Drawn Blades (9 page)

Good point. Thuroq won’t do us much good with a second smile three inches below the first. Do you want to hold the reins?

No need. Just keep me covered and we should be fine.

Done.
Triss and I spent a lot less of our time arguing since I’d quit drinking, and I found it incredibly soothing to be so much in accord with my companion once again.

My view of the world went away as Triss expanded into a cloud of shadow. His substance thinned as his volume increased, like cream whipped into a froth. Soon, I could no longer feel him as a physical presence at all. My knee ached and my heel jarred painfully with every step and the muscles in thigh and calf had very colorful things to say on the subject of stairs, but I forced myself to the discipline of silent movement as I climbed up and out into the night.

Triss’s senses differ from mine in many ways. When I am enclosed within the lacuna created by his shroud, I am forced to borrow his
eyes
and see the world in the manner of the Shades. Color loses most of its meaning, as does what we think of as shape. Textures and the interplay of light and shadow dominate the picture.

When I
saw
Thuroq upon a stone chair in front of the fire, sitting as statue still as the Uthudor I had left in the deeps below, it was a very different picture than my eyes would have painted for me. The places where firelight reflected off his polished skin flared bright and prominent, and the fire itself hurt to look at. The deep folds of his onyx tunic held gradations of shadow that no human tongue could adequately describe. Where I would normally have seen nothing but black, Triss’s view of things supplied a darkened rainbow of meaning.

Faran was nowhere to be seen—no surprise there; she loathed and distrusted the Durkoth. I flicked my focus around the full circle of possible perception supplied by Triss’s sense of light and shadow. That omnidirectional field of view was probably the hardest thing for a human mind to cope with. We’re very linear creatures at root, and it’s almost impossible for us to make full use of that aspect of Shade senses. Even so, Faran is particularly good at the arts of hiding and shadow-slipping and I couldn’t spot any sign of her, leaving me to guess at her whereabouts.

After a few seconds, I decided that she was probably in the tree directly above Thuroq, where his sense of the earth around him wouldn’t be able to detect her. She could as easily have taken up position farther away—she had several weapons that could kill over a distance—but Faran preferred to slit throats where she could. She had a tendency to over-personalize the business of death.

“Faran,” I called. “I’m back. Don’t kill anybody.”

Thuroq looked up and in my direction when I spoke. He would have felt my arrival through the bones of the earth, but chose—rather wisely in this case—to wait for me to announce myself.

“Why are you shrouded?” Faran’s voice came from directly behind me, and I had to suppress the urge to jump aside.

“I had some . . . difficulties below,” I said, then quickly added, “None of them Thuroq’s fault.”

“But you took injury?” This time her voice came from the far side of the campfire.

“Don’t. Kill. The. Hostage.”

“If you insist.” Her voice moved again.

“I insist. Also, how are you doing that with your voice?”

“Neat trick, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since you told me that the Kitsune had used it on you. I’ll show you how it’s done later, once we’ve gotten rid of the body.”

“We’re not going to kill Thuroq. That’s final. Now, I’m going to step out of shadow. Don’t overreact. Most of the blood’s not mine.”
Triss?

My shroud fell away as my shadow reshaped itself into the silhouette of a small dragon.

I heard a sharp hiss from the tree directly above Thuroq, followed by the tiniest of thumps as Faran landed behind the Durkoth. Her shroud dropped away, revealing Faran with her index finger held a fingernail’s width above the artery in his neck.

“You live for Aral’s sake,” she said quietly before coming to check me over. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Long story.” I told her and Thuroq what had happened below while I cleaned up in the stream and dealt with my injuries. With the exception of my nose, most of what I had were bruises. I was going to be one stiff old bastard in the morning, but otherwise all right.

At the end of my story, Thuroq shook his head angrily. “My master will be most unhappy about the death of Dame Krithak.”

“Will he search out these cultists, then?” asked Faran. “I’d like to see a lot more purple blood spilled over what they did to Aral.”

The shadow phoenix that had taken up a perch on her shoulder bobbed her head in agreement.

Thuroq’s blank expression reappeared. “I’m sure that my king will take action to see that anyone responsible for the incident suffers appropriately.”

“That’s a weasel’s answer,” she snapped.

“Faran.” I gave her a sharp look.

She shrugged. “It is.” Then she got up and walked away from the fire.

Thuroq neither moved nor spoke during the exchange. Nor did he betray any sign that he wanted to do either after her departure.

After a little while, I asked him, “What can you tell me about the cultists?”

“Nothing.”

More silence.

Nice,
sent Triss.
I told you it wasn’t going to be simple.

“You mean you don’t know anything more about them?” I asked Thuroq.

“I mean I can tell you nothing.”

“Why not?”

“Because there is nothing to tell. Krithak had many enemies and many eccentricities. That she ascribed the one to the other is no surprise.”

“Wait a tick,” Triss said. “Are you saying that you don’t believe it was cultists who killed her?”

“I know nothing about any ‘cultists’ real or imagined. What happened in the days of the war between the First and those who name themselves gods is a matter of no interest to the Durkoth of today. Anyone who says otherwise can have no other motivation than trying to stir up ancient troubles. Now, will you retrieve your apprentice so that I can dispense my obligation to you, allowing me return to my king and my
real
duties? Or must I continue to wait here on a child’s whim?”

I felt the ridge of scales along the back of Triss’s neck rise angrily beneath the palm I’d been resting on his back, and he sent,
I’m starting to see the merits of Faran’s attitude toward the Durkoth.

“I’ll call Faran back, and then we can go.” I looked the Durkoth square in the eye. “But don’t think it’s for your sake, or that I can’t see that you’re trying to make me angry enough to do something that will allow you to break our bargain and avoid questions you’d rather not answer. I’ll do it because I need to pass the Wall of the Sylvain as quickly as I can manage for the sake of someone I love dearly. You are a means toward that end, nothing more.”

The Durkoth’s face remained unreadable. “Your reasons are your own. They are of no matter to me.”

At that point, there was nothing more for either of us to say. I could have gone for something scathing, or threatened Thuroq, but I didn’t see any reason to bother. It was quite obvious that neither would have moved him. For that matter, I’ve never been much for bluster, and issuing threats is of very limited utility.

I
have
made the occasional conditional promise of later violence when circumstances called for it. But generally it’s simpler and wiser to kill someone quickly when they need it rather than give them any warning that it’s coming. That’s certainly how I would deal with Thuroq if it became necessary. The Durkoth are too dangerous to play with.

When Faran returned, Thuroq had us move our horses and our gear a few hundred yards down the creek to a place where a long slab of tilted shale stuck up a few inches above the surrounding earth. The rock, which lay at the base of a low ridge of the same stuff, was perhaps fifteen feet by thirty at the widest, loosely diamond shaped, and not much thicker than my thigh.

“This should suit,” said Thuroq. “Make sure to tie the horses.” He gestured, and a thick stone arch rose up in the center of the slab.

“Now what?” I asked as Faran and I looped our reins around the impromptu hitching post.

“Do whatever your kind do when they settle into a new camp.” Another gesture raised a low thronelike chair facing outward from the narrow point of the slab. He settled into it with his back to us. “Though I would advise against a fire. The smoke, you know.”

I was just about to ask what he meant, when I noticed that the ridge was moving. Or rather, that we were, sliding silently along the ground beside the creek like some great stone barge with the Durkoth as its figurehead. At first, we moved very cautiously, slower than a slow walk, but after a few minutes we reached the road. There we turned south and began to pick up speed.

I walked a slow circuit around the slab, eyeing the line where the stone met the ground around it. At the front we had a curling bow wave not unlike what you might see on a swift sailing ship of the sea, but it quickly settled back down as it rolled along the sides.

Behind, the only evidence of our passage was the much- improved condition of the road. In front there were numerous ruts and potholes, as well as occasional washed-out patches along the shoulders. In back the royal road looked as smooth and flat as if the crews had only just finished grading and packing the dirt surface with their mattocks and spades and what have you.

The horses didn’t much like the experience, especially at the beginning—they’d have bolted if we hadn’t tied them up. I couldn’t really blame them; it was a most disconcerting way to travel. But they settled down after a while and I expected that I would, too.

Eventually.

Maybe.

I laid my bedroll out a few feet from where Faran had already curled up and gone to sleep. Putting my saddle at one end as a pillow, I stretched out and tried to convince myself I was on a river barge. It didn’t work. No barge in the world had ever moved as smoothly and silently as that slab of rock did. There were always little splashes or the occasional rocking motion on a barge to remind you that you were on the water and moving.

Our stone raft had none of that. The only way I could tell we were going anywhere was by watching the treetops go by against the backdrop of stars overhead. The speed of our passing created a breeze as well, but without the visual cue of the trees there’d have been no way to distinguish it from the night wind. The whole experience made me vaguely queasy, and sleep remained far away all through the night. Not being able to breathe through my nose didn’t help.

Right before dawn Thuroq slid the great slab off the road and into a small clearing. As he rose, his seat sank back into the rock and the hitching post did likewise. I was exhausted by then and barely listened to his promise to find us again at day’s end, wherever our travels took us. A few heartbeats after he’d disappeared into the earth, Faran vaulted to her feet and did a quick circle around the clearing before coming back to hobble the horses.

She gave me a pitying look when she returned. “You should at least try to get a quick nap in while I get breakfast together and pack us up.”

I nodded thankfully and was asleep before she’d turned away. Now that the rock had stopped moving, my normal ability to sleep anywhere had returned.

. . . Aral.

What is it?
I sent.

Faran asked me to wake you. She thought it would be gentler if I did it.

That was kind of her. Do you think she’s feeling all right?

Aral!
I felt sharp disapproval roll down the link that bound us together.
She kills easily, but she’s far from heartless. She’s very devoted to those she cares about, you especially. You know that.

I winced at the acid in his tone and acknowledged that I’d earned it.
You’re right, that was unfair of me. This waking up on little to no sleep shit does not make for a happy Aral. I could really use about four more hours.

And I could use a month of lounging in the everdark. Your point?

I’m moving, I’m moving.

In deference to the beating I’d taken the night before, I sat up slowly. Despite the spell doctoring I’d had the night before, it didn’t help all that much. I found myself groaning and gingerly prodding my aching knee.

Faran laughed. “Your age is showing, Grandpa. Do you need me to cut you a cane?”

“Only so I can shake it at you, monster child. It’s just the damned bruises slowing me down. I’ve got a good couple of hundred years left in me.”

Which was true, for certain values of truth. Shades live a very long time, and my span would measure itself to Triss’s. But that assumed I died of old age, a dicey sort of assumption at best. Even in the days when my goddess yet lived and the temple provided a refuge for those Blades who had passed into age or infirmity, it was a rare thing for one of us to die by any cause other than violence. Without that shelter . . . well, if I were a betting man, I wouldn’t lay down money on my chances of dying a gentle death. Not at any odds.

While I ruminated over my mortality and my bruises, Faran brought me a thin piece of flat bread wrapped around some cold sausage and yesterday’s noodles. The tea was hot, though, and almost palatable—I was slowly beginning to acquire a taste for the stuff. Mostly by default, since I could no longer have even small beer without waking cravings for something stronger. Drinking unadulterated city water was a recipe for spending the night in the privy if you were lucky. If you weren’t, they’d be fitting you for a winding cloth.

Faran collected my saddle and bedroll while I ate. By the time I finished, she had everything stowed but my tin cup, and a space waiting for that. Within minutes, we were ready to mount up. Getting onto my horse hurt, and riding even more so, but I just clenched my teeth and tried not to think about how much mellower I’d feel with a tucker bottle of whiskey to help me relax my aching knee and thigh. Or, better yet, a few efik beans.

After a while, both the sun and my mood rose. Which was when the bandits arrived. Naturally.