The Sons of Hull (25 page)

Ovna could not make it far into the woods, but she stalked its border, picking off any who fled in her direction. Amarian let her have her fun while he dismounted, seized a nearby voyoté, and raced after the king. Though Relgaré was already deep into the dark, soggy trees, he had no problem following the bellows of his murderous rage. He soon found him wading through ankle-deep water, beating the bushes stained with Cylini blood and shouting for another challenger. Relgaré had also dismounted; except for his voyoté a few yards off, he was quite alone.

Amarian approached slowly, noting the bodies at Relgaré’s feet. “My liege, where are your men?”

Relgaré stopped his call for blood and focused on the figure riding out of the shadows. “Hull? Is that you? Curse them all, they were taken by another ambush. The Cylini jumped out of nowhere and,” he surveyed the damage around him, “my men put up quite a fight. I was able to finish off the few they left alive.”

Amarian now emerged fully into the lunos-light, his glinting armor showing no signs of a fight. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Relgaré put down his sword. “But you look like you haven’t fought at all.”

“By the time Ovna finished her dive, there was little fighting left to do. Besides, I was so intent on seeing to your safety, I did not have time to chase after stragglers.”

The indirect criticism was not lost on the king. “They had to be finished off. Tonight.”

“Of course.” Amarian dismounted and picked his way over the bodies until he stood directly before Relgaré. “Your men will be worried about you. It is easy to get injured tearing off into the trees like this.”

“You can see that I’ve been protected. Kynell be praised.”

Amarian nodded. “Indeed.”

Despite his brave words, Relgaré began to get nervous. Commander Hull appeared a little too patient for his liking. “Well, we must be getting back. There will be quite a bit of clean up, I’m sure.” He whistled for his voyoté.

“Kynell’s protection is great, is it not?”

Now that he was mounted, Relgaré felt a little safer. “It is perfect.”

Gentle splashing interrupted their conversation. Amarian allowed himself a luxurious stretch, then jumped back on his voyoté and began to ride away. “You will have to tell me sometime, my liege, what you mean by ‘perfect.’”

Relgaré, now completely unnerved, started to follow him but was blocked by two dark reptilian forms. They were Neptim, two of Obsidian’s finest. It was a king, after all, whom they were about to dispatch. Amarian did not look back as he heard the sounds of struggle and Relgaré’s cry for help.

Now that the king was out of the way, Amarian could get to the real fight. He wondered where Vancien was. It had been a few days since Ranti’s last report. Of course, now that he no longer had to keep up this ridiculous ruse, he could send out whole regiments to stalk his brother’s small group. He pondered that option, then considered it too obvious. It was far more effective to strike at the Prysm in subtle, even sensuous, ways. He pictured Verial. Despite herself, she would do her job well.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Four days after Verial had joined their troupe, the companions stood on the riverbank, looking sullenly at the marshes beyond the waters. The Ergana was both calm and shallow at this point; crossing it was the least of their worries. Nevertheless, all expressions registered dismay as they beheld the heavy mist hovering around the gnarled trees of the marsh, and inhaled the stifling vapor of the orb-moss that grew there. It was called orb-moss for precisely the opposite reason that one might think; rather than needing the light, it shriveled instantly in the heat, exuding as it did a noxious odor. On the marsh’s edge, where the orbs shone at mid-day, the fumes were particularly offensive, for the moss grew quickly in the night only to die by noon. Thus there occurred a futile cycle of daily generation and decay. Telenar assured them, however, that the stench was only on this side of the marsh; it would be less fragrant when they had gone deeper into the trees and further from the orb-light. It was such a small comfort.

They had intended to move south along the river’s eastern edge before entering, but Vancien wondered if some soggy paths and stagnant pools would be a fair exchange for a reprieve from the smell. When he suggested as much to Telenar, Telenar had solemnly informed him that far worse dangers lay within the swamp than wet boots. By virtue of being such an unpleasant place, the marshes harbored all sorts of tree and water-dwelling creatures that might otherwise have been stamped out in the light of the orbs. Instead, they had found a refuge from man’s civilizing hand, growing larger and more fearless with each cycle.

Vancien shuddered. “No wonder Relgaré wanted to approach the Cylini from the north. No man in his right mind would send an army through there.”

Telenar nodded his agreement. “Which is why we’ll be safe, at least from the king. Even the Sentries dislike this place. You would think it would be their perfect environment, but apparently they are little match for its inhabitants.”

“Sounds lovely,” N’vonne chimed in as she joined them. Sneaking an arm around Telenar’s waist, she announced that dinner was ready. The men happily abandoned their distasteful conversation and followed her to the campfire where Verial was seated, stirring the broth. She did not look up as they approached but silently handed them their meals, took her own, and excused herself. Telenar grabbed Vancien’s arm as he started after her.

“Vance—”

Vancien shook him off without a word, following her to the tree-line, out of hearing range. Although she must have heard his footsteps, she did not acknowledge his presence until he spoke.

“It’ll be dark soon. Do you intend to stay away from us all night?”

She nodded, not taking her eyes away from the marshes. “I have done so before.”

“Yes, but now we’re in dangerous territory. Telenar says that the marsh-creatures are to be treated with caution. It’s not wise to go off alone.”

Verial sighed as she pondered how she should treat this opportunity. Now would be a perfect moment to set the bait, if she were so inclined. Was she so inclined? Would she ever be? Probably not, but her disinclination would not help Gair.

“Perhaps it would be wise for me to court danger. If it finds me, it will save you and your friends a great deal of trouble.”

Shaking his head, Vancien lowered his voice unnecessarily. “That is foolishness. You are one of Kynell’s creatures, just like Telenar and N’vonne and me. You have a responsibility to preserve your life.”

“Ha! If you only knew how much trouble my life has caused, you would throw me into the marshes yourself!”

Telenar's warnings to him, never very pressing, were now as far away as the Eastern Lands. He turned her face up towards him, holding her chin firmly in his hand. “I
do
know what you’ve been through. But I also know that Kynell has spared you for a reason. Your life is not your own; it is his.”

He spoke with such intensity that she could not help but meet his gaze. What she discovered there was surprisingly familiar. Suddenly she was taken back to that day thousands of cycles ago, when another young man stood before her and offered her a longed-for life. She had succumbed then and the results had been unspeakable. But this time, the power was different. While still frightening, it shielded her with a jealousy that no servant of Obsidian had ever displayed. Gair was warm and inviting but this—

Vancien saw the fear in her eyes turn to awe. She had involuntarily taken a step back, but he followed. There was some communication passing between them, something he could not put his finger on. He held his breath, heeding the urge to close the gap that separated them. Here was a creature of Kynell, a jewel caught up in a perpetual dungeon. From her prison, she had effortlessly made Prysm Advocates fall. But Kynell still suffered her to live, to breathe, to be beautiful. This last he could not deny—her fair hair caught the setting orblight, framing a face that was too young to bear such burdens. If she would only realize how much Kynell desired her, what freedom she could experience! He took another step closer. This time she did not step back. How many dark nights had she suffered, how many cold hands? Had she known any warmth at all? If there was no hope for such a woman, then Rhyvelad would never be saved.

__________

Telenar watched nervously as the two figures in the distance spoke, then appeared to cease speaking only to look at each other. What were they doing? Would Verial succeed in her treachery so easily? As he saw Vancien bend his head down to kiss her, he almost leaped from his seat. N’vonne pulled him back, although she too was watching with anxiety.

“What does he think he’s doing?” he sputtered. “Fool! Does he think this is a game? Does he think that he alone of all the Advocates has the strength to dally with that woman?”

N’vonne had to use all of her force to keep him from charging like an enraged fennel. “Telenar, please! We cannot stop his actions and if you rush over there now, it will only turn him against you. Kynell sees it, too. Remember that it was he who allowed Verial to come to us.”

Telenar allowed himself to be restrained but did not calm down. His face had flushed a deep red. “How can you say that? You know what happened to the other two.”

“I know as well as you, Telenar. But we have to trust Kynell.”

“So it’s our job to stand by and watch him ruin us?”

“Of course not!” Her green eyes sparkled with all the indignation that he was feeling. He sighed and took her hand.

“You are handling this too well, N’vonne. If I recall, you were the one who attacked her with a spoon.”

“But I know Vancien better than you do. If you bully him now, you will only push him away. But he’ll come to you in time. He loves the Prysm too much to linger in disobedience without it eating away at him.”

Telenar watched as the new couple separated and began walking toward the campfire, awkwardly keeping apart yet clearly fighting the urge to draw together again. “I hope you’re right, N’vonne. But how long will it take before he comes to his senses?”

__________

The next morning, they forded the river in silence. There were a few lame jokes (“What does the orb-moss do in the night?” “Spit at the sky,” a joke which has befuddled scholars to this day), but any attempt to lighten the mood didn’t work. Everyone knew that the next several weeks would be unpleasant. This knowledge, combined with Telenar’s frustration with Vancien and Vancien’s awkward attempts to engage Verial, made for a very uncomfortable start.

The Ergana allowed them to pass with no objection, as if happy to send the vexing travelers on their way. Soon their voyoté were picking their way through soggy turf, sneezing if a particularly strong scent of orb-moss drifted across their nose. For a while, the marsh was as silent as the intruders, but as they made their way deeper into the moist darkness, they began to hear unfamiliar sounds.

“Don’t suppose those are birds?” The question was N’vonne’s, but the hopeful thought was shared by all, even Verial.

Telenar shook his head. “I wish. Everybody watch out for pools like the ones over there. They may be shallow, but the mud at the bottom will suck you down. Vance, trust Nagab. Don’t try to steer him; he knows what to avoid.”

Vancien obediently loosened his grip on the reins, biting his lip to keep from retorting. Instead, he urged his mount up next to Cetla, where N’vonne and Verial were attempting to fend off an onslaught of insects.

“You two all right?”

N’vonne batted away a large, predatory wampa beetle. “Right as we’ll ever be. Didn’t we bring any nets to protect against these things?”

“Unfortunately, no. All we have are the shadeclothes in case we passed through the Glade. But they’re not much help here.”

She tossed her auburn hair, casting out at least four more beetles. “Hm. Poor planning on our part. Did you hear that?”

Vancien had, although he wasn’t sure what to make of the noise. It was a loud, deep, croak. From the sound of it, its owner had to be at least the size of a voyoté. Worse, it seemed like it was coming closer. Cetla and Nagab stopped, allowing Lansing and Telenar to catch up. They all waited as the sound grew near.

“Perhaps,” Vancien whispered, “we should move while we have the chance.”

“And stumble into a pool or something worse?” Telenar replied. “But you’re right: we should keep moving. Slowly.”

Harnesses jingled as they resumed their journey, but soon the croaking was directly in front of them. They stopped again, but couldn’t see anything except the leaves shaking from the sound. As N’vonne and Telenar looked at each other, wondering what to do next, Vancien impatiently dismounted and moved toward the source of the disturbance. Before the others could stop him, he tore away the foliage to reveal a small frog with bright orange eyes. It stopped mid-croak as Vancien scooped it up with one hand.

“Vance, are you insane? It could be poisono—”

Vancien waved away the objection. “It’s all right, Telenar. I remember reading about these guys in school.” He triumphantly held out the frightened creature. “N’vonne, do you remember teaching me about this little fellow, whose bark is worse than his bite?”

“Not really, but it’s been a while. You might want to put him down, just in case I taught you incorrectly.”