Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 (7 page)

Talen knew that you couldn’t put a human weave on an animal. Each kind of beast required a slightly different pattern. And just because you knew one pattern, didn’t mean you knew another.

River bowed her head, closed her eyes. The whole platform of woodikin waited in silence, every eye focused on her. The warriors stood ready with their knives should any of them try some trick.

“Is it even a weave of might?” Harnock asked.

“What are you saying?” the queen asked.

“A moment, Great One,” River said. She concentrated. A minute passed, then two, and three. The wait seemed to stretch on forever. Then River raised her head. “It is done.”

The troop leader bent over and plucked the ring from her hand and held it up for all to see. A thin line of black now ran around the ring.

“I have placed power into it,” River said. “Put it on. You will see.”

When the translator finished this statement, a number of the woodikin stood and shouted angrily, pointing at River. The queen exchanged words with them, then turned to her. “They say you want to bind me, make me a slave. They say you just confessed that’s what these do. That this is a trick.”

“This is not a thrall,” said River. “But do not take my word. Let one of your people test it.”

The queen turned to the troop leader.

The troop leader bowed to the queen. He tossed his knife to another warrior, apparently so he wouldn’t have a weapon should the ring enslave him, then slipped the ring onto his thumb and waited.

A moment later he startled, looked down at his hand.

“So it begins,” said River. “The power is now flowing into him. Into his arms. Into his legs.”

The troop leader bared his teeth at her, flinched and cried out as if someone had stabbed him in the back. Pain and fear wracked his face.

“It’s his first time,” River said, “and it’s a full dreadman’s weave. It’s to be expected.”

“What is dreadman?” asked the queen.

“Skinmen ring warriors.”

“Oh, that’s splendid,” Harnock said. “You’re just going to force him and kill him out right.”

The troop leader fell to his knees, gritting his teeth and panting.

“What have you done?” the queen asked.

“Power does not come easily, Great Mother. Give him time to adjust. A few moments more.”

Talen looked at River; there was a good chance this woodikin would die. But River had her eyes closed, and Talen knew she was praying to the ancestors.

One of the other woodikin warriors on the platform bared his teeth and drew his wooden dirk. Other warriors put their hands on their dirks and knives, waiting for an order.

“If you lie to me,” the Queen said, “we will string your guts for the birds.”

Talen swallowed.

The troop leader said something, but it was too soft to understand.

The queen asked him a question in woodikin. The troop leader spoke louder this time. And then he looked up, a gleam of intensity in his eyes.

“The firejoy,” Talen said.

The troop leader rose to his feet. He held his arms out, looked down at his body, and grinned. With a hoot, he sprung high into the air, flipped and landed on his feet again, but only barely. There was a clumsiness to him. He shook his arms, rubbed them as if they were cold. He bounced on the balls of his feet. Then he darted away from the platform, along the bridge that led from the queen’s hall. He ran on all four limbs, picking up speed. He reached the edge, sprang to the guard railing, and leapt.

Talen’s heart dropped. That woodikin had gone mad and just jumped to his death. This was the end for all of them.

But the woodikin didn’t fall to his death. He flew in a huge arc and landed on a branch a few dozen yards away. He turned, shouted in triumph and scampered up the branch like a squirrel. Moments later he dropped from a great height down to the wide tree-limb road below, landing in a crouch. The woodikin on the platform murmured their amazement.

The troop leader returned to the platform. He was shaking a little bit, breathing quickly, but he walked across the platform to where the queen stood, removed the ring from his thumb, and held it out to her.

The queen took the ring. She asked the troop leader a question in woodikin. He answered. She asked another. He answered again.

“So, Great Mother,” River said, “you see I do not lie.”

The queen looked at the three of them. “The Orange Slayers have ten rings,” she said. “I want a hundred.”

“Great Mother,” said River, “that would kill me. Though you threatened me and all I love with death, I cannot provide such a number.”

“How many?”

“Why do you want to depend on us? We fight a common enemy. Give us our freedom; give us safe passage through your lands, become our friends, and we will not only give you weaves, we will teach you how to make your own without the need of any skinman.”

The woodikin translator finished River’s statement. There was a pause, and then the woodikin on the platform erupted.

“River,” Harnock groaned under his breath. “What are you doing? Now they’ll never let us leave.”

“Won’t they?” she asked. “Do you think they want to be subjected to the Devourers any more than we do? Now is a time for new alliances. We need all the help we can get.”

The woodikin on the platform quieted down. The troop leader bared his teeth. “The female lies,” he said. “All skinmen lie. She will not return. She will teach us nothing.”

“I do not lie,” River said.

“Ssa!” the troop leader said.

The queen continued to sit and think. Finally, she came to a decision. “When will you teach,” she asked, “if you are running? You must stay here.”

“Great Mother,” Harnock said, “those chasing us are powerful. They will waken the rings of the Orange Slayers. They know you took us and will come here. You do not want the Orange Slayers coming here with their ring warriors. They will take the great skinwoman from you. If you let us go, you can say instead we escaped by our evil magics. The Orange Slayers will not punish you. Later, when you have many rings of your own making, you can rise up and resist them.”

The queen thought it over. “Chot is right; you will not return.”

“Send a troop of your mightiest warriors to watch us,” Harnock said.

“There must be more,” said the queen. “You must leave something of great worth behind.” She looked at Talen for a moment, then the contents of their packs. Her eyes fell on the Book of Hismayas. She reached out with her foot and brought it to her. “This I will keep.”

“Great Mother,” Harnock said, “it is a terrible danger.”

“I will keep it,” the queen said.

Talen, Harnock, and River exchanged glances.

Harnock pitched his voice low. “Hundreds of our people died to obtain that, and we’re going to lose it to the woodikin?”

“What other option do we have?” River asked.

“None,” Harnock said. He sighed in frustration, then said, “Great Mother, you will return it when the mighty skinwoman comes back to teach you. Is it agreed?”

“It is agreed,” said the Queen.

“Faa,” said the troop leader in disgust.

“She will stay with you for one month and teach you every day how to make the rings. Agreed?”

“She will come back in fourteen days and will stay until the winter snows leave,” said the Queen. “And she will answer all my questions with truth.”

“Agreed,” River said.

“Good,” said the Queen. “I will wait until morning. I will watch to see what happens with those that wear this skinman ring. If they live, my warriors will see you back to your lands. If not, then I will trade you to the Orange Slayers.”

7

Darkfall

SUGAR WOKE to Legs lightly patting her cheek.

“Let me sleep,” she said and rolled over.

“Argoth came by and said you’re going to be moving out soon,” Legs said.

Her weariness was as heavy as a millstone. Despite the candidate’s weave, it felt like she hadn’t rested in weeks. “I’m not getting up.”

Legs picked up her hand and guided it to a wooden cup. “He told me to give you this. I think it’s a strong brew of watchman’s tea. He told me not to take even a sniff.”

Sugar groaned, then rolled over and looked at Legs. A thin crack of light came in through the doors and illuminated a line of his face in the dark cellar. Outside the doors was the din of folks working in the bailey.

Sugar sat up and accepted the cup from him, her eyelids almost refusing to open. She held the brew in the line of light. It was reddish. She sniffed it, then drank. It was warm, sickly sweet with honey, and tasted awful. “That’s more than watchman’s tea,” she said. A bitter aftertaste kicked in that put chokecherry to shame. Her stomach almost revolted, and she groaned.

“He said to get some swamp. It goes better with something in your stomach.”

“Oh, now you tell me,” she said, then forced her legs off the bed to the cold bricks of the floor.

Legs took her hand. “Come on,” he said.

She followed him out and found the sun hanging low in the west. They picked up bowls of swamp with some bread and cheese from the great hall, then retired to the top of a wall to eat.

A breeze blew in from the bay, bringing with it the smell of the sea. Sugar ate the thick, almost pudding-like stew and hard bread and watched the sky in the direction of Potter’s Crossing. She knew Urban was out there at the crossroad. He was probably watching for her with Soddam.

Part of her shouted for her to get up now and run to them. If she and Legs hurried, they just might make it. But she didn’t run. She stayed and ate her swamp and cheese.

The setting sun illuminated the bottoms of the clouds, making them shine like brass. The sun sank lower, and the brass began to change, the whole belly of the rippled clouds beginning to turn to red and pink. A minute later, the whole sky from north to south turned into one splendid scene of brightly colored grandeur, and then the sun dipped below the mountains and the colors began to fade.

The urge to flee the fortress struck her again, but she knew it was too late. Nor was it her lot. She watched the light continue to fade and finished her swamp. Urban would know by now she wasn’t coming.

Below in the bailey, the grooms began to bring a number of horses out of the stables and tie them to the hitching posts. Those would probably be the mounts she and the others would use. “Come on,” she said to Legs. “Time for the ferret to go hunting.”

She looked one last time in the direction of Potter’s Crossing and imagined Urban and Soddam glancing at each other in the lengthening shadows, then turning their mounts and urging them away. Tonight, while she and the others were making their way to Blue Towers, Urban and his crew would sail into the dark sea.

“May the Creators send you fair winds,” she said. Then she turned her back, and, with Legs, descended from the parapet to the bailey below, praying with every step that the ancestors would help this impossible mission succeed.

* * *

Berosus walked down the hall to the grand chamber in Blue Towers fortress. Three of his dreadmen walked in front of him, three behind. They entered the chamber, and all those within stood. There were about twenty men, including his Divines and warlords, the Divines of the other three Glorydoms, and the three leaders of the dogmen.

The chamber was lit by oil lamps set in sconces around the walls, illuminating the room with a soft glow. He motioned for the men to sit. When they were all settled, he said, “The power we came to destroy is not in this Grove.”

The men waited.

“But Shim and his army pose a threat to our sublime masters nevertheless. We are going to harvest a tremendous number of these people starting tomorrow. We mean to cull all of the clans that follow Shim.”

One of the Nilliam Divines spoke. He wore light-colored clothing with tassels. “Shim’s sleth will scatter.”

Berosus smiled. This was one reason why he himself infiltrated the Groves, instead of sitting back like some Divines did and sending another. It was one thing to listen to the assessment of a spy. It was quite another to make that assessment yourself. “No, Shim will not. He is not that type. We’ll herd the people to one place. Shim will come to protect them. And when they are all gathered together, we’ll cut them down.”

“You’re talking tens of thousands of souls,” Loyal, the chief Divine of Nilliam, said.

“A large harvest,” Berosus said, “and your masters will each get their share as agreed on.”

The Divines nodded.

“What about the power that killed Lumen and Rubaloth?” Loyal asked.

Berosus looked at the other Divines. Any one of their Sublimes might have done it; there was no reason to trust any of them. Or maybe the Bone Faces had something to do with it, although he doubted that. Or maybe it was something else entirely; the New Lands presented a vast unexplored wilderness. “That is a separate matter. Our mission was to quell this herd, to quash the uprising. When that is finished, your task is done, and you may return to your Sublimes with your treasure.”

The Divines seemed satisfied. Berosus motioned at one of his dreadmen to unroll a map on the table in the center of the room. Then Berosus explained his strategy. They would go into the Shoka lands and kill all the humans in the villages he identified. They’d make sure word of the massacres traveled. Other villages, seeing the slaughter, would sue for peace. But they’d slaughter them as well. That should put all the clans that allied with Shim into a panic.

But they wouldn’t be able to flee because he’d move ships into the various harbors. And then he’d position the armies of Urz, Cath, and Nilliam to block all the main roads except for those leading to the place he wanted to push them. He wanted a line many miles long, driving the people to one place. The dogmen would work the gaps between the four armies, looking for strays and putting fear into the hearts of those who tried to flee. Shim would come to their aid. And Berosus would leave an escape route open until he had them where he wanted them. Then he would close the trap, just as you closed the gate on a group of cattle you’d herded into a paddock.

When he finished explaining the strategy, Loyal of Nilliam asked, “How can you be sure Shim won’t figure out exactly what you’re doing?” He pointed at the map. “If they get around us here and head south, it will be a chore fetching them out of those woods.”

“Just organize your men. Be ready to march on the morrow.”