Deomans of Faerel

by Ted Fauster

  The bound man behind her was rambling on about some kind of an egg, which made absolutely no sense. She was about to turn on him, to give him another ration of verbal abuse, when Arnsworth’s eyes suddenly bulged out of his head—which was quite a sight.

  “Would you mind repeating that?” Arnsworth inquired.

  “I said, you… big bug-eyed oaf, that some fellow named Yorgan give me and my friend over there a couple of… decorated eggs and told us to look into ’em. Believe me, if I had known they would have taken us here to you happy people I would have taken my chances with the… gazers.”

  Hanna realized that he was indeed completely inebriated. Yet he had still given her some trouble. If it hadn’t been for the guards, who knows what would have happened. She found herself wondering how different the confrontation might have gone had he had his complete faculties.

  Arnsworth waived at the guards. “Release him. Release him at once.”

  Hanna’s jaw dropped. “What! Are you crazy?”

  Arnsworth was insistent. “Only one group of beings is capable of crafting a pysanky egg. These two come to us from the Sisters of Cynthiana, which can only mean one thing. They are from Earth!”

  “Where?” The man seemed offended. “Are yer out of your… mind?” He then fell flat on his face.

  The blue man with wings stumbled through the air and up onto the ledge. He threw down his swords with a clang and held up his arms.

  “Please,” he desperately cried out. “It’s me, Som! And I think this man may be Jack!”

  “I simply can’t believe you brought her with us,” Kellin sent. Even in the company’s mindspeak method of communicating he was somehow capable of moaning. “If she gets in the way I’ll bleed her myself.”

  But Breven knew his lifelong friend was just flapping his lips, even though his mouth had not moved at all. Had he made such a comment so that the entire company could have heard, it would have surely incited anger, perhaps even violence. But Breven was better than that. He tossed the empty threat aside, taking it for what it truly was, a sharp jibe from a good friend.

  “You’ve nothing t’ worry about,” Breven sent back. “Tuyen travels light.”

  Just then, the tempestuous fairy swooped past the climbing column of alts who pushed higher and higher up the craggy cliff face to make the next ridge.

  The difference in elevation between the Thelsa D’Lune and the stiff climbs of High Cambria was substantial. To make matters worse, they were beginning to see the first signs of snow, several of the uppermost peaks now spewing clouds of the powdery white high into the sky. At any other time the company would have considered this a boon since cooler temperatures gave the hot-blooded alts more stamina to run.

  But the current scenario called for them to climb—and what a treacherous climb it was becoming.

  “Yes, but she might as well be shooting sparkle rockets out of her arse. How are we supposed t’ creep up on anything with her making all that racket?”

  Breven sent the perception of a laugh as he stood taller in the saddle to aid Sunspot’s ascent.

  “Relax, old friend. The wild fairies have a way of knowing what is just around the corner. It’s when she goes quiet that you should duck and cover.”

  This seemed to satisfy the slightly older weyr, who also stood tall as Silverwind, his alt, chugged up the rock face.

  “Aye, just like my mother, and most of the women in my life, for that matter.”

  As they made the first frosty ridge, Tuyen buzzed her love once more. This time, she swirled around and landed square on the back of Sunspot, who had grown used to the fairy and did not even flinch. Despite her lack of attire, she wasn’t even shivering; the wild fairies required sunlight to live but were completely impervious to extremes in temperature.

  “Why here, my love?” Tuyen said with a giggle. Before they’d left the vale she’d tied jangle bells to her hair. They tinkled with every spry move she made. Sometimes he thought she did things like that on purpose.

  He didn’t let it distract from what was happening. To have Tuyen’s direct attention for more than a few minutes was a grand feat. For her to initiate an inquiry of her own was a near miracle. Something was on her mind.

  Breven was direct. “The girl? The one I told you about? She is just over the mountain.”

  “Is she with the Sisters?”

  Breven squeezed his knees against Sunspot’s spine before urging her up the next climb. “She is.”

  Tuyen stiffened. “The Sisterhood is strong. She will never come out.”

  “That just may be the case.”

  Sunspot was having a difficult time getting a foothold. The wild fairy tickled Breven’s ears as he reached out for a slippery clump of stone to aid the golden weyrwolf’s climb. “Then, my love, why are we here at all?”

  It was a good question. “I suppose I need t’ see for myself. To make sure she is not coming out before we set out t’ look for the others. This may be our only chance t’ at least have a look at one of them.”

  Tuyen grew quiet. Another rare occurrence. She fluttered her wings and scooted higher into Sunspot’s saddle, pressing her body firmly against Breven’s furs. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and pressed her cheek against his back.

  “I am frightened,” she said.

  Breven waited until he and Sunspot had negotiated a steep clump of slate before shifting and turning round in the saddle as best he could manage.

  “Frightened? Of what?”

  “Of the girl in the gardens, my love. I can… feel her. Even now.”

  At the first level patch, Breven called Sunspot to a halt. This time he turned fully around in the saddle.

  “So she is there? You’re sure?”

  Tuyen looked him dead in the eye. “Yes. She is very different from the others. She is powerful. And we are not the only ones to seek her.” In all the years Breven had known the fairy he had never seen her this upset. Or this serious.

  “Yes, my love. There are likely others seeking The Four.”

  “No. This is different. She is very important. They are all very important. And I have to admit, I first thought you foolish for believing the krin, for believing that these four people could have possibly been Travelers. But now that I have sensed her…” Her eyes turned away. She looked very distressed.

  Some of the others in the company had paused to see why their leader had stopped climbing. But he didn’t care. Breven grabbed Tuyen tenderly by the shoulders.

  “Then you can see the importance of this task.”

  “Something is wrong. I do not… I do not sense that she is of any threat to us at all. In fact, I sense—”

  “Tuyen, you must understand. This is a man’s journey. And sometimes a man must do things that are not very nice. This woman and all the others with her are dangerous. They must be stopped. We must bring them to the Dragon Lord.”

  But she had lost her smile. She nodded but did not look him in the eye. Only when he stroked her cheek did her emerald eyes finally flick forward.

  “Of course, my love. If this is what you want, then this is what you shall have.”

  They climbed most of the day and well into the evening, making the highest ridge that finally broke out upon the towering trees of the southern Kesselbachs just as an orange moon rose and transformed the world into a frosted ocean of rust. But they did not camp, Breven urging them to go just a little further, anxious to get as far through the mighty woods as they could before next daylight broke.

  Even then they pushed on, the company scrabbling all through the day across the chilly landscape like a tired pack of hounds. As the light fell once more, Tuyen again draped herself across the back of Breven’s saddle. In the daylight she was as energetic as a street urchin, but she sank like a stone in a pond without the energy of the suns.

  They rode on through the night and into the break of the next morning when they finally arrived at the forest’s edge in a high spot overlooking muted fields blan
keted in white. To the east stood the mountains in which the Gardens of Cynthiana were nestled, dark storm clouds swelling round their uppermost peaks. Here the weary company stopped and rested at last.

  Flanked by his two captains, Kellin and Barrett, Breven pushed through the trees for a better look, to the very edge of where a shelf of speckled, red rock jutted out over the valley below.

  His heart sank when he saw the smoke from several campfires.

  “The only stone, eh?” Barrett looked tired, his single eye bloodshot from lack of sleep and not enough feeding. He pulled his gaze from the disappointing scene and tromped back into the woods.

  In the fields below, nearly a dozen gangs had gathered. Some were familiar. Others were not. Breven spotted a lone hill giant who sat with his back against a copse of fir trees, twirling the head of a hatchet as big as a plow blade. The Growling Bear clan was there, a fearsome band of eastern rovers who wore blue kaftans cinched at the waist with red cords. The fearless gang had camped only a few hundred meters from the base of the mountain, the smell from their cookpots reaching even Breven’s nose. Several other gangs were present, each maintaining a respectable distance from the next in implausible solemnity.

  Kellin placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. But his words came uneasily.

  “Tell me, brother, do you think they have stones as well?”

  Breven looked down at the softly glowing codec in his hand. “They may have just caught wind of all this. That is my suspicion. But at this point it is only wise t’ assume they do.” He looked up at his doubtful friend. “But even if they do, they do not have the knowledge that we have.”

  The tan weyr regarded him strangely. “And what knowledge is that?”

  “Tuyen. She can sense the girl. She is with the Sisters. Our coming here has confirmed that.” He tucked the stone away into his furs. “With Tuyen’s help, we’ll be able t’ find the others in no time and bring them straightaway t’ the Dragon Lord.”

  Kellin scratched absently at his shaggy beard as he surveyed the snowy fields. “If you’re right, then we have nothing t’ fear. Even if they do have stones, which is doubtful, those fools below will be running around blind. So, what is our next move then?”

  Breven thought long and hard before he spoke again. When he did, he was sure of his conviction. “We shall ride t’ the sanctuary in the swamp. That old angel must have something t’ do with this.”

  Kellin gave a toothy grin. “Another long ride then.”

  Breven nodded. “I’m afraid so. But first we will rest, and then we will hunt this evening. We’ll need all our strength.”

  Kellin clapped his friend on the back. “We’ll have t’ move swiftly. If those gangs figure out the usefulness of the wild fairies they will certainly try t’ beat us t’ the punch. If that happens we’re going t’ have a lot of explaining t’ do when we get back home.”

  Breven smiled tiredly. “True words, my friend. I’ve next t’ no coins left in my purse. This latest excursion will have been a disaster, and I will be surely ousted as leader.”

  Breven and the company rested in the woods the entirety of the day. Where Tuyen went that day he did not know.

  He awoke just in time to see a red moon rising from the Sister’s mountain hideaway, the two burning globes dropping down to take its place. The celestial swap complete, he slipped back to the spot where he’d left his alt. Tuyen lay snoring across Sunspot’s broad back.

  He smiled as he bent and pushed a lock of pink hair from her face. Sunspot shifted, now very much awake. He patted the alt’s shaggy head. In a spot nearby, he stirred the frosty underbrush to produce a warm bed. Gathering Tuyen in his arms, he carefully laid her down to rest for the night.

  “Rest well, my love,” Breven whispered softly.

  He turned to Sunspot, whose tongue lolled excitedly. He scratched her briskly behind the ears. “This night we hunt, my good friend. This night we will have our blood.”

  The magicks were too strong. They would not allow it to enter the gardens, even in the guise of the water girl. The Baal had gathered much information by lingering and interacting with the arriving gangs. These small bands were harmless, ignorant and ill-armed, directed only by rumors. They had no means to locate the humans.

  The newcomers on the ridge were different. It could sense the stone. What strange magick was this? Something quite powerful was also looking for the four humans, it seemed, something that just might pose a problem.

  The weyrmen had just set off to hunt. In the form of the dactyl, the Baal sniffed the air from its hidden place high up on a ridge of the icy mountain.

  The weyrmen had a wild fairy with them. It had seen it frolicking in the woods that day. Wild fairies were the only creatures capable of detecting humans, their lineage the only one that naturally spanned the spiral gaps between the worlds of men.

  Wild fairies were difficult to locate. A wild fairy was just what it needed.

  12

  Hunter’s Moon

  Sunspot fidgeted beneath the light of the rose-colored moon, having caught the scent of something large moving in the woods beyond.

  “Easy, my friend,” Breven whispered, rubbing the golden beast behind the ears. He patted the weyrwolf heartily. “Not too much longer.”

  He sensed eyes at the edge of the clearing and looked up. Kellin and Silverwind stepped forward into the moonlight. The speckle-bearded weyr looked down upon him and smiled, his razor teeth gleaming a brilliant white.

  “The men are hungry and anxious t’ hunt.”

  When Breven stood, Sunspot did as well, her long, pink tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Breven climbed atop her saddle and reached forward to grab hold of her fur. He turned to his friend and smiled back.

  “We are long overdue,” he said. “Tonight we will hunt. Tonight we will have blood.”

  The company had gathered in a dark clearing deep in the woods. Breven’s nightsight found their reflective eyes nearly blinding compared to their heat signatures. All were mounted on their alts, and all anxiously pranced in place.

  “We’ve caught the scent of some large game,” one of them sent over. “A pack of chupras, by our guess.”

  Breven withdrew the hammer from Sunspot’s saddle. He pulled the steely head from its fur-lined pouch. Each kill had to be made spilling as little blood as possible. Blood was precious. Blood was for drinking.

  He held the hammer high and the entire company drew their weapons as well. “If chupras be on the menu, then we shall crush them all!”

  He squeezed Sunspot with his knees, and the eager alt dashed off, instantly locking onto the scent of something large skulking just ahead in the gloom.

  The weyr leader ducked low to avoid a knot of branches, the crisp wind whistling past his ears as the muscled weyrwolf skillfully negotiated the forest floor, effortlessly loping from stone to fern patch and from fallen tree to hillock. About a dozen yards to his right, Kellin matched his stride, the valiant Silverwind barreling down on a kill of his own.

  “Mine’s much larger, I can sense it,” Breven sent.

  “Neigh, yours is but fatter. Its juice will only butter your innards and keep you longing for privacy.”

  The suggestively repulsive words of his companion only drove him on. “Chase after your anemic lizard, my friend. We shall see whose belly is first filled!”

  Sunspot burst out into a clearing cast red by the light of the moon, scattering a blanket of leaves. There in the center, on a shallow ledge of rock, one of the dreadful monitors crouched, looking back over its scaly shoulder, a devilish gleam in its yellow eyes.

  Its forked tongue flicked out one, twice, desperately trying to locate the direction of the interloping scent that now assailed it, but it did so too late.

  With lightning fast reflexes, Sunspot barreled down on it.

  Breven’s hammer was swift. The beast’s skull caved with a single blow. The big alt howled and spun around as Breven simultaneously transmitted the exhilar
ating sensation of a fresh life taken to all of the company.

  The company leader dismounted and pounced on the new kill, digging his long nails into the scaly hide. He tore back at the rugged outer skin, pulling and ripping at the creature’s neck until the softer flesh below was exposed. Then, nearly shaking with anticipation, he craned his head skyward and howled his thanks to the ruddy moon.

  He sank his fangs in deep and drank heartily.

  “As sweet as honey,” he shot over to Kellin.

  Breven sat back on his haunches, panting, wiping a ribbon of blood from his chin. He dove in once more, supping up more of the vital juice, drinking in with greedy gulps until the blood at last cooled and became less satisfying. He fell back onto the rocks in a warm wash of contentment as Sunspot moved in to tear open the lizard’s stomach to devour the organs. In the forest beyond more howls of delight sounded.

  “Liquid blubber,” came Kellin’s delayed response. “Too rich for my taste. Mine is much finer, a rare vintage.” The transmitted sensation of pure satisfaction gave Breven an accurate sampling of what his friend was now supping.

  All about the forest the howls of the company filled the air, scattering the more wary nocturnal creatures. When the company hunted, even the woolliest of beasts fled. But the chupras had been targeted this night, and their numbers were quickly diminishing.

  Breven had not yet had his fill. And when Sunspot snapped to attention, looking to her master for guidance, he did not delay. He sprang from the rocks to land with a thump in the saddle. Before he had barely grabbed hold of Sunspot’s fur, the eager weyrwolf was off once more.

  His heart raced. “I’ll soon have a second,” he shot over.

  “A second? I’m tailing a third myself. You grow sluggish with age.”

  This time Breven could think of no quip. He was suitably distracted. Sunspot had chosen a difficult route up the side of a snowy embankment that was slick with under-mud and fraught with a brisk wind. He caught sight of the lizard that scrambled above them, kicking down snow and stones, a large king monitor with a bright yellow neckband.