The Dread Hammer (15 page)

Bounding out of the bathing hall, Smoke cursed himself for a fool. He had run the threads just for the convenience of breaking Takis’ grip on him, forgetting that Dehan had forbidden him to do so, except on the Trenchant’s own order.

And the punishment for disobedience was not visited on him.

He darted out the door, grabbing the doorframe to help him make the turn up the hallway. He came so fast he ran right into Ketty, knocking her back against the wall.

For several seconds he only stared at her in shock. Where had she come from? He’d been so caught up in his own anger he hadn’t even sensed her there—

He groaned. The Trenchant had commanded him not to look at her.

And the punishment for disobedience was not visited on him.

“Damn you, stay away from me!”

If he had hit her, she could not have looked more shocked. He didn’t care. He sprinted with all speed for the stairs. After the first flight, he heard Britta screaming. He reached the third story, to find the Trenchant standing in the hallway, holding little Britta in his arms. Smoke went to his knees at Dehan’s feet, head bowed. “It was a mistake!”

“What have you done?”

Smoke gestured helplessly. “It was she. I didn’t know she was there. I looked at her.”

The Trenchant cooed to Britta and patted her back. “Twice?”

“No. Before that I forgot myself and ran the threads here in Samerhen, though you’ve commanded me not to.”

Britta was beginning to calm.

“And what made you so forgetful?” the Trenchant asked.

“I came upon Takis with a lover who is not worthy of her.”

Dehan laughed. “You are a fool. Takis is wise enough to judge her own lovers. Now get out of my sight. You reek of blood and burning.”

Britta was whimpering only faintly as Smoke stood and walked back down the hall. His blood had cooled enough that he sensed Ketty on the stairs. So he was prepared, and descended with his gaze downcast. But as he passed her she whispered to him, “Do you love me?”

He descended two more steps, then stopped. Without turning, he nodded his head. Then he drew in a shuddering breath and went on.

Ketty hurried the rest of the way up the stairs, and when she reached the top she saw Dehan in the hallway, waiting for her, with Britta fussing against his chest. Ketty ran to him. “Why was she crying so? What happened to her?” She tried to take the baby back, but Dehan refused her. His expression was severe. “Please. Give her to me.”

“This is not a game, Ketty. Britta is a child of the Bidden, perhaps the only one that will be born to us in this generation. She is of supreme importance to me. If you neglect her again, I
will
give her into the care of another woman.”

“But she was asleep, safe, and I only went to see if—” Ketty caught herself. She could not meet his eye.

“I know where you went and why. Was he pleased to see you?”

Ketty shook her head.

Britta was nuzzling Dehan’s shoulder, making sounds of hunger. “It’s this child he truly loves. He can’t help but love her. It’s in his blood.”

He loves me too
, Ketty thought, but she did not dare to speak.

“You may think he loves you,” Dehan went on as if he’d read her mind. “But he’s a dangerous creature. It means nothing to him to kill a man. He’d kill you to save this child from hurt.”

“I would never hurt Britta!”

“You already have. Hurt is visited on Britta whenever Smoke disobeys me.” He let her think about this a few moments before he added, “The screaming you heard—”

“Oh Dread Hammer!” Her hand went to her mouth. She turned away in horror. Did Smoke know? Of course he knew! But he wasn’t allowed to speak to her. If he had told her the reason for his silence, then Britta—

“You’ll stay away from him, won’t you?” Dehan asked. “You won’t try to speak to him.”

Ketty nodded. She reached again for Britta, and this time Dehan let her take the baby.

Smoke dumped his weapons and his ruined clothes on the floor of the bathing hall, then scrubbed himself clean before slipping into the soaking tub. Someone had fished the fallen candle out of the bath and set it back on the tall candlestick. The flames flickered as the door opened.

Smoke knew it was Tayval; he felt her presence in the threads. He turned to look at her. She was wearing loose-fitting trousers and a long night shirt. Her black hair was free around her shoulders. She cocked her head and showed him a curved needle and thread. He sighed and sat up straighter in the tub. She brought a stool and sat behind him, and sutured the wound in his back, and then the one on his shoulder. He tried not to flinch. When she was finished she embraced him from behind, her cheek pressed against his. Together they watched veils of steam rise from the water’s surface.

After a while, Smoke said, “Takis is in love with—”

Tayval pressed her fingers to his lips to stop the words.

“I still want to kill him,” Smoke added when she finally let him speak again.

Tayval pinched his ear—“
Ow
”—and kissed his cheek. Then she left as silently as she had come.

Ketty sat up for much of that night, Britta in her arms and the herbal book open on the table beside her. She turned the pages, studying the drawings and re-reading all the descriptions. She hadn’t realized before how many of the plants were poisonous.

On the next day she took Britta outside to the garden and, strolling about, she tried to match the plants she saw to those she had studied. She thought she could name a few. She went back to the book to learn more. On the day after that it was raining, and on the following day as well, but when the sun returned she went again to look at the plants. This time she met the gardener—an older woman of a talkative nature who was happy to show her around and confirm the names of the herbs, and to describe their many uses. She even showed Ketty how to harvest leaves to make poultices and teas.

Then Takis came to watch. The gardener seemed suddenly nervous, and after a minute she excused herself, claiming some task she must attend.

Takis sat down on a bench and invited Ketty to sit beside her. “May I hold Britta?”

Ketty’s guilty conscience made her reluctant to give up the baby, but Takis had been kind to her. So rather than inviting questions, she passed Britta into Takis’ gentle hands.

Takis cooed over her niece and complimented her. Then, without looking at Ketty, she said, “A spell doesn’t die with its maker.”

Ketty caught her breath, certain she’d been found out. She pressed her hand against her lap to hide its trembling.

Takis said, “The Hauntén are an impulsive people with a fiery nature, much like my brother Smoke. Feuds are common among them. So Koráy put a spell on her bloodline, compelling the love of parent for child, and child for parent.”

“Your brother isn’t loved,” Ketty whispered.

“It’s far stronger with the firstborn. It’s a spell that’s lasted five generations. Koráy is long gone from the world, but her spell remains strong.”

Ketty clasped her hands together. Her knuckles were white.

Takis said, “The Trenchant is as skilled at spell making as Koráy ever was. Even when he dies, certain spells he has made will go on.”

“You have to help Smoke,” Ketty whispered.

“You have a choice, Ketty. You can die for Smoke, or you can live for Britta. Search your heart. If you can find there some affection for the Trenchant, he will return it tenfold, and if you give him another child, he’ll worship you as he did my mother. But he will never allow Smoke to have the love that was taken away from him.”

Britta was sleeping when Takis handed her back. “I love my brother,” Takis said. “But I love my father too. Koráy’s spell binds us both.”

She left Ketty trembling in the garden.

Tayval was a spider poised at the center of a web of ten thousand threads, forever attuned to their vibrations and what they told her of the world. She read the threads better than Smoke, better than the Trenchant, and far, far better than Takis.

“I am nothing without you,” Takis whispered as she left the garden and entered into the library where Dehan was spending the morning.

Tayval answered from afar,
We are one together
.

It was Tayval who had paid attention to Ketty’s grief and her fury, who had sensed her wakefulness that night Smoke returned late, who had noted her sudden, odd interest in the herb garden—a strange preoccupation given the turmoil in her life—and it was Tayval who’d explained to Takis her chilling conclusion.

Why didn’t I see it?
Takis wondered, remembering the hostility in Ketty’s gaze when Dehan had first lifted her down from his horse, making a claim on her there in the courtyard. Remembering that look, Takis was less surprised than she might have been by what Ketty had contemplated.

It was Dehan’s error to look at the shepherd girl and see only what he wanted to see. Until today it had been Takis’ error to look at Ketty and see only what she expected. Tayval alone had seen through to the truth.

The Trenchant was seated at the library’s large table, in casual discussion with two of his officers. He looked at Takis curiously as she drew near. She said, “I would see you alone when you have time.”

“I have time now.” He pushed back his chair. “We were only discussing the blessings of wives and the charm of their babies.”

Takis smiled. “Or is it the charm of wives and the blessing of babies?”

The officers laughed as Takis left with Dehan.

“What is it then?” he asked when they were together in the hall. “Have you come to tell me you’re returning to the border?”

Takis looked up at him, surprised that he hadn’t already seen it. Tayval had seen it easily.

She opened a door to a rarely used office, looked in to make sure the room was empty, then stepped inside. Dehan followed, but he was suddenly pensive, as if he feared grim news.

“Close the door,” Takis urged him. “Come farther into the room.” When he had done it, she circled around, placing herself between him and the door. She met his perplexed gaze. “My father, I want you to look at me, very closely, very carefully.”

He did it. He looked first with his eyes, and then he looked deeper, into the structure of the threads that defined this reflection of her within the world—and astonishment came over him. Next he looked from right to left as if he could see through the walls—and then he looked up toward Takis’ apartment on the floor above—and fury flared in his eyes. “By Koráy!” he shouted. “What is a Lutawan doing—?”

Takis braced herself, ready to physically wrestle him if he tried to get to the door. But the Trenchant only looked at her, aghast. “I have a new lover,” she warned him in a sharp tone. “One I like very much.”

Dehan made his way to an armchair and sat down. Already his anger had slipped away. He looked up at her in wonder. “You are with child.”

“I am with child,” Takis agreed, still astonished by it herself.

It was Tayval who had first noticed.

Of course.

The Trenchant sent Smoke south again.

He ran the threads and found Rennish as Dehan had instructed. Her mouth set in a hard line when she saw him. She accepted the orders he handed her and read through them without a word. Then she got out a map and showed him his targets, just as she had before.

This time he struck first in the bright light of early morning. The tower of smoke that went up from the burning could be seen for miles. At the next two holdings the families had fled, so he settled for killing the livestock and burning the houses and barns. At the fourth site soldiers awaited him, so he went on. The Trenchant had warned him to avoid melees; he wanted Smoke alive.

At the fifth holding and the sixth he had to hunt down the family members in the field.

The seventh was easier. It was a large holding, with two houses and a barn, but he came at noon when the family was gathered together for their meal.

Then it was done.

Nothing was left but fire, and Britta was safe for another day.

Smoke didn’t know how he could go on.

He fell to his knees in the blistering heat cast off by the curtains of fire that engulfed the houses and the barn. He prayed,
help me break this spell, help me break this spell, help me break this spell
, over and over, while the flames roared and danced around him.

But who would answer a god’s prayers?

One of the houses collapsed, sending a searing gale washing over him. It was a reminder that he had to go. Dehan was very clear in his instructions:
leave no witnesses
. If anyone came to investigate the flames while Smoke was still there, he’d have to kill them too. So he gave up his prayer and stood, only to discover he was already too late.

Three creatures surrounded him. Two were men and one a woman, but they were not human. They were Hauntén. Smoke had never seen his kin before, but he recognized them at once for what they were. They were all tall and very slender, and armed with swords on their backs. They wore their hair long, as Smoke did, but their hair was dark and bound in braids. Their complexions were smooth and smoky. They had gleaming green eyes set in angular faces, with well-defined eyebrows that leaned in, so that they looked enlivened by the energy that precedes a fit of temper.

Of the two men, one had hair shot through with gray. He looked to be as old as the Trenchant. The other was tall and muscular and looked only a little older than Smoke. But it was the woman who caught his eye.

She had the sleek beauty and powerful allure shared by so many dangerous things, from a finely wrought arrowhead, to a graceful blade, to a stalking forest cat. She was dressed simply in leather trousers and a close-fitting, sleeveless leather jerkin that showed off her smoothly-muscled arms. A crest of iridescent green feathers in her hair made her seem taller than she truly was.

Desire flushed through Smoke, but it mixed badly with the primal dread he’d always felt toward the Hauntén and he lashed out, drawing his bloody, chipped sword from his back scabbard and holding it at the ready, his gaze shifting between the three as he gauged which to strike first.

None of them reached for their own weapons. The woman and the younger man traded a condescending look. But the older man, who was dressed in a fine green tunic, spoke to Smoke in a gentle voice, “If we’d come to harm you, Smoke, you would already be dead.”

The woman stepped forward, appraising Smoke with a bold eye. “Didn’t you pray to us? We’ve come in answer.”

All his life Smoke had feared the Hauntén and the dark heart of the forest where they were said to live, without ever knowing why. Even now, as he looked at their sharp faces, instinct told him to flee—but hope held him back. “Who are you?” he asked, lowering the point of his sword.

The older man answered. “My name is Pellas.” He indicated the others. “She is Thellan and he is Gawan. And you, Smoke, share a kinship with us, though you’re Bidden.”

Smoke nodded cautiously. “Through Koráy, long ago. Can you truly break the spell that binds me?” He watched their bodies, not their faces, on guard for the least unexpected move.

“Not from such a distance,” Pellas said. “The Trenchant has hoarded all the power of Koráy. To break his spell we have to meet it as its source.”

“The Trenchant is at Samerhen.”

“That’s a problem,” Thellan said with some remorse. “Samerhen is closed to us.”

Gawan finally spoke, with a hard edge to his voice. “All the Puzzle Lands are locked away behind spells and weavings designed to keep us, your kin, on the outside. You did the same when you lived within the Wild Wood. I wonder what guilt would lead you to fear your own kin?”

“Hush, Gawan!” Pellas snapped. “It’s enough that our families have been a long time apart. It’s natural to fear the unknown.”

It was more than the unknown that Smoke feared, but what did it matter? There was nothing these Hauntén could do to him that would be worse than what the Trenchant had already done. “I can guide you through the weft and into the Fortress of Samerhen. But can you break the spell?”

Pellas nodded. “The cost will be high.”

“I don’t care about the cost. However much you want, I’ll pay it.”