Liar's Island: A Novel (23 page)

“This jungle is … quite a place. What were you doing in here?”

“Oh, just part of my studies. I'm often sent into the jungle to live for a few days, with no weapons or tools, surviving by foraging.” She spoke as if such a task were no more difficult than sweeping a floor.

Rodrick licked his lips. “You know what's safe to eat here, then?” His belly rumbled on cue.

She laughed again. He could get used to that sound. After all the deceit and treachery it was nice to meet someone who seemed so genuine. “Are you hungry? Here.” She reached into a pouch at her waist and drew out a gleaming fruit, skin perfect and unblemished. Rodrick had no idea what it was, but he devoured it, only stopping at the stem and seeds, which he spat into the undergrowth. “Oh, thank you, Lais, I needed that.” He paused. “You haven't asked me what I'm doing in the jungle.”

“I didn't wish to pry. You stepped in to help me, so I'm in your debt. You're not in mine.”

In his debt. He liked the sound of that. When it came to sex, he liked his women eager and enthusiastic, but he was happy to exploit a perceived debt when it came to saving his life.

“I assume you were with a hunting group,” she went on, “and either got separated or saw your party killed. It's really not quite as safe as the guides pretend.”

“Ah. No, not exactly.” What could Rodrick tell her that would make her want to help him? A carefully edited version of the truth, perhaps. “I found a treasure map, and came here with an associate to see if we could find where it led. In the process, we fell afoul of … well, I think it's some kind of cult. Here, look, I took this off the body of a weretiger that attacked us.” He pulled the medallion out of his pack and showed it to her.

She glanced at it, then looked at it more closely, then shuddered and pushed his hands away. “That is the symbol of Vasaghati the Betrayer. The Knife in the Dark. A grim goddess, devoted to corruption and destruction. Her followers infiltrate organizations and sow discord, for the pure joy of destruction—and to reap what profits come from disaster, of course.”

“It hardly seems wise to wear a medallion that marks you as a betrayer,” he said. “It rather gives the game away.”

She nodded. “As you can imagine, it's difficult to be part of a cult devoted to Vasaghati. How could you trust anyone? How could you be part of a group dedicated to
destroying
groups? Yet there
is
a cult. They call themselves the Knife in the Dark, and when they gather for ceremonies or to plot, they wear these signs to mark them. Never tattoos, but always jewelry, things that are easily tossed away when they need to pretend to be someone else. I'm told that, in their gatherings, if they see anyone who
isn't
wearing the appropriate sign, they kill them on sight.”

Rodrick swallowed. “Would, say, a rakshasa be a likely devotee of that god?”

Lais made a face like she'd tasted something sour. “Such vile creatures do not worship any gods—they don't like to admit that even a god is greater than themselves—but they might temporarily serve a god to advance their own goals, and Vasaghati is certainly one whose interests would align with those of a rakshasa. Why? Were you attacked by a rakshasa, too? If so, you're lucky to be alive.”

“We were, and we are. But we didn't manage to kill the rakshasa. Lais, those men who attacked you—at least one of them was wearing a ring marked by this symbol. The others may have been, too. I didn't look closely.”

She whistled again. “I didn't notice. That explains why they attacked me, then—they knew I wasn't of their ilk, and doubtless feared I'd stumble upon their meeting. It also explains the masks. I've heard criminals in the cities sometimes wear masks so they won't be recognized, but there's little chance of running into a casual acquaintance in this jungle. I wondered why they bothered.”

“The weretiger you fought wasn't masked, though.”

She shrugged. “The members of the Knife in the Dark guard their identities closely, being both secretive and paranoid, but why wear a mask when you can shapeshift? There have been rumors of a dark cult operating in the jungle, taking over some old abandoned temple or ruin not far from here, but I had no idea it was the Knife in the Dark. If your quest for treasure takes you toward them, I would advise you to abandon your goal. They are the foulest of cults.”

“Oh, fear not. I've given up my hopes of hunting treasure. My … associate … stole the map anyway. We had a falling out over the advisability of continuing in the face of such opposition after the weretiger attack, and parted ways rather angrily. She took all the food, too, I'm sorry to say.”

She clucked her tongue. “And now you're in the jungle, with no map, and nothing to eat? What do you plan to do now?”

“Get off this island as soon as possible,” he said. “I've seen members of this cult, like that rakshasa, and I'm afraid they won't stop pursuing me until I'm dead.”

“Getting you across the sea would go a long way toward making you safe,” she said. “The Knife in the Dark is a real threat in Vudra, and they're clearly expanding their reach in Jalmeray, but I don't think they're well established in the Inner Sea. Hmm. I'll take you to see my master. He knows many people from the years before he withdrew from public life, and might be able to find you passage.”

Rodrick's thanks were fervent and, for once, entirely sincere, but she just waved them away. “I'm pleased to help. It will discharge my debt to you. I don't think my master has ever met a talking sword—it will be pleasant to show
him
something new, for once.”

The jungle's heavy growth began to thin out within the hour. Clearly not a jungle a hundred miles across, then. They emerged into a landscape of low, grassy hills, and when they crested the first one, Rodrick took in the vast sweep of the Obari Ocean, not terribly far away. He wondered where Grimschaw's “people” and their camp were, and if, indeed, they existed at all. Not close by, he hoped. Regardless, he didn't intend to let Hrym get any farther away than the end of his own hand until he was safely free from this place. He didn't want to be ambushed again.

Lais led him over one hill and around another, and when she stopped, Rodrick didn't immediately see why—until she pointed out an entrance cunningly (or coincidentally) hidden by rocks.

“Is that … ah, I mean to say … does your master live in a cave?”

Lais laughed as if he'd made a joke. “Wait here. I'll tell my master about you—it will go better if we don't burst in on him without warning.”

“Of course.” Rodrick bowed. Lais disappeared through the rocks. Then: “I bet it
is
a cave. He's a hermit, after all. They live in caves, or holes in the ground, or in the desert, don't they? Or up on top of pillars in the middle of nowhere—what are those called, anchorites? I always wondered how they use the bathroom. I suppose the boy hermits just pee over the side, but when it comes to doing anything
else
, I can see how keeping your balance would be an issue.”

“You humans and your repulsive bodily functions,” Hrym said. “At any rate, her master is hardly a hermit if he has a student.”

“Maybe she's a hermit, too. I'm sure there are girl hermits.”

“I think when two hermits cohabit they cease to be hermits. Whatever she is, I like her. No nonsense, and not a whiff of treachery.” The sword sniffed, always an impressive feat given his lack of a nose. “Someone who's honest and straightforward is a nice change from all this subterfuge and deception.”

Though Rodrick had thought the same thing, he said, “Hrym, we specialize in subterfuge and deception.”

“Yes, and it's fine when
we
do it to
other people
. I'm just tired of having it done to us.”

“I can't argue with you there. And, yes, Lais is a refreshing change from our last traveling companion. I'm fairly certain she won't try to behead me. I just have a sense about these things.”

Hrym chuckled. “This whole trip has seen you handed from one beautiful woman to another. First the captain, then Grimschaw, and now—”

“Grimschaw was hardly beautiful. On her best day, she might be severe. I've known men who liked the attentions of unkind, perpetually disappointed women dressed in leather, and I don't begrudge them their pleasures, but such things never appealed much to me.”

“Aesthetics again. You fleshlings make everything so complicated. “

“Complication is the spice of—” he began, but then Lais returned, followed by a man. Rodrick had expected a wizened old fellow of the stick-thin variety, but her master was a great round-bellied, short-legged man surely no older than fifty, with a bald head and a placid expression. He wore yellow silk robes, and paused briefly to brush them off after emerging from the hole where he lived.

“Master,” Lais said, “this is Rodrick, and Hrym—”

The man's eyes widened and he bared his teeth. “Demon!” he shouted, and rushed at them, hands raised. After a moment of gape-mouthed shock, Lais narrowed her eyes and joined his assault.

Rodrick lifted his blade. Treachery, he thought.

18

Dragon and Demon

“Stop!” Hrym shouted, throwing up a wall of ice in a semicircle around them. “I am
not
a demon! I am
afflicted
by a demon!”

The bluish shadows of Lais and the master struck the other side of the ice wall, and the man even tried to
climb
it before pausing—more miraculously, he made it almost halfway up before sliding down. After a brief inaudible conferral with Lais, the master said, “What's the difference?”

“It's the difference between someone having a leech stuck to him, and someone
being
a leech!” Rodrick called.

Another quiet discussion, and then the master said, “All right. Take down the wall, and let me examine this cursed sword.”

“Do you promise not to attack us?” Rodrick said.

“My student says she owes you a debt. As she is in my charge, that debt extends to me. I will not harm you unless you attack me first.”

“Hrym,” Rodrick whispered, “I know you can't really control it, but if you discover some deep reserve of inner fortitude,
please
use it to keep from having one of your … outbursts … in the next few minutes.”

“Oh, fine, put the burden on
me
,” Hrym said, not quietly at all. “Might as well tell someone afflicted with a pox to use his inner fortitude not to get spots all over his face.”

“Yes, fine, point taken.”

The wall dissolved, splashing their feet. Lais and her master stepped daintily out of the way, but Rodrick just resignedly let his boots get wet. Wet feet were the least of his problems today.

Lais frowned. “You never told me your sword was cursed.”

“Tainted,” Rodrick said. “I'm sorry I didn't mention it.”

“He only just told
me
a day or two ago,” Hrym said.

“Lay the sword down,” the master ordered.

“You won't … hurt him?” Rodrick said.

The master looked at him, face blank, then slowly shook his head. “Your … friend … is in no danger from me.”

Rodrick placed Hrym on the ground, and the master crouched, passing his hands over the blade without touching it. “This taint inside him, though,” the man said. “That will eventually consume him. The sword—Hrym, is it? Hrym, your mind will gradually be overtaken by the taint, until there is nothing left of you, and then you will unleash your powers in a frenzy of destruction. I saw the wall you made. You have other powers of ice?”

“I'm more or less a white dragon in sword form,” Hrym said. “It's a long story.”

“Mmm.” The man betrayed no expression. “I would like to speak to your friend, Hrym. Lais will keep you company.”

The master took Rodrick's elbow and steered him away, as Lais began chatting with the sword, voice all forced conviviality. “So, how long have you been a magical sword of living ice?” she said.

“Are we out of your friend's earshot?” the monk murmured after they'd walked some little distance away.

Rodrick nodded. “His hearing is no better than a man's, as far as I know.”

The monk sighed. “Tell me, how long has he been tainted?”

“Mmm … roughly a year, since he was first exposed. There were no signs for a while, not really, just the occasional flash of red light. Then he started to giggle, and talk to himself. Then the flashes and the giggles started to presage what I've been calling ‘fits.' Explosions of ice magic and bursts of random chaos. He made a mess in Absalom, and nearly blew a hole in a ship on the way to Jalmeray, and caused some trouble for us in Niswan with an explosion a few days ago. The attacks are coming more frequently.”

“How did this happen? Were you fighting at the Worldwound?”

“Something like that,” Rodrick said, but the monk's scowl made it clear he wouldn't accept vague answers. The real story was too complex, and didn't paint Rodrick in the best light. The monk seemed an observant sort, so Rodrick chose his words carefully. “I was part of a group, last year, searching for what I was told was an ancient vault that contained a great artifact.”

“Lais mentioned you were a treasure hunter. Dangerous work, but it is one way to see the world.”

Rodrick nodded. “Including parts of the world no sane person would ever
want
to see. When we arrived at the vault, however, we discovered it was actually the prison of a demon lord. A mad priest was attempting to let the demon free, and Hrym sacrificed himself by freezing the man solid in magical ice—along with Hrym himself. I wasn't pleased with my friend's sacrifice, though, so over the course of several months, I dug Hrym out of the tomb of ice and freed him. By then he'd … picked up some of the demon's taint, through proximity.”