Part 51 (1/2)

”We need him whole,” said the Skir Master.

”I just thought I'd limit his mobility a bit,” said Leaf. Then he swung the club at Argoth's knee.

Argoth dodged aside. He saved his knee, but the blow struck his forearm and snapped the bone.

Pain shot up his arm, but he turned and struck back at Leaf's throat, but the dreadman was fast, exceedingly fast. The blow that would have crippled Leaf flew wide, and then Leaf changed his grip on the cudgel and rammed it into Argoth's gut.

Argoth doubled over.

Leaf shoved him up against the railing and held him there. Argoth tried to struggle, but Leaf held him like iron. Then he shook Argoth's broken arm. Pain screamed through Argoth and turned his vision white.

”That will do,” said the Skir Master.

Something cool wrapped itself about Argoth's neck. He felt fingers clasping it. Then his Fire was gone. He could not reach it. Could not magnify himself.

A collar. A King's Collar.

”No!” Argoth said. It couldn't end this way.

”Bind him,” said the Skir Master, ”and take him to my quarters.”

Leaf twisted Argoth's good arm behind his back, then grabbed a handful of Argoth's hair and shoved him down onto the deck.

39.

Koramite AFTER CONSUMING THE GOATS, Hunger chased the female. She was keeping to less-used roads. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if she had ridden on well-used ones: he still would have been able to sniff her out of the mix. Up hill, down dale he went, all the time the scent getting stronger, which meant he was getting closer. And then he found that she had separated from her horse.

Perhaps she'd been brushed off by a branch. Or it had run off on her while she'd gone to get a drink or relieve herself. Or maybe she'd run it too hard. He didn't know. He didn't care. He was getting closer. He would have her soon.

The road he was on now wasn't so much of a road but a wide wash for the spring rains. Only the smallest trickle of water ran down the bed of the wash now. The last stretch had been rocky, and the loose uneven surface would slow her down, but it would not slow him.

Trees grew thickly along the banks of the wash. Hunger raced around a bend and saw a trail split off the wash and rise up and over one of the banks. He saw one of her muddy foot prints at the base of the trail. He splashed through the tiny brooklet and prepared to charge up the bank, but before he could start up the trail, he caught the stink of magic on the wind.

He ran a few more paces and then stopped. The female had left the wash. He could smell that. He followed her trail up. The trees along the banks immediately gave way to mown oat fields. He could not see her, but he could see that the trail ran straight for some distance through the middle of the fields.

However, the stink was weaker at the top of the bank. He descended back to the bottom of the wash and breathed the smell in. He had found that the human's magic all had a slightly different taste to it. River's had carried a slightly different odor from Argoth's. And the scent of the burning boy had carried, yet again, a tinge of something else. He thought he recognized this one.

He took his time, opened his mouth wide, and followed the scent a few paces up the wash. Hogan, the Koramite, had been here. He'd crossed the wash. And his scent had been kept in the shade from the sun.

It didn't take him long to puzzle out what had happened. Many men on horses had come this way, traveling from the fields where the female had gone, down into the wash, and then onto a trail that led up the opposite bank.

He'd smelled no magic on the female and only followed her in the hopes that she would lead him to the others. And that's what she'd done; he had a sure trail now. He would follow it. Besides, the female was on foot, leaving a strong trail. She wasn't that far ahead. Maybe a mile or two. He could come back here, easily pick up her scent, and resume his chase later.

He breathed in the Koramite's scent. Yes. He would take the sure thing first.

40.

The Thrall of Mokad ARGOTH LAY BOUND on the surgeon's table, his arm throbbing with pain. Old blood stained the wooden floor in blotchy patterns and spattered up the wall on his right. Above the blood spots hung a bone saw, pinchers, a long, wicked implement he could not imagine a healthy use for, and flesh needles. To the side of the surgeon's tools sat blue and yellow bottles of nostrums neatly arranged in a three-shelf rack.

The Skir Master held Argoth's thrall in one hand, the stomach with Nettle's Fire in the other. ”Clansman?” he demanded.

Argoth said nothing. It was treason to possess such things. If you found one, it was treason not to immediately report it. He could say nothing. He simply looked into the Skir Master's inhuman, black eyes.

The Skir Master examined the thrall. ”If I'm not mistaken, this is a pattern of the Trolumbay masters, isn't it?” He nodded to himself. ”Of course, they were destroyed centuries ago. So that means you either stole it or are the heir of a vanished glorydom.”

The door opened and Leaf entered, moving with his deadly grace.

”Report,” the Skir Master said.

”Great One, nothing was found among his effects or the cargo he brought on board.”

The Skir Master shook his head and held up the stomach. ”I'm disappointed, Clansman. I've tasted the Fire in this stomach. It's clean, sharp-delicious. A compliment to you, but I'd hoped there would be more.”

Argoth could not speak.

The Skir Master turned to Leaf. ”The link with the Fir-Noy has not yet matured. So send a pigeon back to him. Tell him we'll return in a week with two full cohorts. Tell him there's going to be a cleansing.”

Fir-Noy?

It was the Crab. Argoth was sure of it. But the news of the cohorts is what shocked him. It would require three or four s.h.i.+ps to carry so many men. And even with the Skir wind, going to and from Mokad would take almost a month. The only way the Skir Master could have two cohorts was if the s.h.i.+ps were waiting off one of the outer islands or along the coast a few days south of the settlements.

The Skir Master seated himself close to Argoth's head and spoke to him like a friend. ”You see, the spectacles are useful, not only for partially extending sight, but also for questioning all manner of lord and lady. Yet the spectacles, while they influence, do not enthrall. They're a tool used best with subtlety. But this rudimentary thing.” He held Argoth's thrall up. ”This will bind you quite nicely.”

He smiled at Argoth. ”You, Clansman, are going to die. As will your family. I know you think they fled, but we foresaw that.”

Despair welled in Argoth.

”Disheartening, isn't it?”

”You are a blind fool,” said Argoth. Blind about life. Blind about everything that was important. Argoth thought of the Crab. If he were in league with the Skir Master, he could have easily hidden in the woods and moved in on Serah and the children soon after Argoth left. Argoth was going to kill that one himself.

”I will seek every one of you and know every last one of your secrets. But it doesn't need to be too painful. Cooperate, and I'll make your wife comfortable. We'll need a little agony, but I'm sure this arm”-the Skir Master prodded just below the break sending pain shooting through Argoth's body-”would feel better set and splinted. Tell me who killed Lumen, and I'll help you.”

Lumen? ”I know nothing of Lumen's death.”

”Oh, come.”

”We know only what his servants claimed: that he lost himself to the call of the warrens.”

”You're talking about the stone-wights, aren't you? What's in those caves?”