Dark Vengeance (19 page)

“So all scryings of Semmeira . . .”

“Are abruptly and painfully ended. Even the Revered Mother would have been mind-smacked by
that
magic. Many higher-ranking priestesses know how to work it, but all of them except Lolonmae—or someone else calling on the full power of the awakened Ever-Ice—lack the spell-might to do it. Klarandarr himself couldn't manage it.”

“So
why
did Semmeira do that? It helps her not at all to make more foes among the Consecrated of Coldheart!”

“Aloun,” Luelldar replied patiently, holding out his hand for the decanter, “Semmeira can't make any more enemies at Coldheart. Every last priestess and would-be priestess within its walls hates her already. What she did was free herself from their scrying. Even Lolonmae will be able to watch over her only for short periods, now, and with intense pain.”

“I
know
that,” Aloun said carefully. “What I meant to ask was: what good does ending their scrutiny of her do? What does she intend to do, that she doesn't want them to see?”

“Betray Coldheart or defy her orders, obviously. Just what
she intends, I know not—but I
do
know that the Revered Mother will be calling on us, very soon, to scry the wayward Exalted Daughter just as subtly and briefly as we know how, so that we can all discover what Semmeira is up to.”

“Briefly and subtly,” Aloun muttered, “so we can avoid being mind-blasted, right?”

“Right. Semmeira's little army has taken Glowstone with ease, slaughtering most of the Nifl there, and we saw her rejecting most of the admittedly paltry magics brought to her. Which means she's quite confident in her own power right now—given that she's alone in an army of rampants, the most capable of whom she's just relinquished all that magic to, so they just might at some point stand together and use it all against her. So she might be planning
anything,
from conquering Talonnorn to slaying Klarandarr to establish a reputation as
the
most dangerous Nifl in all the Dark, to setting up some sort of a lure for the Anointed of Coldheart, so she can slay them one by one as they arrive to investigate it. These are but three whims of conjecture I've just indulged in, mind, and should be treated as such.”

Aloun nodded soberly. “Do we know the Revered Mother's plans regarding Talonnorn? Or Klarandarr's?”

“Not well enough to discuss,” the Senior Watcher said firmly. Aloun took the hint. “What of the other cities, nearby?”

“Uryrryr, Imbrae, Nrauluskh, Yarlys, and Oundrel are all arming themselves right now, preparing forces to set forth into the Dark. What those forces will be sent to do is pure conjecture, but I suspect it will depend very much on what they believe Ouvahlor is intending to accomplish. They do
not
want us—or any city—to grow as strong as Talonnorn was, and so threaten all. Nrauluskh may be intending more than that. They have long coveted Talonnorn's Rift, and the richest of its ore-veins. The strife in the Talonar temple of Olone will give them all the pretext they need to ‘cleanse' decadent, fallen-from-Olone Talonnorn. By conquering it, of course.”

“And Jalandral? Is
he
readying an army?”

“Full of questions, aren't you? He is, but is most concerned
right now with tightening his hold on his own city, and being ready to fend off attackers hired by rival Talonar. He's no fool, mind; he'll be expecting Ouvahlor to come calling again, to test Talonnorn's weakness and his own rule, and to give their warblades more battle-tempering. To say nothing of what experiments on large numbers of screaming, fleeing Niflghar Klarandarr's next spells may involve.”

“So lots of Nifl may soon be butchering each other in the Dark between here and Talonnorn. Erlingar and Faunhorn Evendoom are still out there, heading for Glowstone to hire Ravagers and not knowing it has fallen to Ouvahlor. The Ravager they most want, Bloodblade, is somewhere else in the Dark, with Taerune Evendoom and whichever Ravagers they've managed to gather around themselves. Which means the few who are too desperate to do otherwise, or who haven't heard how dangerous it is to walk the Dark with Bloodblade, these days.”

Aloun frowned.

“A thought strikes me: how many Ravagers—and slave-takers in Talonnorn and other Nifl cities hereabouts—know the ways to the Blindingbright, and are daring to seek them right now? To gain slaves, or allies, or magic, or just a refuge from all of this strife, to return when the time is right?”

Luelldar smiled. “Ah. At
last
you are truly ready to begin to become a Watcher, Aloun. I have waited so long for you to truly begin to think. And see.”

 

Orivon stifled another belch.

Sleeth-meat was greasy, and though he'd long since finished it, its aftertaste was both less than pleasant and prone to returning.

Often.

He refrained from cursing as that foul taste filled his mouth again. Glowstone was very near, so a guardpost was somewhere close by, now. Which is why the Wild Dark had fallen very quiet around him.

He tried not to fill that heavy silence with more noise than he absolutely had to, stealing forward as softly as any sneak-thief, with drawn sword reversed under his arm and the metal map held firmly against its hilt.

“There!” The voice out of the darkness was as sudden as it was harsh. “Ravager—a Hairy One, by the Ice!
Kill it!
”

That darkness fell away as if magic was banishing a curtain of clinging darkness, and Orivon saw armed and armored Nifl standing all around him. Their swords sang out—as Orivon Firefist cursed, flung the map into the face of the nearest Nifl, and drew his other sword as he bounded forward at the next warblade.

And recognized the badge of Ouvahlor, in the instant before three blades thrust at him, and the Nifl behind one of them snarled, “Welcome to Glowstone, human! Now,
die!
”

Food? We've all too little to go round
Softer than stone, our beds are mere ground
Our riches and garments are all that you see
Our only plenty? No shortage of death have we.

—
old Ravager song

O
rivon's best sword was met and parried, the Nifl using both hands and staggering—but his second-best blade bit deep into that Nifl neck. The warblade sagged and started to fall, head flopping loosely amid spurting blood.

The forgefist ran on, knowing that to stand and fight would mean being surrounded and swiftly hacked down.

‘Ware behind!
Yathla snapped, in his mind, and Orivon twisted and slashed behind him, without slowing or looking; his blade sliced into something that shrieked.

Then he was through the tightening ring of Niflghar warriors, and turning sharp left to hack the back of another neck as he ran along behind hastily turning Ouvahlan warblades.

Keep running in this direction. There's a cavern ahead where you can turn back into the Dark, away from Glowstone.

“Been here before, have you?” Orivon grunted, smashing a
Nifl sword aside with his own best blade and driving his other sword up under the warblade's chin. The Nifl staggered away, gurgling and dying, into the path of a warblade who was pursuing Orivon—which gave the forgefist time enough to hack down the last Ouvahlan in his way, and sprint into the darkness. “What if I don't
want
to turn away from Glowstone?”

A horn-call roared out into eerie echoes right behind him.

Then you'll die, here and now. Hear that horn? This patrol is summoning others. They'll be closing in around you.

Orivon spat out a few vicious curses, and added, “I threw the map away!”

So you did. Worry not. These are Ouvahlans, so they'll be heading for Talonnorn soon enough. Once you've gotten away and they've calmed down again. First things first.

“Full of trite advice, aren't you?”

Once a crone of Evendoom, man, ALWAYS a crone of Evendoom.

And running hard, stumbling and reeling on uneven stone, Orivon Firefist found himself chuckling.

 

“What,” Nurnra asked, her voice closer to shaking than steady, “is
that
?”

Oronkh shook his head, watching great looping coils glide and undulate in the cavern ahead. Whatever it was seemed snakelike, but to have four—no, more—heads, all of them on their own long neck that branched out from the main body somewhere near the back of the cavern.

The beast was
huge
. And angry. And hungry, or looked it. He could see fangs as sharp as swords and longer than his own body, and those jaws were thrusting this way and that, as if
tasting
the air . . .

“I know not,” he told the sharren grimly, scratching one of his tusks, “but I
do
know it's between us and the only way to Darkfirefalls, and
filling
the Olone-damned cavern! We're turning back.”

“To greet scores of Ouvahlan warblades?”

“To lead it into their ranks, if we can. The thing has scented us already. See?”

Nurnra peered for a long moment.

“It's following us,” she said softly—and then shivered, against the knife-seller's shoulder. “Get me out of here.”

“As you command, Lady,” the half-Nifl, half-gorkul growled, sweeping an arm around the shapely sharren and whirling them both around. Behind them, much hissing arose, sounding as if it was coming swiftly closer. “Whither shall we—”

“Manyfangs,” Nurnra snarled, “just shut up and get
going
.”

Oronkh lowered his unlovely head between his broad shoulders, tightened his arm enough around Nurnra to lift the sharren off her feet, and did as he was told.

 

Suddenly there were Nifl in front of him, warblades with swords in their hands.

Orivon hacked at them viciously, burst through their line, and ran on.

Horns were calling in several caverns behind him; many, many Nifl seemed to be closing in around him.

Six—no, seven—patrols, at least; had Ouvahlor emptied itself, to flood to Glowstone? Well, with this sort of an army, they'd be heading for Talonnorn, for sure.

Which meant he had to get there first, and somehow find the four younglings and get them out—and then, somehow, get them home through the Wild Dark going
around
an advancing army.

And he was running out of curses.

Orivon rounded a corner into a larger cavern—and skidded to a halt. It was full of Ouvahlan warblades, all looking his way and with swords ready on their hands.

Spitting heartfelt dirty words, he ran in the other direction, down a long and curving cave that was heading around Glowstone on the far side of that moot from Talonnorn, toward a distant,
larger trading town called Darkfirefalls. A completely unfamiliar reach of the Dark to him, and—

This new cavern seemed to go on forever, and to be something of a roadway; he could see the wet, rotten fragments of old sledges here and there among the teeth of rock that studded the floor. A gentle breeze was blowing into his face, and he could hear water trickling, somewhere unseen but nearby. Water he went on hearing, as he ran and ran with Niflghar warblades flooding into the cavern far behind him. A stream, then, which would inevitably mean prowling monsters of the Dark, lurking as they awaited food to come running right down their waiting maws.

Such as a lone and winded Hairy One, a sword in either hand and—

Orivon panted out a despairing oath and skidded to a stop again. There were Nifl ahead of him, too, lots of them. An entire Thorar-damned army!

He looked back. The Nifl pursuing him were still there, of course.

Orivon drew in a deep breath, and then turned and ran toward the sound of water, up off the relatively smooth cavern floor into tumbled, rising rocks. The Nifl at both ends of the cavern were shouting now, calling to each other excitedly, amusement in their voices as they confirmed that there was only one Hairy One—and started to bargain over what they'd do to him, and who'd get to do what bloody torment first.

Get across the water. DON'T tarry in it. Unfriendly jaws await.

“Thank you, Yathla. What's across the water?”

A little ledge a lone Hairy One with two blades and swift hands just might be able to defend. It even has a rock to get down behind, if they try arrows.

“And you know this how?”

I was young once, human, and tasted a few adventures of my own. Enjoy the swim.

The water was ink-black—and icy!

Orivon grunted involuntarily as he plunged into it, his boots finding bottom immediately. He hurried through the stream, water
thick about his legs, and then was up and out of it, rolling across the ledge.

Just in time, it seemed.

Something unseen was causing the water to bulge up over a just-submerged bulk that was sliding lazily but inexorably out of the distance toward him. Orivon cursed and shrank back from the water, moving along the ledge to get behind the shoulder of rock Yathla had mentioned.