The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) (18 page)

One down, two to go! Flat-nose was hammering his weapon down upon Ernie, who was reduced to using Pyknite as a shield. “Morningstar, help Ernie. I’ll take care of the wizard.”

Gripping his sword as tightly as he could, Tor returned his attention to Haske. The man was standing fifteen feet away, looking straight at him, mouthing incomprehensible words and spiraling the fingers of his left hand.

Tor’s muscles all seized up at once. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink! Haske shook his head and appeared slightly dazed, like Aravia when she had cast too many spells at Verdshane, but he was well enough to stumble forward, knife out.

I wish I could move!

It was no good. Tor was well and truly paralyzed by some fancy magic, and now Haske was going to slice him wide open. Grey Wolf was regaining his feet, but Morningstar and Ernie were occupied by Flat-nose, and he couldn’t see Aravia or Kibi anywhere, and there was nothing but a foot of air between Tor’s chest and the point of Haske’s dagger.

We did better this time. I hope everyone else survives.

Haske was drawing back his elbow, blinking rapidly, when one of the testing barrels soared into Tor’s field of vision and caved in the side of Haske’s head with a sickening crunch.

“Nice throw, Kibi!” he called. Kibi must be the strongest person he had ever met, which was strange because the stonecutter had never mentioned it, and if Tor were that strong, he’d want everyone to know so they’d realize they could rely on him even more.

Flat-nose, seeing that Haske was dead, dropped his sword and raised his arms.

“I surrender! Don’t kill me, please!”

* * *

Dranko rushed into the room; having unlocked the door, Aravia slipped outside and returned ten seconds later with the placard seeking recruits, then closed the door quickly behind her. But when she moved to join the others, she stumbled and sat down awkwardly, clutching her head between her hands. Tor limped to her side.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Just been overdoing the magic,” she said weakly. “First the
lockbuster
, then arcing your sword to you, then arcing the sign off the wall, all within a minute or two. And those last two were quite difficult; your sword is heavy, and the sign had about twenty nails in it.”

“My sword…that was you, then?”

Aravia raised her eyebrows at him. “How did you
think
your sword got from the floor to your hand?”

Tor realized how ridiculous his first guess had been, but couldn’t bring himself to admit it. “I…I wasn’t sure. Everything was happening so fast…”

“Tor, lie down. Gently.” Dranko stood before him, appraising his wounds. Tor did as he was told, and Dranko knelt to examine his injuries more closely.

“You win,” Dranko told him. “You’re the worst off. The arm is superficial, but the hip will get serious if we don’t take care of it.”

“Could you try channeling again?” Tor asked.

“Yeah, maybe, but not until
after
I’ve taken care of you the traditional way. Just in case.”

Tor lay still, trying not to flinch while Dranko applied his salves, stitched his wounds, and wrapped him in bandages. His cut from the Sharshun had reopened during the fighting, so Dranko took care of that one too.

While Dranko attended to the hurts of the others, and Kibi finished tying Flat-nose to a chair, Tor lay there on his back, ignoring the pain and replaying the battle in his mind. It was exhilarating, and he could easily set aside that he was the one who kept getting injured. The wizard, Haske, would have killed at least one of his friends if Tor hadn’t been the one to engage him. That was his job—to find the most dangerous person in the room and take him on. Protect his friends. He had let the team down in Verdshane, letting Mrs. Horn get killed. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

His father, Olorayne Firemount, the baron of Forquelle, had once explained to him what life would be like once he had inherited the throne. Back then, before he had been rescued by Abernathy, his destiny had been to succeed his father as baron, when he would rule Forquelle, wasting his days with a daily torture of diplomacy, economics, ledgers, taxes, and various affairs of state. His sword would have grown rusty, his back bent over a desk covered in contracts and agreements, and his
true
destiny would have gone unfulfilled.

“A sword is a plaything,” Olorayne had said. “The true weapons of a ruler are wisdom, knowledge, and guile. A sharp bookkeeper will be of more value to you than a sharp blade. Though,” he had added with a chuckle, “ruling a barony is just as bloody a business as fighting on the battlefield.”

Tor looked around at the red-splattered aftermath of their fight and severely doubted it. But by the Gods, he was better off here than safe in his palace back home.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MORNINGSTAR GRIPPED THE handle of her mace. “Let’s start with the basics. What’s your name?”

Grey Wolf was pressing Haske’s knife to the man’s neck. Morningstar had never done anything like this before, but she was damn near certain that, possibly excepting Grey Wolf, she was the only one in their group who would have no qualms about following through on threats.

“Why should I answer?”

Morningstar hefted her weapon, the spikes of which still glistened with blood. “Because if you don’t, I will cause you great injury. Is withholding your name worth finding out if I’m lying?”

“Tig,” said the man. “I’m called Tig.”

“Well, Tig, I have several more questions for you, and as long as you keep answering them to my satisfaction, you stay healthy. Do we have a deal?”

Tig tightened his lips and said nothing.

Morningstar pointed to Haske’s body. “That man over there. How did he know who we were?”

Her prisoner stared straight ahead and did not answer.

“Fine,” said Morningstar. “Tor, untie his right arm, and you and Kibi hold it down on the table. That way, if he doesn’t answer the next time I ask the question, I can smash his hand to a pulp.”

Tor unwound the rope. She knew the boy was only complying because he thought she was bluffing. Kibi offered her a questioning look, which she ignored.

“One more time,” said Morningstar. “How…?”

“He read your mind,” said Tig quickly. “I don’t know how. Some wizardry he knows. I’ve seen him do it before. Part of the recruitment process. He warned us something like this might happen, but you’re the first people he ever told us to snuff.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Morningstar. It was far more likely that these men had received warning from Tal Hae after Praska had escaped, as Dranko had feared. As soon as Tor admitted where they were from, Haske had decided to take no chances.

Tig looked down nervously at his pinioned hand. “Believe what you like, but it’s the truth.”

Morningstar changed her opinion slightly. Tig probably
thought
his confederate could read minds.

“Was your mind-reader in charge of this whole archaeological project? And if not, who’s he working for?”

“Haske was in charge of finding muscle for the dig. But he didn’t tell us who’s calling the shots.”

Ernie approached and whispered in her ear. Morningstar nodded. “My friend here says that when he first came in, there were four of you. Where’s the fourth man?”

“Beats me,” said Tig. “Don’t even know his name. He was the guy who made and delivered the survival kits.”

“Are you expecting him back again anytime soon?”

“Dunno. You’d have to ask the guy whose head your friend smashed. Too bad he’s dead then, huh?”

Morningstar inwardly winced. This
would
have been much easier if they had taken Haske alive, but she could hardly fault Kibi for hurling his barrel.

“Then tell me what you people are digging for out there.”

“Look, sister, the only stuff I’ve seen is what happens in this room. We screen for men who seem like they can swing a pick and haul rock. When we’re satisfied, Haske lets them each take a survival kit, and tells them where and when to meet a guide who will take them out to the dig site. But what they’re looking for, I have no idea. Really, I don’t.”

“And in all this time, have you ever overheard Haske or anyone else talking specifically about how one
gets
to the dig site?”

Tig shook his head, but only after a telltale pause.

“I’m guessing Haske chose you for your sword arm and not your skill at lying,” she said. “I’ll ask more directly this time. How do you get to the dig site?”

Tig glared at her but didn’t respond.

“Last chance,” said Morningstar. “How do you get to the dig site?”

“Go screw yourself, Ellish witch.”

Morningstar sighed. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. The others were bound to object. “Fine,” she said evenly. “I see you’ve opted for the hard way. Tor, Kibi, make sure he doesn’t move his arm.”

“You won’t do it,” Tig spat.

“I will.” And before any of the others could stop her, she lifted her weapon and smashed it down hard on the back of Tig’s right hand. Her captive’s eyes went wide as blood splattered and bones crunched. He opened his mouth to shriek, but Morningstar put her face right up to his. “If you scream, the next one goes in your eye.”

Tig whimpered, tears streamed down his face, and he obviously tried very, very hard not to look at his mangled hand.

“Morningstar!” gasped Ernie. “What have you done?”

“Nothing that Dranko can’t undo,” she snapped, keeping her eyes locked on her subject. “You promised to let me do this, so please, don’t interrupt me.”

“But we don’t know if Dranko—”

“Ernie, shut up!” This was hard enough without getting an earful of Ernie’s misplaced pleas for mercy. “Tig, listen to me. My friend over there is a Deliochan channeler who can fix up your hand as good as new. But he’ll only heal you if I ask him to, and I’ll only ask him to if I hear the truth. Now, how do we get to the dig site?”

Technically she was correct; if Dranko wasn’t lying, he
was
a channeler, albeit one who might have trouble fulfilling his part of the bargain. Tig glanced down at his crushed hand and bit his lip. He looked like he was about to pass out.

“Dranko,” Morningstar snapped. “Do you have anything in your bag that dulls pain?”

Dranko came to her side. He looked down stoically at Tig’s hand, but if he disapproved, he wasn’t showing it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Hold on.”

Tig started to scream as Dranko dripped some thick purple liquid over his hand, but Grey Wolf pressed the dagger to his throat and he bit his lip instead.

“Better?” she asked.

Tig blinked tears from his eyes, but no longer seemed about to faint. “Promise…promise me that if I tell you, you’ll ask your friend to heal me…please.”

“I promise, but only if I think you’re not lying to me.” She let go of her weapon, leaving it standing at a diagonal, its spiked ball holding it upright by dint of being embedded in both Tig’s hand and the wooden table beneath it. Arms crossed, she waited for Tig to talk.

Tig swallowed and kept his eyes off the table. His voice wavered, no doubt from the extreme pain he was in despite Dranko’s goop, and his gasped sentences came quickly. “If you walk south out of the city…twenty minutes, along the edge of the desert…boulders right up against the edge. They’ve got…pulley system set up. Overnight…head straight west from there to the first island you see. Sleep during…the day. When…sun goes down again…walk northwest…four hours until you see another island. That’s…the one.”

“Thank you,” said Morningstar. “Now, please wait there while I talk with my friends about what we should do next.”

The expressions of her companions showed that she had an uphill climb ahead of her. Aravia was nearly as white as Morningstar herself and was staring at Tig’s ruined hand. Tor was still obediently holding Tig’s arm in place, but he was obviously conflicted and his complexion was a bit green. Kibi had let go when she had slammed down her mace and was looking away from the scene entirely. Ernie was red-faced and furious. Dranko and Grey Wolf were the only ones who weren’t either disapproving or sickened by what she had done. Grey Wolf stood behind her, his body tense, but he nodded when she gestured for a group meeting in the far corner of the room.

They hadn’t made it that far before Ernie exploded. “Morningstar, what in all that’s holy was that? That’s…that was torture! You tortured information out of that man!”

“Do you mean the fellow whose friend would have run you through given another few seconds? That man? I did nothing to him that he wouldn’t have done to us in a heartbeat, and nothing that we wouldn’t be patting ourselves on the back for, had we done it in the middle of the fight.”

“But we’re not in the middle of the fight!” cried Ernie. “He surrendered! You can’t keep smashing someone after he surrenders!”

“The fight is still going on,” she answered coolly. “This is just a different part of it. He only surrendered because he knew we’d have killed him otherwise, and I gave him plenty of opportunity to talk without making me resort to violence. I even warned him of exactly what I would do if he didn’t cooperate.”

“And what now?” asked Ernie. “Dranko, can you heal him?”

“I don’t know,” said Dranko. “I can make sure he doesn’t die of infection, maybe even without chopping off his hand. But if you mean channeling, I…wouldn’t bet on it.”

Morningstar didn’t much care. Men like Tig had, as far as she was concerned, renounced any claim to mercy or compassion. She’d just as soon kill the prisoner and be done with it, but she had a good idea what Ernie would say to that.

“Time is important,” she said. “We don’t know who else might be coming here or what happened to the fourth man you saw. There’s no way to hide the bodies or get them out the door without people on the streets watching us. What do we do if someone knocks in the next five minutes?”

“Hide the bodies?” Ernie was incredulous. “That’s…not a thing people do! We just killed two people! We should be notifying the authorities, not figuring out how to…how to get rid of evidence.”

“That wouldn’t be wise, Ernie,” said Grey Wolf, and Morningstar was glad to have someone at least nominally on her side. “What do you suppose a magistrate would say, given the evidence?”

Ernie looked around at the bloody carnage of the room and went pale. “But…but Abernathy…”

Grey Wolf shook his head. “Dammit, Ernie, Abernathy’s name isn’t some kind of password we can use to deflect the law! No one would believe us, or care much if they did. At best we could turn this into a stalemate of accusations, but we’d be passing the time in jail while justice sorted itself out.”

Kibi was looking at everyone but her. “Now that we know where we’re going, shouldn’t we go there? If someone might be comin’ back here, and some other a’ these bad folk figure things out and chase after us, seems we want as big a head start as we can get.”

Morningstar agreed. “Then what should we do with our friend when we leave?”

“We have three choices,” said Aravia. “We can leave him here, alive. We can take him with us. Or we can kill him.”

“That last one is
not
a choice!” Ernie squeaked.

“I disagree,” said Morningstar. “In fact, it’s the best choice. If we leave him here, he’ll speed up any pursuit from the bad guys. If we take him with us, he could cause all sorts of mischief, possibly slowing us down or sabotaging our mission altogether. Ernie, you have to think practically right now. There’s a—”

“No!” Ernie shouted, and he stomped his foot as he spoke. “I don’t care how…how evil our prisoner is, or that he and his friends tried to kill us, or that he’s part of some old evil cult. We are
not
going to be the sort of people who accept a man’s surrender and then put him to death. If we do that, we’ll be—”

Morningstar cut him off. “Please. ‘We’ll be no better than they are?’ Is that what you were going to say?”

“Er…yes, something like that,” Ernie stammered.

“Rubbish,” said Morningstar. “The moment they decided to kill us without provocation it became impossible for us to be ‘no better than they are.’ That man relinquished his right to mercy when he lifted his sword against us. It won’t reflect badly upon you to treat him the way he deserves.”

Ernie hesitated, and for just a second Morningstar thought she had beaten down his resistance, but the baker’s son showed annoying stubbornness. “Yes, it will!” he retorted. “How we treat other people is
exactly
what makes us good or bad people ourselves. Morningstar, believe me when I tell you, I don’t
like
that man over there, and I think he deserves justice. But we are not the law, and I will not stand by if you or anyone else in this room tries to murder him.”

It was inevitable. While she was gratified that her new teammates treated her as a respected equal, and even more so that they were all decent, competent, and (excepting Dranko) pleasant to be around, they were far too sentimental for their own good. The Ellish religion was, at its heart, devoted to protecting the innocent from predators, and its tenets left little room for interpretation about the complete lack of forgiveness predators were due.