Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (93 page)

The Rocaan had said naked, and he had said to cooperate. Titus bit his lower lip. Did his oath to the Rocaan take precedence, or the vow he had made as an Aud? Or was this part of the test? He didn’t know. He wasn’t smart enough to make these kinds of choices.

And what did it matter? They would probably kill him. He had to prepare himself to meet his God.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m sworn.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” The Danite in the back came forward. He had a familiar face. He spoke in Islander. “The sword is just a symbol, son. What matters is in your heart.”

True enough. But the symbol became real when the faith was true. They had learned that too. But Titus didn’t say that. Instead, he said in Islander, “Did the Rocaan send you too?”

The Danite looked behind him, at the others, as if he were asking for confirmation. His mouth was a thin line when he turned back to Titus. “No,” the Danite said. “I’m here on other business.”

Titus nodded, even though he didn’t really understand. “I need to speak to the head of the Fey,” he said.

The Danite smiled at him a bit sadly. “No Fey is going to talk with you while you wear that sword.”

“I can’t take it off.” Titus clung to the sword. He felt as if it were his only piece of security in this place.

The Danite sighed and spoke in Nye. “You’re not going to get him to change his mind. You’ll have to find another way.”

A woman in the back said something in the Fey language; then another agreed with her. They spoke at once, and finally one of them ran out of Titus’s field of vision.

The boy stood calmly beside Titus. While the others seemed to wait for something, the boy looked at Titus and grinned. “You know,” he said in Nye, “we could as easily kill you as we could listen to you.”

“I know,” Titus said. If he had thought he was safe, he would risk removing the sword. How stupid did they think he was?

Finally the woman came back with a bowl of water. She handed it down to the boy. He held it out to Titus.

“Wash the sword off, and wash off anything else that might have been touched by the poison.”

Titus stared at the water. They could as easily be trying to harm him. But that was part of a Charge, to take risks. He would have to take a large risk here, and he would have to give in, even a little, in order to complete his mission.

With a trembling hand he picked up the sword and dipped it into the water, washing the blade with his fingers. Then he reached into his pocket and removed his cleaning cloth, dropping it onto the ground. He couldn’t think of anything else that had touched the holy water, but he washed his hands for good measure.

The older man spoke to the boy in Fey. The boy pursed his lips—obviously not liking the comment. He set the water bowl down. Quickly, almost defiantly, he reached out and wrapped his hand around the sword.

All of the Fey gasped. Titus could feel the boy’s fear. But the boy stared him in the face as if memorizing his features in case they met on the other side.

After a moment the boy let go of the sword, stared at his hand, then held it up for the others to see. “I’ll live another day, Rugar,” he said in Nye.

The older man—Rugar—seemed unconcerned. “Bring the boy up,” he said.

Titus swallowed hard. He took one glance over his shoulder at the real world, which he might never see again. Then he allowed them to pull him into the opaque gray mass.

SEVENTY-SEVEN

Scavenger climbed into the Shadowlands, bent double with the weight of the pouches. Caseo never thought things through. Pouches filled with bone—even bone shavings—were heavy, and tired people should not carry them. The Domestic had collapsed a few hours before—at least, that’s what Scavenger assumed happened, since she had not returned.

He had worked longer than he’d planned, following Uences to the river. They had carved up dozens, maybe hundreds, of skeletons. Scavenger’s right hand was sore from clutching a knife. His palm was covered with tiny burst blisters, and a large blood blister still threatened on his thumb.

He regretted leaving Uences out there. Once Vulture had left, she had been quite civil. But he had no choice. He could keep working until he was so exhausted he was of no use to anyone, or he could take the pouches himself, go inside, and find Rugar.

As he walked up the hill, he swayed, and then steadied as he crossed the clearing. But that final step into Shadowlands was one of the most difficult he had ever made.

Shadowlands itself looked nearly empty. A single man pounded nails into a board he had braced on the ground, but Scavenger couldn’t tell what the man was building. A few Domestics worked around the Domicile. A group of Infantry were leaving Rugar’s cabin, but other than that, he saw no one. Smoke rose out of the chimney of the Warders’ cabin, and outside sat several dozen pouches filled with bone. Vulture slept next to them, his clothes and face still filthy from the work he had done earlier.

Scavenger crouched beside him and shook his shoulder. Vulture opened his eyes slowly and rolled them when he saw who was trying to wake him.

“Go replace Uences. She’s been working since you left.”

“I deserve more sleep,” Vulture said.

“Go on.” Scavenger gave him a push.

Vulture sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Why aren’t you going back? You’ve been there the shortest.”

“I have some things to deliver to the Domicile, then I’ll be back out there. But they said it might take a few hours. Better to relieve her now.”

Vulture sighed. “And I get to do it. Lucky, lucky me. How much more is left out there?”

“Enough for another afternoon’s work.” Scavenger lowered his voice. “Know what they need the bone for?”

Vulture shook his head. “Caseo said something about a wonderful new spell, but you know how he is.”

Caseo. Scavenger shuddered. Yes, Scavenger knew how Caseo was. He ran a hand through his hair. “Go help her. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

Vulture heaved himself off the pouches. “If I come back and find you asleep, I’ll cut off your fingers.”

“Then I really won’t be able to help you.”

They grinned at each other. Behind them the Warders’ door swung open, and Caseo stood there, hands on his hips.

“Just put the pouches down, boy, and leave us,” he said. “We’re trying to do legitimate work in here.” Then he slammed the door shut.

“Touchy, touchy,” Vulture said.

Scavenger said nothing. His heart was pounding so hard against his chest, he thought his ribs might burst. He was staring at the door. Caseo didn’t even seem to recognize him. Just as he’d thought. No one saw the Red Caps. No one would know when he killed Rugar.

But that knowledge no longer held any consolation for him. How can a man threaten to kill someone one day and a week later not even recognize him? Was Caseo that cold?

Or was Scavenger that small?

Vulture punched him on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, you all right?”

Scavenger nodded, forcing his gaze away from the door. “Yeah,” he said. “I got things to do. I’ll meet you outside.”

Vulture watched him, and Scavenger headed for the Domicile. Vulture would notice anything Scavenger did, and Scavenger didn’t want to do anything out of the ordinary until Vulture was gone.

Vulture took his time getting from the Warders’ cabin to the Circle Door. When he finally left, he moved slowly out the door as if being banished to the outside was worse than death. Scavenger let out a huge sigh, then walked back to Rugar’s cabin.

Smoke came from that chimney as well, thin gray plumes of it, puffing up and brushing against the apparent roof of Shadowlands, then disappearing altogether. Scavenger didn’t understand why the smoke didn’t collect in Shadowlands—someone had tried to explain it to him once, but the explanation made no sense. This was the second Shadowlands of his life. The first was in the Nye campaign, and it was not nearly as elaborate as this. The Fey slept on the gray, cloud-covered ground in thick blankets made especially for the campaign by the Domestics. They had sewn something into those blankets; he’d never slept so well in his life, before or since.

He gripped the hilt of the knife that he had got from Vulture and wondered when Vulture would notice that he didn’t have it. Would he work at all, or would he wait for Scavenger to come back? Probably Uences would force her blade on him and then leave, and Vulture would have to work by himself until the news of Rugar’s death reached him.

Scavenger didn’t even feel sorry for that.

He stopped in front of Rugar’s cabin. The Infantry were huddled a few cabins away, watching him. The skin on the back of his neck crawled. If he concentrated, he could hear voices from inside the cabin. Something was going on. This was not the time to knock on the door and confront Rugar.

The Spell Warders’ cabin wasn’t that far away. Maybe Scavenger should just grab a few empty pouches and go back outside to relieve Uences. The King had not given Scavenger a deadline. Scavenger could take all the time he needed.

He stopped outside the Warders’ cabin. The smoke coming from the chimney was a dark-gray, almost charcoal, color, and it smelled of roasting meat. He had been fooled by Warder smells before, and even though his stomach growled, he knew that what they were cooking inside was probably not anything he wanted.

No one had left the empty pouches where they were supposed to be. He needed an armload to go back outside. No sense working without them.

Still, knocking on the door was quite a risk for him all alone. It gave Caseo another chance to experiment on him. Scavenger put his hand on the hilt of his knife. He would be prepared, and then Caseo wouldn’t be able to grab him.

He went to the door, knocked, and backed away from it. The door opened almost immediately. Caseo blocked the light from inside.

“What now, boy?”

“I need some pouches so that I can finish the job outside.”

Caseo grinned. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you, boy?”

Scavenger shook his head quickly.

“Afraid I’m going to take you inside and turn you into a mass of jelly?”

His grip on the hilt tightened. Again he shook his head.

A female voice cried from inside, “Leave him alone, Caseo. We have to finish this.”

“You can’t finish without me,” he said. “And I’ll be just a moment.” Then he stepped out and closed the door behind him. “They think your life might have value. They think I’m cruel for taunting you. You think that, too, don’t you?”

There was a huge lump in Scavenger’s throat. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. “I—ah—I need those pouches if I’m going to do the work you need.”

“We really don’t need you. That’s the whole truth. If Rugar was smart, he would stop transporting creatures like you to each battle site and just kill you when it becomes clear that you’re not real Fey.”

“I’m as much Fey as you are,” Scavenger said.

“Really?” Caseo’s grin was wide. “Then prove it. Come with me. Let me test the poison on you.”

“That’s a stupid test!” Scavenger’s voice rose as he spoke. “If I prove I’m Fey, I die. I’m not that stupid. And if I don’t die, you’ll say I’m not Fey. Think about this. Three Red Caps never came back from the First Battle for Jahn. Maybe the poison got them. They had to have died.
Had
to. So, therefore, we’re Fey.
We’re Fey.
We’re just not as mean as you are.”