Trials of the Twiceborn (The Songreaver's Tale Book 6)

by Andrew Hunter

  “Yeah,” he rasped, wincing as she pressed against the spot where the crossbow bolt had shattered one of his ribs.

  “Hmn,” Ymowyn said as she checked the knots holding the bandages in place. At last she sighed and shook her head. “There’s no further bleeding,” she said, “The wound seems to have sealed itself. Honestly, I don’t know why you need me at all. What need do immortals have of a physician?”

  “I’m not immortal!” Garrett laughed.

  Ymowyn shrugged as she poked at the faint scar, just below his left shoulder, that only a few days before had been a puncture wound from an enchanted lance. “Most people have the decency to die when their middles are skewered with sticks, Garrett,” she said, “At the very least, they could lie in bed, moaning for a few weeks while they succumb to a nasty infection. And yet, here you are, prancing around as if you couldn’t be bothered with such minor annoyances as mortal wounds and blood poisoning.”

  “Just lucky I guess,” Garrett said, “Can I put my robe back on now?”

  “You may as well,” Ymowyn said, frowning as her large green eyes fell to his chin, “How long has it been since you shaved?”

  Garrett rubbed at his stubbly beard. “Oh,” he said, “I forgot to bring my razor from home.”

  “Let me see what I can find,” Ymowyn said as she turned back toward the table.

  Garrett stooped to pick up the bundled robe and hood beside him on the ground, but Ymowyn stopped him.

  “Leave it off for now,” she said.

  Garrett shrugged and then crossed the tent to kneel beside his injured wolf, scratching gently behind Ghausse’s ear. The big wolf whined, lifting his snout slightly to lick at Garrett’s arm.

  “Here we are,” Ymowyn said as she rummaged through one of her packs atop the wooden table, “Come, have a seat.”

  Garrett rose and moved to the table, taking a seat in the only chair, a creaking contraption of hinged rods and red canvas that folded neatly for packing when not in use.

  “Now sit still,” Ymowyn instructed, “I haven’t done this in years.”

  “Done what?” Garrett asked, beginning to feel a little nervous.

  “Shaved anyone,” she said, drawing out a long, curved blade of gleaming steel from her pack.

  “That’s all right,” Garrett said, starting to rise, “I really don’t need...”

  “Sit!” Ymowyn hissed, her eyes flashing as she bared her teeth. She held the razor at arm’s length with its point pressed against the bandages on Garrett’s chest.

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, dropping into the Chadirian folding chair again.

  “We can’t have you going about, looking like a woodwose,” she said, placing the razor on the table as she picked through a collection of jars nearby.

  “Huh?”

  “This should do,” she said, unstopping an earthenware jar. The scent of mint suddenly filled the air.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Blister ointment,” she said, dolloping out a blob of greenish-brown paste on the tips of her fingers.

  “What?”

  “It will serve as a passable cream, in lieu of proper hot water and lather,” she said.

  “I really don’t need to do this right now,” Garrett said, eying the pungent paste as she rubbed it over both hands.

  “Sit still!” she said, stepping behind him, “Very still... If I nick you, this paste will burn like salt in the cut.”

  “Why would you put it on a blister then?” Garrett demanded.

  “I suppose that I must enjoy inflicting pain,” she mused, “So, on second thought, squirm all you like.”

  Garrett clamped his mouth shut as the fox woman smeared the minty paste over his cheeks and throat. He whined as his blinking eyes began to water from the fumes.

  “Comfortable?” Ymowyn asked sweetly as she wiped her hands clean on a rag.

  Garrett moaned, trying to breathe very shallow breaths.

  Ymowyn placed her left palm on Garrett’s forehead and tilted his head back slightly. He held his breath as she brought the curved blade to his throat. He felt the blade twisting slightly as she adjusted its angle.

  “It has been a while since I’ve done this,” she muttered.

  Garrett gave a little whimper.

  “Oh, yes... like so,” she sighed, dragging the sharp blade upward across the taut skin of Garrett’s throat. Garrett breathed again when she pulled the blade away to wipe it clean.

  “This was but one of the many services I provided to my patients,” the fox woman said as she scraped another patch of Garrett’s skin clean with the keen blade.

  Garrett gave a curious noise, still unwilling to open his mouth for fear of filling it with minty fumes.

  “Yes, I had a little shop in one of the markets in Braedshal,” she said, “It was small... I couldn’t afford a real clinic, but it was large enough for my needs. There was this tiny little living area in the back. We barely had room to...” her voice trailed off into silence as the blade scraped to a halt, halfway up Garrett’s cheek.

  Garrett froze, not daring to breathe.

  The razor trembled just below his eye, and the clawed tips of Ymowyn’s fingers pressed into his brow.

  “Ymowyn?” he whispered.

  The fox woman snatched the razor away and pulled her hand from his forehead. He turned in his chair to see that she had retreated to the corner of the tent with her back to him. Her shoulders were shaking, and she held the razor gripped tightly in her fist at her side.

  Garrett glanced at Terrick as he rose from the chair. The tattooed shaman shared his look of concern as he rose to his feet as well.

  “Lady Ymowyn?” Garrett called softly as he cautiously approached her.

  She spun to face him, her eyes dripping tears and her face pulled into a mask of trembling grief.

  Garrett fell back a step.

  Suddenly, a crazed grin split the fox woman’s face and she gave a manic laugh.

  “I’m sorry. Where were we?” she asked, her pleasant tone tinged with unspoken sorrow.

  “It’s all right, Ymowyn,” Garrett said, lifting his hands, “We can do this later... when you’re feeling better.”

  “Nonsense!” she said, stepping back to the table to wipe the blade clean on the bundle of cloth, “Please, have a seat.”

  “I...” Garrett started to protest, but the mad grin of the fox woman overcame his resolve. He gently lowered himself back into the folding chair, giving Terrick a worried look as he settled into place again.

  Terrick forced a pleasant smile and backed away a step as Ymowyn looked at him.

  “Would you like to go next?” she asked.

  “No!” Terrick answered, retreating another few steps, nearly tripping over Ghausse’s extended paws. “I have something I must do...” he added, rubbing nervously at his throat with his fingers as he fled from the tent.

  Ymowyn gave a tittering laugh as she placed her left hand on Garrett’s forehead again. She tilted his head back so far that she could look down into his eyes from where she stood, above and behind him.

  “Don’t be afraid, Garrett,” she said soothingly.

  He tensed as she curved the blade up under his throat again.

  Ymowyn lowered her red-furred snout to his right ear and whispered, “You are immortal, after all.”

  Garrett swallowed hard as she dragged the blade up his throat. He forgot to breathe as she continued the process, neatly scraping away every trace of stubble as she softly hummed the slightly discordant tune of an Astorran waltz.

  “Finally!” Haven exclaimed, as she stepped in through the tent flap.

  “Haven!” Garrett gasped, giving his girlfriend a pleading look.

  “Oh, hello, Haven,” Lady Ymowyn said pleasantly as she gently pushed Garrett’s head down to scrape at the little patches of fuzz on the back of Garrett’s neck where dragonfire had not completely destroyed his ability to grow hair.

  “I’ve been trying to get him to shave for we
eks now!” Haven said as she crossed the room to stroke Garrett’s smooth cheek with her fingertips.

  He glared up at her.

  “It looks good,” Haven said.

  “Thank you,” Ymowyn said, sounding pleased, “I was afraid that I might have lost my touch.”

  “I just wish I could talk my father and the rest of the wildlings into paying you a visit,” Haven laughed, “Though he’d probably say it was against their religion to shave or something.”

  “How is your... father?” Ymowyn asked.

  Haven stooped to kiss the sullen pout off of Garrett’s lips before answering. “Well, he seems pretty serious about the whole adopting me thing,” she said, “It’s kinda nice really... I’ve never had a father before.”

  “And he and the other northerners still intend to return home as soon as they are able?” Ymowyn asked as she toweled the last of the smelly gel from Garrett’s face.

  “It’s a big secret, of course,” Haven said, “They don’t want Garre’Thul here to find out they plan on deserting his army, or else he might turn them all into ghost-men.”

  “Ghost-men?” Garrett asked as he stood up.

  “Oh yes, they know all about you and your evil ways, Deathlord,” Haven laughed, rubbing his cheeks between the palms of her hands. “Ooh! He’s like a little baby!” she added, grinning at Ymowyn.

  Garrett pulled away with a frown. “Well, what happens when they do decide to run for it?” he asked, “Your new dad is gonna want you to go with him, isn’t he?”

  Haven’s eyes fell. “Yeah,” she said.

  “What’s he gonna do when you tell him you can’t?” Garrett asked.

  Haven looked away, chewing her lip the way she did when she was about to say something that was going to upset him.

  “What?” Garrett said, eying her suspiciously, “You’re not really thinking about going with him are you?”

  “Think about it, Garrett!” she burst out, meeting his gaze again with pleading eyes, “What if we could get the Kriesslanders to turn on the Chadiri?”

  “That’s what Uncle Tinjin’s doing right now!” Garrett said.

  “We don’t know that,” Haven protested, “and, anyway, he doesn’t have an in like I do!”

  “You can’t leave!” Garrett said, “I need you here!”

  “I know!” Haven sighed, “but, Garrett... what if this could turn the tide of the war?”

  “Or what if you go up there and the Chadiri catch you?” he demanded, “Haven, I...”

  “Can’t you see? I’ve never had a chance to do something like this, Garrett!” she said grasping his bare shoulders in her hands, “This is my first chance to really do something big... something that I am choosing to do, for my own reasons... and a real chance to beat the Chadiri!”

  “I’d be worried about you the whole time you were gone, Haven!” Garrett protested, “How could I concentrate on doing anything right, when I’m thinking about you the whole time?”

  Haven’s fragile smile suddenly gave way to a sobbing laugh. Garrett winced as she caught him in a tight hug, squeezing hard.

  “Why are you squishing my crunchy rib?” he groaned at last.

  “Sorry!” Haven gasped, releasing her hold to step away. She smiled apologetically as she brushed lightly at his bandages with her fingertips. “Sorry,” she said again, “That’s just the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Really?” Garrett said, shrugging his shoulder against the pain in his ribs, “I thought I’d said better things than that before.”

  “Probably,” she admitted, kissing him on the cheek, “but that’s the nicest thing you’ve said lately.”

  “Oh... sorry, I guess,” Garrett said. He breathed deeply then and stooped to pick up his robe and hood from the floor.

  “Let me help,” Haven said as she assisted him, pulling the purple robe back on over his head.

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, tugging his hood on again. Turning to Lady Ymowyn, he added, “Thanks for the shave.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Garrett,” the fox woman said with a smile as she packed away her freshly-cleaned razor, “Feel free to stop by any time you’re feeling a bit prickly.”

  “I guess you don’t get much chance to practice with Warren,” Garrett chuckled.

  “No,” she said, “I’m afraid he would look a bit odd without hair... still, if I’m ever particularly cross with him, who knows?”

  “Just don’t tell him I mentioned it,” Garrett laughed nervously, trying to imagine the big ghoul without his shaggy gray mane.

  Ymowyn smiled again.

  “How’s Ghausse feeling?” Haven asked.

  Garrett glanced over at the massive wolf, now snoring peacefully in a black furry heap. “I think he’s gonna be all right,” he said, looking to Lady Ymowyn again, “I’m glad you guys were able to fix him up.”

  “Just try to remember in the future,” Ymowyn laughed, “most of us do not share your gift of immortality.”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said. He looked at Haven again who was grinning broadly.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she laughed, “but I was looking for you. The ghouls found something that they thought you might be interested in.”

  “What have they got into now?” Ymowyn sighed.

  “It may be nothing,” Haven said, “but they wanted Garrett to have a look at it.”

  “Sure,” Garrett said, his curiosity piqued.

  “Do you mind if I tag along?” Ymowyn said, her eyes on the sleeping wolf, “I think it’s safe to leave Ghausse for a while now, and I could use a bit of fresh air.”

  “I can’t guarantee the freshness of the air,” Haven said.

  “Warren’s been digging again, hasn’t he?” the fox woman sighed.

  Haven laughed as she held the tent flap open for the two of them.

  The cool shadows of approaching night spilled across the red tents of Garrett’s camp. Haven took his arm as they and Lady Ymowyn strolled together beneath the trees. She led them down the path toward the southern end of camp, past the large campfire where Terrick and the two Neshite hunters were trading stories and roasted meat with Haven’s new tribe.

  The old berserker, known as Hegrin greeted his adopted daughter with a nod and Garrett with a distrustful glare. Garrett returned his look with a flat scowl, anxious to maintain his reputation as a ruthless deathlord. At least this slim fantasy stood as some measure of protection between him and the grizzled wolf tribesman.

  Soon they passed into the darkness of the forest, leaving the lights of the campfires behind.

  After nearly a half hour of walking, Garrett finally asked, “How far are we going, anyway?”

  “Not much farther,” Haven said.

  “Oh, what did they dig up now?” Lady Ymowyn groaned as the wind shifted to blow from the south.

  A few moments later, even Garrett caught the foul stench on the night breeze. The familiar sulfurous stink of the Gloaran swamps carried with it now an acrid scent of vinegar and the sharp tang of some form of corruption as yet unknown to Garrett’s overly experienced sense of smell.

  “Gah! What is that?” Garrett demanded as they rounded a bend in the path and came into sight of several witchfire torches affixed to poles at the edge of the bog ahead. Cenick and the ghouls were huddled around a wet, black mass that lay on the grass at their feet. Mujah stood beside Scupp. The Lethian boy held his nose as he stared down at the thing on the ground. The smell apparently emanated from the thing, and, as Garrett and the others drew closer, he could make out the outlines of a human body in the soggy mass.

  “Hey, Garrett, take a look at this!” Warren called proudly.

  Garrett waved at the ghouls and Cenick as he approached. Diggs and Scupp waved back from where they crouched on the grass beside the body. Bargas was dragging another dripping corpse from the swamp nearby.

  “Did they drown?” Garrett asked.

  “Nope!” Warren said, crouching over the body
to lift a section of rotten rope that trailed from a loop around the body’s neck.

  “Hanged,” Cenick said, gesturing toward an ancient tree nearby.

  Garrett looked toward the gnarled and twisted tree and suddenly started in alarm as he saw the ghostly light of sputtering orange flames that appeared to drip from the moss-thick branches of the old tree. The flames crackled and hissed as they fell, sounding almost like angry whispers as they evaporated just before touching the ground.

  “Gallowgeists,” Haven said.

  “Are they... dangerous?” Garrett asked.

  “They can make you wet your tail pretty fast, if you happen by ‘em unawares on a lonely road,” Scupp laughed, “but, once you know ‘em for what they are, they can’t really hurt you!”

  “Are they ghosts?” Garrett asked, unable to take his eyes off the crackling spectral fires that dripped from the hanging tree.

  “Yeah, sort of,” Haven said, “They’re not like Annalien though. It’s more like just a part of the people that died here... their anger and resentment about what happened to them. It sticks to the place that they died and never really goes away.”

  “Someone should put a torch to that tree!” Ymowyn hissed.

  “It’s all right, Ym,” Warren said, stepping close to put his arm around her, “They can’t hurt you.”

  She looked up at him with a bitter scowl. “You’ve no idea how close I came to sharing the same fate as those wretched souls!” she said.

  “You want me to burn it down for you?” Warren asked.

  “Yes!” Ymowyn growled through clenched teeth, “Yes, I would.”

  “Hey, Diggs!” Warren called out to the ghoul crouched on the ground beside the corpse, “Light that tree up for me, will ya?”

  “No problem,” Diggs chuckled as he pushed himself to his full height and pulled a canister of essence from the bandolier on his chest.

  “Oh, dogs,” Scupp groaned as she grabbed her crutch and hopped clear of her brother’s firing line. She hooked a black claw into Mujah’s collar and pulled him to safety as well.

  “Listen up, tree!” Diggs shouted as he pulled the top from the glowing flask of magical essence, “For the crime of bein’ too creepy and disturbin’, I, Diggs the Destroyer, sentence you to death... or whatever happens to trees when they get burnt up!” He opened his mouth and tossed back the canister, gulping down the contents in three swallows. Lambent green slime dripped from his grinning jaws as he faced the tree with eager eyes.