“You should have supplied your own dreadmen.”
“But we had only a handful, Great One.”
“You had enough for the battles last year.”
“But the winter storms were too severe, besides sending them would have left us defenseless. We—”
“Do you argue with the Glory’s envoy?”
“No, Great One. I merely explain that we delayed not from indifference or traitorous alliance, but from the greatest concern that this weapon would fall into the hands of those who would use them against you.”
“And when you fell, when your weaves failed, and the enemy overran you, what then?”
But their weaves shouldn’t have failed. Mokad should have sent a replacement when Lumen vanished. If Mokad hadn’t sent, it was because Mokad had not supported them!
“We were foolish, Great One,” said the Prime. He prostrated himself on the floor. “Please show us how we may repent.”
“Who cast the lances? Who devised the liquid?”
“The lances were cast by a smith of the Fir-Noy, Great One. As for the liquid,” the Prime pointed at Argoth, “the Glory’s servant who created it stands there.”
Argoth deepened his bow, but he saw that The Skir Master did not turn.
“A Shoka,” The Skir Master said still facing the Prime. “Hard to believe a Shoka could devise this. Wasn’t it a Shoka who spied for the Old Widow of Cath so many years ago?”
“A blight upon our name, Great One,” said Shim. “But those elements were culled from the clan decades ago. Our loyalty has been tested. Was it not a Shoka who saved the Glory’s blessed father from the flood?”
The Skir Master turned and smiled. “Indeed. And now, it seems, the Shoka have yet another opportunity to do a great deed or a greater evil. What will it be?”
An anger began building in Argoth. But Shim dropped to one knee and Argoth followed his lead.
“The Shoka serve the Glory of Mokad,” said Shim.
“Does anyone else know the secrets of your fire water?” asked the Skir Master.
“No, Great One,” said Argoth. “A handful know parts and help with preparation. But only I know how it all combines at the last.” Actually, that was a lie. Hogan knew all the steps. And Hogan had sent the secrets along so that the Order might have this weapon as well.
“Then you shall be the savior to lift the burden from this people’s neck,” said the Skir Master. “You now have your ship of dreadmen. You will gather up every fire lance—every part, from the cannon to the fittings on the ships. You will collect every drop of the fire water and all the tools and substances used to create it. You will have them loaded on my ship by morning. And you,” he turned to Shim, “you will deliver all those who help prepare it. Do this and the Glory of Mokad will forgive this people its cruel inattention.”
Argoth was stunned. Did the Divine not know he was taking their last defense? With those words he’d just ordered the deaths of all the fine warriors of each clan. He’d ordered the rape of their women. With those words he had put the collar of slavery upon every child born for as many generations as it took to rise up against the invaders and finally throw off their chains. With those words he had cut the hearts out of hundreds to be burned upon the barbaric altars of the Bone Face priests.
“Do you waver?” asked The Skir Master.
“No,” said Argoth. “I—”
“Great One,” said the Prime. “Does this mean that the Glory has blessed us with your wise leadership?”
The Skir Master shook his head. “All of the arms of Mokad must now defend the heart. I too will sail in the morning.”
Again, the room fell silent. Argoth could not believe he was hearing this. And then he realized he did not believe this. The Skir Master was deliberately provoking them, testing them.
Why would he do that?
“Deliver your burden,” said The Skir Master, “and I will reward you immediately with a replenishment of three weaves.”
Three? Three would never be enough to protect this land.
“Great One,” The Crab said. “Did you have time to consider our request for a seeking?”
“A proper seeking takes many hours,” said the Skir Master. “I cannot draw for your weaves and perform a seeking by morning. And I will not delay my departure. No, take your prisoner and put him to the question yourself. You can break through a man’s defenses with a proper questioning almost as easily as you can with a seeking.” He gestured in a way that took in the whole Council. “Or is this seeking the boon you desire?”
“Weaves,” said the Prime. “Bring our weaves to life.”
The Skir Master signaled for his guide, but before he left, his gazed landed on Argoth again. “Lest something happen to such a valuable resource as yourself, ten of my dreadmen will accompany you. Losing you is a risk I will not bear.”
“Very wise, Great One,” said Shim. “Very wise.”
Argoth looked into the Skir Master’s eyes—did he know Argoth’s secret? Argoth glanced at Shim. Had Shim revealed his suspicions about Argoth?
Argoth bowed. Ten dreadmen to guard him, but only three for the whole of the New Lands?
“Do not disappoint me,” The Skir Master said to the whole Council. “Now, I have heard of your baths. Lumen wrote incessantly of them and the delights of your blueberries, and I mean to enjoy them both before I leave.”
* * *
The Council erupted after the Skir Master left. But The Crab, ever-fixed upon his purpose, came to take Hogan.
“It appears we’ll have to find another to oversee the questioning,” he said to Shim.
“It will be one of the Shoka,” said Shim. “And it will be done in the fortress of Whitecliff.”
The Crab hesitated and Argoth wondered if he was going to try to forcibly take Hogan from him, but he only made a gesture of surrender with his hands. “As you wish.”
Shim caught Argoth’s eyes, as did the Shoka Territory Lord, but Argoth ignored them. He took Hogan, pushed through the Council’s chaos and rushed him outside. The ten dreadmen assigned by the Skir Master followed behind.
Before they had exited the building, a messenger entered and set off another round of alarm—Larther the hunter had been found dead on the upper plains with the same blackening about his face as was found on Barg’s family.
Hogan looked at Argoth.
Larther was one of the Grove. At one time he had thought River would marry Larther, but that had never come to pass. Instead, Larther had cleared numerous acres of Argoth’s land up on the plains that he might satisfy Gil the carpenter. The carpenter had demanded that his daughter, who was smart and clever and had waited so very long for a man to notice her, would not spend her life in a dirty hut. Three years Larther had cut and cleared. They were to be married this season.
Hogan passed his hand over his face. Then he spoke with his eyes closed. This was his habit when trying to catch and pull together the threads of many elusive thoughts. “It is not a coincidence.”
The dreadmen were too close for Hogan to speak loudly. So Argoth put his friend’s arm in his and began walking out of the hall and left into the street, toward the fortress. The dreadmen followed a few paces behind.
Hogan did not speak for some time. They walked down the cobbled lane, the great houses towering like walls on either side. They passed a man pushing a vegetable cart loaded with enormous radishes, two boys chasing after a yellow cat, and a serving woman in blue and white, cleaning a doorstep.
Hogan pitched his voice low so the dreadmen couldn’t hear. “Purity, Larther,” he said, “and suddenly a Divine appears who doesn’t care to do a seeking. Doesn’t even mention the fact that some creature of legend stalks our land. I can’t see it yet, but he’s tightening some noose.” Hogan licked his dry lips. “And here’s another thing: what if the creature was his to begin with?”
If that were the case, then the Skir Master had already performed a seeking on Purity. He might already have their names and
the names of contacts in other Groves.
“The Grove must flee,” said Hogan.
“Who? You and me? Guarded by ten dreadmen? And if we do the noble thing and kill ourselves, it won’t help the others.”
“Matiga is ready. She’s strong. Her knowledge runs deeper than either of ours. She will bear the Grove off to join with Harnock.”
“But what if that’s precisely what this Skir Master is hoping for. The Order always flees. He’s expecting it, expecting us to send out warnings. And what if he already knows about Harnock and is waiting for us to lead his men to him?”
Hogan said nothing.
Harnock, rarely seen, a ghost of man and beast. It was he, in his secret mountain valley, who kept the seed, the hope that would start the One Grove. It was he who kept the Book and Crown of Hismayas, the ancient god who had founded the Order. Into these two objects Hismayas was said to have put all his knowledge and power. The problem was: none had yet found the way to unlock them. Nevertheless, those two objects could not fall into the enemy hands.
“I have a better plan,” said Argoth. One that just might save the Grove here and all the unknowing wives, sons, and daughters who would not be able to flee with the power of the lore. One that would not only discover what exactly the Skir Master knew, but also ensure that any secrets he had extracted would never reach the other side of the sea. One that would allow him to put the tools he had before he came to the Order to a righteous purpose.
“No,” said Hogan.
“Yes,” said Argoth. “I’m going to run right into his teeth.”
22
Riders
TALEN SUSPECTED THE Mokaddians would be watching for him at Farmer’s Gate. For that matter, they’d be watching for him at all the lesser gates on that side of the city. So he decided to use Gallow’s gate on the far side.
When he and Nettle drove the wagon up to the gate, they found it manned by six men: a city guard to oversee the watch and a number of commoners performing their required three-day service. Moreover, Nettle knew the man eating slices of raw fish with his fingers. Nettle hailed him by name and the man waved them through with a “give Zu Argoth the compliments of the Lani family.”
Nettle nodded, and they passed through the gate. Talen expected someone to call them back, but he and Nettle rolled through the dry moat, over a slight rise, and continued on toward the river. A surge of relief washed over him as well as something he didn’t expect—a sympathy for the hatchlings. Perhaps it was as Da said: perhaps what was wrong was that the world was full of Fabbises.
With every rod they traveled, it seemed that Talen felt better and better. A great sense of energy and well-being washed over him. He felt like a spring day, one where the mud had dried and the leaves had begun to break their buds and color the world with a light green. It was odd. It was as if the earth itself had touched him and given him an extra portion of life. Perhaps he’d been more scared than he thought and so now felt a greater relief.
The wagon bumped along and kicked up a haze of powdery dust. Not far down the road, along a bend of the river, rose a fat grove of cottonwoods.
A number of naked bodies hung on ropes from the massive limbs of the trees. All had been found guilty of one crime or another. Of course, sleth would never hang here. Sleth were dealt with in an entirely different manner.
“I want to ask you something,” said Nettle. “And I want a straight answer.”
Talen looked at his cousin.
“When that hatchling girl kissed you, did you feel anything odd?”
“Besides being panicked out of my mind?”
“I’ve heard the lovemaking of sleth is feral.”
“Goh,” said Talen. “We weren’t lovemaking. The armsmen were right outside. I think you need to get out more. Forget your parents’ ban. Slip out and kiss a girl now and again. You have enough who are willing.”
“Are you mad? My father would skin me. Especially after the incident with the Fuller’s maid. You’ve think I’ve got a life of cake and pie, but my parents have got me so hemmed in and roped down I’m going crazy.”
“But you said she put her tongue in your mouth. That’s going a bit far for playacting, isn’t it? And I’m not interested so much about the lovemaking anyway. What I’m wondering is if she did something to you.”
She’d done nothing to him. Nothing he could feel. But Nettle wanted a story and it was clear he wouldn’t be put off. Talen gave him an earnest look. “You won’t tell anybody?”
Nettle’s face lit with curiosity. He raised his hand in oath. “Silent as a mole.”
Talen took a deep breath. “I was helpless.”
“Helpless?”
“Yes, she took my arms and pressed them down so I couldn’t do a thing. You wouldn’t think a slip of a girl could do that. I wanted to tell her to get back, but the words wouldn’t form. I was helpless before her. You cannot imagine what it felt like when she pressed in close to me.”
Talen paused for effect and waited. He could almost feel the silence drawing Nettle’s curiosity like a bow.
“So she pressed in?”
“Oh, snug as a glove. It wasn’t proper. And that’s the troubling thing. Despite all logic, despite my fears, I cannot deny the desire that rose in me.”
“I see.”
They were almost upon Gallow’s Grove, and the stench of those twisting in the breeze made Talen bring his tunic up over his nose. About the whole grove crows and magpies squawked and fought.
These trees could hold a prodigious number of bodies. After last year’s battles with the Bone Faces, a horde of prisoners had been executed. They’d hung along these limbs thick as candles on dipping rods. But those had been cut down. These here were criminals. The rumors of their deeds and hangings had spread quickly. Such news was always part of the talk in the houses of the ale-wives.
Talen motioned at the bloated and decayed bodies. “Look at that one. I bet he’s that cattle thief from the Sinks.” The man in question had obviously been drug behind a horse. His flesh was torn and open. He had no eyes. He had no hands for that matter. Those had been cut off. Wasps mixed with the flies in a cloud, all of them buzzing in to get their tiny bites.
Nettle pulled his tunic over his nose.
Some of the bodies here had been hanging for weeks. The first was withered, but it was clear he’d been emasculated. When they rode close to the second, a raven that had been tugging at the flesh of the man’s face rose and flapped away, revealing a half-eaten, gruesome smile.
They passed another. Talen stopped the wagon by the fourth and fifth, a man and a woman. The man was hung with a thick rope punched through the skin and threaded through his ribs. The woman’s dark hair hung over her ruined face. She tilted slightly, twisting gently in the evening breeze, one arm sticking out as if she were reaching for them. Both had been in the trees long enough for the maggots to hatch.
“Killed her mother-in-law,” said Talen. “They said she struggled and bucked for the better part of an hour.”
“I don’t need a history,” said Nettle. “Move it along.”
But Talen didn’t want to move it along. He looked up at the bodies hanging about him. If anyone found out about the girl and boy at his house, his fate would be worse than those hanging here.
Why would Da risk something like that?
Nettle reached forward and shook the reins to start Iron Boy again. When they put enough distance between themselves and the grove to erase the stink, Talen pulled his tunic from his nose. Nettle did the same.
They were both quiet for a time, and then Nettle produced another half loaf of bread pudding and took a big bite. Where he’d been hiding it, Talen had no idea.
Talen groaned. “I don’t understand how you can eat that. The stink of the grove is still in my nose.”
Nettle shrugged, chewed a few more times, then said, “So?”
“So what?”
“So, what did she do after she slid in?”
Good old
Nettle, Talen thought. Not even death hanging about in the trees could sway him from girls or his gut.
“I was fearing for my soul,” said Talen. “But not minding it either. The hunters were outside, and yet I could not think of them. Only the creature on my lap.” Talen shook his head. “She took my hand and pressed it to her.”
“Her side?”
“Oh, no,” said Talen. And he gave Nettle a look that said she’d done nothing as innocent as that.
Nettle’s eyebrows rose and Talen fought to suppress his smile.
“You mean?” said Nettle.
Talen nodded. “I tell you: I was paralyzed; my brain was cider muzzy. Her with a wicked gleam in her eyes, and me thinking to myself that she’s done this before, that these were experienced hands. I am only thankful she exposed herself when armsmen were about. Who knows what she would have forced me to do. As it is, I fear I’ve been touched.”
“It is said that they make sounds.”
“Sounds?”
“The beast in their natures takes over.”
“There was no sound,” said Talen. “But she did indeed bite.”
Nettle narrowed his eyes. Talen could see he’d pushed the tale a bit too far.
“You’re such a liar,” said Nettle.
Talen pulled his collar down to show Nettle his neck. “Look for yourself.”
“I don’t see anything. Why I ever listen to you I’ll never know.”
“Look,” Talen said and pointed.
Nettle leaned in close. “There’s nothing here.”
Talen clopped him on the side of the head. “Of course, there isn’t. No glamour, no petting, no grunts, or lustful moans. No wicked babies conceived. I told you. It was like kissing the wall.” Except that wasn’t entirely true.
Nettle shook his head dubiously.
“Look,” said Talen. “If she’s there when we get back, you can have a go. Tell her to not forget the tongue.”
“She wasn’t that bad looking,” said Nettle, as if considering the idea. “Better than most.”
Servant: The Dark God Book 1 Page 27