Dark Vengeance (17 page)

Choke not, I said.

MEN
.

That scornful dismissal sounded even more like Meljarra, but the stone was almost gone, little weight left on his tongue, and something that was warm and cool at the same time, and soothing all of the time, was welling up in him, and the pain fading . . .

You need another, and should thereafter find all the rest and take them for the NEXT time you do something as foolish as taking on a cave-sleeth alone.

Orivon sighed, shook his head until his wry grin faded, and obeyed.

 

Gladrar heard the clatter of pots behind him and spun around more weary than angry. Outlaws were certainly becoming more
clumsy
than when he'd started trading at Glowstone. Why—

The Nifl who'd upset his display shelf of cookware crashed heavily to the cavern floor at Gladrar's feet, bouncing limply as his lifeblood spattered in all directions.

Gladrar snatched out his belt-knife with a snarl. Pots were pots, but yon cloth had come all the way from—

Then the old trader saw the two warblades leaping at him, blood-wet swords thrusting his way.

He died spitting out the nastiest curse he could remember, as the hilt of the sword that had plunged right through him slammed into his ribs and snatched his breath away.

He died smiling around that oath, though, or trying to. He'd managed to put his dagger into the warblade's left eye, just as neatly as he'd managed that same trick long, long ago.

So old and limping Nifl could still surprise sneering young warblades!
Hah!
As Glowstone erupted in shouts, screams, and the clang of snarlingly swung warsteel around him, Gladrar smiled in satisfaction.

The look of utter astonishment in the dying warblade's remaining eye was the last thing he ever saw, but it was a sight worth seeing.

 

Orivon Firefist was completely healed, and there were six precious healing stones in the battered old carry-box, wrapped in a scrap of his under-leathers to keep the coins that were packed around them from scratching them.

He'd found a baldric and pouch that should last for a little while, to carry most of the daggers, and now—

You're not done looking yet. There's one thing more you must not leave this place without finding.

“Oh?” Orivon snarled, as his healed but yawningly empty stomach rumbled. “Food, perhaps?”

No. Something far more useful than that.

Well, he'd never overheard an Evendoom crone appreciate any sarcasm except her own; he shouldn't expect this one to be different than the rest. “Guide me, Yathla of Evendoom,” he said politely.

As promised
. The mind-voice was tart.
Turn to your right
.

The forgefist obeyed, and found himself following a series of short commands that led him swiftly across the chamber to a tangle of bones near one of the cave mouths. Among them was something old, metal, and decidely odd-looking.

He held it up. Three horizontal metal plates bolted together along a vertical spindle that held them stacked but apart. The plates were engraved with lines . . .

Orivon turned the spindle, eyes narrowing, and abruptly knew what he was holding.

A map!

A simple, crude drawing of some part of the Wild Dark, with caverns and passages on the plates. He saw wisps of what might once have been threads, or spell-treated strands of
something,
that had formerly joined points on the plates, to indicate where passages ascended and descended from what was drawn on one plate, to an adjacent plate above or below.

The small, starlike spot on the uppermost plate is this cavern,
Yathla said gently.
Turn to your left a bit, and hold the map straight out in front of you. When you look out of the exits from this place, you'll find they line up with what you're holding.

“Ah,” Orivon agreed appreciatively, and then frowned, studying the plates more closely. “Is this Glowstone, here?”

It is. And Talonnorn is the large cavern down on the bottom plate.

Orivon shook his head. Thorar, if he'd had this—

Ah, so Hairy Ones play the “if” game just as we Niflghar do. THAT'S interesting.

A chill ran through Orivon. He hadn't known the spirit-crone could read his thoughts.

Of course
. The mind-voice sounded fondly amused.
It's what we spirit-crones do
.

“What
else
do you do?” the forgefist asked grimly.

Ah, man, where's the fun in knowing beforehand? Don't you want your life to be an adventure?

“Tried that,” Orivon replied grimly. “Can't seem to try anything much else, yet.”

Many Nifl have said that, too
.

“And?”

Died, most of them
.

 

“All over but the butchery, now,” Oronkh growled as they stopped to catch their breaths on the high gallery, three caverns east of Glowstone. The faint clash of arms could still be heard, back behind them. “We got out just in time.”

The sharren nodded, too winded to voice a reply. Oronkh watched her take hold of some of the toothlike horns of rock that caverns hereabouts bristled with, cling to them while she gasped, and then turn as calmly and smoothly as if they'd merely been out for a stroll.

Ghodal Below, but she was beautiful. Slender, graceful . . . sharren were called “Olone's Curse,” and shunned because they were born with fanged mouths in their palms, and sucked blood through them from unwitting humans and Nifl they seduced. The few who weren't strangled at birth tended to grow up decidely pleasant to look upon, but Nurnra was . . . stunning. Even with her gloves off, and fresh Nifl blood dripping from her hands.

She caught the gleam in his eye, gave him a look of disgust, and then ignored him to lick her hands clean, plucking the gloves she customarily covered them with from her belt.

Oronkh watched, grinning. He'd willingly yielded his gore to her a time or two, when she'd been hungry enough to surrender to
his blandishments, and would happily do it again if ever she asked. However, there hadn't seemed to be any shortage of pure Nifl blood in Nurnra's recent life, and his own blood, he knew, tasted foul to her.

Part of his being half-Nifl and half-gorkul, no doubt.

Ah, well.

'Twasn't as if he'd had any choice what he was born as, either. He'd grown into a fat, tusked pessimist of a knife-seller, and that
was
his achievement.

One of them.

Another was being the deadliest knife-hurler in all the Dark, but then, the trouble with such titles was that someone else was always well on the way to replacing you. Sometimes personally and very permanently.

“Any idea who attacked Glowstone, Manyfangs?” Gloves on, Nurnra was strolling languidly forward, hand on hip, as if the deserted cavern was crowded with Nifl rampants interested in slaking their ardor, who just might catch sight of her.

“Ouvahlan raiders,” Oronkh said, with utter certainty. “Accents as strong, most of them, as if they'd never been outside their cavern before.”

“They
were
young,” the sharren agreed.

“
Are
young, most of them. Glowstone's overrun and taken, and I think they did more killing than getting killed.”

Nurnra shrugged. “Aside from those I slew, I wasn't counting. Yet here I stand, one sharren, and I left twelve-and-five dead behind me, plus another who'll die if he doesn't get healing right swiftly. Saw you any priestesses?”

“Not a one,” Oronkh growled, starting to trudge along the ledge. “Come. Darkfirefall's a long way from here.”

“Oh? You've decided where
both
of us are headed?”

The knife-seller stopped dead, reflected on the tone of the sharren's voice when uttering that last sentence, and decided it was more sardonic than dangerous. Nevertheless . . .

“Far from it, Softfingers. I'd never dare presume so far. I
merely meant that I've lost my wares, back there, and the nearest store of knives I can call my own is hidden near Darkfirefall.”

“Ah. I
do
so appreciate practical rampants. And how many did you slay?”

It was Oronkh's turn to shrug. “I didn't count, either. I'm down four throwing-blades, though, and every one of them took a life. Shall we go back for them? Or anything else?”

The sharren shook her head. “Not now. If they're still infesting Glowstone when I want to use it again . . . well, then it'll be
my
turn to launch a raid on our uninvited visitors from Ouvahlor.”

“All by yourself?” the half-gorkul teased.

“No. I'll need you along, to bind and mind the few I leave alive. I do so like
fresh
blood.”

Oronkh leered at her suggestively, and pulled open his leather vest to reveal his hairy, sagging paunch.

Nurnra scowled.

“Start walking, Manyfangs.”

 

Orivon strode along through the Dark, his swords in their scabbards, the map in the crook of his arm, and his hands busy with a knife and a huge, dripping slab of raw sleeth. Thankfully, its death-glow was gone.

MUST you? You're leaving a trail of blood even a snoutless cave-rat could follow. Hardly wise in the Dark, hmm?

“The objections of Yathla of Evendoom are heard,” he told her, between gnawings on the bloody sleeth in his hands, “and swept aside. If the blood draws hunting things of the Dark to me, good. I very much feel like killing something else, about now.”

The mind-voice sniffed, inside his head.

Ignoring it, Orivon Firefist strode on, chewing hard. When at last he could swallow—sleeth tasted not bad—he lifted his head and told the darkness around him grimly, “Brith, Reldaera, Aumril, and Kalamae, I come. Stay alive until I find you.”

There are vipers out in the Dark
Your worst nightmares can't imagine
So drink deep and drink often
And try not to dream.

—
Ravager saying

K
laerra Evendoom entwined herself provocatively around the soaring black bedpost, but the High Lord of Talonnorn shook his head.

“I didn't come here for that,” he muttered, striding to the most comfortable chair. “I'm in need of some plain and truthful talk.”

Klaerra smiled fondly, and sought the chair facing his. “Speak, Dral. What most burdens you?”

Jalandral gave her a sharp look.

What scheming was going on behind that smiling face? She knew quite well that he intended to kill her-had started to do so, twice-and suffered her to live now only because of her continued usefulness. So just when, and how, was she planning to betray him?

She was being the most willing of slaves, lovers, and mentors, seemed truly to love him and to be eager to serve him, but . . . he
was not the most lovable of Niflghar, and Niflghar in general were hardly lovable or trustworthy.

“Jalandral,” she said quietly, leaning forward and extending an entreating hand to him before he could say anything, “you
can
trust me. I live at your pleasure, and am quite content to do so. I am yours, loyal only to you, and will remain so. You need have no fear that I'm plotting anything against you. Truly.”

Jalandral managed a smile. “I do trust you—as much as I dare trust anyone. Thanks, Klaerra. I need
someone
to trust in.”

He sighed. “As usual, I'm unsure of what best to do next in any number of matters, large and small. As I sit here acutely aware that all Talonnorn is watching me, awaiting my slightest misstep, I believe I have learned or anticipated all that the rival Houses can do against me, right now, and have managed to blunt their daring. So long as I don't break down their doors and come for them, they'll plot and arm and let their hatred of me fester for a time. A foray from Ouvahlor is only to be expected, seeking to take advantage of the turmoil of my coming to power. Even Klarandarr I'm prepared for, thanks to the Consecrated fearing him more than they do me, and crafting their manyspells-trap. It's whatever
else
might come against me, unlooked-for, that I worry over. Some surprise foe out of the Dark, Ravager survivors or fallen raised to undeath by some scheming spellrobe or other or even . . .”

“Absent kin,” Klaerra said softly.

Jalandral reared back as if she'd slapped him, and then sprang from his chair to tower over her. “Hey?
What do you know that you're not telling me?
”

Klaerra rose, forcing her way into his arms, and stood eye to eye as she said firmly, “
Nothing,
Lord Jalandral. Nothing. I merely know what truly matters to you, and that is House Evendoom. Of
course
you would think of your sist—”

Jalandral tore free of her, toppling her back into her chair, and strode away across the bedchamber like a black, scowling storm. “
Yes,
Olone take her! She and the Ravager Bloodblade managed to
catch me between them, up near the Blindingbright, and escaped without my being able to slay either one of them. They're somewhere out there in the Dark right now.”