Crier's Knife

by Neal Litherland

  “Go,” Dirk said, taking his weight off of Kelana's shoulder and putting his hand against the wall. “Both of you, make haste!”

  Kelana needed little encouragement. As soon as Dirk had taken his weight from her shoulder, she rushed into the darkness like a frightened animal digging into its burrow. Afra released him more reluctantly, and didn't stray far ahead as he limped his way forward.

  It was hard to judge distance in the narrow passage, and after a time Dirk no longer tried to. Instead, he tried to gauge how far the roar was above and behind him. The thing, whatever it was, did not cease its rage, but it seemed more and more remote. Like a storm that was deadly to those caught in its clutches, but which was all thunder and sound to anyone beyond its reach. Just as he was starting to think they'd found some kind of safety, there was a deafening crash behind them. The tunnel shook, and the lights behind them went out, plunging the way back into blackness. There was a grinding, crushing sound, and a hot wind full of dust, grit, and the coppery stench of slaughter buffeted them like a butcher's breath. Dirk forced himself into a limping run, shoving himself along with his hands on the walls. Afra coughed, and ran with her hands over her nose and mouth. The air was close, and the tunnel squeezed them tightly. It felt like the earth was trying to swallow them. Afra cried out, rebounding off a stone wall, and colliding with Dirk. He nearly fell, but managed to hold himself upright by his scraped palms.

  “Stop standing,” Teller shouted from above them. “Climb, damn your eyes!”

  Afra peered upward, and hands reached for her. She was pulled out of sight in moments. Dirk pressed forward, his hands scrabbling at the sides of the chimney. More hands snatched at his arms, his shoulders, his shirt, and his belt, yanking. Sweat and blood slicked his palms, and he nearly fell, but Dirk slammed his heel into the wall, and shoved with what little strength he had left. He was pulled into open air just as a gout of dust and stones rocketed out of the tunnel beneath him, spewing into the air.

  Dirk fell on his back, coughing. Dust and dirt stung his eyes, and filled his nose. He rolled over on his side, away from the hole, and hacked until he thought he might retch. Once his eyes stopped streaming, and his limbs ceased trembling, Dirk sat up. Perhaps a dozen sets of scared eyes stared back at him, their owners shivering in the evening chill. Their breath steamed from cracked lips, and they were huddled together. Dirk turned his head. He saw more stubby, twisted trees, and leaning rock piles that may once have been buildings. The huge bulk of the ancient temple that had reared against the sky was gone as if it had never been. Next to him, Teller lay on his side. Air strained between his teeth as he clutched his wounded ribs. He gave Dirk a wan smile.

  “Not that the free air lacks sweetness, cousin, but do you think we could build a fire?” Teller asked, his teeth starting to chatter. “Before all your hard work turns out to be for naught, and I catch my death of cold?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Gentle fingers brushed against Dirk's cheek, and traced across his forehead. They smelled of clean soap, and cool water. Fragrant smoke lingered in the room from herbs tossed into the brazier, and the coals did their best to hold the damp chill beyond the windows at bay. Soft lips pressed against his forehead, and a stray fall of hair tickled against his ear.

  “I know you wake,” Bea said, tucking her hair back into place as she sat on the bed next to him. “So, pretty as you are to watch as you laze, you can stop playing the dead man.”

  “Are you certain?” Dirk asked, his eyes still closed.

  “Yes,” she said, pressing two fingers into his ribs.

  “How is it you always know?” Dirk asked.

  “You scent the air when you wake,” Bea said. “Like a cat. As if you are trying to see without opening your eyes.”

  Dirk chuckled, and looked up at her. She wore a dark dress, but had left her apron in the kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled down, but the buttons were loose at her throat. Made even looser when she'd entered the room, he knew. He sat up and kissed her, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her against him. She smiled against his embrace, and pressed a hand against his chest.

  “Has it been that long since this morn?” she asked.

  “I should say it has,” Dirk said, stealing another kiss from her.

  “Your bruising is nearly gone,” she said, stroking her palm over his shoulder. “How is your leg?”

  Dirk shrugged, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. “I know not. Would you look for me?”

  Bea shook her head, but smiled when she did so. She shifted, and pulled back the covers. The band of wounded flesh around Dirk's thigh was swollen, red, and warm. Ugly as it was, though, it was still a sight better than it had been when Dirk had limped through the doors of the Sheltered City a fortnight past, blood dripping from his heel and puddled in his boot. Bea ran her fingertips over the skin, her lips pursed as she traced the ring all the way around.

  “It seems to be healing clean,” she said.

  “What of my other hurts?” Dirk asked.

  Bea raised an eyebrow, and let her fingers slide up Dirk's thigh to the fading, yellow stain of the bruise on his hip. She squeezed gently, watching Dirk's face.

  “This one seems better as well,” she said, a note of warmth teasing through her words.

  Dirk's smile grew a hair wider. A blush crept up Bea's neck. Her touch grew less careful, and more insistent as she stroked Dirk's skin. She pressed her lips against his scars, new and old alike. She tested every muscle and sinew, and he showed her how well he'd healed under her ministrations. Once Bea was satisfied that Dirk had, indeed, healed properly, she lay her head on his chest to catch her breath. He put an arm around her shoulders, and stroked his fingers through her hair. It had come unbound, much like the dress that lay puddled on the floor, and it was both thick and wavy. Both of their brows were beaded with sweat, but it dried quickly in the fading warmth of the room. Bea shivered, and Dirk pulled the covers up over them both.

  “It is not a chill that makes me shake so,” Bea said.

  “I know,” Dirk said, kissing the top of her head. “And I would rather it not get the chance to.”

  She pressed a knuckle into his side. Dirk grunted, but made no move to stop her. She relented after a moment, closing her eyes. Dirk did likewise, resting a moment. Bea tightened her grip around him, nuzzling his chest with her cheek.

  “Tell me again about the place you found,” she said. “On your mountain. Where you and your father will build your cabin.”

  Dirk smiled, remembering the Glade. He'd only seen it of a morning that one day so many months gone, but every detail of it had been etched into his memory. The rough rock walls against his fingers, and the dank coolness of the small caves. The chirp of the birds, and the rustle of the beasts in the tall grass. The silversheen shimmer of the stream beneath the sun as it slithered along the shelf. The eagle's view of the foothills in all its breathtaking detail for those who were brave enough to stand near the cliff's edge and take it in. He described it to Bea in loving detail, his words wandering past every tree and stone as if he were standing there, rather than lying in bed with her.

  “It sounds a lovely place to go back to,” she said.

  Dirk nodded, but said nothing. He could hear the question she wasn't asking, and as he'd done for a dozen days, he waited. This time, though, Bea managed to get it past her teeth.

  “Do you... must you go back to it?” she asked, not raising her gaze to meet his.

  Dirk took a long, slow breath. His chest felt heavier than it had a moment before. He stroked his palm down Bea's back, feeling the ridges of her spine against his palm. Their softness contrasted with the bladesman's callouses along the mounts of his fingers.

  “It is my place,” Dirk said. He kissed the top of Bea's head. “It is where I wish to be.”

  Neither of them said anything for a time. They just lay in the small, plain room, and listened to the sounds of the inn around them. The thump of children's feet as
they ran, and the chastising voices that followed in their wake. The muted drone of adult conversation as people made plans, and tried to decide what to do now that they were here, instead of where they had been. The creak of door hinges, and the crackle of the fire. Dirk pressed his fingers to Bea's cheek, and slowly turned her to face him.

  “Must you stay?” he asked her.

  Bea licked her lips, and thought about the question. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it without saying a word. She worried the inside of her cheek, her brows drawing together.

  “Caddell has Afra to tend him, and else I mistake the signs she will not venture far from his side again,” Dirk said. “Which means there is another who will be happy in caring for him, and he for her. You have brothers and sisters to carry on at home, and they have not missed your hands while you did your duties here. Even the kitchen has other hands to cook and clean, should you decide to leave it.”

  Bea shook her head slowly, and blew a slow breath out of her nose. “It sounds a lovely dream.”

  “I have little time for dreams,” Dirk said. “What is when I wake will always be better than what may be when I sleep.”

  Bea licked her lips, gently catching the bottom one between her teeth. It was a habit Dirk had grown familiar with over his short time with her. She put her head on his chest, but didn't give voice to the thoughts behind her eyes. Dirk leaned up, and kissed her forehead. They lay there like that for a time, before he slowly lifted her off of him, and sat up. Bea touched the small of his back hesitantly. As if worried he might vanish into smoke, like a dream half-glimpsed in the morning haze.

  “Will you leave?” she asked.

  Dirk reached behind him, and squeezed her hand. She squeezed him back, holding on tightly for a moment before letting go.

  “I will,” he said, standing. “But not today. Not yet.”

  Dirk stood, and stretched. His shoulders creaked, and the hard lines of muscle along his arms and back rippled. He collected his clothes, and dressed. It was no longer a task he needed help with, and he took some pleasure in being able to stand on his own legs once more. Bea stayed where she was, half-laying on the bed, watching him. Dirk could not read her expression, but she didn't pull away when he bent to kiss her again. He slid his belt around his waist, leaving his remaining knife on his right hip rather than his left. It felt lonely there, and he was still growing used to its weight.

  “No, Caddell, I cannot do that,” Teller was saying as Dirk stepped into the inn's common room. His cousin gestured with his mug as he and the innkeep talked. “It is generous, but please, do not humble me by pressing gifts I cannot take. Guilt will trouble my sleep from here all the way back to my mother's home, and I shall never be free of it.”

  “I would give that, and more, were I able,” Caddell said. He sat in his usual chair, with Teller across the fire from him. Afra had pulled a seat close, and held Caddell's hand in both of hers. Caddell took a drink from his own mug, and then pointed at Teller with it. “Your blood gave me more than ample recompense. It would do me no good to miser now, when I have so much to be grateful for.”

  “Speak the name, and the flesh will follow,” Teller said, glancing over at Dirk with his wide, easy smile. Days of rest and real food had put color back in his cousin's cheeks, but Teller's clothes still hung on him more loosely than Dirk had ever seen. “Talk some sense into him, Dirk. I cannot make him see reason.”

  “If he will not heed you, why do you think he would listen to me?” Dirk asked, sitting down at one of the nearby tables.

  Teller threw up his hands, but his smile did not slip from his lips. “I relent! I shall accept your terms, and do so with thanks.”

  Caddell held out his hand, and he and Teller shook. Once the matter was settled, Teller stood, and gestured to the more comfortable chair.

  “Afra, you sit on that stool much longer and you will regret it,” Teller said. “Make yourself comfortable, please. I must speak with Dirk.”

  Afra shook her head slowly, but accepted the empty chair. Teller put an arm around Dirk's shoulders, and led him toward one of the empty tables near the rear wall of the inn. They sat, and Teller tossed back the last of whatever was in his mug. He set it down, and blew out a breath.

  “What was all that?” Dirk asked.

  “Caddell wanted to show his gratitude,” Teller said, waving a hand as if the matter were of little importance. “He wanted us to stay the winter, room and meals accounted for. As soon as he told his father you'd killed Tharn, the old man was more than happy to back his son's offer. I dare say it's the first time the old farmer has smiled since his son was brought back in pieces.”

  Dirk grunted, but said nothing. Teller had his mouth open to say something else, when Kelana leaned over him, and set two mugs on the table. She took Teller's empty one, and sauntered away. Teller turned to watch her go, sipping his drink.

  “Which is not to say this place doesn't have its own comforts,” Teller said.

  “Of course not,” Dirk said. “Though I would ware, were I you. I migive she would come back with you.”

  “I misgive it as well. But if I'm honest as can be, I didn't want to come this far when I took the road with Ignarian in the first. I'd as soon go back where I belong.” Teller swallowed hard, and sighed.

  “What was that thing?” Dirk asked. He rarely indulged such curiosity, especially when dangers had already passed, but the question itched at him.

  Teller started, surprised despite himself, and shook his head. He swirled his fresh drink, frowning at it like a soothesayer who didn’t care for what his tea leaves said. “Finding truth in a mad woman’s rambles is not a skill I have mastered.”

  “Indulge me,” Dirk said.

  Teller licked his lips for a moment, as if unsure where to begin his tale. Dirk waited, taking a swallow from his cup before setting it aside. Teller clicked his tongue against his teeth, a youthful habit he’d never been able to leave behind, and found the thread.

  “To hear her tell the tale, in the time before the seas had cooled, her people lived in these hills. They were no different than other men, scrabbling in the dirt and lying among the sheep, until one of them heard a voice from the sky. Ya’ra had chosen him, and told him secrets none else were privy to.”

  The name, even whispered, made the flesh on the back of Dirk’s neck prickle. He found his hand reaching for his remaining blade, and forced it to lie flat on the tabletop. Teller didn’t seem to notice, caught up in his unwilling yarn.

  “The Lurker in Darkness taught that man many things, and he raised the temple of black stone. He climbed the steps, and conversed with the voice that lived between the stars. Others came, and bowed down before him, and before the voice he spoke to. He was given a queen, and she was also blessed, if you want to call it that.”

  Dirk frowned. Somewhere in his memory was the feeling of unusual leather beneath his fingertips, and the smell of old vellum. One of his grandmother’s books; a treatise he wasn’t supposed to open without her permission. Stories about empires a thousand times a thousand years gone to dust, their memories living on in scribbles of ink and the dreams of mad oracles.

  “They built an empire, and it swept over the horizon. City after city was raised, all built of the same, dark stone. They were interconnected by black roads woven with spells, and in the center of that web was this place.” Teller smiled, but it was a sickly thing. “All roads once led to Kann Dak’ham, she said.”

  “And the stone?” Dirk asked when his cousin had fallen silent.

  “She called it the Pearl,” Teller began. “She said it had been placed in the care of the kings as a sign of the Whisperer’s favor. It gave power to the kings with prophecy in their dreams as long as they held the small fragment of it, but they had to care for it with sacrifice. And, when the time was right, they could make the thing whole. Then it would sprout, and grow.”

  “Did they know what it truly was?” Dirk asked.

  “I couldn’t read any
of the writing on the chamber walls. I think Lanissara had an inkling, though. After I was dragged back, and she dropped her charade that I was a guest, she told me the awakening had to be from the old blood. She took it to mean that only someone with proper power in them could bring the creature out in its true form.” Teller shrugged, and gave Dirk a half-smile. “She was the only one of that bloodline, but I think she felt she could trick it with me.”

  “Did you tell her about your heritage?” Dirk asked.

  “You saw her,” Teller said. “I was half mad with fever, and exhausted from dreams. When she put my head in her lap and whispered sweetlings to me, there was nothing I wouldn’t have told her.”

  Dirk nodded. “Is it dead?”

  Teller was quiet for a time, contemplating the question. Finally he just shook his head.

  “I don’t know if it can be killed,” he said. “If it can die, I hope it’s dead. If it sleeps, I hope it slumbers long past my grandchildren’s grandchildren.”

  “Grandmere will want to hear the tale in full when we return,” Dirk said.

  Teller looked pained. “I doubt she will have sweets waiting for me.”

  Dirk shrugged. “Likely not.”

  “Still, at least I’m here to tell the tale.” Teller ran a hand over his face, and in that moment, he looked far older than the years and miles he’d traveled. Dirk hoped that he never saw that man again, even if Teller lived to be a hundred. “And hopefully with Ben Morgh back beneath my head, I might be able to get an untroubled night's sleep.”

  “And when the bad dreams have passed?” Dirk asked.

  Teller shook himself, and his grin reappeared wide as ever. “I think I could stay on the mountain till the spring. Now that I think on it, I would do so gladly, no matter how much father scolds my laziness, or mother frets over how thin I've grown in between asking me when I’ll finally bring a girl up the mountain to them.”