Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) (44 page)

All his waiting and wanting, his sweat and blood, his every
step of progress; it all felt so small in comparison to the greater end. He
wanted so many things, but time was fleeting. Praise from his king and master,
favor from his people, adoration and respect from his family; these were the
things any man wanted. But to Lethari, whose blood was the blood of the sands,
and whose ancestors were kings in their own right, and whose sons and daughters
would carry with them his honor or his disgrace—whichever the fates saw fit to
bestow upon him—they were everything.

At the feast that night, Lethari sat in the great seat of
high honor at the head of the long table, before a roaring pit fire and the
servants tasked with keeping it from burning low or snuffing out. Although the
mood was joyous and members of both camp and
feiach
came to pay him
tribute all through the evening, their accolades felt hollow. His thoughts kept
turning to the young healer, to Raithur Entradi and the problem of
yarun
merouil
. He thought of Frayla and the child she would bear him; of how she
would react if Tycho Montari sent him away again so he could not be there for
the birth.

Across the outdoor dining area, where warriors shared low
wooden bench tables with trappers, spice merchants, goatherds, and gatherers,
Lethari noticed a group of bare-chested fighters surrounding a put-upon Diarmid
Kailendi. The novice warleader’s expression was jovial, but Lethari read the
worry behind it. They were mostly Cean Eldreni’s men, Lethari noted. There were
members of Sig’s company there as well.
They are pressuring him about
something. No matter; Diarmid will remind them to come to me with their request
.

Time passed, however, and the men did not leave Diarmid’s
side.

Lethari pushed himself to his feet. He’d emptied several
tankards of thick brown ale already, and the sudden act of standing gave him a
heady rush. Or perhaps it was the smoke from the pit fire that made him grip
the armrest to steady himself.
The brewmasters have produced a stronger
batch than I bargained for
, he thought as he lurched toward the back
tables.

Lethari called out Diarmid’s name as he came near.

“My Lord Lethari,” Diarmid said, bowing.

The others echoed him.

“Do not presume to pay me false respect,” Lethari told them.
“I know what you are doing here.”

“Lethari, it is not—”

“Let me speak, Diarmid. This must be dealt with now. You
poacairi
will not get what you want by going beneath me. I lead here, and the camp
remains under my authority until I restore Diarmid to that place. If you would
air a request or complaint, I will hear it. There will be no more of this
deception.”

“Lethari, there is no deception here. They were only mocking
me in a friendly manner.”

“About what?” Lethari swayed on his feet and stepped back to
balance himself. His calves struck a bench, and he abruptly sat down.

No one laughed, though he suspected some were holding back.

“They are trying to make me speak with Laeghley. They think
she would choose me.” Diarmid gestured toward the beautiful young woman seated
amidst a brood of others across the fire.

The women giggled and nudged one another when the men looked
over. Lethari felt a fool. He could see the looks of offense on the men’s
faces. Now they would think ill of him, and whisper of how he had shamed them
unjustly. “Do you not think she would choose you?” Lethari asked.

“I do not know,” said Diarmid. “I hear she is a woman who
takes her time. It would not surprise me if, after thinking it over, she chose
another.”

Lethari laughed. “This is not like you, Diarmid. You are a
warleader of the master-king. You are not one to let your fear cripple you so.
Perhaps you should see Amhaziel. Ask him to bestow a new flaw upon you. There
is no better remedy for a man who must conquer his hesitations.”

“A man can be fearless in battle, yet fear for a woman’s
love. Can he not?”

Lethari knew that feeling all too well. Before Frayla chose
him so many long years ago, he had wanted her more than anything. But she was
the daughter of a merchant; he, the son of a warleader, and so their stations
were unbalanced. It had taken every ounce of Lethari’s courage to propose the
match—first to Frayla, then to her parents. In the end, the arrangement had
proven equitable enough for both sets of parents to agree.

Lethari did not think Diarmid would fare quite as well, since
Laeghley was only a potter’s daughter. He almost told Diarmid as much, but the
ale had not softened him to quite that degree. “Life is a series of fears we
must face,” he said instead. “Yet a man does himself an insult when he gives
into them. All fear comes from the same place. Conquer that place within
yourself, and a multitude of fears becomes only one.”

Diarmid’s chest rose and fell. He straightened, looked at the
young woman sitting across the fire, and gave Lethari a nod. “All fears are
one,” he said, as if to reassure himself.

Lethari put a hand on his shoulder. “You told me earlier you
wanted to stay because you have no wife or children to look after. If that
should change before I return, do not fear for your position. As long as I
serve as the master-king’s warleader, you will always have a place here.”

“May we both serve our king for many long years, my master.”

Lethari nudged him. “Go to her. She would have waited a long
time for you, but I think you have made her wait long enough already.”

Diarmid smiled before heading off toward the group of women.

Lethari felt awkward and misplaced among the other warriors,
who he was sure must now resent him for his misguided rebuke. That would come
back to haunt him, he had no doubt. Sigrede’s men were already wary of him,
given the rumors going around. It was a good thing he was leaving them behind with
Diarmid when he left for home.

As for Cean Eldreni’s warriors, Lethari was certain they were
against him. Freeing Cean would ease their contempt, but he would wait until
the day of his departure to do so. Let them gripe and grumble; Lethari needed
to reassert his dominance over both the
feiach
and the camp at large.
Until the master-king had judged him, the charge remained his.

The next few days passed in an uneasy blur. The gray ghosts
stopped by for a brief visit, so Lethari took the opportunity to glean what
information he could about the young healer. It seemed the healer had indeed
parted ways with the ghosts, and Lethari was pleased to hear they had chosen
not to support his bid for the city north. There were those among the
tathagliathe
who did wish to support him, but Peymer, their captain, assured Lethari these
men would not be permitted to abandon their duties for such a pursuit.

Stirrings of discontent spread among Lethari’s own men,
erupting in a series of violent incidents between them and the warriors of the
other captains. Lethari knew his men were only defending his name, yet he doled
out punishment without favoritism, intent on regaining the respect of the
feiach
.

In the absence of a mountain, the shamans buried Sigrede as
close to the sky as possible—which in this case meant the roof of the nearest
unoccupied skyscraper. After the birds had finished with him, Sig’s bones were
wrapped and added to the existing pile of deceased to be delivered home to
their families.

When the time came to set out, Lethari assembled a retinue of
his men and brought them to the cage in which Cean Eldreni was imprisoned. The
captain smiled when he saw Lethari coming, brown eyes gleaming from a face dark
with dirt and stubble. “My master has finally realized the error of his ways.”

“I have made no error, Cean.”

“You have come to release me, have you not?”

“I have.”

“I will ride for Sai Calgoar the moment I am free.”

“I have warned you against this, Cean.”

“Then you must keep me bound, my lord,” Cean said. “Carry me
home in chains. Let the people of our great city behold what the king’s
warleader has done to cover up a lie. Let them see how he honors his captains,
murdering one and detaining another; show them the lengths to which he will go
to preserve his household against his own treachery.”

Cean’s tone was so brazen it made Lethari want to call him
out of his cage and issue him a challenge. That was no fit behavior for a
warleader, so he stayed his hand and said, “Believe what you like, Cean. Your
disobedience is the reason for your imprisonment, and that alone. If a return
in chains is what you desire, I will not deny it you. Share a water bowl with
the
lathcui
. Embrace your loved ones from behind those bars. We will
soon see who Tycho Montari finds at fault for what happened here.”

Cean laughed, too loud, as if forcing himself to make a show
of it. “You would never leave me in here like this. I am your captain. My
warriors are famed and favored among your
feiach
. We have fought for
you, and won you a great many battles.”

“It was never me you fought for,” Lethari said. “You fought
for your king. In disobeying me, you have disobeyed him as well. Your fate is
sealed, Cean Eldreni. You are relieved of your post, to be no longer one of my
captains. Learn to appreciate this cage, for it is your home now. Your men will
ride under Dyovan Angeides, who has ever remained the king’s faithful servant,
and mine.”

Cean’s face flushed with anger. Or perhaps it was
embarrassment. “Surely you jest,” he stammered.

“This is no jest, Cean.” Lethari turned to walk away.
I
will live to regret this
, he thought. But he would regret it more if he set
Cean Eldreni free.

“You have made a mistake, my lord,” Cean said.

My only mistake was not quelling your insolence sooner
.

In fact, Lethari Prokin had made many mistakes. This would
not be his last.

CHAPTER 36

The Marauder’s Sister

Long before the saltrock stronghold came into sight,
Lizneth could hear the Marauders and their new conscripts preparing for war.
The rime caves rang with brusque voices and the clangor of metal. Ryn wandered
down the path ahead of her, cutting zigzags across the rock as he stopped to
sniff at every new scent that caught his fancy. Each time Lizneth called him to
heel, the jackal pup came loping over on his wounded leg to keep pace with her
until some new scent drew him away. She was already beginning to feel like Ryn
belonged to her, more companion than wild animal.

Outside the stronghold, villagers from every border town
under the Marauders’ control huddled in small clusters, surrounded by the
evidence of their camp beneath the walls. The cave air was thick with
haick
,
growing thicker still with anxious voices as Lizneth approached.
Is there no
room for them inside the walls?
she wondered. Or was Sniverlik treating
them as second-class citizens despite the sacrifices they’d made in coming to
his aid?

To Lizneth’s surprise, the stronghold gates were open. Inside
she could see Marauders donning thick metal armor like ancient noble warriors.
Smiths worked over whetstones to hone every tip and edge in a shower of sparks
until it was keen as a razor. Flail-bearers carried smoldering thuribles of
rotten stench to deter the
calaihn
. Lizneth thought the smell would do
more to disgust the hu-mans than anything else.

When she arrived at the entrance, two black-cloaked Marauders
barred her way.

“
Fye vilckzhehn
,” said the skinny blazed roan on the
left.

“Why not?” she asked. “
Zhehn
are here to fight for
Sniverlik, and they’re not even allowed in?”

“
Se invehr gha
.”

“No, I will not. This isn’t right. Let me talk to Sniverlik.”
Lizneth was proud of herself for standing up to the guards. She was afraid, but
she was also angry, and there was more to be angry about than afraid of. Her
village was gone, her fields were ravaged, and her family was in Molehind,
displaced from their home.

“Sniverlik
fyer ghi
,” said the roan.

Yeah, right
. “Where is he, then? I’ll bet you’ve been
telling these poor
zhehn
the same thing.”

“He speaks the truth, Lizneth,” said a voice behind her.

She turned to find a group of villagers leaning on pitchforks
and shovels and pickaxes. Their eyes were heavy with sleep; their
saltrock-encrusted clothing hung over thin haunches. Lizneth studied them,
scenting the air to pick out which of them might’ve known her by name. It was
old Kroy, Tanley’s miller, whose watermill had burned with the rest of the
village. Lizneth began to scent many bucks from Tanley;
zhehn
with no
homes to fight for and nowhere else to go.

“Sniverlik is gone,” Kroy said. “He fled to Bolck-Azock after
the battle in Tanley and has not been scented or seen since. It is believed
he’s gone into hiding, and is gathering new troops and a bevy of supplies with
which to equip and feed his armies. When he returns, we’ll march out from here
to reclaim our territories and drive out the
calaihn
.”

Lizneth found the statement strange, coming from a buck who
had once regarded Sniverlik and his Marauders with such fear and hatred.
Something didn’t sit right with her about the way he’d said it, either. His
tone spoke of desperation and uncertainty.

“I saw him get hit with flaming arrows before he fled,”
Lizneth said. “If no one’s scented or seen him, how do we know he’s okay? How
do we know he’s gathering new forces?”

“Because that’s what Sniverlik
would
do. He’d raise an
army and come save his territory from the invaders.”

“What if he’s dead? What if he’s… afraid?”

They laughed, villagers and Marauders together, as though
this was the most ridiculous notion they’d ever heard. “Sniverlik is not dead,”
said the roan. “He knows no fear. He will act with vigilance, bravery, and
justice.”

You’ve forgotten cruelty, greed, and laziness
, Lizneth
wanted to say. Sniverlik may have been the most ruthless tyrant the
ikzhehn
had known in a generation, but to the
calaihn
he was just another
rat-man, with a neck and two ankles which fit their chains like anyone else’s.
“So everyone is just waiting here until he comes back? You’re letting the
calaihn
run rampant through our villages while you eat through the last of your
supplies and do nothing?”

“You are a fool if that is what you think,” said the roan.
“Do you not scent the makings of war? Can you not see we are preparing?”

“I do, and I can. You’ll march without Sniverlik, then?”

“No,” said the roan. “The
calaihn
are coming.”

“Here?”

The roan nodded.

“How did they find you?”

“They didn’t. The
calaihn
are too stupid and blind in
the dark to find us. We told them. A Marauder named Hurok gave himself over to
be captured. He endured their torture for a time before revealing the
stronghold’s location, in order that they not suspect a trap. Better they come
here than continue attacking our villages. They suspect we are unprepared. That
couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Oh,” was all Lizneth could say.

“See,
scearib
? You are not the only one here who is
smart. We have done much in Sniverlik’s absence. If he does not return before
the
calaihn
are destroyed, Rotabak will lead us to victory in his
place.”

Lizneth glanced over her shoulder, where the road resembling
the snake’s spine curved away into crystalline blue darkness. She imagined
calai
torches dousing the cave walls in orange light; the padding of footsteps and
the raw, clinging stench of
sweat
. Suddenly she wanted to be anywhere
but here. She should’ve returned to Molehind with Stevrin and Barlyza and
Krinica. The stronghold was crumbling; it wouldn’t last an hour against the
calaihn
and their fire-shooting contraptions. Neither would the
ikzhe
volunteers, if the Marauders left them outside the walls to be engulfed like
logs in a hearth.

“I have to get inside,” she said. “Rotabak took my brother
and sister, Raial and Thrin. Do you know them? I must take them away from here
before the
calaihn
come.” She stepped forward, but the guards shoved her
back again.

Kroy grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “There isn’t
time, Lizneth. You can’t go back now. Even if you find your siblings, the
calaihn
will catch you. They’re already on their way.”

She wrenched free of him. “I’ll carry them through the
ice-water trenches if I have to,” she said. “We’ll hide in the chasm for days.
The
calaihn
won’t find us; they can’t even scent.”

“Bah. Let the
lequinzhe
go and take her chances in the
caves,” said the roan.

“I’m not leaving without Raial and Thrin.”

The roan struck her across the snout, driving her to her
knees. “I told you, no villagers. Get over there with the rest of them, or
you’ll wish you had.”

Ryn hobbled up and stood between Lizneth and the two
Marauders. A growl rose in his throat and ended in a small, high-pitched yip.
The roan kicked him, sending the tiny jackal sprawling. Ryn regained his
footing and sprang at the guard’s ankle, clamping down on fur and bone. The
roan screamed, kicking his leg wildly until he shook Ryn free and sent him
flying. Lizneth heard the pup land on the saltrock with a thud.

“Ryn,” she said, slapping her flank. “Come, Ryn. Come to me.”

The jackal rose unsteadily and limped over to her, whining
with every step. She took him into her arms and held him, stroking his head
while a trickle of blood ran down her snout. When she looked up, two more
Marauders were arriving at the gates. One of the newcomers grabbed the roan by
the throat and shoved him against the saltrock wall of the stronghold.

“Does it bring you happiness to abuse
ledozhehn
and
young animals, Ishyek?” the newcomer asked.

Ishyek went for his dagger, but the newcomer drew it first
and placed the blade against the roan’s throat. “You forget… I am not so easily
abused.”

“Get your filthy paws off me,” Ishyek managed gruffly.

Lizneth scented the air. She knew that
haick
, even
past the hood that now shielded the newcomer’s face from view.

“You stay away from those two from now on,” the newcomer
said. “If you hurt them again, I won’t be so nice next time.” The newcomer
released Ishyek, but kept the roan’s dagger in hand. He turned to Lizneth,
knelt beside her, and removed his hood. “You’re not going to leave without
saying goodbye to your favorite
kebaihudeh
, are you?”

“Deequol.” It was all Lizneth could say before the tears
came. Her brother threw his arms around her and began to pull her up, but she
held him down and sat clinging to him, one arm holding Ryn and the other tight
around his neck.

“It’s alright, Lizneth. It’s going to be alright.”

By the time she could speak again, her vision was swimming
and her snout was stuffy. “By all the fates, I never thought I’d see you again.
Any of you. I was afraid you were—”

“I’m here, Lizneth. It’s me. I scented you as soon as you
arrived, but I couldn’t get away from my duties until a minute ago. I saw you
here a few weeks ago, too. I called out to you from the rampart, but you didn’t
hear. I came out after you, but you’d already run off into the caves.”

She studied him. Black-cloaked and burly, ears heavy with
stone rings; here stood the brood-brother Lizneth had been missing for so long.
“I swore I heard your voice that day. I even thought I scented you. I was still
feeling the effects of Sniverlik’s scepter when they escorted me out. I’m
sorry.”

“He used his scepter on you?”

“To calm me down,” she said. “I was yelling at him.”

“You can be a feisty little thing when you’re angry,” Deequol
said with a laugh. “I’m glad to be with you again, sister. And who is this?”

“This is Ryn,” she said. “My jackal puppy. I found him in
Tanley.”

Deequol scratched Ryn behind the ear. “This little fellow is
as feisty as you are. You two go together. Tanley, you say? I heard it was in
ruins.”

“It is,” she said, and felt her lip begin to quiver. “Oh,
Deequol. It was awful. They burned everything.”

“That is what I’m told,” Deequol said, helping her stand.

She leaned into him, breathing his
haick
and
cherishing his muscular build, so much like Papa’s in his younger days. “I want
us all to be together again… always.”

Deequol said nothing.

“Where are Raial and Thrin? Are they okay?”

“They’re both… getting along. Not the best, mind you, but the
nestlings never take well to leaving their families. It takes time to get them
accustomed to their new lives.”

“This isn’t their new life. It can’t be. Mama and Papa are
always telling me to forget. Telling me I should leave you all in the past.
It’s easier that way, they say. But it isn’t. It’s more painful. Trying to
forget the ones you love is worse than anything.”

“I know, Lizneth. I know. It isn’t easy for any of us.
Especially now, with everything going crazy.”

“May I see them? Raial and Thrin… and Nawk, and Vikkish, and
Craik, and Ritin?”

Deequol gave her a look. “I don’t think Mama and Papa want
you to forget us. They want you to remember us as if we’ve already passed on.
That way you’ll always look back with fondness, no matter what happens.”

Lizneth felt sick. “Has something happened?”

“Many things have happened, sister. It’s been years since we
were all nestlings together in Tanley. Before Raial and Thrin got here, I knew
them only by name and
haick
.”

“I’m talking about the others. Our brood-siblings.”

“Yes, things have happened, Lizneth,” he said irritably.
“What do you want me to say? Vikkish and Ritin are dead. Craik was with the
detachment in Ocklahz when the
calaihn
attacked. He’s been missing ever
since… probably dead too, or taken to slave. Nawk is here, but you would not
like the look of her. The
keguzpikhehn
have not treated her kindly. She
is pregnant.”

So am I
, Lizneth nearly blurted.
Now I’ll have
someone to talk to about it
. She had longed so badly for someone who
understood her dilemma and knew what she was going through. Kolki’s potion was
still in the pocket of Lizneth’s chinos, but she hadn’t thought about it in
days. “I’d like to see her.”

“I can take you inside, but I can’t promise you’ll be allowed
to stay very long. I’m sorry to say it, but… you must choose who you want to
see. I’ll take you there first. You may need to leave after that.”

“Raial, then,” she said. “I worry for him most.”

“Very well. Come along.” Deequol led her toward the gate
opening.

“No villagers,” said the hooded mink standing beside Ishyek.

“She’s my sister,” Deequol said, “and if you lay a paw on
her, you’d better have two spare ones ready for me.”

Lizneth put Ryn down, and they proceeded into the stronghold
without further interference. There were workers replacing the rotting timbers
along the walls with fresh ones, masking the stronghold’s damp stench with a
woodsy perfume. It didn’t look like they’d gotten very far, nor did it seem
their repairs would be done before the
calai
arrived.

“Raial will be… in the nursery, I think,” Deequol said.

“Haven’t you seen him much?”

“He’s afraid of me, Lizneth. It doesn’t matter that I scent
like Papa. Whenever I go near him, he gets scared. He doesn’t know me. Neither
does Thrin. I’m just another one of the Marauders to them.”