He entered the room and saw.
Her arms hung limp at her sides, a pigment stick barely held between stiff fingers. Her legs were oddly placed, as if she had begun to take a step or shift her balance, but stopped. He could see her thighs trembling beneath her trousers.
He held out his arms even as she said, with a hint of apology, "I cannot move."
He put his big hands at her waist and she sagged into his support. Her legs remained locked in place.
"How long?" Dennick kept an arm around her and gently took the pigment stick from her hand. He tossed it on a nearby table.
"Some time." Her cheeks reddened. "I… I have to make water."
"Should I carry..?" She hated that. "Or..?"
Her eyes glistened when she looked up at him. "I think you need to."
He kissed her forehead and tasted stale sweat.
"Then I shall."
He cradled Agane's legs at the back of her knees and lifted her in his arms. Her legs lost their stiffness as soon as her feet left the ground. She sighed through clenched teeth.
"Apparently," she said, "the episode has passed."
"Good that I arrived when I did." Dennick carried her through the hall. "You might have fallen."
They both feared the day her thinning bones and inexorably defiant muscles finally betrayed her.
Outside the toilet, he said, "Can you..?"
"I can." She smiled gamely and waved her legs back and forth in the air. "See? Just get me in there and close the door."
Dennick eased her down. She steadied herself with a hand against the wall.
They stood looking at each other.
Agane laughed.
"You are a good magn." She shooed him with a wave of her hand. "Out. Close the door. But best you don't go far."
"I'll be right here." Dennick closed the door between them.
He stared at it and pushed despair down his tight throat.
From within, Agane said, "You weren't gone long. Anything you can tell your heartfast about your morning, or is it some affair too sensitive to share?"
She was his heartfast in all ways, and had always known her medicines were bought at the cost of his obligation to Vuldt. Still, Dennick flinched when he thought of what had been asked of him.
"Dennick..?"
She opened the door. He knew his face would betray trepidation, but turned away too late. Perhaps he wanted her to see.
"Hm." She nodded slowly. "You're troubled." She held out her hand and he took it. "Come. The worst has passed, but I'm exhausted. Sit with me and tell me what you can."
The way she took to caring for him when it was he who should be doting on her… he swallowed hard and led her to a couch in their reception room.
Once they were seated, she said, "So. Unburden yourself, my heartfast."
Dennick squeezed his temples with one hand. "Agane…" He dropped the hand into his lap and she took it in her own. "Vuldt's schemes have made me into a monster. Or soon will."
He told her about Ranith's kidnapping, and what the Mouth of Plainslord had charged him to do.
She did not release his hand. She did not relax, or tighten, her delicate, but firm, grip. The only change was in the brightness of her eyes.
He dipped his head. "I know. I know."
She made a low sound in her throat. "How can Vuldt expect to be sure you would find the ones responsible?" She shook her head. "You see what this is, do you not? He is finished with you. He wants you to fail. To find a way to be rid of you."
"It occurred to me," Dennick said. "Even when I was a child, he was never anything less than dismissive of me, and often unkind. My service to him was the Plainslord's directive—our Plainslord—but Gragag is gone, and who knows what the new leader of the Clans wants of me? Or Vuldt?"
Agane was silent. Dennick knew she was letting him think, to work through the tangle.
Dennick did so aloud.
"But Vuldt, thistleskink that he is notwithstanding, is loyal to the Clans and an enemy of Aenik creche to coffin. This situation… it's the best opportunity he's ever had. To be able to deal a vicious blow to the Alwardendyn and impress the new Plainslord… I cannot believe he would risk that just to doom me."
He looked at her hand, and her open and kind face. He looked down.
She spoke gently. "You have not told me everything."
He shook his head. "I have always known Vuldt is ruthless and cruel. Why was I surprised to hear him include you in his trap?"
Agane's brow creased lightly. "I am the knife he holds at your back."
“No…” Dennick protested.
“The medicines he provides, then. We know this.”
“Beyond that,” Dennick said, “there are consequences to success and failure, both."
"He's threatening you? Really? You could snap him in half."
Dennick inclined his head and smiled slightly. "Perhaps. But I cannot defend against a dart in the dark."
He sighed.
"Here it is. Yes, if I refuse or fail and Ranith is rescued and returned to the Alwardendyn, my life—and yours, Agane—is forfeit. But if I succeed—"
She shook her head. "You cannot consider it."
"Wait, please. If I succeed… my service with him will be completed. He will release me. And…" He sighed again, through clenched teeth. "Agane, there are wisdom riders out there on the plains. They have ways… lore that others have lost." He put his other hand gently on her own. "Vuldt will tell us how to find one who can heal you."
Hope flashed on her face for barely a blink before disgust and skepticism twisted her expression. "Dennick, you cannot believe that. He hates you, and delights in his hatred. Even if such a person exists somewhere out there, how could you possibly trust Vuldt?"
"I know. I know!" Frustration and desperation clawed at him and made him twist where he sat. "But if there is any chance at all..!"
"Dennick. Look at me."
He met her bright, angry eyes.
"You cannot kill a child, Dennick."
"I—"
"You. Cannot."
"It might not come to that. I only need to ensure he's never rescued." He hated that his next thought was also his strongest hope. "He may already be dead."
She pulled her hand free of his so she could gesticulate. "And if he is not? There is no path that doesn't end in Vuldt having you killed, Dennick; can you not see that? What have we to gain?"
He regarded her.
Her face was drawn, both with anger and exhaustion. Shadows smudged her eyes. Her long hair—the color of deepwood that had once shone in health—was heavy and limp with sweat from her earlier ordeal.
She would always be the most beautiful magn he had ever seen.
"Your health."
"There's no—"
He held up a hand. "A chance! More than we had before today, Agane! There's a chance! I heard stories; the wisdom rider in my own camp was undeniably capable of remarkable things…" He leaned forward and tried to retake her hands, but she folded them in her lap.
The rejection wounded him. He fell back, for the moment, spent.
Her face softened. "We should go away."
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "We cannot run. We are too well known; the city gates will by now be closed to entrance and exit for the duration, and while I might have another option in that regard… we would not be able to move fast enough."
"Well." She seemed too tired to be more than lightly offended. "You could."
"You would be killed by day's end."
"Dennick." She looked at him as if he were stupid. "I am dying."
"How could I possibly do anything to hasten that?" He felt sick. "Agane, there is a chance you could live! We have been given a chance!"
"No. Even if Vuldt is true to his pledge, I will not pay his price." Her eyes were wide, angry, and imploring. "Dennick, they are our friends!"
"And you," he said. "You are my life."
She pressed her body against his che
st. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
She said, "This is impossible. All of it. We are back at the start: you have no real chance of finding Ranith. And so, no matter what, Vuldt will be rid of you. Of… us."
There was nothing Dennick dared to say aloud.
Agane added, "I will not give him the satisfaction of a painful death. His assassins will find the job already done."
Dennick understood. "Do not say such things."
"I mean it."
"Even if you mean it. I cannot bear to hear it."
This was not their first exploration of the topic. Thankfully, she opted for silence. For now.
They held each other for a time. Dennick breathed her in, and thought.
She was almost certainly correct when it came to Vuldt's ultimate objective, even if Dennick somehow managed to execute the Mouth's vile plan.
And yet.
Dennick knew from experience that unrecognized options were only revealed in the course of action.
There could be a path upon which everything worked out.
There might be.
But could he go down the road that led to Ranith's blood on his hands… on hope alone?
Very quietly, Agane said, "You cannot kill a child, Dennick. Please promise me."
His chest seemed to break apart with perfect love for this magn.
He blinked tears. One fell into her hair. She gave no indication that she noticed.
"There may be another way," he said. "One unknown to us for now."
"No matter," she said. "Please, Dennick."
He held her tighter, mindful of her aching muscles.
"I promise, Agane."
Despite her knowledge and acceptance of his secret and irreconcilable double loyalty, and perhaps because of her gradual dependence on it, he had not shared his every act and deed across the years. It was better, sometimes, that ignorance shield them, and their love.
In all their time together, though, he had never directly lied to Agane.
Until today.
Chapter Nine
Fagahg
Naked and still, Fagahg lay upon the cold stone slab.
He bathed in darkness. Silence hummed in his ears as the slow flush of blood through his veins kept time with the sluggish beat of his heart.
His chest barely moved as his lungs took grudging breaths.
His thoughts chased flowing ink as it bloomed and withered and bloomed across the panorama behind his closed eyelids.
Fagahg courted the unyielding, unchanging stasis of death. The closer he came to experiencing no experience at all, the better he communed with the darkest avatar of the Dark Twin, Nzaav.
For a time, willfully undefined, isolation numbed his senses. During the long space between one heartbeat and the next, Fagahg achieved a moment when the busy, hungry demands of mortality seemed to slip away.
As always, the thrill of the paradox inherent in that rich, full nothingness pulled him back and bound him once again to his flesh, and to the world.
If only he could truly feel… nothing.
If only he could grasp what it meant to know what could not be known, for the knowing itself meant one did not know…
This was the great central mystery: to be one with nothingness, and yet still experience that utter lack of experience.
Contemplation brought disruptive awareness.
Resigned, Fagahg opened his mouth and carefully inhaled.
The air inside the tiny shack tasted of moss, of cold, and of damp stone. His lips were dry. His chest ached as it expanded.
He sat up as he exhaled. He blinked, not sure if his eyes had been open or closed until he did so. Hot tears sped down his face.
The living world was coming for him.
He pivoted off the slab. The soles of his bare feet tingled when they slapped the smooth, polished tile floor.
Still in complete, blank darkness, Fagahg stepped with unconscious confidence directly to the door and unerringly placed his hand upon the latch.
Stiff tendons ached when he bent his fingers.
He had no sense of how long he had been in Nzaav's shadow; no way of knowing if it was day or night in the living world. He closed his eyes and opened the door.
Unwelcome warmth hit his face. Pain exploded behind his eyelids. Thin skin was inadequately suited to protect his eyes from the light of Nzaav's sister's Eye. Another reason to believe a magn was made for the dark.
Azaav's Eye would not hobble him. Fagahg remembered Baien's lesson: to move in the living world was to give legs and arms and breath and sound to an instrument of final stillness and order. The light of Azaav, Lamp of Vitality, was only as bright as darkness allowed.
He opened his eyes.
A tall, narrow shadow stood before him.
Vuldt.
The Mouth of the Plainslord said, "I nearly came in there to wake you up."
Fagahg blinked hard. A new torrent of tears poured down his face. He licked automatically at the corners of his lips.
His voice, long silent, creaked. "That would have been…" He swallowed. His throat ached. "Unfortunate."
The Vuldt shadow shrugged. "I have no desire to interrupt your time of worship. However, I have a task for you. Potentially urgent."
Fagahg knew what that meant. Despite Tah's invasive, unwelcome warmth on his bare skin, he shivered with anticipation. "I am grateful, Vuldt."
Vuldt glanced around. "We should speak of this out of the open air."
Fagahg's close-trimmed eyebrows twitched. His meditation shack was in a particularly overgrown corner of his rear garden, surrounded by high walls, on property owned by Vuldt himself. Who would hear them?
Still, Vuldt's patronage afforded the Mouth a degree of acquiescence Fagahg would not likely grant another. "Lead me," he said.
He saw Vuldt glance at the door of the shack, but Fagahg knew he knew better. "The main house will do," Vuldt said. "I imagine you want to shield your skin from Tah's heat, anyway."
Fagahg led Vuldt along the pathway of broken cobblestones to the house. "The night defines the day," he recited.
Inside, Fagahg nevertheless donned a simple robe while Vuldt talked.
"You know my agent, Dennick."
"I am aware of him. I do not think he is aware of me."
"He had best not be," Vuldt observed with a pointed nod. "I have charged him with a particular task." He related the events of the morning, the kidnapping, and Dennick's mission. "You understand, I trust, the opportunity here for the Alliance."
Fagahg tightened the belt of his robe. "Borders fade in the Dark Country." He stretched his stiff limbs. "All banners are black in the final night."
Vuldt gave him a thin, tolerant smile. "I respect your forward thinking," he said. "I, however, am charged to concern myself with what happens on the ground above the graves."
Fagahg's shoulders popped and creaked. "Often, those concerns fill graves. You serve Nzaav, too, Vuldt, in your way."
Vuldt nodded. "I suppose so."
Fagahg disliked when Vuldt took his time getting to the point. "And so?"
"Dennick knows where the secrets live in this city. But despite my incentives, even if he finds the infant, it is unlikely Dennick will have the stomach to complete his task."
Fagahg drew the appropriate conclusion. He stopped stretching. He had chills that had nothing to do with the cool interior of his simple, sparsely appointed house.
"To deliver an infant to Nzaav… Vuldt, do you know what a wonderful thing it would be to take such a new life? It is a beautiful gift."
"You are welcome," Vuldt said flatly. "But not just Ranith. If he fails, your god gets Dennick, too. Can you handle him?" Before Fagahg could answer, Vuldt added, "Oh, and his heartfast, the artist Agane, as well."
Fagahg said, "Your spy is a warrior first. He may grant me a taste of Nzaav's gift before he receives it." That was enticing. "The artist is dying?"
"And even you have heard about it," Vuldt sa
id.
"Killing her will be a mercy. Nzaav values mercy. His embrace is comfort."
Fagahg felt his face twist in a rare smile. He allowed it.
"The infant…" He sighed. "The infant is a blessing."
Vuldt regarded Fagahg for a blink. "Fine. Walk in Dennick's shadow until the thing is done. If opportunities arise to kill Ranith, take them. You need not wait for Dennick to succeed or fail."
Fagahg felt such a rush of gratitude toward the Mouth, he had to restrain himself from giving Vuldt the Gift right then and there.
"I understand," he said. "Thank you, Vuldt."
Chapter Ten
Kug
The firstmeal customers were sated and relaxing, or had left. Kug used the lapse in business to excuse himself from the common area and retire upstairs.
Once he was sure no one was making use of any of the rooms, he went into his apartments and released Lama and Sot from the concealed space. Sot unfolded in a rush, windmilling his arms and cracking his neck as he strode around the room.
Kug said in a strained whisper, "Will you stop stomping, Sot?"
Sot froze, abashed.
Lama emerged, grinning fiercely, the infant in her arms. Her voice was low and her words rushed out. "We heard the guard tromping around out there, but they never suspected."
"Their master does," Kug growled. "Be certain: we're not done with them."
Lama squinted at him. "But you put him off."
"For now." Kug wanted to berate them about the fire, and Vadi, and all the other perfectly valid reasons Dunak wanted their heads.
Lama scowled. "What else?"
"It doesn't matter." He regarded her, this weathered, fierce, broken magn who had been his sister's daughter. "When are you supposed to meet Ulthus?"
"Three nights past tonight," Lama said. "Here."
"Here?" Kug was incensed they’d involved him from the start, but the information set him speculating. Could he intercept or ambush the magicker? Turn this all around?
Lama narrowed her eyes. His scheming must have colored the expression on his face. She said, "Yes, Kug. Late, after the Capful is empty and Ress and Prak have gone home."
Kug shook his head. "I don't want to know." This was a problem to work at away from these two.
Sot shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gave the hidden crawlspace a sour look. "We won't have to go back in there, will we, Kug?"
Light of the Outsider Page 7