Storms of Destiny

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Storms of Destiny Page 30

by A. C. Crispin


  “What about Clo’s … body?” Eregard asked. “Do we have time to bury her? Or should we take her, too?”

  Talis wiped her forehead, leaving a reddish smear. Thia noticed that she had a cut on her forearm, bleeding sluggishly. “I don’t know,” Talis said. “I don’t want trouble with the authorities back in Q’Kal. I can’t imagine how we’d answer questions from the Watch.”

  “Does she have family?” Thia asked.

  “No, just her guild, and I know they’d give her an honor-able burial,” Talis replied. “But they won’t want any trouble from the Watch, either.” She glanced over at the wounded man. “Jezzil’s still alive, he has to come first,” she said. “We have to get him to a physician. He may not last the night as it is.”

  They walked together to look at Clo. The mercenary lay on her back, eyes wide open, arms flung wide. “Goddess, I don’t know what to do!” Talis muttered.

  “Put her in the wagon,” Eregard said. “We can leave the body just outside of town, hidden, and after we find a doctor for Jezzil, I’ll come back and bury her. Or I’ll bring her guildmaster so he can take charge.”

  Talis nodded slowly, and the look she gave Eregard was one of sudden respect. “Good idea. Thia and I will rig a litter. Eregard, you give the team as much water as we can spare. We can spell them with the saddle horses when they give out.”

  As she crossed the circle, still lit by the now dying fire, Talis stopped and gave a choked cry, gazing at something hidden in the darkness. She flung herself down.

  “What is it?” Thia asked as she and Eregard hurried over to join the Katan.

  Moments later she saw. A bay horse lay sprawled un-gracefully on its side, legs sticking out stiffly, eyes staring.

  Talis stroked the satiny neck. She made no sound, but her face shone wet in the light of the lamp. “Bayberry …” she whispered. “Oh, Bayberry!”

  “What happened?” Eregard said, dropping to his knees and putting a consoling arm around Talis. She didn’t seem to notice, though she leaned against him as if she needed the support.

  “That second shot of Clo’s,” Thia murmured, remembering. “It went wild. I’m so sorry, Talis.”

  For a moment they stood there, silent. Then Talis straightened. She wiped her hand across her face, smearing it with Jezzil’s blood. “Help me get my tack off him, Eregard. We have to hurry.”

  Moving quickly by the light of the rising moon, they stowed Jezzil in the bed of the wagon, then wrapped Clo in a blanket and put her there, too, using her body as a buffer to keep the Chonao from rolling about. “You ride back here with him, keep him steady,” Talis ordered Thia. “If you can get him to swallow, give him sips of water.”

  Thia nodded, and climbed into the wagon bed. Eregard tethered Clo’s horse to the back of the wagon. Falar appeared to be unharmed, despite the fall the mare had taken, so he tied her to the back of the wagon as well. Then Eregard swung up onto his own mount. Talis climbed up on the seat, took off the brake, and clucked to the team.

  “Get up!”

  Thia felt the wagon bed lurch beneath her as she carefully eased Jezzil’s head into her lap. She allowed herself a few sips from the waterskin, then cautiously dribbled a few drops between his lips. His eyelids fluttered, then he swallowed and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  Talis had the team turned now. She slapped their backs with the free end of the reins. “Get up there! Hup!” The wagon lurched forward, heading east for Q’Kal, using the rising moon to set their course.

  The Power Within

  Had he not remained partially Incarnate, he would have died in the wastelands. He was wounded in many places, burned, and he had no food, no water, no clothing to shield him from the sun that rose as he limped determinedly toward it.

  Boq’urak sustained him, nourished him, and healed the wounds far more quickly than any magical salve he had ever heard of. By the time he reached the outlying farmlands, the sun was overhead and his partially Changed body was whole again.

  As he walked, he had not been aware of the presence of his god, only of the imperative to survive, to heal, to keep moving. But now as he stood looking down on a farm, seeing human clothing being hung on a washline by a farmer’s wife, he realized that there was a large cistern to trap rain-water behind the barn.

  Quickly he stole down to it, careful to stay out of sight. He had no wish to kill unless his Lord commanded it.

  Once there, he put his face down to the water, letting it run up the tube that served as his tongue, sucking greedily. His skin tightened, the scaled places taking on a sheen in the sunlight.

  When he finally slaked his thirst, he pulled back his head, retracting his tongue, and stared down into the water, knowing his Lord wished to communicate more fully.

  His partially Changed reflection wavered back at him, and then he heard the voice of the god. My servant …

  “I am here, Lord,” Varn answered. “The city lies ahead of me. As soon as I resume human guise and covering, I can walk among them once more.” His throat tightened as he remembered the previous night’s events. “I am sorry, Lord. I was weak. I failed you.”

  You could not know that the girl had comrades who would ride to her rescue, the god said. And you have learned a valuable lesson, have you not?

  “Yes,” he said to his reflection. “Oh, yes. I must put aside the past, and do thy bidding only, Lord.”

  You have indeed learned, the god said, and because of that I am inclined to be gracious.

  “Thank you, Lord,” Varn said fervently. “I will dress myself and go into the city. I will seek her out and kill her for her temerity in hurting us.”

  No, the god said. Last night’s adventure was … diverting.

  She may live yet a little while. There is something else you must do, My servant.

  Master Varn blinked in surprise, then bowed his head.

  “Command me.”

  You must go into the town and find a ship. Cross the sea.

  There is one on the other side of the Strait of Dara that I have chosen as My vessel. An innocent, residing in a place of power. There will be war, and much bloodshed. It is My will that I be present to share in it, to partake of it.

  Varn bowed his head. “I shall do as you say, Lord. But there is one thing …” He hesitated. “Ship passage will require payment.”

  Fear not. I shall provide.

  Varn raised his head, and felt himself growing smaller,

  lessening in every way. He felt the alteration in his bones, his sinews, and then his link with Boq’urak vanished.

  But he knew now it would return.

  Shivering, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, Princess Ulandra paced the royal bedchamber. Despite her fur-trimmed dressing gown, the fire in the fireplace, and the mild-ness of the summer night, she was chilled to her bones.

  Halting her restless movement, she stood still as a cramp twisted in her belly. As it passed, she took a deep breath.

  He’ll be here any minute.

  And he would know. He would ask her, and she didn’t dare lie. Or he’d ask her waiting women; he’d done it before.

  They would tell him, they dared not lie for her. Salesin’s temper was not something anyone wanted to rouse.

  As she walked past the casement window, she felt the brush of cool air across her cheek and shivered again. She’d taken Wolf out earlier for a walk in the garden. It was a lovely spring night, with the Moon nearly full. Ulandra thought of the Moon and the roses, bleached to delicate pal-lor in its light. Suddenly, for no reason at all, poor dead Prince Eregard’s face formed in her mind’s eye. He would have been a good companion on a moonlight walk.

  She felt another cramp uncoil in her belly. Her courses had come on her a day or so early this month. Salesin would know, and he would not be pleased.

  At least he wouldn’t take her tonight, or for the next few nights. But Ulandra knew she’d far rather endure his rough embraces than his temper when he discovered that once agai
n she had not conceived.

  She bit her lip as another cramp assailed her. If only she could just climb into bed, have her ladies-in-waiting bring her a posset and a warm brick wrapped in flannel. She could curl up next to it and, just perhaps, sleep.

  How long had it been since she’d had a peaceful night’s sleep? She couldn’t remember.

  Ulandra paused before her mirror. She had lost weight lately, and was even paler than usual. Hastily, she applied a bit of rouge. She could not afford to show weakness or appear ill. If Salesin thought she was sickly, incapable of breeding, Goddess alone knew what would happen to her.

  She felt a sudden hot wave of anger against her husband.

  There was still fear when she thought of him, but, more and more lately, it was drowned out by hate and anger. How dare he treat me the way he does? How dare he?

  Her face now had plenty of color. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and her eyes sparkled with it. But as Ulandra stared into the mirror, she was suddenly aware of that presence, that Otherness. Her features seemed to melt, to lose shape, to rearrange themselves into a countenance out of a nightmare. Huge, lidless eyes stared back at her, and her mouth was not a mouth at all but— Ulandra cried out in fear, and suddenly everything was back in focus. The face in her mirror was her own.

  Her hands were shaking so badly that she could not place the stopper back in her container of rouge. I was imagining things, she told herself. I’m tired. I haven’t been resting or eating well for months now. I just need rest.

  A cramp uncoiled within her, and she bit her lip until the pain passed.

  She was pale again, and the rouge she’d applied made her look like a street mountebank. Taking up a bit of cloth, she rubbed most of it off. At least that wash of anger had stopped her from shivering. But she knew that wouldn’t last. The fear would be back as soon as she heard her husband’s step.

  Hastily, she stood and walked around the room, quickly tidying it. Salesin didn’t like clutter, and would use any excuse to lose his temper.

  When she passed the fireplace, she saw that some ash had fallen onto the stone hearth, and quickly she knelt on the stones and began sweeping it up.

  She was so intent on her task that she didn’t hear his step.

  “What are you doing?” he asked sharply.

  Ulandra started so badly that she dropped the hearth

  brush. Hastily, she got up, ignoring the cramp that wanted to double her over, and curtsied. “Forgive me, my lord. The hearth needed sweeping.”

  “Don’t your waiting women obey you?” he said harshly.

  “Or are you such a weak-livered nonentity that they ignore you, the way I wish I could?”

  “Your pardon, my lord,” she said. “Of course they would obey, but the last time you came in and Bethina was here, you were angry at me for having her here to tidy up when you wanted to rest, so …” She trailed off, realizing he wasn’t listening.

  “You’re pale,” he said, walking over to her. “Even paler than usual. Can it be that you’re breeding?”

  Ulandra froze, tempted for one wild second to say yes, just so he would leave her alone. Just one night to sleep peacefully, without pain or fear. Just one night.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “My lord, I … I am sorry, my lord, but today … today I …” She was stuttering, unable to meet his gaze, and shivering .

  “Bleeding again? You must be barren!” he snarled.

  She shrank back, her hands going up to her ears, not wanting to hear the words that felt like blows. “I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t—”

  She never saw his hand move, but suddenly the blow snapped her head back. Lights exploded against her eyelids, flashes of color, as pain blossomed on her right cheek. He had slapped her before, open-handed, but this time he’d used his fist, and the pain was unbelievable.

  The room spun around her, and Ulandra realized she was back on the floor, on her hands and knees. “Stupid, whey-faced bitch!” he snarled, and the toe of his boot caught her in her belly, lifting her up, spinning her over, taking her breath.

  She lay there, trying to breathe, but all she could do was gasp like a landed fish.

  And then she heard the barking.

  Oh, no! Wolf!

  Ulandra managed to draw breath, rolled over, pushing away the pain. “Wolf! No!”

  The little dog must have gotten away from her maid. He raced into the room, a brown blur, and flung himself at Salesin, snapping and growling. The Prince cursed, and his foot moved again. There was a shrill yip of pain, and then Wolf lay stunned, halfway across the room.

  “No!” Ulandra moaned. “Please no! Please, I’m sorry!”

  She began dragging herself across the floor toward the dog, not sure what she was planning to do, only knowing that she had to stop Salesin, she had to save Wolf—Wolf, her only friend. She reached her husband and grabbed his leg, digging her fingers into the hard muscle of his calf. “No!

  Please! Don’t hurt him!”

  Salesin knocked her aside with the back of his hand, and she fell back onto the floor. Without even glancing at her, the Crown Prince strode across the floor, grabbed the whimpering dog by the scruff of his neck, then, without a pause, yanked the casement open and tossed the dog through it.

  “No!” Ulandra screamed. “NO!”

  The royal bedchamber was in the tower, high up. There was nothing outside but a long drop to the cobblestone courtyard.

  Ulandra knew her dog was dead. Just thinking of that furry little body sprawled bleeding in the courtyard made her want to die herself. “Wolf!” she whispered. Sobs choked her, and she struggled to remain silent.

  Salesin looked down at her, still on her hands and knees.

  “Get up,” he said. “You look ridiculous.”

  For a moment she was tempted to disobey, to stay where she was. Maybe he would kill her, too, and then she would not have to feel this pain. Something got her to her feet. She glanced sideways at the fireplace, at the poker. Could she reach it before he could stop her?

  He’s a trained warrior, she thought. Of course he could.

  Salesin’s anger seemed to have drained away, leaving him calm, relaxed. He met her gaze for a moment, then looked away, almost as if he were feeling some shame for what he’d

  done. “I’ll get you another dog, Ulandra. That one wasn’t worthy of a queen.”

  She forced words past the aching tightness in her throat.

  “No, thank you, my lord. I wish no other pet.”

  He shrugged, a flicker of anger stirring, then glanced at the window and controlled himself. “As you wish. I’ll have my valet see to the corpse later tonight.” He turned away, then glanced back. “My lady, pray do not challenge me again. That was most unwise of you. What happened tonight was your fault, not mine. I suggest you heed the lesson.”

  He strode toward the door, but paused just before going through it. “I’ll send your maid to tend you. Do something about your face.”

  The next moment he was gone, and she was alone.

  She stared at the door, then straightened, ignoring the cramp that assailed her. Quickly, she pulled on warm riding garb and her boots.

  As she opened the bedchamber door, she met Bethina coming in with a bowl of water and some cloths. “Your Highness! Your face! Oh, my lady!”

  Ulandra ignored the sympathy, and brushed aside the woman’s hand as she attempted to touch her throbbing cheekbone, babbling about cold compresses. “There is no time for that now. Step aside.”

  “Your Highness,” Bethina quavered, “Crown Prince Salesin said you were not to leave your suite.”

  Ulandra gave her a look that made the maid step back. “I don’t care what he said,” the Princess said tightly. “I’m going out. You can come with me to help me or stay here, I don’t care which.”

  “Your Highness …” The maid wrung her hands fearfully.

  “I … I daren’t cross him.”

  Ulandra nodded. “I understand. Just s
tand aside.”

  “Please!” squeaked the woman. “Please don’t! He’ll have me flogged!”

  Ulandra paused for a moment, thinking, then grabbed the woman by her arm and dragged her over to the closet. “Step inside,” she said.

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  “Yes, Your Highness!” Bethina stepped into the closet.

  Ulandra shut the door, then fetched the key and turned it.

  “There, now you’re protected,” she said, raising her voice so the maid could hear her through the panel. “Tell him I shoved you in there when you tried to stop me. I’ll corrobo-rate your story. Now I must go.”

  “My lady, where?” Bethina sounded as though she were weeping. “Where are you going?”

  “Down to the courtyard,” Ulandra said. “I have to bury my dog.”

  Khith hated Market Day in Q’Kal. Most of the time the Hthras liked the human city and enjoyed its bustling vitality.

  But Market Day always meant there would be strangers in town, and many Katans and Pelanese had never seen a Hthras. They stared, whispering rudely, and one burly teamster had even had the temerity to pick it up and pull the concealing hood off its head! Only a quickly muttered warding spell had saved the Hthras from being stripped bodily and exhibited to the crowd like some new variety of beast.

  Market Day was also when the slave auctions were held in the town square. Khith’s office and lodgings were close enough to the square that it could hardly avoid being aware of the entire distasteful scene. Much as Khith liked humans, it considered slavery an abomination practiced only by savages.

  The Hthras was glad that it was now late spring and growing quite warm. It had suffered from the cold during the last of the winter and early spring, and only the fact that its practice was doing well had enabled it to manage. It had kept one serving lad busy for months just keeping the fires in its office, examining room, and bedchamber stoked.

  Some Katans would never seek out a nonhuman physician, but many did. Hthras physicians had a far better record of cures than most human doctors. Since arriving in Q’Kal, Khith had treated lung diseases, infected eyes, risky pregnancies, and a host of other human ills.

 

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