Lowellin walked over to stand near Quyloc. He looked down at him for a minute, then shook his head. “The hunter has him. There’s nothing I can do.”
“That’s not acceptable,” Rome snapped. “There’s always something that can be done.”
Lowellin scowled at him. “Not this time. Fortunately, we still have the rendspear, so this is not a total loss. I’ll just have to find someone capable of wielding it.” He bent and reached for the spear.
“If you touch that spear, I’ll cut you down,” Rome growled. He held the black axe at the ready.
Lowellin turned on him, his eyes flashing. “You dare to threaten me?”
“I’ll dare anything to save him. If it means cutting you in half, then so be it.”
“You cannot hurt me with that thing.” Lowellin sounded disdainful, but Rome thought he saw a shadow of indecision pass through his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure what the axe would do to him.
“Why don’t we find out?” And Rome did want to find out right then. The axe seemed almost to buzz in his hands, as if it were eager to strike at Lowellin.
“Gentlemen, this benefits none of us,” T’sim said calmly. They both looked at him. “If you kill each other, Melekath most certainly wins.”
“He’s right,” Nalene said. “You’re being foolish, Macht. You can’t save him. Accept that.”
He swung on her. “I don’t accept that. I won’t abandon him like that. I won’t kill my friend.”
“Then I will,” Lowellin said. He raised the black staff and stabbed downward at Quyloc’s chest.
But Rome had been in too many fights to be caught off guard so easily. The black axe hissed through the air and hit the staff.
There was a spray of sparks and a howl of soundless pain that was felt rather than heard.
Lowellin drew himself to his full height, blazing with fury. “You’ll die for that!”
Rome wasted no breath responding. He was on the balls of his feet, adrenalin coursing through his body, a hair trigger away from attacking. He could already see how it would unfold, the feint, Lowellin’s attempt to parry, then the axe buried in his neck. Lowellin was old and powerful, there was no doubt of that, but he had no skill in fighting.
“The problem, Macht,” T’sim said softly, “is that you can’t see. Let me help you.”
When he acted, it was too fast for even Rome to respond. He stepped in close to Rome and tapped him once, right on the forehead. A light burst behind his eyes and Rome staggered back.
“What did you do to me?”
“Look,” T’sim said, gesturing to Quyloc.
Rome shook his head to clear it, then looked at Quyloc. What he saw staggered him.
Quyloc was surrounded by a soft, white nimbus of light. Hundreds of black lines pierced him, pulses of light traveling up through them. The lines faded into nothingness ten feet or so above Quyloc.
“I warn you, before you act—” Lowellin said.
But it was already too late.
Rome swung the axe laterally, slicing through the black lines. There was a flash of light and a release of power, an explosion that blew Rome, Nalene and Nicandro backwards and buffeted Lowellin and T’sim.
Gingerly, Rome picked himself up. He was aching everywhere. He felt like he’d run headlong into a stone wall. Nalene was still on the ground, moaning softly. Nicandro stood up somewhat shakily.
“Do you have any idea how idiotic that was?” Lowellin hissed, getting into Rome’s path. “You could have killed yourself and half your army—”
“Get out of my way,” Rome said, pushing him aside to get to Quyloc. He knelt beside his friend. He slapped his cheeks gently. “C’mon, Quyloc. Come back to us.” Whatever T’sim had done to him was gone. He could no longer see the black lines or the glow around Quyloc.
“Did it work?” he demanded. “Are the threads cut?”
Lowellin nodded. “They are.”
“Why isn’t he waking up?”
“I don’t know if he will. Most of him is already in the shadow world.”
“Help me bring him back.”
“There’s nothing you or I can do, no matter how badly you want to. It’s up to him to find his way out of that place.”
“There must be something you can do.”
“There isn’t, but I see that will not get through to you. So I will leave you.” He strode off into the darkness and disappeared. Nalene hurried away as well. T’sim was nowhere to be seen.
“Go back to bed,” Rome told Nicandro. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”
Rome remained kneeling beside his friend, staring at him, willing him to return.
Quyloc’s world was red with pain. It was unceasing, filling every part of his being. Nothing else mattered. There was only the pain and the knowledge that it would never end. His old life was gone. Only pain was real.
He could not have said how long he hung there. Time no longer held any meaning. But all at once the pain receded and he had the sensation of falling. He landed hard on the ground and lay there like a broken puppet, looking up at a sulfur-yellow sky.
The memory of the hunter drove Quyloc onto his side, then onto his knees. He had to get away before the hunter returned. He looked around. There was no sign of the creature. But it might be nearby. It might be coming right that moment.
Shakily, he got to his feet. Dizziness swept over him and he stood hunched over, his hands on his knees. When it had passed somewhat he straightened and looked around. There was no sign of his spear, but then the hunter had dragged him for some ways.
Which way should he go? The terrain looked the same in every direction. It was hopeless. He could wander around up here forever and never find his weapon.
He wanted to lie down and give up. Instead he began walking, choosing a direction randomly. He looked for some sign of tracks, but the bare stone showed no traces.
He walked for some time, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, sure every time that he would see the hunter coming for him. But always he was alone. At length he came to the edge of the black mesa. The edge here dropped off in a sheer cliff. At the base was the river.
It occurred to him that he could fling himself off the cliff and end it that way. But would it really? His body was not really here. He might not actually be able to die here. He might just lie broken on the ground until the hunter found him again and then he would be helpless to do anything at all. It made sense that he could not die here; otherwise, why have so many creatures attack him when the gromdin wanted him alive?
An idea occurred to him. He could summon the Veil by visualizing it. Could he do the same with his spear?
He closed his eyes and pictured the spear, remembering every detail as vividly as he could. He opened his eyes.
The spear was hanging there in the air before him, just off to his right.
But when he reached for it, his hand passed through it.
Cold fear gripped him. He tried again. Still the same result. But then he realized something. As he turned, the spear stayed in the same place. He faced it, then took a step toward it. It stayed the same distance away from him. He took another step and another. Each time it stayed right in front of him.
He started to run. As he did, he saw that the image of the spear grew brighter and clearer. He hoped that meant he was getting closer.
All at once there it was, lying on the ground in front of him. He snatched it up, summoned the Veil, slashed it and leapt through. As he did, he could hear a howl in the distance and knew it was the hunter.
Rome knelt by his friend’s body, a black sorrow building inside him. He was too late. Quyloc was dead. He was reaching out to close Quyloc’s eyes when all at once his friend gasped.
“You’re alive!” Rome helped him sit up and had to resist the urge to sweep him up in a bear hug. Even half dead his friend would hate that. He hated all demonstrations of affection.
At first Quyloc said nothing. He sat there, hunched in on himself, his shoulde
rs shaking, his face turned away from Rome.
“Are you okay?” Rome asked.
“No, I’m not okay,” he whispered, pushing Rome’s hands away. “Just give me a minute, will you?” he said irritably.
“Sure,” Rome said, pulling back. “Whatever you need.”
In time Quyloc gathered himself and he looked around as if unsure where he was. Last he looked at Rome, just for a moment before turning his eyes away. “What are you doing here?”
“T’sim woke me up and told me something was wrong with you. When I got here you were just staring blankly and you didn’t move no matter what I did. You were fading. I didn’t know what to do so I got the FirstMother and Lowellin up here to help.”
“The FirstMother and Lowellin were here? You let them see me like that?” Quyloc’s voice was stronger and his anger was evident in his tone.
“What was I supposed to do? Let you die?”
At first Rome thought Quyloc would say yes, then his friend sagged and shook his head.
“Neither one of them would help you. They were afraid. Then T’sim did something to me, tapped me on the forehead, and all of a sudden I could see the lines too.”
Now Quyloc did look at him. “You could see them here?”
“Once he tapped me on the forehead. I’m telling you, it was a weird feeling. Not one I want to go through again. I’ll stick to the normal world.”
“How did you free me?”
“I chopped the lines with the axe. It caused some kind of explosion and knocked me halfway across this hilltop.”
Weakly, Quyloc said, “You’re a damned fool, you know that? You could have killed yourself, maybe others too.”
Rome chuckled. “I seem to remember Lowellin saying something like that too. Anyway, it must have worked because here you are. I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re not dead. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He held the lantern up so he could better look into Quyloc’s eyes. “You’re okay now, aren’t you? No bites or anything?”
Quyloc nodded. “Just weak. But it will pass.”
“Here let me help you up, get you over to your blanket. I’ll get T’sim to bring you something to eat.”
“No. You’ve done enough.” Quyloc seemed to be struggling to say something else, but Rome couldn’t figure out what it was. “Just…leave me alone for now. I need to be alone.”
“You’re sure?” Rome asked. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m sure,” Quyloc snapped. “Just go.”
“Okay,” Rome said, reluctantly rising to his feet. Why in the world was his old friend angry? It made no sense to him. “Maybe we’ll start our march an hour or two later tomorrow morning to give you some extra time. I’m sure the men could use it too.”
“No,” Quyloc replied, sounding even angrier for some reason. “I’ll be fine. We’re not holding up because of me.”
Rome looked down at him for a long moment. He’d never been able to understand Quyloc and he was guessing he never would. When Quyloc did not look up or speak again, he slowly made his way off the hill.
Quyloc waited until he was sure Rome was gone before he tried to move. He didn’t want anybody, especially Rome, to see how weak he was. At first he tried to stand, but after he fell twice he gave up and resorted to crawling over to his gear. The humiliation of crawling was worse than the weakness which disabled him, but he simply had no choice, though it sickened him to give in to his weakness in such a way and the whole time he felt sure there were people nearby, watching him with contempt.
By the time he got there waves of blackness were washing over him and he had to lie against his gear with his eyes closed for a while. After a time, his strength returned so that he was able to sit up. With shaking hands he pulled his blanket out, spread it on the ground and collapsed on it, still clutching the spear to his chest.
He awakened some time later with the feeling that something was terribly wrong. He opened his eyes. In the air above him was what looked like a rip in the air, sulfur light spilling through it.
He closed his eyes, visualized the Veil, and when he opened them again he was standing on the sand under the purple sky. There was a small cut in the Veil, probably the one he’d made when he left. For some reason it hadn’t sealed the whole way and the hunter had its hands in it and was trying to force its way through.
Quyloc’s first thought was to flee. He was weak from his ordeal, barely able to stand. He needed Lowellin’s help.
But he was sick of running, sick of losing to this thing.
His lips peeled back from his teeth in the primal snarl of a desperate, cornered animal and he charged at the Veil, dimly aware that he was screaming incoherently. He raised the spear and stabbed the hunter with every ounce of strength left to him.
He felt the spear meet resistance. A jolt of raw, painful energy surged through him, and the hunter screamed and fell back, one hand clutching its midsection.
Quyloc pulled the spear out and fell back a step, surprised at what he had done. The hunter stood there, staring at him with its red eyes, then it backed away and was lost to sight.
Quyloc left and went back to his world. Lying on the ground, weaker than he’d ever been, still he felt a surge of elation. For the first time, he’d struck back.
Forty-six
They stopped in the small town of Tornith near the Haven so Netra could ask for news about her sisters, but there were only a few people left and they were hostile and suspicious. Even though she’d had Shorn wait for her outside town, they wouldn’t speak to Netra until one old man sporting a single tooth pointed east and then hurried away.
She rejoined Shorn. “It looks like they did head for Qarath.” There was an old road leading east and Netra set her feet on it then did her best to turn off her thoughts, which swirled and dived around her, each peck drawing a tiny bit of blood.
“How do you do it?” she asked Shorn at one point. “How do you keep on when guilt and regret are all you have left?”
“Anger works,” he rumbled. “For a time. Then it doesn’t. It’s not enough to live on.”
She thought long on his words and when the guilt abused her again she thought about Tharn and Melekath and how they had killed those she loved. She thought about making them suffer as they’d made her suffer. She would go to Qarath. She would get one of these weapons that the Protector had brought them, and she would do everything she could to punish those responsible. It did not matter the cost to her. It did not matter the cost anywhere. All that mattered was that they should taste what filled her heart at this moment.
She did not notice Shorn’s expression as he observed the grim look on her face.
As darkness fell Jolene awakened at the entrance of the cave that had become her home. The cave was on the southern slopes of the Firkath Mountains, almost overlooking Rane Haven. She did not know how long she had been there. After Netra left, Jolene had started pursuing visions through the dream smoke again. She knew nothing else to do. The poison was spreading faster than ever and a tiny voice in her mind whispered that if only she could go deeper into the visions she might learn something that could help. It wasn’t long before Brelisha caught her and forbade her to use the dream powder. When Jolene appealed to Siena, Siena had reluctantly sided with Brelisha. The dream powder was too dangerous. She was not to use it again.
For a time. Jolene obeyed the order. She busied herself with the numerous tasks that life at the Haven required, sewing, washing, cleaning, and tending the garden. But the tiny voice would not leave her be so finally she left the Haven one night and wandered forth on her own. She took very little with her, stumbling blindly through the darkness, trying to follow the little voice inside, to see where it would lead her.
As morning broke she found herself high up the side of the mountains on the lip of a small cave. It was more of a crevice than a cave, the floor littered with ancient bat dung and small bones, but it would do. She rested only a short while before venturing forth to seek t
he plants she would need to make more dream powder.
Since coming to the cave she had ventured into the dream world nearly every night, taking greater and greater risks. The dream world was a thin, insubstantial place. If she had tried to explain what she saw there, she would have said it was like seeing reflections on the surface of a lake. The images she perceived were two dimensional and, just as the surface of a lake is disturbed by every breeze so that the images it reflects become choppy and distorted, so the things she saw in the dream world were often confused and meaningless.
On her third trip into the dream world she journeyed to the prison itself. Strangely, the wall of the prison was unlike anything she had ever encountered in the dream world. It was a nebulous, writhing, chaotic mass, shot through with black and purple streaks of some kind of unusual energy that bore no resemblance to LifeSong. She knew with utter certainty that if she tried to pass through the wall that she would never return to her body. Even in this state, disconnected from her body as she was, she could not touch it and survive.
Strangely, finding the wall to the prison heartened her. There seemed no way Melekath could break through that chaotic energy. Perhaps things were not as dire as they seemed. The prison continued to draw her back, over and over, as if there was something there she had missed. Some days later she found a place in the prison wall that was different. It was made of stone, though not ordinary stone. This, then, was where Melekath would break free. The unusual stone proved to be no barrier to her.
What she found on the other side was a scene from a nightmare. A city of ruined buildings, their windows and doors gaping, empty holes, many of their walls streaked black from long-ago fires. The street before her was spiderwebbed with cracks. One of the cracks opened up as it reached the side of the street and the building there was tilted sideways; half of it had broken off and slid into the crack. Something moved in the shadowed depths of the broken building, but Jolene could see no details.
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