As was usually the case with such early spring storms, it was, although fierce, of relatively short duration. After about six hours it began to abate, and by dusk the sky was clear. The approach of darkness caused me to delay my journey until first light; even though I was accustomed to traveling during the hours of darkness, there would be deep drifts in the foothills, making the going treacherous.
So, after feeding my horse, I settled down for the night. With no crisis looming and the delightful prospect of returning to my haizda, my mind was very calm, clear, and sharp, and I began to review the events of recent weeks and reevaluate my own role in what had taken place.
It seemed to me that I had behaved with honor and courage, and had fully discharged my obligation to Old Rowler. It was not my fault that Susan had died. I had done my best to save her. Alone, I had triumphed over a high mage, a Shaiksa assassin, and a dangerous hyb warrior. It was true that I had later worked in partnership with a human witch, but that had been necessary because of the great odds against me. Together with Grimalkin, I had defeated the haggenbrood, a wondrous achievement. Then, using the borrowed skelt blade, I had brought the mighty Eblis to his knees. How was it then that I had feared an attack of skaiium? Now, with a tranquil mind, I saw that such a thought was absurd. As a warrior mage, I had achieved near perfection.
Thus, safe from skaiium, I could afford to be generous. I considered little Nessa again and recognized that she had aided me at every turn. It was true that she had done so in order to ensure her sisters’ survival, but her help had been timely and decisive. Suddenly I saw how I might repay her.
It was not possible to buy her back directly from the merchant with whom I had traded. Such a thing was forbidden. Even if, for a bribe, he agreed to the deal, my original sale would be considered void, and I would no longer have fulfilled my duty. But there was another way.
Once Nessa had been sold on, I could buy her from her new owner without repercussions. No doubt it would cost me at least double what I had received for her, but money was not really a consideration for me. I could always get what I needed from my haizda. It would not even put me to much trouble. Because of the storm, her new owner would not yet have left Karpotha.
I resolved to go down to the kulad at first light and repurchase Nessa. Then I would take her south to join her sister. Of course, I would sample a little of her blood on the way. Not enough to do her any real harm. She could hardly object to that, could she?
I awoke about an hour before dawn with a vague impression that I had just heard an animal cry out in the night. I heightened my senses and listened.
Within moments it came again—there was indeed a high, thin cry. But it was not an animal. It had come from either a human or a Kobalos throat. I lifted my tail, but unfortunately the wind from the north was still brisk and carried any scent away from me.
Soon there were other cries and screams, but I yawned and took little notice. No doubt a number of the purrai were being punished, probably those who had failed to attract a buyer. It served them right for not behaving in the correct manner. In retaliation, their owners would be whipping them or slicing into their flesh with sharp knives in places that would be concealed by their clothes.
At dawn I mounted my horse and set off directly for Karpotha. I needed to reach the kulad before Nessa’s new owner left.
As soon as I crested the hill and looked down toward it, I knew that something was wrong. The gates were wide open.
I urged my horse forward across the fresh snow. It was then that I saw the tracks of many feet heading south, the snow churned up and no longer a pristine white. It seemed as if a large party had traveled in that direction. But why should that be? It made no sense at all. They should have been going either east or west, toward the other slave markets, or northeast, toward Valkarky itself—anywhere but south.
Then I noticed the first of the bodies. It was one of the small party of Oussa who had escorted slaves to Karpotha. The warrior was lying facedown. Beneath his head and upper body, the snow had been turned to slush and stained bright red with his blood: his throat had been cut.
There were two more dead Oussa guards near the gates, and then I saw bloodied footprints heading away from the city—mostly northward. Horses had gone in the same direction too.
What had happened? Why had they fled?
Inside the kulad, there were bodies everywhere—Kobalos merchants as well as Oussa guards. The wooden platforms were slick with blood. Nothing lived. Nothing moved.
But there was no sign of the slaves. Where could they be?
Then, for the first time, I noticed the shape carved into the gatepost.
This was the sign of the scissors that the witch assassin carried in a leather sheath. How could it possibly be marked here on the post? Had she returned?
No! She had not returned. She had been here all the time.
In a flash of understanding, I realized what had happened.
I had not sold Nessa at the slave market.
I had sold Grimalkin!
CHAPTER XXVIII
WE WILL MEET AGAIN
WHAT a fool I had been to trust the human witch!
Nessa had ridden away from the camp before I awoke, and Grimalkin, in a perfect simulacrum of the girl, had taken her place, just as she had in the arena. After slaughtering many of the Oussa and merchants, the witch had then led the slaves south, toward the lands of the humans and freedom.
But she still had me to deal with.
She had broken her promise not to hinder me, and now I must pursue her and bring her to account.
It took me less than an hour to catch up with the witch and the escaped purrai.
She was riding at the head of the column of slaves, and there was another rider alongside her—surely it was Nessa. The hundred or so following them, walking two by two, carried sacks of provisions; they were dressed in sensible purrai clothes and were well protected against the elements.
I began to charge toward the witch, passing along the left flank of the column, when, to my astonishment, the purrai broke formation and came between me and my enemy. Then, whooping and cheering, they began to hurl balls of snow in my direction, making my horse rear up in panic. It was astounding and unprecedented behavior from purrai, and my mount, hardened by magic to face even the charge of a Shaiksa assassin, could not withstand the pelting of cold, wet snow.
I was forced to retreat in order to bring the animal back under control. By the time I had done so, Grimalkin was already racing toward me, two blades held aloft, glittering with reflected light from the morning sun. But I had time to draw my saber and urge my own mount forward, so we came together hard and fast.
Neither of us managed to inflict any damage upon the other, and we came about quickly and began our second charge. The witch passed very close by on my left and thrust at me viciously with a blade. However, using the last of my reserves of shakamure magic, I had already formed a magical shield and, positioning it perfectly, deflected her weapon, lunging toward her head as I did so.
She leaned away and I missed my target, but the tip of my saber cut her shoulder, drawing blood. At that my heart sang with joy. Next time we passed I would finish her!
But as I faced my enemy again, I saw that now she wielded only one knife. Her other blade hadn’t shattered against my shield, so why had she put it away? Perhaps the wound I had inflicted upon her left shoulder meant that she could no longer hold a blade with that hand? No, she now held this one in her left hand.
Then I concentrated my vision and noted that in her right hand she carried the skelt sword—the weapon that had broken the Kangadon. It would do the same to my shield. Nor was I comfortable fighting against a blade with a hilt fashioned in the image of Talkus, he who, once born into this world, would be the most powerful of all Kobalos gods.
It was ominous. Did it signify my death? I wondered.
It did no good to think upon such things now, so, gathering my resolve, I spurred my horse forward once more. Closer an
d closer we approached, the hooves of our mounts sending a fine spray of snow up into the air. Blood was running down Grimalkin’s left shoulder, but she was smiling.
My saber will cut the smile from her face! I thought.
Then another horse was between us, forcing me to change direction, veering away to the left. It was Nessa. She galloped after me, and we came to a halt some distance away.
I glanced back and saw that the witch had reined in her horse and was staring at us.
“You fool!” Nessa cried. “Stop this at once or she will kill you. You don’t have to die here. Return to your haizda and let us go on our way in peace.”
I was outraged by her words. She had called me a fool! Who was she to speak to me in this manner? But before I could vent my anger, Grimalkin had brought her mount alongside Nessa.
“Keep away!” she warned, pointing the skelt blade toward me. “Our trade is over, little mage, and you are no longer safe!”
“You claimed to be one who kept to her word!” I retorted angrily.
“I did keep my word!” the witch insisted. “Did I not keep my promise and help you to slay the haggenbrood? And once we left your abominable city, I did nothing to impede what you consider to be your lawful business.”
“You just play with words!” I shouted. “I told you that I intended to sell Nessa in the slave market, as was my right. She was my chattel. And you replied that you would not hinder me in that.”
“You sold a slave in Karpotha and thus discharged your duties under the law of bindos. That is what is truly important. The fact that I was that slave matters nought. It was done, and with our trade completed, I was free to liberate the slaves from the kulad. And know this and remember it well: I cannot allow your people to continue to hold human slaves!
“I declare war on the Kobalos. I go to forge the Star Blade, but once my business with this is done,” she cried, holding up the sack, “I will return with my sisters and we will pull down the walls of Valkarky and kill all the Kobalos within! So remain at your haizda, mage! Keep away from that cursed city, and you might live a little while longer! But now, lest we fight to the death prematurely, I would ask you a question. Why did you return to Karpotha and witness what I had done?”
“I returned to the cliff and sheltered from the storm,” I answered.
“That necessitated your delay, but you did not need to return to the kulad. I know why you went back. You intended to buy Nessa’s freedom. Is that not so?”
I was shocked by Grimalkin’s words. How could she know this?
I nodded.
She smiled. “So in that case, what has been lost? Nessa has the freedom you intended for her, and it has been achieved at no financial or legal cost to yourself. Now I will return some of these women to their own lands. Others, even if born in the skleech pens, will be found homes among humans. As for Nessa, I will reunite her with her sister. In the meantime, you will go home and prosper. You are looking forward to returning to your haizda. Is that not true?”
I nodded again; then, finally finding my voice, I lifted my saber and pointed it toward her. “One day there will be a reckoning between us—I promise you that!”
“And I return that promise, so go in peace, Slither. One day we will surely meet again, but there is no need for us to spill more blood this day. I will go and attend to my own business. In the meantime, ready yourself for my return. Gather your resources, hone your fighting skills, and strengthen your magic. Then we will meet and fight to the death, thus proving once and for all which of us is the stronger. I will take great pleasure in defeating such a formidable warrior. Is it a trade?”
“Yes! It is a trade!” I cried, lifting my saber in salute.
Her words were wise. My magic was gone and must be replenished with blood. Better to face her when I was once again at the height of my powers. I looked forward to it.
She smiled, showing her pointed teeth, then rode her horse back to the head of the column.
Nessa remained where she was. “Is that true? Did you really intend to buy me back and give me my freedom?” she asked.
“It is true, little Nessa. Grimalkin does not lie, although I think she finds too much freedom within the terms of a trade. I am more concerned with the precise letter of the contract.”
Nessa smiled. “But I think she kept closely to the spirit of the agreement. Is that not true?”
It took me almost a week to reach my haizda again. The journey was delayed somewhat because, on the evening of the third day, I suddenly grew exceedingly thirsty. So great and immediate was my need that I was forced to plunge my teeth into the neck of my horse and drain its blood.
Usually I am able to resist such impulses, but the long days and nights of restraint—when I had stopped myself from leaping on one of Nessa’s plump sisters and drinking until she died—suddenly took their toll. After such prolonged discipline, there must be release. It is only natural for a Kobalos.
Winter is approaching once more, and I am preparing for my customary hibernation. I have spent the short summer in my haizda, drinking blood, reaping souls, sharpening my skills as a warrior, and strengthening my magic. Now the final stage of my preparations will take place as I sleep.
I will be ready for the return of the witch. Whatever the outcome, I look forward to combat with Grimalkin. It will mark the pinnacle of my endeavors as a warrior mage. She has threatened the city of Valkarky. Although there is little love between me and certain of its inhabitants, I have an allegiance to my own people.
Perhaps I will be the means to end that threat.
—Slither
Each day the sun crosses the sky a little closer to the horizon; soon the short summer will draw to a close.
Now my uncle knows the full story of how Susan died and how I was carried off to be a slave. It made him angry but also fearful. He says that the world is cooling, and it makes him apprehensive. He remembers the tales of his grandparents, ancient, fearful stories passed down through the generations.
When Golgoth, the Lord of Winter, last awoke, the ice expanded and the Kobalos beasts traveled south with it, slaying the men and boys but sparing the women and their daughters and carrying them off to be slaves. My uncle believes that it will happen again, but he prays that it will not be in his lifetime.
My aunt and uncle are good-hearted and have given shelter to Bryony and me. This is my home now. We work hard, but I also worked hard on Father’s farm. Little has changed in that respect.
The time since my poor father’s death has been terrifying and traumatic, but it has opened my eyes to just how big the world is and shown me that there are so many unknowns, so many new things to learn . . . in a way that has made me restless and discontented with the routines of life. I would like to travel and see more of the world.
Maybe I have not seen the last of Grimalkin or of Slither. It is just a hunch, but I believe that one day our paths will cross again. I hope so.
—Nessa
Slither’s Dream
Little Nessa beckons me
By tapping on her silken knee.
She’s trapped behind a prison grille
So I think to bend it to my will.
That iron grille is tall and wide
And spans the room from side to side
From floor to ceiling and wall to wall,
And though at present I am not tall,
My haizda magic’s very strong;
It coils and twists and flicks the grille
Until the metal quivers, twists, and yields
Like poppies dancing in the fields—
For that grille’s alive, no doubt of that;
It’s lithe and stretchy like a cat.
Now it opens very wide
And I beckon Nessa to my side.
As we climb the twisty tunnel stairs,
Nessa holds my hand and purrs,
But a shadow begins to grow and coil
Like a serpent slick with poisonous oil,
Like the
withering breath of a demon lord
Or a thing unblest that raps on boards.
But my silver blade is very sharp,
It weaves strange patterns in the dark.
Its curvy point is sharp and long
More thirsty than my slithery tongue.
A fainter heart might here have prayed,
But I stand my ground
And draw my blade!
One shatek screaming in the night
Has startled armies into flight,
For a shatek’s brood share a single soul,
Taking many forms with a single goal,
And its whole’s a creature called a djinn
An entity that’s spawned to spin
A web of darkness round the sun
And puncture with a probing pin
All pleasures that be clothed with skin.
It’s nursed its envy in the dark
And clothed its hope with a leprous bark
Like the dark jibberdee of old Combesarke!
And little Nessa it did see
And carried her off against her will
To imprison her behind that grille.
By that it aimed to summon me
To a final battle ’neath its tree.
For above this pit a great tree stands
That casts a shadow across the land;
It grows above the shatek’s lair
At the very top of the thousandth stair
And bears fruit of such slimy green
That would taint the womb of a virgin queen.
Its leaves they twist and turn and glower
And fall each spring in a malevolent shower
To poison soul and wither breast
And churn the soil so the dead can’t rest.
But my silver blade is very sharp,
It weaves strange patterns in the dark.
Its curvy point is sharp and long,
As thirsty as my slithery tongue.
So I wield my blade
And my blade’s my song!
Six feet begin to tap on stone
With a click and a snap of flexing bone,
As with agile flesh and cunning leers
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