The Jewel of Turmish (38 page)

Borran Kiosk ignored her. Instead, he watched the jeweled pieces cycle faster, blazing with color.

“With this device, Taraketh imported bees, which are the most important creature in the ecology of any land. Without bees, nothing gets pollinated. Without pollination, nothing grows. Without growth, everything dies.”

His purple tongue flicked out toward her face to make sure he had her undivided attention.

The woman turned away in fear and disgust.

Appreciating both emotions, the mohrg pulled his tongue back and continued.

“I learned about my enemies. I found their weakness. If I found a way to destroy all the bees in these lands, the lands would die, and the people living here would be forced to move or die as well. So I tracked down Taraketh’s Hive, and I found out how to call forth vangdumonders.”

Her lack of comprehension showed on her face.

“Vangdumonders are parasitic creatures from another plane,” Borran Kiosk said. “They prey on bees and other pollinators, but they do not spread pollen themselves. Once I introduce the vangdumonders into this ecology, they will kill the bees and replace them, but they won’t be taking care of the pollination. Everything—everything— will be unable to reproduce. There will be no fruit, no vegetables. In short order, no plant life at all.”

“That can’t happen,” the woman argued, struggling against Allis’s spider’s legs.

“It can,” Borran Kiosk crowed in triumph, “and it will. You get to be the first to watch as I bring the vangdumonders into this world. Be sure to tell those damned druids what you see here.”

The woman made another effort to free herself, but it was useless against Allis’s greater strength.

Borran Kiosk returned his attention to the incantation, mouthing the words he’d learned all those years before.

The lights flaring inside the jewel sped faster and faster, but instead of producing the first of the vangdumonders, they continued to gather speed. A humming noise flared to life, driving pain deep into Borran Kiosk’s bones.

Something was wrong. He could feel it. The connections that were supposed to be made weren’t being made. It came to him in a rush. The damned druid had used magic to seal the fifth piece of the jewel.

Borran Kiosk cursed. The druid’s spell would have in no way withstood the powers he could bring to bear. Desperate, the mohrg tried to put a halt to the process his incantation had started, but it was too late.

Once initiated, the spell had to run its course, and it would fail. It would—

The explosion knocked Borran Kiosk from his feet, driving him backward and blowing him end over end. His senses reeled, and he almost blacked out. Staggered, he forced himself up, peering through the smoky haze at the five pieces of Taraketh’s Hive. The five jewels lay scattered across the cobblestone street, all of them inert and dark. He couldn’t reach them with his mind.

A tingle made its way up his arm. He glanced down and saw that Malar’s Glove lay in tiny coral pieces across the street from where he and the five jewels lay. The glove had somehow protected him from the full power of the spell’s misfire.

Joy washed through Borran Kiosk, then he saw the druid—the damned druid that he thought he’d already killed—step from the soot-blasted wall where the fireball had exploded.

§Ś

Haarn ended the spell that had kept him safe from harm inside the solid stone wall and went into motion at once, flicking a pair of throwing knives at the giant spider’s head. The blades whirled through the air and embedded in the werespider, one of them sinking through an opal eye.

The spider screamed in a woman’s voice and drew back. Druz took advantage of the spider’s painful distraction and freed herself. Before the werespider could react, Druz hacked off two of the legs on her left side, causing it to fall. While the spider scuttled, trying to get back to its remaining feet, Druz stepped in and hacked off its head.

Haarn was in motion, diving for the scimitar and dodging Borran Kiosk’s tongue as the spider’s head bounced

across the cobblestones and became a woman’s head. The head wore a shocked expression.

As fast as he’d moved, even after healing himself while he was inside the stone wall, Haarn couldn’t completely avoid Borran Kiosk’s barbed tongue. It ripped along his left shoulder, tearing and searing into the flesh. The druid came up in a roll, putting the pain out of his mind, focusing on the mohrg.

Borran Kiosk succeeded in pushing himself to his feet, and the purple tongue darted out like a rapier, striking over and over again.

Haarn was hard-pressed to keep the tongue from piercing his throat or stabbing into his face. The blows he blocked brought fiery pain to his arms as he struggled to compensate against the undead thing’s incredible strength. He had to keep the fight going; he couldn’t allow Borran Kiosk one moment’s respite for the mohrg to use his magic.

Every time he swung his scimitar to block one of the mohrg’s attacks, Haarn took a step forward, chasing his opponent back against the building on the other side of the street. The druid’s advance was relentless, his swordplay the best it had ever been. He fought with memory of all those who had been ripped from their mortal coils that night, for those who had stood against Borran Kiosk all those years before, and for the girl who had died only moments before.

And he fought for the preservation of all that Silvanus had entrusted him with. If Borran Kiosk escaped, Haarn had no doubt the mohrg would take Taraketh’s Hive and summon the vangdumonders. Borran Kiosk had been right about that: if the bees died in a place, so did that place. A creature that any civilized person would take for granted was the basic ingredient of the chain of life Silvanus had taught his followers to so revere.

“Stand away, boy,” Borran Kiosk said, even though his tongue never once stopped flicking. The barbed end tore into Haarn’s left thigh. “I’ve no wish to fight you. You can live.”

“And you can die,” Haarn growled, swinging the scimitar again.

His arms felt like lead and his breath came hard, burning the back of his throat and deep into his lungs.

Pressing his advantage, Haarn took two quick steps forward, slamming blow after blow at the mohrg, almost reaching him. Druz remained back, unable to get any closer. Haarn had to move so fast and so broadly there was no room for her to join the battle.

Blood dripped from Haarn’s wounded shoulder, running down the length of his arm in crimson threads that made their way down to his hands and dripped on the cobblestones. His foot hit a patch of his own blood and he slipped. It wasn’t much of a slip, but it was enough for Borran Kiosk to try to seize the advantage.

Quick as a darting hummingbird, lethal as a striking viper, the mohrg’s tongue leaped for Haarn’s face. The druid knew he had no defense. He couldn’t get the scimitar up at an angle to deflect the tongue, and he couldn’t dodge, and sticking an arm in front of his face would only add one more layer of flesh and bone for the tongue to go through before it pierced his head.

Instead, Haarn lifted the scimitar and held it edge-out, concentrating on the tongue, making himself one with his weapon, keeping the balance between fear and hope as Silvanus’s teachings instructed.

The tongue slammed into the scimitar, then split into halves. The horrendous wound spilled no blood, but Borran Kiosk shrilled in surprised pain. Grabbing the retreating tongue with one hand, Haarn let the dreadful appendage pull him toward his opponent. Borran Kiosk didn’t see him coming until it was too late.

Putting his weight into the blow, Haarn drew the scimitar from under his wounded arm in a backhanded slash that caught Borran Kiosk beneath the chin. The scimitar sliced through the long, purple tongue and it flopped to the ground like a dying snake. The heavy blade caught halfway through the mohrg’s spine at the base of the skull.

No mercy in him, Haarn gripped the back edge of the scimitar blade, stepped forward, and twisted the sword as hard as he could.

Borran Kiosk’s head snapped free of the spine and sailed through the air. It bounced against the wall behind him then came to a rest at Haarn’s feet.

Striding forward, Haarn shoved the rest of Borran Kiosk’s body down. He knelt beside the skull, looking into the lighted eye hollows, knowing that the evil entity that was the mohrg still dwelt somewhere inside. Using his scimitar as a prying instrument, Haarn pulled one of the big cobblestones from the street. He lifted it in both hands then smashed it into Borran Kiosk’s skull.

“Noooooo—”

The scream died midway through.

Bony splinters were all that remained of the skull.

That won’t get rid of him, you know.”

Breathing hard, still bleeding a copious amount from his wounded shoulder, Haarn glanced up at Druz Talimsir.

“I know,” he said, “but there was a certain satisfaction in breaking his head.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father and the others will know what to do with Borran Kiosk’s remains so that he can never return.”

He opened the magical bag of holding at his waist and shoved the mohrg’s skeleton into it. At least there—if Borran Kiosk found a way to return to life in the next few minutes—the mohrg would be stuck in the neverwhere that the bag of holding gave access to.

Druz’s gaze turned tender, and it was surprising to see how she could pull it off wearing a layer of soot and bloodstains.

T thought you were dead,” she said. “Almost,” he replied.

A few feet away, Broadfoot woke and gave an angry snuffle. The bear pawed with grave suspicion at the pile of skeletons he was lying on. When none of them moved, he pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying. He bawled,

shook his head, and approached Haarn, butting his head into the druid.

Haarn scratched the bear’s head, then he gazed up at Alaghôn. Gray smoke stained the black sky.

“Let’s go,” he said, pushing himself up. “There’s still a battle to be won here.”

The sun came up early in the eastern sky, turning it pink and purple. Haarn sat atop one of the buildings that had survived the night’s fires and looked out over the Sea of Fallen Stars.

A growl echoed up the side of the building, but Haarn refused the call. Restless and irritable, Broadfoot padded at the base of the building. The great bear wanted to eat and sleep, but more than anything he wanted to get out of Alaghôn.

The excited yaps and growls of wild dogs and wolves filled the streets. After Borran Kiosk’s defeat, the sea zombies had abandoned the battle, withdrawing back to the sea. Whatever magic bound them to the ruins of the Whamite Isles still called them.

Letting out a deep breath to relax tired muscles that hurt all over, Haarn turned his face up to the sun. He took solace in the basking heat, which eased his troubled thoughts.

Ettrian and the Elder Circle had taken the bag of holding containing Borran Kiosk’s remains. Shinthala Deepcrest went back to the House of Silvanus in Ilighdn, saying that when she was finished with the mohrg’s body, he would never come back again. Even the priests of Eldath remained quiet about her decision.

Priests sang in the streets below, joined by the townspeople. Their voices lifted with hope buoyed with sorrow. Wagons still gathered the dead.

Boats plied the harbor, salvaging what they could of the ships that had gone down.

The experience was different from anything Haarn had ever imagined when he thought about cities and the people who lived in them. He closed his eyes and let the sunrise play on the backs of his eyelids.

Footsteps sounded on the split wooden shingles that covered the rooftop.

Images of Borran Kiosk’s skeletons and sea zombies filled Haarn’s head. He fisted his scimitar’s hilt and came to his feet, taking one small step to the side.

Druz Talimsir stopped. She was dressed in the same smoke-and battle-damaged clothing she’d worn the night before, but her hair showed signs of an attempt to put it back into place. Her face was clean, but scratches showed on one cheek. She carried a small, covered basket in one hand.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said.

Haarn put the scimitar away and felt a little foolish. The woman had a way of making him feel that way, and when they’d helped rout the last of the sea zombies and aided in putting out the various fires, that feeling had become even stronger.

“I knew you’d be up here,” Druz said. “This was the only building with a bear under it.”

Broadfoot growled, bemoaning his hunger and boredom.

Haarn nodded, not sure at all what to say.

Druz raised the basket and said, “I brought you something to eat. It’s not much. You have to scramble for food down there.”

Haarn waited.

“I mean, if you’ve already eaten,” Druz said, “I’ll take it away.”

“No,” Haarn said. “I haven’t eaten.”

Druz let out a deep breath. “Good. I’d have hated climbing up here for nothing.”

She crossed the rooftop and sat on his side of it, on the side that slanted out toward the Sea of Fallen Stars.

Sitting cross-legged, she whisked the covering off the basket and revealed fresh fruit, salted meat, half a loaf of bread, and wedges of cheese.

Haarn joined her, sitting on the other side of the basket.

Druz chose a dark purple plum and bit into it with her clean white teeth. She wrapped her arms around her knees and looked out at the sea.

“So the world is much bigger than you thought,” she said. “Does it scare you?”

“No.” Haarn chewed on a piece of cheese and swallowed. “It just means the threat of civilization is much larger than Td thought.”

With the danger of Borran Kiosk passed, the divisions between the druids and the citizens of Alaghôn started to become apparent again. Haarn had heard some of the brewing arguments about where the trees would be harvested to replace the burned buildings.

“They will rebuild here, you know,” Druz said.

“I know.”

“So where will you go?”

“Home,” Haarn answered without hesitation. “There is still a lot of work I must do in the lands Silvanus and the Elder Circle have entrusted to me. I will want to check on Stonefur’s cubs and make sure they’re doing all right.”