Lord of Stormweather fr-7

Home > Other > Lord of Stormweather fr-7 > Page 8
Lord of Stormweather fr-7 Page 8

by Dave Gross


  Muenda sighed as if he had expected the question. "Yes," he said, "but you will win no friends among the elves if you go there."

  "We would prefer to remain on friendly terms with your people," said Cale. "Will you help us search for my master?"

  Muenda nodded and said, "If he is within our domain, we will find him. However, it is possible he will be mistaken for an enemy scout or spy."

  "As were we," said Cale.

  Muenda agreed, and a flick of his eyes showed that he still didn't trust the humans-especially Shamur.

  "Very well," said the elf. "We will take you before the elders of my tribe. Can you walk?"

  "Yes," said Cale.

  "Can you climb?"

  "With help."

  "And she?" Muenda asked, nodding at Shamur.

  "Like you would not believe," said Cale.

  He suspected Lady Shamur was as nimble as Jak Fleet, though she appeared ill prepared for athletics in her current attire.

  "What?" asked Shamur, noticing Cale's uncharacteristic smile.

  "I realize it might seem improper," said Cale, "but you might want to slit those skirts."

  Shamur didn't hesitate. With curt efficiency, she cut a line from just above her knees to the hem of her skirt, then shifted her dress and did the same in back. The mutilated garment gave her a wild look that reminded Cale of Tazi. The resemblance between mother and daughter was usually not so obvious, with their contrasting hair and eyes. Still, the two women shared an attitude of strength with a hint of mischief. Cale had rarely before seen the latter quality in Shamur. When she was done, Shamur offered the knife hilt-first to Kayin.

  "I am sorry to have cut you," she said.

  As Cale translated her words, the elf's face slackened with surprise. He replaced the knife in its sheath and removed the sheath from his belt. Hesitantly, Kayin bowed to Shamur and offered her the knife and sheath together, along with a few words in his mellifluous language.

  "What did he say?"

  Cale translated: "Thanks for not cutting deeper."

  Shamur made a gracious curtsy and accepted the gift. Kayin shook his head in wonderment and bowed again, this time more deeply.

  "Come with us," said Muenda.

  The elves rose to retrieve their bows, but their relaxed gait reassured Cale of their armistice.

  The elves led them a few hundred yards into the woods. With virtually every step, Cale noted another strange variety of flora. Tough gray vines stretched from trunk to trunk, and some mossy growth spread in patches on the ground. Giant yellow blossoms hung like bells from branches that sprung from two or three different types of tree, only to creep among the boughs and mingle with others of their kind.

  "Here," said Muenda, indicating a gnarly trunk with many slender branches.

  Cale and Shamur followed the elf up the woody path. As they entered the canopy, Cale wondered what sort of city the elves must have wrought among the trees. He was surprised when they emerged from the thickest foliage to see nothing but treetops in all directions.

  "Where are your people?" he asked Muenda.

  "They are almost here," replied the elf. "I summoned them when we first saw you."

  He tapped the bone whistle that he wore on a thong around his neck.

  Cale tensed as he felt a warm breeze and saw a shadow fall over the hilltop. He looked up, expecting to see the sun muted by a cloud. Instead, he saw a gigantic creature floating in the sky.

  It was longer than three trade ships docked prow-to-stern, and its shape was similar to that of the porpoises Cale had seen during his voyage across the Sea of Fallen Stars. Instead of fins, thousands-perhaps millions-of transparent flagella rippled in regular stripes along its flanks. The rest of its blue-green body was striped with narrow furrows that converged in a thick, hairlike mass near the center of its belly.

  The gargantuan creature's slow descent gave Cale the impression that he was falling upward, toward a ploughed field with a thicket in its center.

  Despite the animal's great size, Cale could see daylight refracted here and there through its skin. In some of those lighted spaces, the shadows of smaller bodies moved within the great creature. In other spots, chaotic patches of green moss dangled from its hide, and flocks of flower-birds nested in the crannies of its vast belly.

  "Do not be afraid," said Muenda. "I am telling them we are at peace."

  He put the whistle to his lips and blew, but Cale heard no sound.

  The elves cocked their heads to listen to the reply, which was still undetectable to Cale's ears.

  A moment later, Muenda piped again. He nodded as he listened to the reply.

  "You are welcome in the village."

  "Up there?" asked Cale.

  Muenda smiled and nodded.

  "You are the first humans to climb upon a skwalos in many years," he said. "You might find the experience startling."

  Cale looked up and saw that the creature-the skwalos-had stopped its decent about fifty yards above the tree canopy. From the tangled mass on its belly fell what looked like half a dozen thick, black ropes. As they struck the branches nearby, Cale saw that they were as thick as his arms, and flat like noodles. Twigs and leaves stuck to the surface of the tendrils.

  Nimbly navigating the slender branches, Muenda went to one of the tendrils and wrapped it around his body. The tendril contracted snugly around his chest, waist, and thighs.

  "See?" said Muenda. "It is easy. When you are ready, stroke its tongue, like this."

  Tongue? thought Cale.

  Muenda reached up and tickled the tendril with his hand. The elf began to rise toward the skwalos. The other elves watched him expectantly, as did Shamur.

  "What did he say?" she asked.

  Cale decided against a literal translation. Instead, he led by example, grasping one of the remaining tendrils.

  "Like this, my lady."

  The tongue-and Cale still wished Muenda had found another word for it-felt slightly warm and tacky, but not so sticky as he'd imagined. He wrapped it around his body three times and reached up to tickle it. When it squeezed him, Cale tried not to think of a constrictor snake.

  Within moments, the tongue lifted him nearly all the way to the surface of the great beast's belly. He looked for Muenda but saw only hundreds of other tendrils. Some of them had withered to lumps, while others were kinked and curled close to the skwalos's translucent hide. He wondered how he would get from the belly of the beast to its back.

  "Uh, oh," said Cale, as he realized the full implications of the term Muenda had used for the tendril in which he'd willingly placed himself.

  He looked up to see the huge mouth of the skwalos open to receive him. Before he could call out to Shamur, the creature's great lips closed.

  An instant later, the skwalos swallowed him whole.

  CHAPTER 9

  REVELATIONS

  Twice more, Tamlin feigned sleep while his captives entered the prison to remove his bowl and replace it with another. The guards dared not approach the cage with the darkenbeast crouched atop it. Instead they snagged the old bowl with a fishing gaff and pushed the new one back from a safe distance. All the while, they whispered their fears over the botched kidnapping and argued about which of them would have to dispose of the transformed rodent when the order came to kill their captive.

  The former rat was the size of a wolfhound.

  Tamlin could hear the hunger gurgling up from its belly, but the creature obeyed its master's command and never left the top of the cage. Still, its jaws yearned down toward Tamlin, and hot drool dripped onto his face.

  "Stupid rat creature," muttered Tamlin, grateful for the bars.

  Feigning slumber was easier than actually sleeping. Naturally, Tamlin didn't trust his captor, but he couldn't imagine a sound reason for the man to lie about the death of his parents.

  As the third or fourth wealthiest House in Selgaunt, and with political influence exceeding even that high station, the Uskevren were frequently the targ
ets of scandal, intrigue, kidnapping, and recently even assassination. Because the Uskevren had so far, individually and on one glorious occasion as a group, defeated even the most powerful assaults, Tamlin had begun to think of himself as invulnerable.

  Only last year he'd single-handedly defeated a troll. He'd every reason to feel confident that he would survive this trial and revenge himself on his captors. All he had to do was turn the tables on the villains, perhaps by luring a guard close enough to knock him senseless against the bars and take his keys and weapon.

  That cheerful illusion dissolved in a stream of hot piss from the darkenbeast above. Tamlin barely moved to avoid the noxious stuff. After six days in this wretched captivity, he was beyond humiliation.

  There was precious room to spare in the center of the cage, befouled with the darkenbeast's urine. He dared not he too close to the bars for fear that the creature could reach him with its razor-sharp claws. Instead, he turned away from the filth as much as possible and hugged his knees to his chest.

  When at last his aching body could relax enough to surrender to sleep, he escaped mercifully into his old dreams.

  *****

  In a great castle filled with music and spring perfumes, Tamlin dances among his guests. The fairest ladies approach him one by one, and he favors each with a jeweled scarf. The price: a long, melting kiss. If their consorts object, the men are too polite to show it. They smile and bow to their lord.

  A commotion at the entrance, and the guests part. The Vermilion Guard drag a dirty elf into the hall. His rags are an offense to the fine attire of the nobles around him.

  A disobedient slave, reports the captain.

  You know my will, says Tamlin.

  The captain draws his sword. The guards grasp the elf's hair and pull back his head.

  An elven lady, the most beautiful woman ever to grace Tamlin's dreams, runs forward. She falls to the gleaming marble floor and throws her arms around Tamlin's knees.

  Mercy!

  Tamlin sneers at the word. He kicks away the pleading woman.

  (Tamlin gasps at his own cruelty. He wants to apologize. He wants to take it back. He wants-)

  The vanes! Commands Tamlin. He notices the approving nods among his guests. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the cruel, anticipatory smiles as his noble subjects hurry for a good vantage in the towers above.

  The elf woman begs again, My lord, please. Remember-

  Tamlin slaps her face hard enough to turn it away. He follows his guests, pausing briefly by his trio of elf concubines. They sit placidly in their tiny carriage, the fine chains that join their silver collars tinkling as they raise their faces to accept the strokes of his hand. With one hard glance back at the weeping woman, Tamlin raises his palms to the sky and rises up, up, and up…

  *****

  Tamlin awoke breathless. The ugly turn of his dreams shocked him, but he knew that some real sound had shaken him from the nightmare.

  He thought he heard, from near the door, the scrape of leather on stone. At first it seemed to come from inside the prison, but he could see no one in the feeble light of the magic circle. He heard a familiar voice call from outside, at least two chambers away.

  It was his father's voice.

  "We have the ransom," called Thamalon. "Now send out my boy…"

  Tamlin couldn't make out the rest of his words over the babble of his captors' panic.

  "Impossible!" one of them shouted.

  The rest was a clamor of slammed doors and heavy furniture shoved against them.

  Tamlin strained to overhear more of their conversation, but he caught only phrases and curses.

  "… thought he was dead…"

  "… supposed to send anyone here, anyway!"

  "Somebody had better tell…"

  The door to his prison opened, and three men stepped in.

  "Kill him if they get through," one ordered the others.

  One of the remaining guards shut and barred the door, while the other watched the darkenbeast.

  Tamlin squeezed the bloody fingers of his ruined right hand and prayed he could keep a fist with them. If he weren't already wounded, he might have liked his chances against a single opponent. Considering his state, he said a prayer to the Lord of the Dead.

  "Dread Kelemvor," he murmured. "If it's not too much trouble, please take the other fellows first."

  One guard stepped toward the cage, careful to remain out of range of the darkenbeast. Behind him, his fellow held the torch high.

  "Listen," said Tamlin. "There's no point in killing me. That will only ensure your own death."

  Both guards ignored him, their gazes locked on the monster perched over his cage.

  "There's a good boy," the guard crooned to the darkenbeast, and he took a cautious step forward.

  "Think of the reward you will have for turning against those criminals out there," Tamlin added. "I will personally see to it that-"

  Tamlin spied movement behind the guard with the torch. Something dark wriggled out of a narrow coal chute and poured itself into the shadows. When the figure rose up behind the torch-bearing guard, Tamlin saw it was a young, leather-clad woman.

  His sister, Tazi.

  In the months since Tamlin had last seen her, she'd changed somehow. Even beneath the mask of coal dust, her face seemed different somehow-stronger, more angular, even dangerous. With her cool expression and her dark hair tied back in a simple knot, she looked somehow austere.

  Not unlike our mother, he thought.

  Tazi broke the illusion with an unsmiling wink at Tamlin, then she put a finger to her lips.

  She clamped a hand over the torchbearer's mouth, pulled his head to the side, and cut his throat with one clean jerk. She sheathed her dagger and still managed to catch the torch before it fell. With her eyes on the back of the second guard's neck, she held the dead man's body until his death spasms subsided, then let it sink gently to the floor.

  The effortless killing made Tamlin gasp. The joy at his sister's timely arrival mingled with sudden fear that she'd changed far more than her lean face revealed.

  Oblivious to his companion's fate, the other guard raised his long sword for a strike against the guardian beast. Tazi caught his wrist.

  As the man turned toward her, she smashed the burning brand into his face.

  The man screamed.

  Tazi dropped the torch, grabbed her dagger, and ended the man's noise with a quick thrust to his throat. His body fell to the side, removing the only obstacle between Tazi and the darkenbeast.

  "Look out!" Tamlin called out-too late.

  With a trumpeting shriek, the monster leaped at Tazi.

  Tamlin lunged up to grasp the thing's scaly legs. The creature easily pulled away from his weak right hand, and its talons ripped his left to the bone.

  Tazi raised her arms to defend her face, but the darkenbeast's buffeting wings beat them down. Its jaws snapped at her face. She slashed with her bloody dagger, severing the tendons of the creature's left wing.

  The beast screamed again, but rather than retreat it charged at Tazi, climbing up her body with the hooks of its remaining wing and both talons.

  The beast's scrabbling attack sent her staggering back. She stepped on the burning torch, and as it rolled she fell hard on her back. The monster scrabbled to stay atop her, shrieking and tearing. Fragments of Tazi's leather armor flew away like cinders from a bonfire.

  Tazi stabbed at its throat, but the beast's jaws clamped shut on her arm and twisted, sending her weapon spinning to the floor.

  "Tal!" she yelled. "In here!"

  The only response was the screaming of men from the outer room and a deep, bestial roar that made the darkenbeast sound like a frightened mouse.

  Tamlin reached for Tazi's dagger. Considering his recent run of bad luck, he expected it to lie a few inches beyond his reach. Much to his surprise, he grasped it easily. The problem was in gripping it in his ruined hands.

  Tazi and the darkenbeast r
olled over and over on the floor. For every precise fist, elbow, or kick Tazi landed, the monster scratched away a pound of blood-stained leather.

  "Now would be a very good time!" Tazi yelled again to the outer room.

  "Over here!" called Tamlin. "Roll this way!"

  Tazi flung herself toward the cage. Her pernicious foe clung ever more tightly, raking and biting.

  Tamlin tried to stab the thing in the spine, but the blow sent the knife straight through his feeble, blood-slicked grip. There was barely a scratch on the monster.

  "Dark and empty!" cursed Tazi.

  She slipped one hand up under the darkenbeast's jaws and pushed its head away.

  "Sorry!" cried Tamlin.

  He recovered the dagger and, gripping it so tightly he was sure his torn fingers would break off, he thrust the blade deep into the beast's neck.

  The arterial spray was hot and sticky, but the creature continued to struggle. Tamlin pulled the blade out of the beast and stabbed again-and again the bloody knife slipped in his grasp.

  Tamlin's injured hands were beyond agony, even numbness. All he felt at the end of either arm was a weightless fire flickering in the shape of his half-forgotten palms and fingers. He knew he couldn't hold onto the knife again if he tried.

  If he could distract the thing even for a moment, Tazi might have a chance to wriggle free and get the knife. He grabbed for the darkenbeast's throat.

  "Die, damn you!"

  As Tamlin said the words, a jolt of energy thrilled his hands. A blue-white sheet of light coruscated over the monster's body, and Tazi yelped and leaped back.

  Sparks shot from the creature's eyes and mouth, leaving steaming black lumps of ruined flesh behind. The darkenbeast thrashed once more, then lay still.

  "What did you do?" said Tazi. Her hair had puffed up like the tail of an angry cat, and her face was red from the hot electrical flash.

  "It wasn't me," Tamlin protested.

  "It sure looked like it was you."

  "Maybe it was the magic circle."

  As he pointed at the arcane lines, he noticed a stream of blood running from his outstretched finger. He quickly tucked his ruined hands under his arms, squeezing them gently to staunch the bleeding.

 

‹ Prev