She knew that Heria had five particular hiding places that had personal interest, and so she guided the warrior to the closest one, hoping beyond all that their journey would end after a single attempt. The metal jade in her pocket rode silently alongside her. After all the time spent with Dariak talking about resonances, she knew its silence was a bad sign. Perhaps she should have had Dariak point them in the right direction before they had left.
Kitalla wasn’t accustomed to relying on others for any long-term purpose, but riding along on Dariak’s quest had made her journey a bit easier, perhaps too easy. She was protecting herself in battle. But she was ultimately just a follower now. Even trusting the jade to guide her felt like a betrayal to her own instincts, and it was part of what kept her quiet along the way. She couldn’t confide in Gabrion that she wasn’t certain with this first destination. Still though, he never complained. She looked over her shoulder and watched his blond hair bouncing with every one of his horse’s steps, but his face was set in stone, and it didn’t fit him.
She thought of Gabrion’s naïveté when she’d first met him back in the forest. He had blindly trusted her guild’s ruse and fell into the ambush, accompanied by a mage who was no ally of his at the time. Every odd was stacked against him, yet he persevered through it all. And here they were riding off together on their side quest, and she fully trusted him to protect her at all costs.
The thought sent chills down her spine, but warmed her, too. She hated relying on him even in a fight. And though she had intended to take this task alone, his determination to accompany her made her feel accepted in a way she had never been before.
Except that once, something inside whispered, but she rejected it.
With an accidental tug of her horse’s reins, Kitalla groaned with the tumbling thread of her thoughts and nearly unseated herself. The horse whinnied and stamped its feet, wondering what had upset its rider so. But the thief shook her head, snapped the reins, and they continued onward. In the few seconds of hesitation, Gabrion rode ahead, and Kitalla watched him, unable to look away.
The warrior’s quest for Mira was fodder for children’s tales, as far as she was concerned, yet he clung to his ideals at every turn. She hadn’t met anyone quite like him before. Sure, men had gotten into brawls over women, but she hadn’t realistically heard of anyone traveling the world over trying to find the strength he needed so he could infiltrate enemy lands and recover his lost love. It had been over half a year since they had met, and in that time, he had never wavered from his ultimate quest.
She thought about her own motivations and instantly tried to dismiss them. She knew she couldn’t change the past. She wasn’t trying to save anyone anymore. She wanted so much to undo the hurt of her childhood, but before she dwelled on it for too long, she shoved her thoughts away, focusing instead on Heria, the insane child who had found a home with a group of thieves.
“Over there.” Kitalla pointed to the distance with relief. “That cave over there is one of her places.”
The warrior silently nudged his horse in the appropriate direction, saying nothing. Kitalla wondered about his silence. It felt very unnatural to her. Perhaps he was intent on finishing this hunt quickly, or perhaps he regretted his outburst in Randler’s hideout.
She pushed ahead of him and guided them toward the cave. The journey took another couple of hours, but it was otherwise an easy trek. They focused on the destination, while Kitalla also batted away her racing thoughts.
It had been a long time since meeting up with Heria. She had phenomenal eyesight and instincts, and so Kitalla suspected they would not be able to sneak up on the teenage girl, whatever they did. Kitalla thought of all she knew of the deranged waif, wondering what kind of greeting she would receive, assuming, of course, that Heria was even at this location.
The cave loomed closer and Kitalla slowed her horse to a trot, watching the area for signs of the girl. She didn’t really expect to find any, but then Gabrion called out, “Look there!” He was pointing at the stone surrounding the entrance where dark stains marred the surface.
Kitalla drew close and nodded. “Blood again.”
“It doesn’t look very new.”
“I agree. I think it’s a warning not to enter. But,” she said as she hopped off her horse, “that’s what we came here for, so let’s go in.” They tethered the horses and Kitalla lit a torch that was near the entrance before guiding the warrior inside.
The cavern was small, but it was clear that Heria made use of it with some regularity. A ratty-looking potted plant rested against one wall, its soil dry. Crumbs of food littered other areas, giving off a foul scent of decay to the chamber. A wood plank, presumably serving as a table, lay flat on the ground. The surface was covered with countless knife cuts and was stained with blood. An altar of sorts stood nearby in front of a torch brace. The upper portion of the altar was carved in the same pattern they had seen on the floor at Randler’s cave, and it seemed obvious to Kitalla that if a torch was lit behind it, the shadows of that design would dance across the floor.
They spent some time scrounging around the meager furnishings, but they found nothing at all, except for one pouch of shiny stones. Gabrion brought the pouch to Kitalla for inspection.
“These look like they’re from the Talonic River,” she said, turning them in her hand, noting gold flecks that sparkled with her torch. “She was born near there, and seems to be drawn to the area at times.”
“Should we have gone there first instead?” he asked.
“It’s the wrong season for it,” she shook her head. “Winter, maybe, but not now.”
“Winter,” he echoed. “So odd that we missed it completely.”
Kitalla didn’t want to think back to the reason why, for she was undergoing Grenthar’s tortures. But Gabrion had an odd look on his face and she couldn’t deny his concentration. “What’s wrong?”
“The winter didn’t seem to hit us in Pindington. It was cold some days, but our group was working so hard every day, we didn’t even feel it. If it snowed at all, it never fell in through the tower.” He lowered his gaze. “Mira was a winter child. She loved the snow. We never got much, but when it hit, she was the first one out in it.”
Kitalla eyed him carefully. “You’re talking about her in the past tense. You haven’t given up on her, have you?”
“Of course not,” he replied automatically, but there was no feeling in his words.
“That’s good to know, because if you are giving up, we’ll drop you off at home and go on without you.” She said the words with a sharp bite to them, hoping to shake him into a response.
But his tone was unchanged, “I can’t return home until I find her.”
“Well, then let’s continue on our way. There isn’t anything worthwhile here. And though these stones suggest she went north, I think it’s more likely a ruse, if she even planted them at all. Come on, let’s be away from this foul place.”
“Yes, let’s. The stench of death here is irking me.”
Over the next several days, Kitalla rode them further west, seeking another of Heria’s locales, but it was hard staying focused on the journey. Gabrion spent his time in one of three ways. He was sometimes resolutely silent and would only answer with hand gestures or nods. Other times, he was monotonous and emotionless when he spoke. And most irritating of all was when he tried getting her to talk about herself, so he could escape whatever was troubling him.
She could practically feel his pain in the way he went about the days and she wasn’t entirely sure how to react to it. In some sense, she felt that Mira was a driving force for him on his quest, but as she saw sorrow drowning him, she also wondered if he would be better without Mira as a goal. Though he probably wouldn’t have a reason to journey with them then, he was certainly a capable warrior and didn’t need someone else as a reason to be successful. He was talented in his own right and should accept as much.
On the other hand, when he did talk proudly of Mira
, his whole demeanor brightened and invigorated him. He was much happier when he spoke of times they had shared together. For some reason unknown to her, sometimes those looks of joy made her skin crawl. Dwelling on the reason why meant tapping into her own thoughts, and she wasn’t ready for that.
They were nearing the location anyway. The edge of the forest was to the south of their long-ago fight against the lupinoes, but further west than the castle town of Kaison. The area was loaded with a massive network of trees that reached high into the sky, intertwining so deeply, it was practically impossible to know which branch belonged to which trunk. This was one of Heria’s favorite places because her agility allowed her to scale the trees easily and hide within the canopy above.
Kitalla called her horse to a halt and Gabrion trotted up behind her, still silent. The thief dismounted and scoured the area, checking the ground for signs of recent activity. She was surprised to find footprints in the dirt, an indication that a traveler had recently come through.
She should have suspected it. More so, she should have reacted to it. But she didn’t. A snap sounded nearby and a huge net fell from above, having launched itself outward from a larger tree. The thick rope smashed her to the ground, trapping her effectively. She managed to flip over and start pulling the net aside, muttering under her breath at her carelessness, but Heria warned her to stop.
“It will kill you if you keep doing that, you know,” said a playful voice. “Laced with toxins, that rope. The more you move it, the more you touch and breathe. Soon, there will be nothing left of you.” She paused. “Mmm, on second thought, keep writhing so I can see if it’s strong enough.”
Kitalla immediately stopped moving, but looked for Gabrion, noting that he too had fallen prey to the trap. She couldn’t see clearly, but she realized that a dart was also sticking out of his neck and he was pressed tightly against his horse.
How could she have let her own musing interfere so thoroughly with her search for Heria and the jade? Kitalla banged her fist into the ground, and with it, she smelled a pungent whiff of the poisoned rope. There wasn’t much she could do at the moment, especially as her hands started itching from contact with the irritant.
“Better,” Heria said. “Now, what is it you’re looking for?”
“Don’t recognize me, Heria? I was looking for you.” Kitalla didn’t even hear the girl approach, not that she expected to. They had both trained under Poltor in the art of stealth and he had insisted they learn to move in total silence.
Heria’s response was to utter an odd, twittering laugh. “The hag? Delightful! I didn’t think to see you again.”
“We’ve much to discuss, Heria. Let me up, will you?”
It took a few moments of inner debate before Heria decided. “No. I think it’s safer this way. And more fun, of course.”
“Of course,” Kitalla laughed, adding a false sense of amusement to the sound. It was never good to be at Heria’s mercy, and something seemed even odder about the girl than usual. Kitalla listened intently to her instincts after having ignored them moments before, and so she made no attempt to loosen a dagger to cut the net apart. Heria would expect as much and would likely retaliate. “How is the rest of the gang?” she asked instead.
“Oh,” Heria said with a strangely distant air, “haven’t seen them in a while. After you left, Poltor went about looking for others, but it never worked out.” She clapped her hands suddenly and chuckled. “Then again, I think it was more my fault than anything. No one liked hearing how Masher was mashed to a pulp and how some parts were more mashed than others,” she giggled sickly. “Eventually, he dismissed me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She truly was. Poltor was the only person she’d ever known who could keep Heria remotely sane.
“No, I’ve been happier now,” she answered cheerfully. “At least, none of my findings end up in his pocket. Not that he appreciated all of them. You know, you do look rather uncomfortable under there.”
It felt like bait, so she dodged it. “I’m fine,” she replied, keeping her tone light and friendly. The conversation wasn’t progressing well, and she knew it needed to move along in order for her to be freed from the trap. She peered over toward Gabrion, regretting again that she had let them both fall victim. “It’s an interesting poison you’ve applied to the rope.”
Heria lit up. “Isn’t it? Took me a while to find the right combination. Sometimes people died from it, but not when I wanted them to. So I had to add other things to make it take longer to kill someone. At least, so I could do what I needed to first, anyway.”
“Oh? Does that mean you’re planning to add me to your list of experiments?” She said it to be funny, but the look on Heria’s face said that the girl was actually planning on it.
Heria smiled. “Of course! You’ve got that very interesting skill, don’t you? I always wanted to know more about it. But you, you’d never tell me.”
Her heart sank. “I don’t really know much about it or a way to describe how I do it.”
“No matter,” Heria dismissed. “I’ve got my own methods.”
“I see. What about him?”
The girl rubbed her hands together. “He’s rather cute. I think I can find uses for him. But enough of this. We need to get out of here. This air feels orange.”
“Orange?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
“Don’t you ever smell something and it reminds you of something else? This reminds me of orange. Not too fresh. Not too musty. A little pungent.”
“That could be the rope,” Kitalla offered.
“True!” Heria laughed, stepping closer, pulling a thin tube from her belt. “But that’s enough for now. ‘Night.” She blew the dart and it took only moments for Kitalla to pass out completely.
Chapter 7
Dariak and Randler
Dariak was genuinely sad to see that Kitalla and Gabrion had left that morning without waking them, but he knew he had no strength in him to join them. He hoped they would find the jade without too much trouble, then return as he and Randler recovered completely.
He looked over at Randler, who was cleaning up from breakfast. The bard was trying hard to keep positive, even though his private hiding place had been desecrated. He occasionally whistled whimsical tunes, but they didn’t last for long. It was clear that Randler felt violated.
Dariak wandered over to the bloodstain Heria had drawn and traced it with his hands several times, letting his fingers splay out in a matching shape. It didn’t feel right at all. He couldn’t sense any benefit to the pattern in terms of drawing energy, which implied to him that if she was indeed performing blood rituals with this pattern, then they weren’t very successful. She was likely doing them for a sense of inner enjoyment. He shuddered.
Randler joined him, wrapping his arm around him, looking sadly at the stained floor. “I used to sit there a lot and dream up new tunes. Not any more, I can tell you that.”
“We’ll clean it up,” Dariak assured him. “Not that it would erase the memory of it, but at least the reminder will be gone.”
It was a good challenge. The blood had soaked in thoroughly, so Dariak and Randler set about mixing different concoctions, trying to make a cleaning agent that would work. The mage applied his vast knowledge of herbs and used a few spells, but the stain was resolute.
As he fumbled through his pockets, he came across the vial of reptigon serum and chuckled to himself. “I was a prisoner when I extracted this,” he explained to Randler’s confused expression. “I used quite a series of spells to engorge the reptigon and then to extract its venom, while then drawing it into the vial and sealing it before the engorgement spell ended. Such a process, it was.”
“What does it do?”
“This? Many things, depending on how it’s used. I think a few drops will help us here, though.”
The bard looked at him intensely. “Dariak, don’t waste it on something like this.”
“Waste?” he smiled. “This is your plac
e and it deserves to be cleansed. I wouldn’t call that a waste.” Without waiting for Randler’s response, he popped the vial open and a caustic whiff of venom filled the area. Dariak poured a few drops onto a leaf and then rolled the liquid around until the leaf was coated fully. He stoppered the vial, intoned a spell, and waited as the activated venom released a puff of smoke, sapping the leaf of its hydration. As it did so, Dariak flipped the leaf over and started scraping it against the stone.
A thick, acrid purple mist rose as the venom touched the dried blood. Holding his breath, Dariak applied as much force as he could without ripping the leaf. Over the patterns he went, tucking his head into his robe to draw in more air when needed. Randler had backed away coughing and with his eyes streaming from the smell.
It took time, but in the end, the stain was gone. Dariak withdrew the recently acquired air jade and called forth a breeze to clear out the cavern, but the fickle jade barely responded to his call. He felt frustrated that one spell would work and then another would not.
“Maybe I am broken after all,” he muttered later that day. “These spells are randomly working and failing. That battle against your mother, and then those soldiers. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not whole anymore.”
“Dariak…”
“No, really, there’s something very wrong.” He looked at Randler woefully. “I might not be able to call upon the jades effectively at this point. My quest might be over.”
“I don’t know what to say, Dariak.” Which was completely true, as he wanted Dariak to fulfill his dream but also wanted the jades left unused. “All I know is that you used some spells well enough.”
“Some,” he echoed. “That’s my point. Not all. Even the Shield of Delminor failed me. But then I summoned up all that water against the soldier, which was pointless because of his armor. But the spell itself worked otherwise.”
The Shattered Shards Page 8