The Sons of Hull (20 page)

ASK HIM ABOUT JASIMOR
.

The now-unmistakable voice thundered in her head, bringing her to her knees. “No!” she cried helplessly, “You never do this! Let me be!”

Vancien watched in surprise as the woman crumpled before him, sobbing and clutching her head. What had happened? He stepped toward her, but she struck out at him like a cornered animal.

“Go away! Quickly! He sees you here!”

He sprang back. Was this a trap from Amarian? “Who sees me here? My lady, who are you?”

She collapsed in the snow without responding. He rushed up to her, relieved to see that she had only fainted, nothing worse. Instinctively, he moved to pick her up and take her back to camp. But what had she said? What if this
was
a trap?

He hesitated, uncertain. Then he heard Telenar calling. Marking his long absence, the priest must have decided to go looking for him.

“Over here, Telenar!”

In a few moments, Telenar was there, staring with him down at the unconscious woman. Vancien related all that had happened while Telenar let out a low whistle.

“She must be from Obsidian. Perhaps your brother sent her as a ploy?”

“Send me a woman as a diversion? I suppose he might think that way, but surely he would know me well enough that I will not be distracted by a prostitute.”

Telenar grimaced at Vancien’s haughty tone but decided not to address it. Instead, he knelt down and brushed away the woman’s hair. She was pale but beautiful. Her clothing spoke not of prostitution but of royalty. He shook his head. Surely not. Not even Amarian would send out—well, maybe he would. Sitting back on his haunches, he pondered the idea. How often had the Prysm Advocates fought for Verial and how often had they been defeated because of it? Now Amarian was sending the distraction to them, instead of waiting for them to come looking for her. It was certainly possible that Vancien might fall prey to her charms. He looked again at her. From what Vancien had said, it appeared that she was undergoing some type of rebellion. This one might still be claimed for the Prysm, but at what cost? Her turn of heart coupled with her beauty would undoubtedly capture Vancien's attention. And then what would happen?

“Telenar?”

Telenar abruptly jumped to his feet, brushing the snow off his legs. “Leave her.”

“Excuse me?”

“She will indeed be a distraction. We must leave her here.”

Vancien could not believe what he was hearing. “Abandon her? Just like that? She might be a prostitute, but she deserves—”

Telenar caught him by the arm before he could pick her up. “She’s not a prostitute, Vance. This is Verial.”

It took a moment for the name to process. Even when it did, Vancien did not show the concern Telenar was expecting. “Really? I kind of doubted that she existed. But this is her? How do you know?
“Look at her clothing. She’s dressed like a queen. Amarian knows you well enough not to trouble you with a mere prostitute.” The last word was a mimic of Vancien’s earlier scornful tone.

“But why would he think that I would be tempted by
her
?”

Telenar saw his chance, but even as he seized it, he knew it would not work. “He obviously does not know you
that
well.” Propelling Vancien gently away, he added, “Don’t worry, Amarian won’t leave her out in the cold for long. We have to get back to N’vonne.”

But Vancien would not be swayed so easily. “We can’t just leave her! If she was sent here on a mission to deceive me, what will happen when Amarian finds out that she has failed? What will he do to her?”

“What will he do to Rhyvelad if
you
fail? You cannot be concerned about her right now. Perhaps you can rescue her after you’ve won.”

Vancien’s look was hard. “You mean after Kynell’s won. It’s his battle, remember? And he’s in charge. Besides, what’s the point of fighting some great battle if you allow casualties like this along the way?”

Telenar clenched his teeth. “Casualties like this? She
chose
, Vancien. A long time ago. And she can choose to leave any time she wants.”

“And where would she go? Amarian would find her. She’s only protected if she’s around me.”

“Which is exactly what he wants! It’s like inviting a spy and a thief into your house! She’ll tell him all we do and try to steal your heart, as well.”

“I’m sorry, Telenar, but I will not leave her here. Look, she’s starting to wake up.”

It was consequently under both Verial’s and Telenar’s protests that all three of them went back to camp. N’vonne had decided to collect her own firewood, so she had some sort of meal prepared upon their return.

“Who is this?” she asked curtly, noticing a fourth and unwelcome party.

Vancien winced at the steel in her voice. Hospitality must be the first casualty in such tense times. He did not answer, but directed Verial toward the fire and gave her a bowl for the stew. Telenar, meanwhile, headed straight for N’vonne and whispered something into her ear.

“Verial!” The cry tore through the still night with all the gentleness of an avalanche. Ladle in hand and red hair blazing in the firelight, N'vonne marched over to the newcomer. “You think to come here and steal Vancien away from us? Trollop! Did that Corfe fellow send you?” She suddenly turned towards the mountains. “Corfe!” she shouted, still brandishing her ladle. “Come out and get your filthy leftovers! We don’t want her!”

Nobody answered. Vancien, meanwhile, rushed to Verial’s side. “N’vonne, it was
I who brought her here! But if Corfe has had any trouble tracking us, he’ll sure be able to find us now. Besides, she didn’t want to come. And Telenar didn’t want her to come. So leave her alone!”

N’vonne withdrew the ladle and glared at him. “Why did you bring her here?”

“Because she needed help. And I didn’t want her to go back to Amarian.”

“Well, she can’t stay. I’d sooner feed her to the voyoté than have her poison us all.”

This time it was Telenar’s turn to react. “Enough, N’vonne!” Then to Vancien, “By the Plains of Jasimor, Vance, you’ve put us in quite a spot.”

As if struck by lightning, Verial jumped to her feet. “Jasimor!” She looked wildly at Vancien. “You must go—must not go—to Jasimor.”

Casting one last wary look toward N’vonne, Vancien took the frightened woman’s hand. “It’s all right. Calm down. Which is it? Must I go, or must I not go?”

“You’re going to listen to her?” Telenar interjected.

“Why not? We don’t have a Dedication site yet.”

But Verial had withdrawn her hand and sat back down, mumbling to herself. “He’s going to kill Gair. No, not kill him. Destroy him, little by little. All is out. I have made everything open and he won’t like it. But maybe he will.”

“Vance,” Telenar raised his voice above her ramblings. “I don’t think she’s quite right in the head.”

But Vance was kneeling beside her, treating her as if she were a scared kit. “Shhh, Verial. It’s all right. Who is Gair? Is Amarian going to do something to him? What won’t he like?”

Verial’s beautiful face was tear-stained and her eyes were red, but when she spoke, her voice was even. “I hate him. I’ve hated all of them. All they do is use me. He’s using me now, no matter what I do.” She looked sharply at him. “I should leave you, but if I do, he’ll torment the only person I care anything about. I can’t let that happen. I do not know you and I do not care about you.”

Vancien was still for a moment, wondering what he should do next. What would Kynell have him do? What she had said convinced him more than ever that she should not leave. At least, not in this state. “If you go, he will hurt you and Gair. If you stay, he will probably still hurt Gair.”

She shook her head. “No. Gair is a knife leveled at my throat and yours. Once he is thrown into the Chasm, there is little else Amarian can do to him. He sits now on the edge of the abyss, every day looking down into it and knowing, as I know, that his life is in my hands.”

“Who is this Gair?” Telenar snapped, finally feeling that it was safe to let go of N’vonne.

She sighed, hoping no Sentries were close enough to hear but certain that it would make little difference anyway. “He’s one of Amarian’s guards, but he’s different. He does not worship Zyreio.”

“He is of the Prysm?”

She nodded miserably. “That makes him a traitor. Do you know what Amarian does to traitors? The only reason he’s alive now is because of me.”

Vancien looked at Telenar. A spy in Zyreio’s camp? Maybe the situation was not so bad after all. “If he is a servant of Kynell, then he is under much better protection than we—or you, my lady—can offer. Kynell won’t let him be thrown into the Chasm.”

If her experience with Gair had warmed her to the idea of good in the world, the presence of these Prysmites simply galled her. Vancien was as thick as only a boy of nineteen cycles could be. “Really? I’ve seen many a kind man thrown in there before. What makes Gair so different? Kynell’s power does not extend so far.”

But Vancien cut her off. “Kynell’s power extends everywhere, Lady. Everywhere.”

She didn’t have a response. Instead, she ate the food N’vonne shoved at her in silence, more certain than ever that Kynell didn’t stand a chance.

__________

Ranti and Corfe watched the scene with amusement. Then Corfe sent the detestable creature off to report to Amarian. That would give him a week or so of relief. He sometimes wished Sentries moved a little slower—the fact that they could run three times as fast as a human meant that Ranti would be back by his side all the quicker. He returned his gaze to the girl. What was Verial thinking, spilling her guts out to the enemy? She had gone soft, and very quickly. Corfe wondered who Gair was. He had never met him and could only presume that such a turncoat had already received his reward. A servant of Kynell in the lord’s service? What stupidity! As soon as this turncoat was out of Verial’s sight, Amarian would undoubtedly teach him a well-deserved lesson.

He shivered from his hiding place. How long was Amarian planning to keep him on this assignment, anyway?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gair had indeed just left Verial when the Sentries began closing in on him. He swallowed hard, not relishing the upcoming interview.

“We are under orders not to kill you yet,” one of the creatures wheezed. They were words of small comfort, considering what followed. He attempted to fight back, but what man alive can take on three Sentries? Soon a pair of claws sunk into his arm, sending stabs of pain up to his shoulder, followed quickly by another set of claws in his leg. Kynell help him, this was going to hurt. He had fainted away by the time the second Sentry descended on him.

He awoke a few times during the painful journey, but not completely until he was lying on a stone floor, both his arms and legs horribly mangled. Surveying the damage a little closer, he had to stifle a cry: his left leg had been severed below the knee. Where his calf and foot should have been, there was only blood-stained floor. Unclean bandages and a tourniquet had been haphazardly applied to stop the bleeding but were in no way conducive to healing. They were meant only to keep him alive.

Then he noticed that Amarian was standing over him.

“Welcome back, Captain.”

The two of them were in a small cell, clearly intended as Gair’s new residence. It had a sloping, barrel-shaped ceiling that came down so low against the wall that Gair’s head bumped it from his seat on the floor. A bit of hay had been thrown in the corner to serve as a bed. To complete the nakedness of the room, there was no window; the only source of light was from the torch in Amarian’s hands. Gair watched it greedily, trying not to wince from the pain.

“Oh, please, go ahead and grimace. I know it hurts. You know it hurts. That’s the whole point.” Amarian then lazily kicked one of Gair’s supporting arms, sending him crashing to the ground again. The scene made him smile as he settled himself on a short stool to watch the entertainment. But Gair whispered a prayer for help and forced himself to sit up again and meet his gaze.

“You were praying, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that I can tell when
his
name is mentioned, even thought, in my presence?”

“You can’t make me stop.” That was a bit of bravado. But Amarian only laughed.

“Why would I? Pray away, my friend! Pray away! Pray to that great god of the Prysm! He will surely deliver you. Of couse, you will have to suffer a little, but what is pain to a martyr?”

Gair looked down, disconcerted that his captor knew his thoughts so well.

“Don’t be surprised, little one,” Amarian continued. “Your thoughts are not original. Many have thought them before and many will think them again. If I cannot enter your mind and pluck them out—and why would I want to do that?—then I can read your face like a book. A very boring, poorly written book.”

“Why am I still alive?”

“Why indeed? I should have thrown you into the Chasm hours ago.” Amarian waved his hand at the wall as a black splotch started overtaking the stones. It grew wide, swallowing everything, even the hay, into its darkness. And as it grew, sharp cries, many of them human, began to fill the room.