The False Martyr (22 page)

“
Teth!” he called from
directly above her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He held her head,
stared into her eyes, tried to make them see him. Rain poured from
him. The deck below ran with water to match the river they rode.
Thunder roared through the sky, blast after blast until they were
nearly indistinguishable. “Can you walk? We need to move. We need
to get out of sight and out of this rain.” Teth did not look at
him, did not move. She moaned long and low, like a woman
acknowledging the death of her husband after a long illness, the
sadness of a terribly certainty realized.

Dasen tried to check the
sky, but it was worthless against the rain. The drops were so big,
fell with such force that it was like being pelted by a thousand
tiny stones. They needed to get out of this before it turned to
hail or, even worse, one of the creatures above.

He pulled at Teth’s hand
to bring her to her feet. Her arm hung limp. She moaned again.
Water soaked her clothes, matted her hair. She did nothing to brush
it away. Dasen opened his mouth, found himself spitting water
before he could form words. Finally, he grabbed Teth’s arms at the
wrist and pulled. She did nothing to assist or resist as he dragged
her across the boat’s long deck to its first aberration, a square
hatch just past the middle. Two paces long and another wide, it sat
on the deck like a lid on a pot, fitting over a short wooden
border. With some effort, he lifted it and slid it out of the way.
Inside was gloom. Dasen could just make out the bottom where it met
the end of a steep set of stairs.

Without knowing what he
planned, he maneuvered Teth to the top of the stairs and supported
her head on his shoulder as he climbed down, dragging her body
behind. Finally, he reached the bottom of the steps just as Teth’s
feet caught on the lip above. He tugged, lost his balance and
tumbled backward into the hold. Teth landed on top of him, lips
nearly touching, legs spread around him, body pressed close through
their soaking clothes. Dasen wanted to pull her closer still, to
celebrate their escape as they had their reunion in the tower a few
infinite minutes before.

Teth came alive.
“Agggghhhh!” she screamed. She struggled to get off of him, brought
her knee up suddenly and caught him in the groin. He doubled over.
“Aggghhhh!” she screamed again and leapt up. “No. For the Order’s
sake, no!” Through bleary eyes, Dasen watched her stumble back. He
held himself and gasped. “The Order be damned!” she screamed at the
sky above. “I can’t do it anymore. Do you hear me? I can’t!” She
fell onto the small bed at her side, curled into a ball facing the
planks, and convulsed.

“
What is it?” Dasen
finally managed to croak. “Teth, what’s wrong? We’re safe. We’re in
the river. The creatures are gone.” He came to his knees, still
panting, and looked toward her. Her head was turned, tucked to her
chest, hidden by the curve of her spine. He reached out to touch
her, to comfort her.

She screamed, contorted
from him as if his hand were a snake. “Stop!” she called. “Don’t
touch me!” She looked back at him with the most terrible expression
that he had ever seen. It was a look of purest horror and
resentment. Prior to that moment, Dasen could not have imagined it
on her. Through everything, through all their struggles and strife,
she had never looked at him with anything that came close to that
malevolence. It froze him in place, made his heart stop, turned his
blood to ice. He pulled his hand away and stammered but could
manage nothing more against that.

Teth’s face collapsed. Her
fear and anger turned to sorrow, and she curled back toward the
wall, pressed into it as if trying to become one with the wood. She
moaned and sputtered, and Dasen sat there feeling numb despite the
stream of water pouring onto his head from above.

Not knowing what else to do, he shambled up
the ladder and returned the hatch to its place. He slipped back
down, hitting each rung with his spine and landing hard on his
rear. Silent with pain, he sat in the darkness, ground his teeth,
and listened to the rain, the thunder, the river, and Teth moaning,
crying, sniffling.
What could have brought her to this?
Dasen tortured himself in search of an answer. Cold and wet and
saved again, he wondered how even their good fortune had turned
into misery.

Chapter 14

The
23
^rd
Day of Summer

At a time when Cary
normally would have been finding his bed, the sun was just setting
beyond the hill, casting a glow on the trees so that the very air
seemed to shimmer. It added a sense of otherworldliness to the
already miraculous scene below. They had just emerged from the
dense northern forests, following their Morg guide between two
hills that might have, in other parts of the world, qualified as
mountains. From the final ridge, they looked out on a valley.
Stretching to the horizon on either side and on to the barely
visible frozen tops of the Ice Mountains in the distant north, it
was the first open land they had seen since Holden Vale. The fields
were grassy but sparse, almost grey rather than the verdant green
of the great Liandrin plains. Animals grazed in those fields, but
the herds were small and heavily spaced around the smattering of
steep hills that rose from the grasslands like bent knees rising
from under a sheet. But all of these were mere distractions from
the true spectacle: the largest single building in the known world,
the oldest and mightiest of all Morg lodges.

“
Tourswak Lodge,” their
Morg guide, Ivak, answered the unasked question. It was as many
words as he had said since he had told them that they would reach
the lodge today. Cary had started to doubt. They had been riding
through the rough terrain – the Morg jogging in the lead – since
the sun had risen. Here in the far north, in the height of summer,
it had been a long day even for Cary, who nearly lived in a saddle.
The ambassador that they were escorting – a young and able man for
the position, but still an aristocrat to his bones – looked like he
might fall from his horse at any moment. Cary remained impressed at
how little he had complained. He had seen the way he walked and
knew from experience the sores that must have formed on his rear.
The same could not be said for the dozen rangers that completed
their party. Their groans and grunts were enough to fill the whole
of the North.

“
Is this your lodge?”
Ambassador Chulters asked the Morg, still trying to squeeze
conversation from the man who had accompanied them since the border
and with all the success of a man trying to milk a bull.

“
Humph,” the Morg
answered. Cary cringed. The tattoo on the Morg’s neck was the head
of a wolf. It was too much of a coincidence that it matched the
flag that he had seen through the trees as they were guided around
Inuvik Lodge. Even Cary knew the pride that Morgs put into their
lodges. He could only imagine that suggesting a man belonged to
another was like asking a Pindarian merchant if he was from the
Empire. Ivak, in true Morg style, said nothing more about it. He
jogged down the hill toward the vast buildings in the valley below,
seemingly oblivious to the hesitation of the overawed southerners
he was leading.

Lost between cursing the
Order for their aching backsides and thanking it for the end of
their journey and the ale they hoped to find there, two of the
rangers followed the Morg down the hill, stocky mountain ponies
picking their way carefully down the slope with an experience born
rather than bred. Waiting his turn, Cary took the opportunity to
examine the incredible structure below. Just as the stories had
said, the lodge was every bit the size of a city. It sprawled
across the entire valley a mile or more square. The structures were
generally low, no more than two, maybe three, stories. The hills,
which had been entirely consumed, were its towers with glinting
windows showing that they had been hollowed. The streets were
enclosed walkways, but they were few. Most of the buildings – built
entirely of great wooden logs – were directly connected. The
defining structure were a series of enormous halls one after
another built like a wall a hundred paces thick bordering the
entire complex, broken only where they consumed a hill. Inside that
wall were even larger structures, most closely resembling enormous
manor houses. Intersperses with them were smaller buildings that
might be cottages or shed. Fields of wheat, rye, and vegetables
were tucked between the structures. And every building was
connected, but not like the row houses that were the hallmark of
Gorin East. Even from this distance, Cary could tell that this was
a single structures, not separate ones that had been built
together. He had heard the stories, of course, but he had never
completely grasped what it would look like for an entire city to be
composed of one continuous building.

“
Impressive, isn’t it,
lad?” Ambassador Chulters said from Cary’s side. He called Cary lad
though the noble could not be more than ten years his senior. The
ambassador liked to talk whether or not anyone cared to listen, and
Cary seemed to have his favorite set of ears.

“
Tis, my lord.”

“
You realize that we are
the first outsiders to see it in a generation? They only allow
outsiders across the border to negotiate the hire of entire
lodges.” The ambassador lowered his voice at the last though he had
told all this to Cary before.

“
So you’ve said, my lord.”
Cary put slack in the reins of his horse so that the creature could
follow its fellows down the hill. He shifted his weight back,
allowing the animal to find its own path and footing. Beside him,
the ambassador was fighting his animal, pulling the reins to steer
it down a clearer, but steeper slope. “Sir, if I may, these horses
are bred to this terrain. Trust him, and he’ll deliver you
safe.”

The noble looked at Cary
sharply then at the horse, who was staunchly refusing his commands.
He released a breath and matched Cary’s posture. “Quite right. You
are the horse expert, after all.”

Emboldened – and tired –
Cary took another chance. “Our guide, my lord.”

“
Taciturn fellow, isn’t
he? If they’re all like that, it’s going to be a very quick
negotiation.”

“
Yes, sir, but I think he
is from Inuvik Lodge.”

“
How do you know that?”
Ambassador Chulters snapped. “Has he been talking to you? I can’t
get more than three words from him. What else has he told
you?”

“
No, sir. It’s his tattoo,
sir.”

“
That horrible
wolf?”

Cary’s breath caught. He
looked toward Ivak, but he was almost to the bottom of the hill,
well out of hearing. “I saw the same symbol on a flag when we
passed Inuvik, sir.”

“
Is that so?” The
ambassador looked at Cary, seeming to consider something. “I should
have realized that. The Morgs that worked for my family did not
have tattoos, but they were not members of lodges. How did you make
the connection?”

It seemed obvious to Cary,
but he could not say that to the noble. “I notice things, my lord.
Being around animals, it’s a good skill to have.”

“
Very well, then you will
notice things on this trip as well. Report directly to me if you
see or hear anything that may be of import.” The ambassador looked
around him, turning conspiratorial. “Remember, we are just setting
the table. The prince is coming here personally with enough gold to
fill the whole of the Fells, but it’s a long trip with loaded
wagons. If we can get a deal before they arrive, all the better,
but most important is that everything is ready when they do
arrive.”

“
Understood, sir. I am
here for anything you need.”

“
Thank you, Corporal. I .
. . .”

“
I want one o’ them Morg
women,” a voice carried too loud from behind them. The rangers were
discussing what they would do when they arrived at their
destination with most of the comments relegated to the copious
consumption of the Morgs’ famous dark ales. At the word ‘women’,
Ambassador Chulters nearly fell from his horse.

“
You will never speak of
Morg women again,” he hissed, turning in his saddle so that he was
almost sitting backward. He stared down the soldiers, withering
their joviality like dry leaves in a fire. “You will not touch a
Morg woman. You will not look at a Morg woman. If I even hear the
word, you will lose your commission and walk back to Liandria
alone. Am I understood?”

The men grumbled but
nodded, looking chastened. “Sorry, my lord. We’s just talkin’,” the
leader of the group said in way of explanation. “Leo here didn’t
mean offense. Won’t happen again.”

“
It better not. If we
fail, the whole of Liandria will be at the mercy of the invaders
and their Imperial lackeys. Think on that before you open your
mouths. And then think on Morg honor. If you don’t care about your
country, maybe you love your heads enough to not insult a Morg
woman, because if you do, you’ll be fighting one of the men, and
you’ll lose. Make sure your fellows understand as well.” He
gestured forward, meaning the men who had proceeded
them.

“
Sir, yes, my lord,” the
sergeant replied. “We’ll keep our heads.” Carey suppressed a laugh
as the rangers and ambassador failed to see the irony of the
statement.

Ambassador Chulters gave
them a last odious look and turned forward. The horses were just
descending the last of the hill. Ivak was waiting for them, the
lead rangers already flanking him. “I want you with me, Corporal.
These other men are far too base for this work. I understand you
grew up in the Royal Palace?”