Blood and Bone (91 page)

The hands at her throat flew away. Gagging sounded behind her. Jak’s gaze shifted to over her shoulder and puzzlement creased his brow. ‘What …?’ He jerked back a step, knocking Saeng backwards into the side of the dais. Another figure now blocked the entrance and Saeng thought dazedly,
Of course – why not?

It was the Thaumaturg, Pon-lor. He appeared even worse for wear than these ragged bandits. Saeng couldn’t even believe he was standing; dried caked blood covered his shoulder and side. The left side of his head was a crusted wound. One eye stared upwards but the other was fixed upon Jak. A smile that could only be described as ironic crooked one edge of the man’s mouth.

‘
No
…’ Jak breathed. ‘You are dead. You must be …’

The horrific figure mouthed something. His words were distorted, but Saeng understood despite the sizzling and crackling punishing her ears: ‘Perhaps I am. No matter.’

Something thumped to the ground and Saeng peered over to see Myint, her face contorted in terror and utterly bloodless, her own hands at her throat.
Had he compelled that? Self-throttling? Or had she died fighting for breath?

Thet-mun appeared from behind the dais to throw himself at Pon-lor’s feet. ‘I am yours again!’ he pleaded. He raised his hands as if in prayer. ‘Please! I will serve. Remember? Remember how I served you before? Yes?’

Jak leaped to take Saeng’s arm. He pressed the knife to her neck
once
more. Yet she could hardly spare all this any attention, for the blood continued to flow from Hanu, and his chest rose with such effort, and so slowly.

The Thaumaturg looked down – or rather one eye shifted to peer down. The other continued to look off in another direction. ‘Thet,’ he mumbled from the side of his mouth, ‘I told you. I warned you. Go home, I said.’

Thet, his hands clasped together, nodded eagerly. ‘Yes! I will! I promise.’

Pon-lor shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry … it is too late.’

The lad looked confused. He lowered his hands. ‘What …?’

Pon-lor gestured with one hand and Thet seemed to sag. He slumped to the ground and continued to spread out, running, flowing, until all that was left was wet gleaming bones and limp clothes amid a pool of fluids that disappeared into the cracks of the floor.

The Thaumaturg’s single eye now rose to Jak, who flinched and pushed the blade even harder into Saeng’s neck. She felt warmth running down her shirt-front from the cut he made. ‘I’ll kill her!’ he yelled. ‘I swear!’

Pon-lor just shook his head as if all this was so very tiring. ‘Jak … I’m sorry, but she could have destroyed you at any time of her choosing.’

The blade withdrew a fraction. ‘What?’ he said, mystified.

And Saeng knew it was the truth even as Pon-lor said it.
Yes … I could have. I am standing next to a source of power unmatched in this age and all I have to do is reach out – yet they will know the instant I do
.

‘But unlike you,’ the young Thaumaturg continued, ‘she is no murderer. You should thank her. I, however, do not share such high principles.’ He curled the fingers of his left hand – his right had so far hung limp at his side – and Jak was yanked from Saeng’s side as surely as if he’d been plucked from a cliff. The bandit leader fell to his knees before Pon-lor.

‘Go ahead!’ the youth bellowed. ‘You rich bastards always win in the end, don’t you? Spoiled brat! It isn’t fair! You’ve had all the advantages all your life!’ The Bandit Lord was fighting tears and Saeng now saw how he was perhaps even younger than she, or the mage.

Pon-lor continued to shake his head, as if saddened by this entire affair. ‘Jak … you have no idea. You grew up in a village, yes? In a family, with a father and a mother, a place to sleep, food on your
table
…’ He grimaced and his odd eye rolled aimlessly. ‘I cannot remember my childhood. There are images …’ he winced again, pained. ‘Jak … I was taken by the Thaumaturgs from the streets of Anditi Pura where I’d been abandoned to fend for myself. I never knew my mother or my father. I grew up sleeping in alleyways that were nothing more than open sewers. I fought packs of dogs for trash thrown into gutters. I throttled other children over rags and scraps of food you yourself would have turned away from in disgust. I …’ His voice caught and he blinked to master himself. Tears fell from both eyes. ‘And here you … Well, no matter. Your only defence is that you are utterly ignorant. Similarly, however, your crime is that you chose to remain ignorant. Therefore, I condemn you for wilful ignorance and blind self-centred self-pity.’

Pon-lor clenched his one good hand and Jak gagged. He dropped his dagger. His hands flew to his neck as if he would prise unseen fetters from round his throat.

‘Choke on the truth you have rejected all your life, Kenjak Ashevajak – Bandit Lord.’

Jak tottered, gagging yet, and fell. His breath, together with all the tension in his convulsing frame, sighed from him in one last long exhalation and he stilled.

Saeng blinked. The spell that had held her fascinated faded away. She ran past Pon-lor to kneel at her brother’s side. ‘
Hanu! Speak to me!
’ she sent, pleading.

No answer came, though his chest still rose and fell in light panted breaths.

Pon-lor limped to her. He took hold of her arm to lift her to her feet. ‘I will do what I can to heal him. You must do what you have to.’

She squeezed his shoulder, looked up to meet his good eye. ‘Yes! Thank you. And … I’m sorry … I was wrong.’

‘As was I. You were right all along. Now go. Do what you can.’

‘But they will know!’

‘I will hold them off for as long as I can.’

‘But you are no master!’

A sad half-smile lifted one edge of his mouth. ‘As you can see, my mind is now working in a strange new way. I see things … differently. In a way none of them can. They will find it very difficult to penetrate my thoughts. Now go.’

He urged her away, but before he released her arm it seemed as if he would lower his face to her, only to quickly turn away to Hanu. She caught his hand and squeezed it and the brow over his good eye
rose
in surprise, and gratitude. She turned to the pillar of coursing energies and readied herself.

The trick, she knew, was to allow the power to run through one’s self without any interference or attempt at redirection. That was the hard part – resisting the urge to manipulate. Terror alone would drive her to do so. The driving urge to self-preservation.

She glanced back to see Pon-lor demonstrating surprising strength in snapping the spear haft then yanking it one-handed from Hanu’s armoured back. Encouraged by that, she stepped up on to the dais. She had her defences raised as tautly as she knew how, yet even so the raging stream of spinning sizzling power appeared to be able to snuff her to ashes instantly. She had to yield to what had been instilled in her all these many years: the training, the discipline, the insights. But most of all, the trust. Trust in one’s abilities. Trust enough to make that leap, and that release.

All her powers heightened, her arms out, she stepped into the flow.

* * *

Murk decided that he was getting the feel for this jungle tramping. All one had to do was turn one’s expectations completely round – that was all. Instead of hacking and slashing one’s way through the dense brush all one had to do was let go the idea of beating it down. Which was pretty much impossible anyway. What you had to do was slip through all kinda sideways and there you went. It was just another way of moving. A way that didn’t push against all the league after league of spines and trees and poisonous vines.

And as for all the damned biting, stinging and sucking bugs – once you had a thick enough layer of dirt smeared over you and kept there by your oils and sweat, they never bothered you again. It was like they couldn’t smell you any more. Just like Sour said. There you go. His partner had finally found his place in the world. And it was the one place no one else wanted ever to be. Go figure it. Well, once they returned to civilization he’d be blundering round once more all wide-eyed stupid, and Murk’d have to take him in hand again.

And the diet. Well, once you got your head round the obvious idea that you really ought to eat what was literally growin’ on the trees around you and crawlin’ all over everything in limitless numbers, then your problem was solved. As to the taste, well, that wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. Tasted like nuts, really.

He walked near the middle of the loose column alongside the litter with Dee and Ostler. Sour had survived his mission to cut off
the
arm of a Seguleh but it had been a close thing. The woman had grabbed his throat the moment she understood what was going on and only the intervention of her employer, Rissan, had saved the man’s life. He was out front now, ranging with the scouts. Their guest walked with the captain towards the rear. The bodyguard, Ina, had lived up to the reputation of the Seguleh in being back on her feet the day after the amputation. She walked behind Rissan. The stump ending at her elbow was wrapped in cloth and tied tight to her body. She hadn’t said a thing to anyone since that night and walked with her head hanging low. Murk thought he understood something of what she must be feeling. Imagine, a one-armed Seguleh! Sounded like a bad joke. Still, if she really was one, then even with her off hand she was probably more deadly than any of them.

The going was easier now. They’d entered a region of open parklike woods. The upper canopy was solid, but below, the ground was mostly open, even dusty, with almost no brush. It looked almost manicured. He saw files of ants walking along, each carrying off a piece of the fallen leaf litter. The mystery, then, of where all the fallen detritus had gone was solved. They’d seen those half-creatures shadowing them at a discreet distance. So far, none had attacked. They seemed content merely to monitor their progress.

With the sun beating down it was now damned hot. Water was their main worry. Sour had them sucking on stems and fruits for moisture. Still, Murk was feeling the heat, and he knew the signs of water-starvation; he’d seen enough of it in the army. The night rains vanished instantly. Yusen had everyone capturing what they could in any remaining containers, while Sour showed them how to use big leaves to do the same.

As it was wont to do these last few days, Murk’s gaze drifted down to the litter with its rags and the burden wrapped within. Was he doing the right thing? She’d expressed her will and he chose to respect that. Though doubts harried and bit at him like these damned bugs, he was still of the opinion that he was right to do so. It was a question not of right or wrong, but of respect. He had to respect this thing as a separate entity fully capable of making up its own mind. Even if it looked and sounded like a child.

Mercenaries running past shook him from his reverie. They were headed pell-mell for the front. Burastan came jogging to his side. ‘A problem?’ he demanded.

She jerked a hand to the rear. ‘Our guest the sorceress says we’ve entered Jakal Viharn already.’

He scowled his puzzlement. ‘What? That can’t be right.’ He waved to the surrounding jungle. ‘There’s nothing here.’

‘All the same, Captain’s ordered a halt. Call your partner.’

Murk nodded. He reached out to give his Warren the barest touch – just enough to send a message to Sour:
recall
. He motioned for Dee and Ostler to rest. The two big swordsmen eyed one another then shrugged and set down the litter.

Murk returned with Burastan to the rear. Here he found Yusen with the sorceress and her bodyguard. They were eyeing some sort of much weathered stone marker, or stela. Murk studied the flat, worn standing stone. The carving on its face had been reduced to nothing more than suggestions of lines and depressions. He turned to Rissan. ‘You can read that?’

‘I do not need to read it,’ she answered. ‘Its message is impregnated into it in many different ways.’

Murk gave it a one-eyed squint through his Warren. There was
something
there … but so faint, so damnably ancient. ‘And what does it say?’

‘It marks the boundary of Jakal Viharn.’

Murk snorted. ‘There ain’t nothing here. There’s supposed to be a huge
city
. Temple towers, streets paved in gold. You know … fabled Jakal Viharn and such.’

The sorceress was unmoved. ‘There was such a place here, once. Long ago. A large ceremonial centre servicing millions. But to call it a city … well …’ She tilted her head. ‘Those who saw it could only interpret it through their own experience … if you see what I mean.’

Yusen nodded, though Burastan was frowning, uncertain.

‘We know cities,’ Murk said, explaining, ‘so that’s what we called it.’

‘Indeed.’

Sour and the scouts arrived. Yusen motioned them to him. ‘We sit tight for the meantime. I want a careful look round first.’

Sour cocked one goggling bug-eye to Murk. ‘You’re up, partner.’

Murk scowled.
Great. Guess what? You get to go spy on the Witch-Queen Ardata
. He squinted up at the bright blue sky. ‘Not in full on daylight. I want to wait for dusk.’

Yusen was rubbing a thumb over his chin. He nodded. ‘Accepted.’

When dusk gathered under the trees and a deep purple took the eastern sky, Murk entered Jakal Viharn. He kept to the shadows, naturally enough. He’d been warned not to have Meanas raised
fully
as Ardata would take it as a challenge; mild disguising of his presence, well, that was apparently acceptable.