The Pleasure of Memory (58 page)

He braced himself against the tree and climbed his way up the bark. Then he concealed his mail beneath a blanket of leaves and rocks. Once that was done, he sheathed his sword, shouldered his pack, and took back to the trail.

He followed the tracks for most of the morning. It appeared Goudt had actually managed to catch up with the hack. His trail now followed Maeryc’s by only a hundred yards, though it appeared he just couldn’t manage to close those last few feet between them. It was clear they were both badly wounded.

A quarter mile later, the trails turned on each other. The grass was trampled and broken where Goudt had eventually closed the gap with the hack. They’d fought right here, fought seriously enough for blades to be drawn and used. Mawby touched a spot of blood and smelled his fingers. It hadn’t been more than three or four hours ago, though the signs spoke of no victor. Instead of ending there in that trampled grass, the trails simply resumed on the other side of the fight.

Mawby pressed on. They were drifting more easterly now with Maeryc still in front and Goudt trailing by no more than thirty or forty yards. Goudt’s trail was more erratic than before. It wasn’t good news. The blood back at the trampled grass had likely been exclusively his.

The urge to drop into the grass and sleep the pain away was nearly overpowering, but the voices of his dead screaming in his head wouldn’t permit it. The voices of Pa’ana, of Koonta’ar, of Ven, of all those who’d paid with their lives and all those who’d yet pay if he failed compelled him onward. He had to stop the hack. He couldn’t allow the goddamned demon to receive the Blood Caeyl, and he’d fight to prevent that dire outcome just as long as he drew breath.

∞

Beam pulled a wineskin from the pack. The lightness of it gave him pause. He shook it to confirm what his hands already knew, that it was nearly empty. There was another fuller one in supply, but it wouldn’t last long, not with three of them needing it. Once it was spent, they were back to water. It was a discouraging thought.

“Why didn’t you kill me back there?”

Beam looked across the fire at the Vaemyd. Her gaze was every bit as intense as it’d been earlier. “So we’re talking now, are we?” he said more than asked.

“Back where we fell. Back in the water. Why didn’t you just kill me? You had the opportunity and the motive. You might well have just left me there. I’d have drowned in short order and you’d have been free of me.”

Beam struggled with the question. He’d asked himself the same thing as he dragged her through the water. Now, though, as he watched her sitting there bound and bruised and impotent, he knew exactly why he didn’t kill her. Because he wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t in the plan.

Something was different now. There had been a kind of voice speaking to him lately, a voice rising from somewhere deep in the alien, unexplored realm of his mind. It was like a distant memory, confused and vague, but compelling all the same. He knew now that all his loud talk about abandoning her to die here in the tunnels was simple bravado. He knew he’d never do it. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t supposed to do it.

He dropped the skin back in the pack. “Well, just don’t get overly confident, sister,” he said, “I may kill you yet.” More bravado, more dancing around the truth.

“You think that frightens me?” she said back.

The light from the torch fire pulsed erratically against her chiseled features. Her eyes danced in and out of the dark hollows above her cheekbones like jumping spiders. He could see a world of resolve in that face, and there was no shortage of anger, but he saw no evidence of fear.

“No,” he said at last, “I don’t think I’m nearly man enough to scare you.”

“Then why do you waste energy making empty threats?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go getting complacent.”

“I would have advised you to kill me when you had the chance.”

“Is that a threat?”

She shrugged. “Nay, it’s no threat. We’re enemies, you and me. It’s simply a matter of policy.”

“It wasn’t our plan to take a prisoner. You were persistent.”

The light in the sword caeyl suddenly pulsed. He looked past her into the darkness and listened for the impending howl. He was quickly rewarded.

“That’s a Blood Caeyl on that sword.”

Her voice startled him. He hoped she didn’t notice. “Didn’t you hear that?” he asked her.

“I heard it.”

“We’re being tracked.”

She shrugged.

“That doesn’t worry you?”

“Why should it?”

“Why do you think?” he asked.

Again, she shrugged. “How much worse can it get? Besides, they’re nearly a mile back.”

He didn’t understand at first. Then it dawned on him. “The horns,” he said.

“What?”

“I forgot you have the earth sight.”

“Taer-cael.”

“I know what it is,” he snapped. Then he glanced back into the dark tunnel again. “A mile, you say? Both of them?”

“Both of them?” she asked.

“Right. Are they grouped together or is one ahead of the other? They sound separated, at least by a bit.”

She twisted around for look down the tunnel, an effort that looked supremely uncomfortable with her arms bound back around that lizard bone. When she looked at him again, a bemused smile had taken hold of her face.

“What are you grinning at?” Beam asked.

“Tell me you aren’t serious,” she said through a sarcastic grin, “I don’t want to think even less of you than I already do.”

“Serious about what?” Gods, she was the picture of aggravation. If he wanted games, he could talk to the mage.

“There aren’t two of them,” she said, still grinning.

“What are you talking about?”

“There are five.”

The words landed like a cramp. What was she doing? Was she trying to scare him? Did he come off that easy? “Bullshit,” he said, forcing a laugh, “You’re baiting me.”

“Am I?”

“Damn me, yes. You’re lying to rile me up.”

“You don’t seem to need much encouragement to get riled up.”

He studied her, looking for support in his belief that she was gaming him, but found nothing. In fact, he somehow knew that she was actually telling the truth. The revelation arrived from places unknown, places deeper in his psyche than he had privileges to. It was as though her thoughts were a kind of rope that he’d used to climb into her mind.

He shook the sensation away. “No,” he muttered to himself, “Impossible.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You said impossible.”

“I was just talking to myself.”

They fell back into stiff silence.

After a bit, the warrior said, “That’s a Blood Caeyl in that sword.”

“Yeah, you said that. I had another one a few hours ago. Maybe you remember it?”

“Where’d you find it?”

“None of your business.”

“I know where you found the first caeyl. You robbed it from our dead. Where’d you find the sword? Who’d you defile to get it?”

“Are you deaf?” Beam said, “I said it’s none of your bloody business. Now, go back to sleep.”

Even after warning her off, he could feel her eyes continuing to probe him. She suspected there was more to him than she’d assumed. Again, he didn’t know how he knew it, but he did know it.

He sent her a warning look, but she just kept staring.

“What are you gaping at?” he said sharply, “Do I have something on my face?”

“Not on your face.”

“Are you incapable of getting to a point?”

“You don’t like to dance,” she said, grinning, “I get that. There’s nothing on your face, but I suspect there’s something behind your ears.”

Beam froze. It was impossible. He was too dark to be Vaemysh, and his hair was long enough to cover the stumps. So how could she know? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said without looking at her.

“You’re a bad liar.”

Beam fingered the hilt of the sword resting in the dirt beside him. Why was his heart pounding so hard? Was he going to let a savage goad him?

“I can see through your swagger,” she said, “You’re ashamed of your dark secret.”

He threw himself up onto his knees and leveled his sword blade across the flames at her face. “Don’t think my generosity is without limits, savage,” he said seriously, “I’ll gut you like a pig if you push me far enough, I swear to the gods. You’d do well to shut up before I gag you.”

The Vaemyd didn’t respond and she didn’t break eye contact. Even as his sword tip hovered an inch from her eyes, her gaze remained relentless. If his words intimidated her, he’d never be able to tell by her expression.

He suddenly felt like the village idiot. How had he ended up like this, jabbing his sword into the face of a thoroughly bound prisoner? Even trussed so perfectly at the wrists and feet, she managed to keep the upper hand. It was enough to make him want to cut out her tongue. Unfortunately, the little voice whispering in the back of his mind forbade it.

“Is there a problem, Beam?”

The mage’s words arrived like a parole. Chance was standing back behind her at the edge of the darkness.

Beam rolled back into a sitting position. “No problem, Brother,” he said, smiling sweetly, “I was just showing her my sword.” He sheathed the blade.

Chance walked into camp and dropped his torch into the pile with the other two. He glanced at the warrior, but she only stared into the flames. Then he looked at Beam.

Beam rose to his feet and secured the belt and scabbard around his hips. “Let it go, Chance,” he said, “We were just talking.”

Chance watched him for a few seconds, but apparently decided against pursuing it. “Well,” he said, “Good news. This tunnel stays dry. I don’t see any evidence that we can’t press on. A day and a half from now we’ll be topside again.”

Beam scooped up his weapons belt and began strapping the crossbow and quiver across his chest. As he fussed with the great buckle, he watched the mage stowing the remains of their supplies. The man was looking closer to a corpse by the hour. He wished he could somehow use the caeyl to heal Chance the way it was healing him.

“I’m going to release the binds on her legs,” Chance said, “Give me a hand lifting her.”

They gripped the warrior under the arms and hoisted her to her feet. As Chance knelt down to free the ropes from her legs, Beam gave her bicep a rough squeeze. “Remember the promise you made him,” he whispered to her, “If you can’t keep your word, my knife will keep it for you.”

As he released her, he noticed the tattoo on her arm. It was a tree with a sunburst in the crown. In the middle of the sun was an eye. It was exactly like the one on the tomb where he’d found the first caeyl. The entire image. It was identical.

He backed away from her. It’s impossible. A coincidence, nothing more. Ignore it.

Chance stood with the rope dripping from his hands. “I fully share Beam’s sentiment,” he said to her, “Should you attempt violence toward either of us, I’ll destroy the elixir. I know you have no fear of death. I can see that in your eyes. But the notion of dying down here in the throes of terror holds a greater influence than even
your
valor. And such a death will serve your people no honor.”

“I’m no more afraid of you than him,” she said back.

Chance looked up at the head of his staff. He’d wrapped his caeyl in a spare white shirt to dull the light, but the clay vial containing the elixir dangled from a rawhide cord immediately below it. He waved a hand toward it. The flask began to dance and clack against the staff.

“As you can see,” he said to her, “I can destroy the vial with a simple command. I’ve no need to be near it. We have no plans for you. We have neither the intent nor desire to keep you prisoner. We’ll release you at the next hatch, but only if you cooperate. Do you understand?”

The warrior stared back in silence.

Beam moved to give her bare arm another warning squeeze, but the sight of the tattoo stopped him. The arm was solid muscle anyway; he doubted she’d even feel it. Instead, he turned to Chance and said, “She understands. The question is will she comply?”

She said something to Chance in Vaemysh, and then sent a punctuating glare at Beam.

“He’s confused,” Chance told her, “But on my word, he’s more smoke than fire.”

Beam flinched at that. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Why would you let me go?” the Vaemyd asked Chance while staring at Beam.

“Because you’re not our enemy,” Chance said, “Our adversary, perhaps. Not our enemy.”

“Maybe not
your
enemy,” Beam said with a laugh.

“Then who is your enemy?” she asked Chance.

Beam saw the mage’s face flush as he considered the question.

“My enemy is the same as yours,” Chance said carefully, “My enemy is Prae.”

XXX

THE BAELDON

HOM TOOK A DEEP SLUG OF HIS COFFEE.

It was hot and thick as mud, exactly as he liked it. He put the tin mug down on the plank, graffiti-scarred table and leaned back in his chair. The early morning sunlight swept over his hand and mug. Their conjoined shadows spilled across a spent plate of eggs and a dejected looking fork.

He ripped off a bit of bread and swiped up the last of the greasy yolk. As he chewed, he gazed out the tall, paned window standing watch over his table. Steam simmered from the rolling meadow beyond the uneven glass as the morning sun enthusiastically burned away the dew. It promised to be a glorious day, far too glorious for thoughts of war with Parhron.

He dragged a napkin through his short-cropped beard and dropped it on the plate. A woman sauntered up to the table, set down a large, fire-darkened metal coffee pot, and began clearing his dishes. As she worked, she flashed him a smile that spread the full breadth of her face. Jhom felt the heat boil through his loins, and he immediately cursed himself for it. He was such an easy mark.

Then again, why wouldn’t her attention enthrall him? She was a substantial woman even by Baeldonian standards, with arms like tree limbs and an ass like a mine car. He wanted her as much as he wanted to breathe. As she brushed the table crumbs onto the plate, her widely spaced brown eyes found his. She flashed him another crippling smile.