by Peter David
An hour later, as the darkness continued and the gentle snoring of the Lady Kate assured me that she was dead to the world, I tossed on some vestments with only the filtering rays of moonlight as my guide.
Suddenly I heard a faint tchk sound in the darkness, and froze. A skittering, a sound like talons clacking on a stony surface … and then I realized. I had totally forgotten about Mordant. Obviously he had taken up a perch somewhere in the upper rafters of the room during our horizontal festivities. Now that they were over and I seemed preparing to go out and about, he wanted to be a part of whatever I was doing. On the one hand it was touching. On the other, if he let out a single one of his earsplitting caws, it would awaken not only Kate but everyone in the vicinity.
I put a cautioning finger to my lips. Mordant stared down at me, extending his neck and cocking his head, and I was struck for the first time by the golden glow that suffused his eyes. I thought of how the presence of drabits had been described to me, and wondered whether or not there was indeed something to be said for it. Then I walked carefully toward the door, my lame leg feeling strong enough by that point that I no longer required the staff to lean on. That was fortunate, else the tap-tapping of the staff upon the floor might also have roused Kate.
I made it to the door and opened it carefully, and that was when I heard the sudden rushing of wings. Since I was awake, I knew it for what it was, but it was not enough to cause Kate to stir. I stood half out in the hallway and extended my arm, and Mordant landed on the outstretched forearm.
It was all I could do to stifle a scream.
I had neglected to don my armbands, and as a result Mordant set down upon my unprotected forearm and casually wrapped his talons around my bare flesh. I clamped my teeth down into my lower lip so hard that I could taste blood in my mouth. Mordant was aware that something was bothering me, but apparently didn’t have the slightest clue what specifically that might be. So he casually readjusted his perch, causing new bolts of pain to shoot through me. Exerting every ounce of self-control I possessed, I gripped the door firmly and eased it closed so that we were out in the corridor.
I clamped my free hand over my mouth to stifle an agonized scream as I shook Mordant loose of my arm. The startled drabit hovered in the air for a moment, beating his wings furiously since he’d been caught unaware, and then landed on the ground. He looked up at me in a faintly accusatory manner, and I dropped to my knees and pointed to my arm. Miraculously, he apparently hadn’t broken the skin, but it still hurt. “Happy?” I whispered.
He stared at me. He didn’t seem especially happy; he didn’t seem especially anything at all, really. He was, after all, just a dumb animal. Or is he? I wondered. I brought my face closer to his and said, “Can you talk?”
He cocked his head once more and said nothing. I could only be grateful that no one was walking past at that moment, lest the Peacelord of Wuin find himself locked away in whatever happy place they kept madmen in these parts.
“Look,” I pressed on, undeterred, “I can probably find the dungeons on my own. It’s not that difficult; you just find stairways and keep going down. But it’d be easier if I had a guide, and Boar Tooth and Slake claimed you were exceedingly clever. The girl. The one I condemned to death, her and the others. Can you bring me to her? Can you?”
Still he made no reply. It was impossible for me to determine just what he might be thinking. Or he might not be thinking about anything except when he was going to be eating next, because he was just a stupid winged creature with no more comprehension of what I was saying than an onion might have.
Then, abruptly, he took flight. He soared down the hallway, moving in extraordinary silence, and for an instant I thought he was going to be off on his way, searching for rodents who might be skittering around the stronghold to provide him with a late night tasty treat. But then, at the far end of the corridor, he stopped, clinging to some overhead molding, turned and stared at me. His intent was unmistakable; he wanted me to follow.
I obliged him.
We encountered a few straggling revelers along the way, but I doubted they would remember much since every one of them, to the man, was blindingly intoxicated. A couple of them recognized me, barely, and certainly none of them would even remember the encounter.
I couldn’t help but feel a bit foolish as I followed Mordant down one corridor into another, down a flight of stairs, up another corridor. The chances were that the stupid creature had, in fact, no idea what I was looking for, and was just playing some sort of odd game of follow the leader. But just as I was reaching the point where I was going to give up and go back to bed, Mordant stopped at a heavy door and tapped it with an outstretched talon. There was a heavy lock upon it, but I saw that a large key was hanging on a hook a short distance away. I took the key off the hook, inserted it into the lock, and turned. It was not done without effort, but moments later I was rewarded with a loud clak, and the unlocked door swung open.
I was immediately hit with the distinctive aroma that can only come from a dungeon. The stench of people crowded together in a confined area, of excrement and sweat and hopelessness. My instinct was to slam the door shut, lock it, hang the key up, and forget I’d ever found the place. But I pushed past my intuitive response—never a good move, really—and stepped through. There was a stairway heading straight down, studded by softly burning torches along the way mounted upon the wall. I turned in Mordant’s direction to see if he wished to accompany me, but there was no sign of him. Obviously he’d decided he had better things to do than root around in a dungeon. In point of fact, so did I, but here I was going to go and do it anyway. How comforting to know that a mute beast had more intelligence than I.
Then again, he’d also known where the dungeon was. Either he’d understood my words or, at the very least, my intent. Considering the vast number of people I’d encountered who never understood anything I desired in my life, he might not only have been smarter than I, but smarter than a sizable percentage of humanity.
I swung the door shut behind me, locked it lest I be followed by some inquisitive soul, and made my way down. I’d been carrying a small bundle under my arm, which I now set down just inside the door, and then turned to study the descent. Despite the nominal illumination, I squinted since it was difficult for me to see. My hand ran along the cold stone wall for additional support, and about thirty steps later I stepped off onto a floor thick with dust and possibly slime. It had hardly been warm in the stronghold before, but the farther I descended into the pit, the colder it became. If not for the minimal warmth generated by the torches, I might well have lost all sensation in my fingers and toes.
“Who goes?” came a voice from the darkness ahead.
Well, there was no way to avoid being recognized at that point. I removed one of the torches from the wall and held it close enough to my face to provide recognition. Sure enough, a startled gasp came from the darkness ahead. “Peacelord! What brings you here?”
“Rumors have reached my ears,” I said readily, having prepared myself for possibly encountering a gaoler, “that the plots against me go beyond the prisoners we presently have. I wish to speak to the woman. Guide me to her.”
The gaoler stepped forward. It was probably a good thing that he had drawn the duty that he had, for he really was a repellent creature to look upon. Deathly pale, teeth rotting away in his head, a face covered with warts, his eyes set in a perpetual squint. Although as far as the standards set by women who fancied gaolers, he might actually have been considered quite the catch. “She has the evil eye, that one,” said the gaoler ominously. He certainly seemed the authority on the matter, considering his right eye appeared to be somewhat lifeless and just rolled around a bit in its socket without actually focusing on anything. He wore a uniform that bore a startling resemblance to a potato sack. But he was also obviously the man for the job when it came to handling prisoners, because he was an imposing figure even though he was partly hunched over. And he had massive arms that we
re so long, I was surprised they didn’t drag behind him on the ground.
“I’ll risk it,” I told him.
There was a sharp intake of breath. “The Peacelord knows no fear.” He shambled back toward the darkness, gesturing once to indicate that I should follow him. That went without saying, of course, since I was hardly going to head backward away from the cells, but I made no comment on that. It really didn’t matter to me if the man had the I.Q. of porridge, as long as he got me to where I needed to be.
We went past several doors, and then he stopped in front of one, looking it up and down as if to affirm for himself that he was in the right place. Then he reached for a large ring of keys dangling from his belt and began, very slowly and with slightly trembling hands, to sort through them. They all looked identical to me, but obviously he knew his business as he fixed his one good eye upon each key before allowing it to slide down the ring and go on to the next one. Finally he selected one and stepped forward toward the door, but before he inserted it I stepped forward and rested a hand on his arm. In a low voice I said to him, “Leave me the key for this cell and then go on about your business. I’ll want to attend to this one … personally.”
His breath hissed out. “Personally, Peacelord?” A leer lit up his foul face. Gods only knew what precisely went through his mind at the word, but obviously he was thinking of something specific, probably involving molestation, rape, or other cheery pastimes.
“Yes, that’s right. And …” I glanced right and left. “I may be bringing in some people of my own to handle her privately … when I’m done, you understand. If you catch my drift.”
“I think I do, Peacelord,” said the gaoler, and he winked his one good eye, which was rather disconcerting because it made the other eye appear to bulge out a bit. “You’re saying that if I should happen to look back on her cell and it’s empty, I shouldn’t be too surprised.”
We shared a fine chortle over that, and then the gaoler removed the ring from the key, handed it to me, and lumbered off into the darkness. I didn’t trust my vision, however, but instead waited until his shuffling echoed off into the distance. Then with a quick move I turned the key in the lock and swung open the door, holding the torch in front of me for two reasons: to illuminate the cell, and to ward off Sharee in the event she was lying in wait and lunged at me in an effort to escape.
I need not have been concerned. Sharee was seated on the floor of the far end of the cell. There was a sliver of a window space at the top of the wall which provided air and—during the day—a small shaft of light. Otherwise the room was absolutely empty; not so much as a stick of furniture. Not that even a full bedroom set could have done much to bring any joy or style to the dank chamber.
She didn’t realize it was me at first, for the sudden light from the torch blinded eyes that had grown accustomed to darkness. “Sharee,” I whispered.
She leaned forward, looking surprised for a moment, but then her face settled back into the contempt that I had seen back in the Great Hall. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Sharee … I know what you’re thinking,” I began.
“Really,” she interrupted. “If so, then you’ll know better than to turn your back on me. This is all your fault.”
“My fault?” I was taken aback for a moment with pure annoyance, closing the door behind me as I stepped in. This way we had a modicum of privacy at least, with the door acting as a barrier to sound. I was reasonably sure that the gaoler was far enough away from us to provide us privacy, but one could never be too careful. “Is it my fault that you decided to try and kill me?”
“It’s your fault because of the oath I violated.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“My weaver’s oath. The one I swore …”
“Ohhhhh.” Then I knew what she was referring to. “When you saved my life, that time that King Meander was ready to have me executed because he believed I was a spy among his troops. And you—”
“I, his faithful weather manipulator, swore a weaver’s oath that you were known to me; that I was your lover,” she said sourly, voicing that last word with as much distaste as she could muster. “I told you—”
“I remember what you told me. You said that when a weaver lies under that oath such actions have long-term harsh consequences for all who benefit in the short term.”
“That’s right.” She made a grand gesture around her. “And I’m living proof of that. This is fate’s retribution, all because I was foolish enough to save your lousy life.”
“As I recall,” I said hotly, “I saved your life first. And I’ve saved your life since then. So far I’d say we’re pretty even.”
“Pretty even?” She hauled herself to her feet. “I’m stuck in a dungeon awaiting execution, and you’re a warmonger with fools who worship you and with the power of hundreds of swords behind you! In what way is this even?”
We had gone completely off track. Sharee had that effect on me, able to divert me from the relevant topic just by dint of her incredibly annoying personality. I took a deep breath to compose myself rather than let myself get pulled further into anger and vituperation, and then I said with as much calm as I could muster, “I don’t want to execute you, all right? I need you to listen to me.”
“Listen to you? Listen to you?” She raised her voice despite all my gesticulation that she should quiet herself. “When I collapsed out in the Tragic Waste, I thought I was done! Finished! The next thing I knew I awoke in a tent to discover that I’d been found by a nomadic tribe of herdsmen who called themselves the Sand Eaters!”
“Well, they were certainly in the right place for it,” I ventured.
“Shut up!” She leaned forward, her eyes blazing. “A quieter, more peaceful people you could never hope to meet! They took me in, cleaned me up, shared their meager supply of water. They even had a healer who was able to cure me of the final infections from Beliquose’s arrow. And do you know the only thing I asked them about? You! I asked them why they hadn’t rescued you as well! And when they said they’d only found me there, I begged them to go back and look for you, and they did and discovered nothing! No sign of you! You abandoned me in the desert!”
“I didn’t—!”
She was shaking her head, seemingly directing her anger and loathing at herself. She was now on her feet, pacing, gesticulating wildly as if this was all bubbling out of her after having been pent up for who-knew-how-long. “And even then, I was too stupid to realize what had happened! I thought you’d wandered off in a haze or been kidnapped! Despite all you’d done to me, I was foolish enough to think that there were lengths to which you would not go, cruelties that you would stop short of! More fool I!”
“Sharee, for gods’ sake—!”
Her voice was in a singsong pattern, up and down. “And so I kept looking for you! For months! Wherever the Sand Eaters went on their journeys, so, too, did I look for you! Never giving up hope! And then the poor bastards had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time!” She pivoted and stabbed a finger at me. “The city of Mishpuh’cha! Does it sound at all familiar to you, Apropos?” I shook my head, tried to speak, but she kept right on going. “Well, why should it? All the cities you’ve destroyed, the lives you laid waste to. Why should one be more recognizable than the rest? It was a free and open city, was Mishpuh’cha, and the Sand Eaters were restocking supplies at the exact time invading hordes descended upon them! Slavering bastards with great swords in their hands and cruelty in their blood, and they annihilated all the Mishpuh’chas! Well, not all of them, no. Some they kept in order to amuse themselves, or to have their new prisoners serve their every whim. I was one of the few who managed to escape their heartless endeavors … but not before learning to my dismay just who it was who commanded them, and in whose name their atrocities were committed.” Her hand swung with surprising speed, taking me across the face before I could get out of the way. “You, Apropos! The Peacelord. Apropos, the destroyer, Apropos the monster! Have you
been enjoying it? Does it give you pleasure?”
“Sharee—”
She was getting louder and louder, and slapping at my chest. “Is this some sort of perverse payback for all the wrongs, real or imagined, that you think were done to you?You sick, twisted, perverted—! “
I smacked her. Hard.
It took her across the face and knocked her clean off her feet. She landed on the ground with a thud, and I was atop her in an instant, clamping my hand over her mouth. Instantly she sunk her teeth into the base of my palm.
“Shut up!” I hissed, gritting my teeth against the pain. “And stop biting me! You idiot, you’re going to get us both killed! I need you to shut up and listen to me, because histrionics aren’t going to help, and neither is screaming at me! Arrhhhh—!” Unable to take the pain anymore, I shoved her away from me and quickly shoved the wounded hand against my tunic.
“Why should I care if I get you killed? You’re going to kill me,” she said defiantly, rubbing her face where the redness from my strike throbbed. “And how would I get you killed?”
“Because if the gaoler hears you berating me, and I let you rant and rant to your bloody heart’s content, word could start circulating that I’m weak-kneed. And that’s a very good way to get cut off at those selfsame knees.” I risked looking at my hand where she’d bitten me. I fully expected to see that she’d drawn blood, but apparently I’d been lucky. There were faint impressions from her teeth, but no bleeding. “Besides,” I added, “when someone is hysterical, that’s what you’re supposed to do. Slap them.”
“I wasn’t hysterical. I was furious.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to tell me something. What new deceits are going through that villainous brain of yours?”
“No deceits … well, that’s not true.” She started to say, “A-ha,” but I interrupted her. “I do have deceits in mind, but they are purely to benefit you.”
Sharee leaned back and snorted contemptuously. “That I’d like to see.”