Part 59 (2/2)

Talen said, ”We're going to need the gauntlets to handle them.”

She remembered the speed of the monster and imagined trying to wield these things. ”How are we going to do this?”

He smiled a tired smile. ”I have no idea. I doubt the Creek Widow foresaw us facing these kinds of 'limitations,' but we will do the best we can.”

”You were holding your side; are you okay?”

Talen tried to move his arm and winced. ”It's nothing, probably only a minor shoulder break from the monster's love tap. It will heal wrong, and I'll be deformed for the rest of my life, but such is the life of a fearsome sleth like myself.”

Sugar smiled. ”So we make sure we rescue your sister. The lore can heal as well, remember?”

”Sure,” he said.

”Hand the teeth to me,” she said. ”You're in no condition to slash and throw. It looks like I'm going to be the one that will have to tangle with the monster. Do you think it will scare as easily as that last Fir-Noy did?”

”Not quite,” he said and handed her the case. ”And while you may be the one to deliver the blow, you'll not tangle with it alone. Nor will we make it back to the cave looking like two Koramite youths. I'm bigger than you are. Not as big as the Skir Master's dreadmen, but big enough to wear some of their armor and fool people from a distance.”

She nodded and motioned at a big dreadman close by. ”I'll strip him. You get the horse.”

The big man was hard to roll, but she finally got him on his side and out of his s.h.i.+ning cuira.s.s. She gathered up his helm, his black sword, and its scabbard.

While she worked, Talen went back into the refuge and returned with the Tailor and the leather sack from which the Skir Master had withdrawn the Hag's Teeth and gauntlets. Sugar buckled the dreadman's armor on Talen and then attached the bright yellow cloak of the Lions of Mokad. When it was time to mount the Tailor, Talen reached up to the saddle, and sucked in at the pain.

”Come on,” she said. ”I'll give you a leg up.”

”I don't think that will work,” he said. ”Because once I'm on, how am I going to pull you up? We need a rock to stand on.”

They found a rock, and when Talen was firmly mounted in the saddle and she behind him on the horse blanket, she asked, ”Where do you want me to hold on?”

”The hips,” he said. ”I don't think anything is broken there.”

They rode over to the Skir Master. He lay on his side as if asleep. She dismounted and knelt next to him and noticed that his limbs lay in odd positions. A few flies already buzzed about his face. Sugar picked up his hand to untie the sleeves of the white, gold-studded gauntlet and found the arm bent like a reed. It was shattered from the fall, almost gelatinous. She removed the first gauntlet then began to work on the other. When both were tucked firmly in her belt, Talen urged the horse to another rock and she mounted up again. She tried to be careful, but Talen grunted slightly from the pain when she grabbed his shoulder to balance herself.

”We'll need torches,” she said.

”I know a place not too far out of the way.”

He covered her hand that held his right hip and gave it a squeeze. ”We'll get him back,” he said. ”We have more weapons than just the teeth and the gauntlets.”

It was a brave sentiment. She just wished that it were true.

”We have the Victor's crown. That, the Widow's codex, and a few other things that look precious were in the Skir Master's sack.”

”Good thinking,” she said, ”let's just hope we find the others before we find the monster.”

Sugar knew there was no sense trying to gallop the whole way. No horse, not even one that was multiplied could do it. So they trotted, but this proved too painful for Talen. In the end, they stole a small wagon and Sugar drove it while Talen held his side and grunted at every jolt.

They had to cross through three villages, cl.u.s.ters of less than a dozen homes. It was at these times that Sugar gave the Tailor a flick of the reins and urged him into a gallop. They fooled n.o.body, but she could see from their faces that she and Talen perplexed them, and that was enough to keep them from raising a hue and cry. When they rode up to the old Koramite chandler and Sugar saw toddlers digging in the dirt in the yard, she had second thoughts, but Talen called out before she could say anything.

”We've heard news,” the chandler said looking at Talen's armor.

Talen waited.

”I trust your da,” the chandler finally said. He had only three torches, but he agreed to make more and set his daughter to warming the resin and his skinny wife to cutting lengths of rope while the grandchildren looked on in silence.

When they'd finished another three, Sugar said, ”We need to go.”

”These won't last long,” said the chandler. ”It takes a good day or two for the resin to properly saturate the rope. These will burn too quickly.”

”We can't wait for more,” said Sugar.

”But what if the cave is a mile long?” asked Talen.

”Then a few more torches won't matter, will they?”

Six was not enough, but he could see she was right. He fed the Tailor the last bit of oats, then they climbed in the wagon and bid the chandler farewell.

After the last village, Sugar turned into the woods and followed the trail she'd taken the day before until the way narrowed and would not allow the wagon to pa.s.s. From there they rode doubled-up, pa.s.sing the spot where she'd seen the grayfans, then it was up the hill. A few dozen yards from the cave, she stopped, and dismounted. Talen dismounted uphill of the horse. He was breathing hard and clutched his cuira.s.s. ”Get this thing off of me,” he said.

She unclasped the buckles of the cuira.s.s and let it drop to the ground.

Talen untied one of the saddle bags and pulled out something wrapped in red cloth.

”The crown,” she said.

He unwrapped it. ”It doesn't look like much, does it?”

It didn't look like anything at all. A square disk woven of golden wires. She touched the metal square with one finger. ”It doesn't feel like much either.”

”And yet the Creek Widow practically knelt on the ground and prayed to it.”

He wrapped it back up and gave it to Sugar who placed it the small leather sack that looped over her shoulder. They took the Tailor's reins and tied him to a tree. Then she unbundled the torches and gave them to Talen to carry in his good arm.

”Shouldn't we just let him go?” asked Talen.

”We're coming back,” she said. ”We might need him to carry the others.”

”Of course,” Talen said, but his tone said he didn't think that was likely.

The chandler had given them a flint striker to light the torches. She took it and worked it to shoot a thin spray of sparks onto a torch Talen held. A number of sparks landed on the wet rope and glowed. She blew on them. They glowed brighter, and then a small flame spurted up. Soon the whole torch head was burning.

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