by Giles Carwyn
Krellis turned his gaze upon her. “You’re only going to cut their throats? I thought Zelani were unnaturally compelled to play with their food.”
Shara sneered. “Be careful, little Brother, or you’ll find yourself crawling home.”
Baelandra’s stomach churned, and she had to swallow down an unpleasant taste in the back of her throat, but Krellis simply raised an eyebrow. “If you are so powerful, girl, tell me what I’m thinking right now.”
Shara’s eyes narrowed and she concentrated on his face. Krellis’s heartstone pulsed faintly red through the linen of his shirt. Shara’s lip curled and she looked away.
“Stop it,” Baelandra said. “This bickering is pointless.”
“What else do you have to offer me?” Krellis asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What else do you want?”
“You could return to my bed.” He smiled a thin smile.
Without looking at Scythe, Baelandra put her hand on his, stopping the sword that was halfway out of its sheath.
Scythe glared at Krellis, who regarded him calmly. “I could kill you before your men could nock an arrow,” Scythe said in a low voice.
“Only if Baelandra lets you take your sword out.” He smirked.
“She is the only thing that keeps you alive.”
“I will take that bet, Kher, anytime.” Krellis touched the pommel of his own sword.
“Enough!” Baelandra raised her voice. “We need each other. Can’t anyone else see that? We are surrounded by enemies, yet you squabble like chickens. If you were children, I would paddle you raw and send you to bed without supper.”
Krellis flexed his fingers, and Scythe slammed his blade back into its sheath.
“Would you send us to bed separately, or in pairs?” Krellis asked with a half grin.
Baelandra sighed. “Krellis, I would happily spread my legs for you if it would save this city. But you would not find what you are looking for. The time we shared is gone forever.”
Krellis grunted.
“What do you want to seal this alliance?” she pressed. “What will it take to unite us?”
“Two hostages.”
Baelandra paused, stunned. Could he be serious? Could it be that easy? She raised her chin, knowing who one of those hostages must be. “Who?”
“You.” He nodded at Baelandra. “And him.” He inclined his head toward Scythe.
Baelandra’s throat constricted. She turned to Scythe. His face betrayed nothing. “For myself, I agree,” she said softly. “But I cannot speak for another.”
Scythe didn’t look at her. He focused his gaze on Krellis for a long time. “This is what you want?” Scythe asked, though he did not turn toward her. “There are other roads we might travel.”
Baelandra swallowed hard. “It is the best way,” she whispered.
Scythe slowly closed his eyes, his jaw muscles tensed and released. He opened his eyes again. “I will do this thing if you ask it of me.”
He owed her nothing, but she owed him her life, twice. She owed him the life of her beloved nephew. Owed him for Shara’s life. Owed him more than she could ever repay, and yet she must ask him for another favor. “I do,” she said, her voice so quiet she could barely hear herself.
He nodded once. “Then I will do as you ask,” he murmured, but he would not look at her. “You deserve nothing less.”
Then he turned to Krellis. “You would be a fool to keep me imprisoned when the fighting starts.”
“I will make that decision when the time comes,” Krellis said.
“Then we have an understanding.” Baelandra cut them off.
Krellis nodded. Scythe said nothing.
“Good,” she said. “Now. There is one more thing before we can complete our bargain.”
Krellis frowned, shaking his head. “I think I have given quite enough.”
“Nevertheless,” Baelandra said, “we require one thing more. It is simple and will cost you nothing.”
“Indeed? And what would this insignificant request be?”
“We need to know how you got into the Wet Cells.”
Krellis blinked. His brow furrowed, and he narrowed his eyes, flicked a glance at Scythe, then back at Baelandra. Slowly, his gaze settled on Shara. She stared back at him, raised an eyebrow.
“I see,” he murmured, an indecipherable expression on his bearded face. “What did you want to know?”
3
IT WAS strange to be back in her house after such a long exile. Nothing had been touched, but Baelandra felt as though someone had rearranged all of the furniture, put it in wrong places. It was as though strangers had been living here for months, laying a careful layer of dust over everything. If any of them survived the days to come, would this place ever feel like home again?
Baelandra knelt and put the jade comb Brophy had given her into the trunk. She stopped and frowned; with a shake of her head, she took out the comb and set it on the dresser.
Seeing Krellis again brought back old hopes. He could have been such a great man if he had just let go of his past. She wondered if anything she loved about the man still survived, buried deep inside him.
“Almost ready?” Scythe asked from behind her. She jerked her head up. He always moved in and out of rooms like a ghost. Krellis could never sneak up on her, but Scythe did it naturally. She never knew when he was with her until he spoke.
“Almost,” she said, frowning at the half-filled trunk. “I have never moved into a cell before. I have no idea what to pack.”
She smiled at him, and he smiled back, one of his rare moments. Baelandra swallowed, took another dress off the bed, and put it in the trunk.
“This is the first time we’ve been alone in months.” He spoke her thoughts.
She swallowed again, feeling a tightness in her belly. She should have foreseen this. Perhaps she had. Of course she had.
“Yes,” she murmured, letting out a quiet breath. Like a little girl, she wanted to continue packing and ignore the tone of his voice, the meaning in his words. But she was not a little girl. She looked him in the eye, waiting. For all that he had done for her, she could at least give him herself, as honestly as she could.
“I would like to ask you something,” he said quietly, staying where he was. He watched her so simply, so certainly. Her heart wrenched within her chest.
“I’ll tell you anything, you know that,” she said.
“Do you still love him?”
She opened her mouth to speak and found her voice gone. She bit her lip, praying to the Seasons that she was not blushing. “No,” she said.
He said nothing, merely watched her face. Was she lying to him? Did she even know the truth herself?
“Scythe,” she said, her voice low and husky, “I could never love him after what he did to Brophy.” She remembered Krellis’s ruthless accusations, his single-minded drive, the way he set the boy up, twisted the testimony. She remembered, and her resolve strengthened. A part of her loved the man still, despite it all. She could not deny it. Perhaps that part would always be there, but her soul knew the difference. Krellis was their best chance to save Ohndarien, but he would never be her lover again. She did not know much, but she knew that.
Whatever shone in Baelandra’s eyes in that moment must have been the sign Scythe was waiting for. He crossed the room. It had always been odd to look into Scythe’s eyes. The first time she saw him, he slew three men while at death’s door. He seemed huge at the time, but they stood at the same height. It always surprised her when she noticed how small he was.
He brushed a hand across her cheek, moving back her wavy auburn hair.
She licked her lips, waiting for him to kiss her, wondering what she would do when he did.
Instead, he said, “When you are as short as I am, you never kiss a woman for the first time until she is lying down.”
Scythe scooped her up behind her knees and shoulders and tossed her on the bed. She bounced twice and laughed in surpri
se. He leapt after her, landing lightly on his toes. He knelt slowly, lowering himself onto her hips as he looked into her eyes.
“This is the last chance we may get,” Scythe murmured, his fierce black brows turned upward slightly. She had never seen that expression on his face before, uncertain, vulnerable.
“I know,” she whispered.
He paused. “Is this what you want?” His brows came together and his body tensed.
She nodded, putting her hands behind his wiry shoulders. “Yes.”
He smiled like a little boy, then leaned down and kissed her, his body pressing against hers. She wrapped her arms around his back, brought her thighs up on either side of his narrow hips. His body trembled as though he were cold. She swallowed, turned her face away. He kissed her neck as one slender hand deftly unfastened the buttons on the front of her dress.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to love this man, willing herself to give him this one small thing in return for everything he had given her.
Scythe stopped kissing her. His hand left the buttons of her dress. She opened her eyes. His face was tight, resolute. It was the face he wore before she asked him a favor, the face he wore before he killed a man, and after. It was a face she knew too well.
“You are thinking of him.”
She shook her head quickly. “No. I’m not.”
He watched her for a long moment. Carefully, methodically, he began re-buttoning her dress.
She grabbed his hands. “No, please. I want this.”
His hands were gentle, but unstoppable. “You want this like an honorable merchant wants to pay his debts.”
“No, Scythe, that’s not—”
His open, frank look stopped her.
“Scythe, please,” she said, sitting up, interrupting him. Her dress lay open at the top, the last three buttons still undone. Her heartstone glimmered red. “Give me time, please…”
He slid off the bed and offered her a wisp of a smile, his dark fingers touching the edge of the covers. “Time has run out for us.” He shook his head. “I should not have come here, but I needed to know.”
He strode quickly across the room. Baelandra leapt from the bed and ran after him, caught him just as he entered the hallway. She grabbed his arm and turned him around.
“I want to give you this, my friend, my…” She tried to say ‘love’ but could not. “Be my lover. Please, I am asking you.”
“No. In this, I deserve nothing less,” he said in a husky voice. He shook her hand loose and continued walking.
“Scythe…” She hurried after him for a few steps, but knew she could not catch him. She would never be able to catch him again. “I wish I could. Please know that I want to.”
He stopped and her heart beat faster. She opened her mouth in anticipation. Oh please, she thought, turn around.
But he merely turned his head, his profile dark against the light behind him. “We all wish for things, Baelandra.”
He turned and went down the blue-white marble stairs.
4
SUTOM’S PALMS began to sweat. The carvings were recent. Flecks of stone scattered the barren ground around the little statuettes. He picked a figure up and held it close to his face so he could see the details in the darkness. It was an elegant woman with long, sweeping hair and an imperious look to her face. The other carvings were just as beautiful, like little idols from a barbarian shrine. He had almost overlooked them in the foul mist that haunted this place, but the vapors cleared for just one moment and revealed the secret of the Cinder.
He set the carving down gently and crept farther into the alcove between two boulders where the carvings were hidden. Every surface of the rock was covered with a vast panorama of carvings. Squinting in the darkness, he could barely make out an intricate carving of the Blue City. It depicted the vile fortress in painstaking detail, from the Water Wall to the windmills and the bay.
The Empire was saved. The wizards of the Blue City were on this island, just as the letters said. Father Lewlem would be pleased, and Sutom would progress countless sleeves closer to Oh.
A light tinkling sound caught the scout’s attention. He crept out of the alcove and opened his ears to the sound, opened his eyes to find the enemy.
Sutom had been trained since childhood in the arts of silence. Few of the Children of Oh could bear the loneliness of his work. But he had been blessed with a serene heart, a keen mind, and deft feet. He was proud to serve His Eternal Wisdom in these lonely, barbaric places of the world.
Quiet as the wind, he crept closer to the sound. It had to be the baby’s music box. Father Lewlem would be most pleased, indeed. The horsewomen of the Vastness had spoken of the mystical box that always accompanied the Legacy.
When he was certain no one had seen him, Sutom padded across the dry, porous rock toward the sound. He stayed close to the largest formations, using every scrap of cover in this bald, fuming land.
The childish tune emanated from a cave lit by the soft, red glow of a fire from deep within. Sutom crept closer and paused before the entrance. A chill ran through him. The infection of the wizards was inside. His skin crawled as if dipped in oil, and his throat felt thick.
Certainly this would be enough evidence, but Sutom had had to make certain with his own eyes…Crouching low, he peered around the edge of the cave like a serpent.
A noise behind him! A foot on rock! And then another and another, rushing toward him!
Launching himself forward, Sutom sprinted up the hill into a thick bank of noxious mist. He whipped his head around. The fog swirled away, and he saw the glint of moonlight on a naked blade.
The scout’s feet gripped the volcanic rock, and he ran faster than he ever had in his life. All would be lost if the wizards of the Blue City caught him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His legs ached, but as he raced from the sound of rocks crunching under his pursuer’s feet, he could hear the wizard’s even breathing. The devil was gaining.
With a grunt, Sutom crested the jagged ridge and plunged down the other side. The slope would give him an advantage. The wizard behind him might have the large body and long legs of an easterner, but he could never be as agile as an Ohohhim scout. He could not—
Sutom smacked headlong into a furry, fetid belly. He spun sideways and fell to the rocks, covered with an overwhelming stench. An enormous black creature lunged at him. Its guttural roar pierced his ears. Sutom rolled farther down the slope, and the creature bounded after him, stomping on his leg and slashing him with its claws. Sutom threw himself down the mountain, desperate to escape. He tumbled down the slope and slammed into a rock. Sutom shook the stars from his vision, tried to rise, and screamed. He fell back and gasped. His thighbone jutted out of his leg just above the knee.
The perversely misshapen bear lumbered down the steep slope, causing a small avalanche in its wake. Its limbs barely seemed attached to its body, stretching and distorting its mangy coat as it ran.
The scout fumbled for his blade, but it was gone from his belt. He jerked his head up to stare at the thing coming down the hill.
The malignant bear roared, rising on its hind legs, twice as tall as Sutom. Oozing flesh spotted with tufts of brown hair covered its body. Jagged, yellow teeth flashed beneath glowing eyes. Black saliva flew from its mouth as it roared again, its huge, hairy arms spread wide. Claws as long as Sutom’s hand jutted from the paws at contorted angles.
A figure flew out of the darkness. A sword flashed.
Hot blood splattered across Sutom’s face, and the creature’s roar became a wet burble. Its hairy head tumbled past the scout. The great, mottled body continued forward, and it swung blind, the claw crashing onto the rocks inches from Sutom’s arm. The headless creature rose to its feet, lurched past him, and rolled down the hill out of sight.
Sutom stared into the fog, jerking his head back and forth, trying to see both the bear and the man who killed it. The headless creature never reappeared, but a faint light illuminated the vapors, and an emacia
ted man emerged from the swirling mist.
The glow came from the stone embedded in the center of his chest. He wore nothing more than a pair of tattered pants that hung loose on his gaunt frame. With an economical swipe, he cleaned his blackened blade on a rag hanging from his belt, set the tip of the sword at his hip, and sheathed it.
“You are from the Blue City,” Sutom said between pants.
“Yes.” The sorcerer crouched next to Sutom, his weather-beaten face spotted with the creature’s blood.
“Please don’t kill me,” Sutom said, clutching his shattered leg.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but you are already dead.” With a surprisingly delicate touch, the thin, starkly muscled man lifted Sutom’s hand away from his thigh. The wound reeked like the creature that caused it, and vomit surged into the back of his throat. Inky tendrils were already spreading outward from the gash. The dark fingers of the infection spiderwebbed across his skin, creeping across his belly and onto his chest.
Sutom whimpered, his eyes huge as he stared at his doom. He could feel the vile wound growing, reaching for his heart. Sutom had been in the Vastness when they discovered the Ohndariens’ handiwork. He saw what became of the Children of Oh when touched by that corruption.
“No!” Sutom gripped the man’s forearm. It was like grabbing a steel bar. “Please! Don’t let it take me.”
The barbarian wizard’s mouth tightened a little. He let out a slow breath and looked away for a moment. “I cannot save you. Your wound is too great. I’m going to have to kill you.”
“Yes,” Sutom begged through clenched teeth. “Yes, yes. Do it quick, you devil. Finish your handiwork.”
Sutom thought he saw a tear in the Ohndarien wizard’s eye as he drew his sword and thrust it into the scout’s heart.
The pain vanished, and suddenly Sutom felt much, much better.
5
SHARA BOBBED naked in the water, clinging to the wooden plank. She took a dozen hasty breaths, then a dozen slower breaths, then a dozen very long breaths as she rested from her swim. The journey across the open ocean in the dead of night had been longer than she had expected. Her magic sustained her, her body glowing with the power, but this was only the beginning of the nightmare journey. She had already taken too long. If she didn’t hurry, Brophy would have to wait another twelve hours.