The Sons of Hull (26 page)

Telenar nodded his enthusiastic agreement and ordered Vancien to remount so they could continue. This Vancien did, more because Nagab was starting to nervously paw the turf than because of Telenar’s imperative. With a confident grin towards N’vonne and Verial, he allowed Nagab to take the lead. So they traveled until dark, when they made as dry a camp as possible and spent an uncomfortable night’s sleep. This pattern was repeated for several monotonous days, with occasional interruptions to note a fascinating swamp creature or avoid a dangerous one. By the end of the fourth day, they were all cranky, wet, and nostalgic for the foothills. On the afternoon of the fifth day, it began to rain. By the end of a week, the waters were rising to a dangerous level.

Telenar groaned as his voyoté sloshed his way through the trees. “Any more of this and we’ll have to build a boat.”

Vancien couldn’t hear him through the downpour, but imagined all too well what he was saying. If the rains didn’t let up soon, they would be in trouble. Already he had seen the smaller critters climbing the trees, trying to escape drowning. He might have considered following their lead, except the voyoté were poor climbers and he had noticed some not-too-small, vicious-looking beasts finding refuge in the trees, as well. Better to be washed away than devoured at a high altitude.

N’vonne was pondering similar options when she saw something move in the water next to her. This was nothing new. Many fish and amphibians were enjoying the rising flood. But a second look showed that this something was not moving ahead or falling behind; it was keeping pace. She turned and called for Vancien, the only one of their group with a sword.

“Vancien! I think we may need your help. There’s something swimming next to us.”

He nodded and splashed over by her side. But when he looked where she was pointing, he could see nothing. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure it wasn’t—”

Verial’s scream interrupted him and he looked up just in time to see her pulled off Cetla into the dark water. With a shout, he jumped off Nagab and splashed around, sword out, in the waist-deep filth. N’vonne, too, started in alarm, but she remained mounted. Telanar raced over to join them.

“What happened? N’vonne, where’s Verial? Vancien, what are you doing? Get back on your mount! We don’t know what else is out there!”

Both of them ignored his questions and commands. As N’vonne anxiously scanned the water’s surface, she thought she saw a glimpse of color. “Vance, over there! Quick!”

Wading as quickly as he could in the direction she pointed, he soon saw Verial’s heel and dove for it. For a breathless moment, N’vonne and Telenar watched the surface, now disturbed only by an occasional splash. Then Vancien was up again, with a half-drowned Verial in tow. “I got her! Quick, take her before it comes back.”

“You mean you didn’t kill it?” Telenar demanded as they hastily helped the drenched woman back onto Cetla. As soon as she was safely aboard, Vancien called for Nagab.

“No. There wasn’t time. I just cut off whatever part of it was holding on to her.”

“Then it’s going to be angry. We had better hurry.”

Vancien nodded. “Yes, we had better. Come on, boy.” Before Nagab took two steps, however, the water swelled next to voyoté and rider, and out of the wave emerged a large, flat head.

“Vance, watch out!”

But both Vancien and Nagab were under water before Telenar finished his warning. This time, they did not surface.

N’vonne’s scream was punctuated by Telenar’s cry of dismay. But it was also interrupted by something else: the whizzing of arrows.

Telenar was incredulous. “We’re under attack?” But even as he said it, he noticed that the arrows weren’t meant for them. Instead, they sliced through the water where Vancien had disappeared. Soon it became difficult to tell where the rain stopped and the arrows began. But they had their intended affect. The dead body of large, flat-headed triple-tooth soon floated to the surface, bleeding from multiple wounds and clutching both of its victims between its three rows of razor-sharp teeth. Blood from all three stained the water.

Hurriedly dismounting, Telenar waded over to his student’s limp body and tried to pry open the rubbery mouth of the beast. N’vonne and Verial appeared next to him and tried to help, but it was no use.

“Is he dead?” The question had to have been Verial’s; N’vonne would have known better. But Telenar’s answer didn’t sound as certain as he would have liked.

“He can’t be. It’s impossible. He can’t die. N’vonne, keep his head above water! Verial, see if Nagab is alive. How do we get this mouth open?”

His orders were hissed through tears of frustration. Try as he might, the jaws of the beast were clamped tightly around Vance; every movement of the rescuers only sunk the teeth deeper into his flesh. “Where’s his sword? Maybe we can chop its head off.”

N’vonne’s gasp was not the response he wanted to hear. “What is it?”

She pointed mutely at Vancien’s left arm—his sword arm. From the shoulder down, it was almost completely severed, and the rest of the limb, as well as the sword it had clutched, was flopping around somewhere in the beast’s mouth.

“Nagab is alive!” Verial shouted from the other side of the head. “His hind end is in bad shape, but—”

“But what?”

She pointed up to the trees. “Are those friends of yours?”

Telenar followed her gaze to see a handful of roughly dressed humans descending into the marsh. “I don’t think so. The only humans in these swamps are the Cylini.”

He watched as they silently approached. There were only six of them, armed not only with bows and arrows, but short swords and some nasty, curved type of knife. Without saying a word, they surveyed the scene. Then one of them barked an order, and two of them pulled out their short swords, reversed their grip, and started pounding on either side of the beast’s jaw. Soon two sharp cracks resounded above the downpour. As the Cylini warriors expertly pried back the broken bone, Telenar had the impression that they had done this sort of thing many times before. The leader then issued another order and two of the warriors lifted Vancien up and out of the mouth, while the other three struggled with the much heavier, semi-conscious, Nagab. The leader concluded the grim ceremony by saying something to the dumbfounded travelers and wading west. His men followed, carrying man and voyoté as well as they could. Vancien’s sword splashed into the water as they passed; the Cylini took no notice, but Telenar stooped to pick it up.

N’vonne appeared at his elbow. “Could you tell what he said?”

“I didn’t catch it. My Cylinic is too rusty. But we have to follow them.”

By the time the bedraggled company reached their destination, the rain had let up. Night was falling, allowing N’vonne to barely make out the nature of the strange camp ahead of them. Torchlight hovered eerily above what appeared to be floating wooden platforms, bound together by vines and held above the water by hundreds of inflated rubbery sacks. N’vonne didn’t have a chance to get a close look, but the material from the sacks looked similar to the skin of the three-tooth. The platforms were lodged in-between the trees, cut roughly to the shape of the open area, so the trees themselves served as posts to prevent floating away. Branches were trimmed back so the platforms could rise with the floodwaters, but as long as the trees stayed put, so would the campsite. Each floating surface was surrounded by a tall fence; she shuddered to think what creatures these barriers were meant to keep out. Inside the fences, however, was more than just a military camp. It was a village, spread out across several platforms and connected by an impressive system of gates and bridges.

As they neared one of the fences, their leader shouted a greeting and a gate immediately swung open. To N’vonne’s surprise, children flocked to the opening, chattering happily and gaping at the new arrivals. The leader, who up to this time had appeared stern, instantly dropped to his knees and hugged a boy of about three cycles. Then the women joined them. In the excitement of the homecoming—the warriors must have been away for a long while—the visitors were almost forgotten. But an older woman who had nobody in particular to greet soon noticed Vancien’s wounded shoulder. With great authority, she questioned one of the warriors, who shook his head, said a few defensive words, and gestured toward the swamp. Still glaring at him, she hurried into the crowd and started pulling the women away from their loved ones and toward Vancien and Nagab. Man and beast quickly disappeared under a series of ministrations while a brave handful of souls tried to lead Cetla and Lansing to an appropriate shelter. At first, the voyoté had no intention of leaving their fallen comrade in the hands of strangers. But in the end, weariness, hunger, and Telenar’s reassurances took their toll and the two exhausted beasts trudged off to their dinner. Meanwhile, the three remaining visitors were hurried into a warm hut, where they were given food and dry garments, then left to their own devices.

Telenar looked politely away as the ladies changed from their soaked attire into warm Cylini clothes. As soon as they had done the same for him, they all sat down around the central fire, warming their hands and wondering what to say. N’vonne and Telenar, of course, had plenty to say to each other, but Verial’s presence—especially without Vancien—discouraged lively conversation.

N’vonne spoke first. “Verial, you’re not hurt, are you? That monster got you, as well.”

Verial held up the tattered remains of her sleeve. “He had hold only of my shirt. I was not harmed.” She relapsed into silence.

N’vonne nodded, satisfied. “I hope they take good care of Vance.”

Telenar reached out to rub her shoulder. “I think they will. They didn’t bring us this far to kill us, although our clothes and speech must have told them who we are. They’ve probably been tracking us for a while.”

“Thank Kynell for that! Imagine what could have happened otherwise. Did you see the children?” Her eyes sparkled in the firelight. “I bet this is a side of the Cylini the king hasn’t seen.”

“Even if he has, I doubt that would change anything.”

N’vonne had to agree, and she was just about to say as much, when Verial started out of her pensive trance. “Your king is Relgaré?”

Telenar was immediately suspicious; he was still irritated at her for being the cause of all the day’s trouble. “Of course, but that’s of no concern to you.”

“He is dead.”

“Excuse me?”

Verial ignored his comment and turned to N’vonne. “I am sorry, but your king is dead.”

N’vonne looked hard at her. She had no attachment to Relgaré, but why would this girl know anything about him? “Are you certain? How do you know?”

Verial did not answer at first, only looked into the fire. “I’ve been told to tell you.”

Telenar ground his teeth. Having this woman with them was becoming far too dangerous. “Who told you? Zyreio?”

When she nodded, he jumped to his feet and started pacing. “We should have seen this coming. We
did
see this coming. It was only a matter of time before Amarian dispatched him. That means we’ve lost the armies. And that means that Ch—” He stopped and turned hastily toward Verial. “Has he told you anything else? Can he read your thoughts?”

She nodded again. “He knows all, priest. But he hasn’t told me anything else.”

Her answer was insufficient. He crouched in front of her and took her face roughly in his hand. N’vonne watched nervously, unsure of the limits of his patience. But he did not strike her. Instead, he forced her to make eye contact. “Does Amarian know what you know?”

“If Zyreio allows him to, yes.”

“Can you stop him?”

“Probably not. Why would I?”

Telenar wanted to strike her, but it was wrong to hit a woman, even Verial. “Why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t—do you
want
him to win?”

She shrugged, causing him to turn away before he lost his temper completely. “I don’t care who ‘wins’, as you say,” she responded. “What are five hundred cycles to me? Besides, Amarian has never harmed me.” This last statement was not entirely true, but she was getting impatient with these imbeciles. Was this how Kynell conducted his battles? With a crew of idiots?

N’vonne only stared in disbelief, but Telenar was furious. “How many cycles have you lived?” he demanded, his face turning a crimson red. “How many deaths have you seen? Tell me, has Amarian used you to send souls to the Chasm? Has he allowed you to participate as he tortures his own followers, then kills both them and their families? How many times have you watched a good man suffer and done nothing about it? Your heart is made of stone, lady! And after thousands of cycles of watching men die fighting for your lord or die fighting for you, you’re still nothing but a spoiled girl sitting by a pond, hoping for something better to come along.”

Until that last comment, his speech had had no effect on her, but she flinched when he mentioned the pond. “How did you know about that?”

Her question caught him off-guard. “About what, the pond?”

She nodded.

“Don’t you read the Ages?”

Now she was uncharacteristically flustered. “Yes, of course. A little. It doesn’t matter. My life is in the Ages?”

“How could it not be?”

“All of it?”

Telenar wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “The parts where you come into contact with the Advocates, yes. I don’t know what they leave out.”