The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 34
“Shoot him!” said Niya, looking to Shiun.
“I am not a good enough shot to strike the eye, and nothing else will be a worthwhile strike,” said Shiun. Loren saw that Hewal had turned back towards them, and was edging to the right, presenting only his front. “The skull is too thick, and the shoulders are useless.”
“Not if we can drive a knife into them,” said Weath. “But that is a dangerous job, to be sure.”
“I will do it,” said Niya. “Only I will need a distraction.”
“If I had a spear …” Weath shook her head, and then reached to her belt and drew a knife. “I will do my best.”
“And I,” said Loren. “But I have no blade. Does anyone have a knife to spare?” She feared to reveal her dagger with all of them so close to her.
Niya knelt and took a blade from her boot. “Here.”
Loren followed Weath, who approached the bear slowly at a half-crouch. Behind her, Loren heard Chet mutter, “No one offers me a knife.”
There came a snikt from Shiun, and soon Chet crept up beside Loren and Weath with a blade in hand. The three of them moved slowly forwards while Shiun stepped to their right to flank Hewal.
Hewal let out a low growl. It rumbled from his chest and thrummed in Loren’s boots. She breathed deep to steady herself. “I doubt he will charge again,” she muttered, hoping the weremage could not hear her. “He has seen we can evade him too easily. Likely he will stand his ground and swing at us. He does not need to press forwards into our midst, for he knows he can wait for us to step within reach.”
“What should we do, then?” muttered Chet, speaking from the corner of his mouth. “We need to get his attention.”
“Feint at him,” said Weath. “I will do it.”
“You have been hurt already,” said Loren. “Let me.”
She did not wait for an answer, but took two quick steps forwards. She slashed at the empty air, three paces from where Hewal stood. He lurched backwards and swiped at her, growling. But quickly he turned his focus to Shiun, for she had raised her bow and begun to draw. Loren took another half-step towards him—but he lunged suddenly, forcing her to dance back.
Just then, she saw movement over his shoulder. There was Niya, creeping forwards through the grass, little more than a shadow in a red cloak. She lifted one hand, her dagger held ready to bring down in a stab. Hewal paused. He raised his muzzle into the air, sniffing.
With a wordless cry, Loren lunged and slashed at him. He jerked away, just as an arrow from Shiun flew forth and lodged in his foreleg. Chet, Loren and Weath pressed forwards, brandishing their knives. Hewal bellowed and reared up on his hind legs, and then Niya struck. Leaping forwards, she wrapped one thick arm around Hewal’s neck and plunged the knife into his shoulder. He cried out anew—but this time the sound was pure fear.
Loren’s elation lasted only a moment, for whether by accident or intent, the weremage toppled backwards. Niya had to throw herself clear and roll away, taking the knife with her. Hewal rounded on her, swiping at the air, but Niya rolled again, distancing herself. No sooner had she risen to her knees than she flipped the knife into her fingertips and threw it. Hewal only just raised a paw in time, and instead of driving into his throat, the dagger buried itself up to the hilt in his foreleg. A low whine issued from the bear’s throat, and white light came from its eyes once again.
Slowly Hewal shrank, his thick coat of fur sinking back into his body. In the shrinking of his frame, Niya’s knife slid free. It fell to land in the dirt, coated in red. At last Hewal stood before them, naked and panting in the moonlight, blood pouring from his wounds.
For a moment, all was still. Then, though nothing had been said, Hewal began to laugh.
“Oh, you are a clever one indeed, Nightblade,” he said. “I do not know how you learned the truth about me, but once again you have shown your worth as a foe.”
His familiar tone made her pause. “What do you mean? I have never seen you before, and you know nothing of me.”
“You are the Nightblade. Everyone knows of you,” said Hewal, and now his smile turned cruel. “Rogan and his undying brutes. My brothers and sisters. And sweet Damaris of the family Yerrin. She, in particular, sends her regards. And she looks forward to her reunion with you—which, now that I am exposed, will certainly be soon in coming.”
“What reunion?” said Loren. “Tell us what the family Yerrin is planning, and you may yet escape with your life.”
“Do you think I believe that?” he snarled. “I have played at being a Mystic for years. I have seen how they treat those they put to the question. No, such a fate is not for me.”
His eyes began to glow. Beside Loren, Niya straightened with a start, and then lunged. “He is healing himself!”
Hewal jumped straight up—and in the air, he grew a beak, and black feathers sprouted from his skin. The crow’s wings flapped desperately as Shiun’s hastily-loosed arrow pierced the air below him. He flew off through the sky, giving a raucous, braying caw.
The sight of the beak erupting from his face, indeed his whole transformation, made Loren weak. It threw her mind back to her dream, and she saw Chet’s opened throat—but then she turned to see him standing beside her, alive and whole. Her mind could not reconcile the images from her dream and the sight before her eyes. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the ground.
“Loren!” cried Chet. He knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”
“I—it is nothing,” she said, shaking off the vision. “A moment’s dizziness, that is all.”
He frowned at her. “Did he hurt you? I did not see him land a blow …”
She shook her head quickly. “He did not touch me. I am all right.” With his help, she fought her way back to her feet. Niya, Weath, and Shiun all stood there, looking at her. “I am fine. Except that he has escaped, and we have nothing.”
“We have enough,” said Chet. “You have the letter. That is proof enough of his guilt.”
“And what use is guilt?” snapped Niya. “He could lead us to those who commanded him, and now we have not the faintest clue where to find them. Who cares if we know the dog misbehaved? I wish to find the masters who told him to bark.”
“Well, we have not done that,” said Chet. “Scowl about it if you wish.”
Niya opened her mouth to reply, but Loren cut her off. “You said he healed himself? What did you mean?”
The Mystic glared. “Weremages. They transform their own bodies, and therefore many are able to close their own wounds and stop themselves from bleeding to death.”
“That is a useful talent,” said Loren.
She had not meant it as a joke, but Niya gave a grim smile anyway. “Mayhap—but it is almost as painful as suffering the wound again. I take some small comfort that I caused him that much pain, at least.”
Loren sighed. “I find little to give me comfort just now. Come, let us mount our horses. We have a long ride back to Ammon, and we do not bear good news.”
TWO HORSES WERE GONE, SO Loren rode with Chet and Weath with Shiun. They rode back to Ammon quickly enough, but Loren did not press them too hard. There seemed little need for haste, since it would not change what they would find at the end of their ride.
As they rode up the ramp to the front gate, Loren stole a glance at the Mystics beside her. She had not thought of it until just now, but if there were any consequences to face for their actions that night, the Mystics would likely suffer worse than she would. She was the Nightblade, and it was not entirely clear whether Kal was her master or not. But these were Kal’s soldiers, and they had ridden off in Loren’s company without orders. Kal did not seem the sort to take such things lightly.
“It might be best if we do not mention your involvement tonight,” said Loren. Niya looked over at her. “In coming with me, I mean. I can tell the grand chancellor that it was only Chet and I, and eschew any mention of you at all.”
Weath pointed up ahead. “Though I appreciate your selflessness, I doubt that that would work.”
Loren looked up. There, at the top of the ramp, the drawbridge had already been lowered. Standing just inside of Ammon’s gate was a party of Mystics on horseback. At their head was Kal, and beside him was Gem, who still rode Midnight. Loren felt her stomach do a turn. They reached the top of the ramp and stopped.
“Nightblade,” growled Kal.
“Grand Chancellor,” said Loren.
“I had meant to ride out to your rescue, for I gathered that it was necessary. It seems that is no longer the case. I imagine you have some tidings for me.”
“I do, though I fear they are ill news.”
“What other kind is there these days? Very well. Come.”
He turned and led her—not quickly, but at a walk even slower than if they were on foot—all the way back up through Ammon’s three levels. In the space of a few heartbeats it became monotonous, and then tedious, leaving Loren’s mind free to wonder about the tongue-lashing he no doubt had in store for her. As she considered it, she realized that that was likely the point—this plodding pace was meant to give her as much time as possible to contemplate her impending fate.
When they reached the stronghold’s keep, Kal dismounted and handed his horse off to a stableboy. Loren quietly asked Gem to see to Midnight, and then followed Kal into the fortress. As they approached his council chamber, they found Annis waiting in the hallway. The girl paced back and forth, hands twisting together anxiously in front of her, as though she awaited news of some close relative lying upon their deathbed. When she saw Loren approaching, she came running up.
“Are you whole? Gem said—”
“I am safe,” said Loren. “We all are. I must speak with the grand chancellor.”
“Indeed you must,” said Kal. “But the girl comes, too. The rest of you, however, may leave us—I have no wish to move the entire Yearsend feast into my own chamber.”
Chet looked to Loren—and to Loren’s surprise, so did Niya. She steeled herself. “The rest should be present as well. Our tale is … unusual, you might say, and I would rather that you did not hear only my account of it.”
Kal glared, but he did not argue with her, and the whole party followed Loren into the room. They all stepped back towards the room’s edges, away from Kal and the council table—all except Niya, who stood just beside Loren, but a half-step back, the way a soldier stood by their commanding officer. But Loren pushed that comparison out of her mind at once, and began to tell her story. She left nothing out, save for the moment she had eaten magestones. Soon she came to the end of her tale.
The moment she finished speaking, Kal snorted. “A weremage? I told you I have known Hewal since he was a boy. I have known his father. He went through the trials. There was no trace of magic within him.”
Loren looked at the others in the room. Weath and Shiun shifted on their feet, not meeting Kal’s gaze. Only Chet and Niya looked straight ahead, unflinching.
“It is true, Grand Chancellor,” said Chet. “We were all there.”
Kal looked at Niya. She gave him a small nod. His scowl deepened.
“Hewal made mention of how long he had been a Mystic,” said Loren. “He called it a charade, one he had been forced to play for a long time. Mayhap he was entered into your service for just this purpose—in which case, his father may not be so close a friend as—”
“Be silent!” said Kal, slapping his hand on the table. “If what you say is true, do you not think I can come to that guess on my own? The High King’s favor has given you too high an opinion of your own wit—high enough that it spurs you to foolish courses of action, like pursuing one of my own men into the wilderness without orders.”
Loren had to restrain a grim smile. Her tone had mayhap been too condescending, but in truth, it felt good to throw Kal off-balance after the way he always grumped at her. “You call that foolish? Had I gone to you, we might have missed Hewal altogether, and you would know nothing.”
“I know little enough now,” said Kal. “Had you done things properly, Hewal might not have escaped.”
Loren’s hand tightened where it held her belt. “I serve the High King,” she said, quiet but firm. “I will do what I think is in her best interests.”
Rather than answer, Kal turned to the rest of them. “You are all dismissed.”
The Mystics began to move for the door, but Chet tried to speak up. “We have told you already why we—”
“You are here to corroborate Loren’s tale,” said Kal, his voice rising. “Now that that is done, you are as useful as a second nose. Get out! You are neither in the High King’s service, nor mine. You are nothing more than the Nightblade’s bedfellow guest.”
Chet’s whole body tensed. Loren saw the muscles working in his jaw. But she put a hand on his arm and turned him to face her. “It is all right,” she murmured. “Go.”
He did, but only after giving Kal a final dirty look. Niya held the door until he was through, and then, as she closed it behind them all, she locked gazes with Loren for a moment. She gave a small nod and a smile, and then she was gone. But Loren noted quietly that, again, Annis had remained in the room, and Kal still paid her no mind.
Loren braced herself, certain that now Kal would loose the full strength of his wrath. He looked like a pot about to boil over, his anger frothing just below the lid. But rather than shout, he held out a hand. “You said there was a letter. Give it to me.”
Tension bled from her, and Loren reached into her cloak with relief. After she handed it to him, Kal whipped the letter open and looked it over. Loren wished she had had someone read it to her before she returned to Ammon, but there had been no time. Kal frowned. “Darkness damn this place. Girl, fetch me that lamp.”
At first Loren thought he meant her, but he waved his hand at Annis. She started, as though she was surprised to be called upon, and then hastened to obey. Kal sat down in his chair and held the letter close to the light, his eyes skittering back and forth across it. When they reached the bottom of the letter and the symbol of the Shades there, his frown deepened.
“This is, in part, a report,” said Kal. “A report of your arrival here at the stronghold, and a brief account of your actions, few though they have been. It seems you have attracted someone’s interest.”
“You mean Damaris,” said Loren. “It must be her.”
Beside Kal, Annis’ expression grew solemn, and she dropped her gaze to the table. But Kal raised his brows and leaned back in his chair. “That seems quite a guess.”
“Hewal mentioned her. He said we would be reunited soon.”
“If …” Kal paused, and his mouth twisted as though he had just bitten into a piece of spoiled meat. “If Hewal is indeed an agent of the enemy, he may have spoken only to throw you off the trail. We can put no stock in any of his words.”
Her recent dream flashed back into her mind. The city where she had seen Hewal, and what he had told her there. Welcome to Dahab. She braced herself, and then she took the leap.
“There was something else Hewal mentioned before he escaped. A place called Dahab.”
The room fell utterly quiet. Annis looked up, her eyes wide with wonder, and then she and Kal traded glances. Loren had feared she might get only blank looks from them, but this was somehow worse. Was Dahab indeed the city she had seen in her dream? And if so, how had she seen it?
What was happening to her?
“That is quite a detail,” said Kal. “Why did you not tell us that when you first mentioned the tale?”
“It has been a long night,” said Loren. “It slipped my mind.”
“Is there anything else that ‘slipped your mind?’ Surprise is not healthy for the elderly, and tonight has turned the last of my beard grey.”
Loren shook her head quickly. “That is all.”
Kal studied her for a moment, and then he threw the letter down. He began to pull at his beard, while Annis leaned surreptitiously over the table, trying to see the letter.
“I think that Damaris is in Dahab,” said Loren. “I think that this letter was for her. I wish to go there, and capture her.”
A loud snort erupted from Kal as though by accident, so loud that for a moment he dissolved into a fit of coughing. “Do not be ridiculous. You propose a perilous mission, led by little more than a far guess. Damaris is of no interest to us now. Rogan is the greater threat. You do not even know anything of Dahab.”
She had gone this far, and so there seemed little sense in restraining herself. The visions in her dream had proven correct. “A city of gold. It is built around a waterfall, is it not?”
Kal rolled his eyes. “Very well. You have heard of it. But the rest of what I said holds true.”
“This is the best chance we have seen,” said Loren. “Damaris is there. I can … I can feel it. After our confrontation in the Greatrocks, she went to ground, and there she has remained ever since. She must be in Dahab. And furthermore, it makes sense to pursue her. She worked with Rogan, and with the Shades. When the attack on the Seat failed, Rogan and his soldiers would have needed somewhere to hide, and someone to help hide them. Who better than the family Yerrin, and Damaris in particular? Finding her could lead to him. It seems to me that this is but the first step in the mission you set before me.”
“Pardon me if I do not trust in your feelings,” said Kal. “I have only ever trusted information from reliable sources, and I will not change that now.”
Loren shook her head and leaned over the table. “Where do you get such information? From your spies. You have them across all the nine kingdoms, do you not? Let me be one of them. It is better than sitting here idle, as I have since I arrived. Enalyn did not raise me up so that I could languish away here.”
But she had gone too far at last, for Kal shot to his feet and slammed both hands on the table. “Do not bandy the High King’s name about here as though you are her kin, you upstart little sow. She appointed you the Nightblade so that you could follow my orders, and that is what you will do.”
