks. Oh, and if you've got an unbroken glass back there, I'd like a shot. Dealer's choice.”

  The bartender, his eyes wide and red, his beard soggy with snot and tears, squeaked a reply, but made no further move. Ven rolled his puffy, bloodshot eyes.

  “Look, I'm insured, okay? Just contact your local Guild agent. His name's Globknib. Give him policy number 4C-6957 and file an incident report. He'll reimburse you for the damages. Can I have a knife now?” To X'on he said, “So… guess I'll see you tomorrow evening then?”

  “Indeed. Ven… can I ask what you intend to do?”

  Ven looked up, blade in one talon, dead ogre paw gently resting in his lap. “Waste not, want not,” he said, the picture of innocence.

  Part 2: Trial of Blood

  Chapter 6

  The next evening, Ven was in better spirits.

  True to his word, he’d made what most would have considered a miraculous recovery: his left arm, while stiff, was otherwise functional, and the flesh around his eyes and beak was only lightly bruised. His olfactory senses were returning to form, as well; the night staff had left the kitchen open, and the dark, salty claret smell of roasting meat stoked a ravenous appetite within him. Thanks to the prior night's festivities, the only thing he'd put on his stomach was alcohol. He was looking forward to breaking his fast, and rendezvousing with the new client. If what X’on claimed the night before was true....

  If what he'd claimed was true, the balance of the world’s power was about to realign itself. Ven was no politician, but he knew the value of information. Hoard or not, there would be something worth learning here. It’s going to be interesting to see how all this shakes out.

  After taking a quick, final inventory of his equipment, Ven packed it all away and looked around the compact but comfortable accommodations that had been his home for the last few weeks. He ran a talon along the whitewashed wall; extinguished the candle he kept lit for appearance's sake that sat on his oaken bedside table. He made the bed that he'd carefully disheveled every moonrise before leaving the room. He knew housekeeping would have gotten around to it eventually, but contrary to the opinion of a certain Globknib, Ven liked to clean up after himself.

  He had to hand it to the gnomes. These digs had been the nicest he'd had in a while. The owner had been one of the primary contributors to his contract, so she'd cut Ven a pretty sweet deal. Actually, she'd offered the room to Ven for free, but the gargoyle had refused to not pay something. The poor woman had just lost a daughter, after all.

  Hrmph. Must be getting sentimental, he grumbled, and closed the door behind him.

  Ven took a small but filling meal of gnomish hash and beans in the inn's back scullery (the meat his nose had promised, he was heartbroken to discover, was being prepped for the continental breakfast, and was hours away from being on the menu). Then he checked out at the front desk, paid his tab, and—feeling generous after the previous night's unexpected haul—tossed a spare gold piece at the Brownie assigned to front entrance night security. The toothy little hairball snatched the coin out of midair, bit it, and gave Ven a thumb's up as he passed. Ven winked back as he strode out the door.

  The night before him was warm and tinged with the music of spring. Clouds gathered on the horizon, as though it meant to rain again. It rained a lot in Grok's Hollow, he'd come to know. Maybe this rain would help wash away the stain of murder and heartbreak that had fallen over the place.

  It was a promising start to the evening. He smiled to himself as he made his way to the distillery to pick up a keg or three. After all, who knew how long this journey would be, or how often they’d be stopping for a beverage?

  *

  Ven found X'on at the appointed spot, sitting on a gnarled tree stump that marked the hamlet's southernmost boundary. The half-giant was once again clothed in a plain brown tunic. His neck was purple and splotched from the were-ogre's attack, and his good eye was ringed with black. On his back, he carried an oversized pack, bulging at the edges. It looked like he'd done his own supply run during the daylight hours. The Book was in its satchel at his side. A broad smile crossed his face when he caught sight of Ven's approach.

  “You're looking well,” he said, shaking Ven's talon in his own gargantuan palm.

  “I told you, I'm golden,” Ven said.

  X'on chuckled again as he slung his pack from his shoulders, giving it a final once over. “Are you ready to depart?”

  Why does he always find that so funny? “Actually,” Ven said, “something's been bothering me since last night.”

  X'on looked up from his last minute preparations, curiosity in his eye. “I thought I sensed a question. Ask away, my friend.”

  Ven swallowed. “So, you said you were a half-giant… what's the other half?”

  X'on nodded to himself. “Yes, I was wondering when that might come up. My mother was a kitsune.”

  “Huh,” Ven said. Kitsune were a unique type of Shifter, foxes that could become bipedal and take a form very similar to elves. As far as Ven knew, they were confined to an island chain in the far, far east. Which confirmed another of his suspicions: this X'on fellow had most likely been through the Dead Lands, if only to get from his mother's home to here.

  That could be something worth knowing. He filed it away for later reference.

  Out loud he said, “The sex must have been awkward.”

  X'on looked at him askance. “I… haven't ever given it much thought,” he said, his tone dry.

  “Right. That makes sense. Come on, let’s grab a Centaur rickshaw before the offices close,” Ven said, trying to change the subject. “It'll give us a head start.”

  “I'm afraid
not,” X'on replied.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Centaurs talk. Even if we gave one only the vaguest of general directions, he'd have to, at the very least, log his transport mileage with his Guild. And I doubt two passengers as unusual as us would pass without comment.”

  “What? But nobody knows about… about the book,” Ven finished in a whisper. “Or the destination. Besides, you realize that I have to log my part in this caper with my Guild, right?”

  “And I’m sure you sold it as 'a wealthy gentleman of abnormal stature has paid you in advance for protection during a business venture', or something similar. Besides, you don’t have to check in at every Guild House from here to Espatenika, do you?”

  “Well, no.” Molten hell, this one was cannier than he'd credited. And Espatenika? That was practically on the coast of Taal'anquor. The south coast. Well, it makes sense. There's no way the hoard would be somewhere civilized. Hate to spend so much time back in Elvish territory so soon, though.

  Oh, well. His visa was still good, and he was pretty sure he could talk his way out of any problem his name and his rep didn't cover. Wouldn't be the first time. But he wasn't happy his client had more or less immediately sussed out his deal with the Guild, either; X'on wasn't just book smart, he was sharp. Sharp clients were harder to lie too, which made his job that much more complicated. If the goatshit hit the fan, it was a lot easier if they believed it when you said, Don't worry. I've got this.

  “Think of it this way,” X'on saId. “What if one of us, or both of us, slip into Equinal by accident while we're riding? Centaurs are almost as protective of their language as your own kind. Want to try explaining your fluency to a being who can stomp you to death four times over?”

  Ven adjusted his own carry-all, pulled out a flask, and bit back a complaint. X'on was right, again; centaurs were mouthy bastards, chatting it up with anyone who happened to land in the back of their cab, and they never did so in their own secret dialect. And more gossip spread through a Centaurian cabbie's union than a halflings' sewing circle. Even if he and X'on didn't start chatting in Equinal, there was no reason to believe they wouldn't fall naturally in Lath'shian. Which was pretty suspicious in its own right. And they were headed into dangerous territory, with the first leg of their journey taking them through the heart of Elvish lands. His visa was clear and up to date, sure, but if the Lords and Ladies caught a whiff of any reason to detain them, they would. And Lath'shia knew when, or even if, they'd be set free.

  Still, Ven hadn't planned on spending his first night on his feet; as a matter of fact, he'd hoped to delay that particular facet of his trip for as long as possible, especially with two demijohns full of booze. He took a quick swig of mead from his flask and asked, “You sure those molehills you call feet can stand the walk?” He sang the question in Lath'shian, just to see if he could trip the half-giant up.

  He didn't. “Only if your water-smoothed talons don't give out on us first,” X'on replied, standing up and walking off at a smooth, impressive gait.

  Ven closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his beak between thumb and foretalon for a moment. Bloody molten hell, he thought as he struggled to match pace, he can even curse like one of us.

  *

  X'on spent the first night's journey talking—about the flora and fauna of the area, about the creatures they passed, about the history and culture of the land they found themselves in. He was a walking encyclopedia of natural lore. Unfortunately for Ven, he was also slightly less interesting.

  “Look! A Gaen! Prunus avium! You don’t usually find those this far south, they require a rich base soil....”

  “So as you can see, the idea that moss only grows on the north side of trees is a total myth. It’s a common misconception that started when....”

  “… not just Elves, but Faeries as well…though much like the dragons, the faery folk seem to have migrated beyond the planes of our knowledge.”

  His sonorous voice droned on and on, as the waxing moon crested the sky and fell back toward the western horizon. Ven tried to be polite and listen at first, but he found himself more and more often disappearing into his own thoughts.

  Traveling to Espatenika meant heading south and east. The were probably going across the Channel to the Known Lands as well. Gedeva, at a guess; nobody traveled into Jernot Mey unless they had a stake in the civil war the dwarves had been fighting for a century and change. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of passing so close to his homeland in the Blessing, much less through it, which seemed possible. Come to that, he wasn't super happy not knowing the full itinerary of this strange quest, either.

  But he lets me have my secrets. And he seems to know what he's doing. Ven decided the big bore deserved the benefit of the doubt. For now.

  “Ven?” X'on's question broke through his reverie. “Is something troubling you, my friend?”

  “Not at all,” Ven said, trying to shake the distraction from his voice. “I was just contemplating the, uh, the the the historical significance of that… hilltop.” He pointed at random to one of the bluffs off in the distance.

  X'on nodded. “Good eye! That butte was the site of a particularly bloody incursion in the subjugation of the giants....”

  Ven rolled his eyes, sipped his flask, and kept walking.

  *

  The pair passed a week and a day in that manner. Ven would disappear just before sunrise every morning. X'on would greet him at the cusp of the evening with new conversation, fresh game hunted and strong black coffee brewed. X'on in particular was a fiend for coffee, calling it “the only worthwhile remnant of the Human plague.” Ven thought it was fine, if salty and a little bitter; it smelled like black earth, warm and moist from a spring shower.

  Ven could never be sure of how his strange companion whiled away the daylight hours, but X'on had the courtesy to hold up their bargain, so Ven denied the suspicion so intrinsic to his nature and trusted that he would not pry. And cold hell, if X'on ever noticed that his impromptu lectures were mentally unattended, he gave no sign. Things were going well. Ven began to mellow towards his companion.

  Until one night, as a freshly skinned hare popped and sizzled over the campfire, X'on said, “There's something I've been wanting to ask you about. I wasn't sure how to approach it....”

  Here it comes, Ven thought. “We had an agreement,” he said. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, and was not entirely successful.

  “And I wouldn't dream of impugning that,” X'on replied, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “But I am curious. The night we met, the night you chose to aid me in my quest. When we were assaulted… you provoked that werewolf to attack you. Why?”

  Ven stared, his face blank. “I'm sorry, what?”

  The gold and crimson flame played off the crisscross of scars on X'on's smooth face as he spoke. “You asked him to kill you after he had already threatened to do so. 'For giggles,' you said.”

  Ven laughed. “Oh, that. Yeah, I tend to pop off when I feel threatened. Dad always said my Rahvin would stone my mouth shut if I wasn't careful, but I was always a little smartass anyway.”

  “I see. Were you born a Tanith, Ven?”

  “I was, yeah.” He paused. “Look, can we talk about something else? This, uh, this isn't a subject I'm exactly comfortable with.”

  “Of course. I didn't mean to intrude.”

  “It's no problem. But you know, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about as well.” Ven chewed his lip ridge for a moment, then continued. “I can't help but notice… we're going to be hitting the Elvish Homelands pretty soon, right? I mean, it's harder to calculate distance on foot, but we should be getting close. Right?”

  X'on plucked the hare from its spit as he answered. “Actually, we crossed into Taal'anquor two nights ago.” He pulled a leg from the game, then offered the spit to Ven. “You want a leg or breast tonight?”

  But Ven was already livid. “What. Did you just say... ?” he rasped.

 
“Taal'anquor. We're in it. I led us through a shortcut I came upon in my travels a few years ago. The outposts are spread so thin through this forest, you could almost sneak an infantry through.”

  Ven jumped up, his talons biting the thin grass beneath his heels as he rose. “No. No, I am not breaking Elvish law for you, I am not getting caught between borders without proper verification, do you have any idea what these creatures will do to you if we get caught you unbelievable bastard?”

  X'on finished chewing his hare-meat before answering. “Ven. Calm down. Sit.” To his surprise, Ven did as he was told. Also, his ears hurt, like X'on had just shouted instead of using his accustomed harmonious tone. “There is nothing to fear here, Ven. I've traveled this path a hundred times. I've scouted every hidden crevice and marked every security position within thirty kilometers of us. Trust me. This is the safest, quickest way to the Known Lands.”

  “So what, are we going on a ship? Fantastic! That's just great! Totally not at odds with your whole desire for privacy!” At least I know I was right. That thought was currently giving him no comfort, however.

  “Regardless, we'll need a ship to continue our journey. Unless gargoyles can walk on water, Ven?” There was no malignancy in his voice; there never was. But still, Ven felt like he was being egged into something, and he didn't like it.

  “Of course not. But I can smell some, about half a kilo west of here. I'm going to go take a bath, wash my clothes, and maybe grab a late night snack.” He turned in the direction of the lake, then paused. “Okay, is it safe to leave the clearing or am I gonna run into something nasty?”