Devastating Hate (14 page)

The idea of a barbarian woman spoiling the good effect of the water by sitting in the tub with him was repugnant. He had to control his expression. “Just the bath,” he responded, aware that his tone was unfriendly and disdainful. He did not care.

Geralda inclined her head. She had understood. She accompanied him up the stairs to the second floor, opening the door of a large chamber with a slim partition wall. “Here you are, sir. You have a lovely view of the marketplace.” Her gaze fell on the pocket of his mantle.

Carmondai instinctively covered it with his hand. The amulet had slipped out on its chain. “You know this?”

“Of course, I recognize the seal of Jujulo the Jolly. His famuli carry it with them.” She gave him a curious look. “But I did not think an elf would be studying with Jujulo.”

“I'm not. The magus gave it to me as a souvenir,” he lied, with an ingratiating smile. He put his saddlebags on the floor as if nothing had happened. “See to my bath, will you? I'd like to clean up.”

Geralda bowed and left the room.

Carmondai sat down in a reasonably comfortable yellow and white upholstered armchair. He watched as serving girls came in with towels and a copper bathtub, into which they poured blossom essences and several buckets of hot and cold water. He thanked them. When they had all left he undressed and stepped into the sweet-smelling warm water.

Not bad at all.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent.
Too flowery, but preferable to the smell of the road.

He slipped down under the water for a short time before surfacing slowly. One thing was for sure: it was better than in the Gray Mountains.

He got out before the water could go cold and dried himself on the towels left out for him. They were not as soft as those in Dsôn because the barbarians did not use silk in their linen goods, but they would serve their purpose.

With one of the bath sheets around his middle he lay down on the bed to deliberate his next course of action. Traveling in Tark Draan was an adventure. He enjoyed meeting the people and knowing his own folk would soon be marching through to take over.
This is how the gods must feel when they visit their subjects in disguise. But if I stay away too long Caphalor will send out a search party. He won't want to lose me. Or my drawings.
He turned his head and looked at the saddlebags. The amulet caught his eye. He had hung it from a hook on one of the beams—and it had begun to glow.

Carmondai got up, walked over to the beam and examined the item of jewelry more closely. The sparkle was not a reflection of any light source within the room—the metal was glowing all by itself.
Why are you doing that?
He took it down, moving it around and watching what happened.

The amulet shimmered more intensely when he swung it toward the south.

So you are showing me a certain direction. Is that maybe where the famula girl you belong to might be? Is that what you are telling me?
Carmondai dressed quickly, locked his chamber door and climbed out through the window. A nocturnal excursion over the flat roofs of Halmengard began.

He made his way forward in leaps and bounds. It was delightful to move so freely after that tediously slow ride and he enjoyed putting his stamina and agility to the test.

The amulet led him to a quarter of the town where the inhabitants were less well off. Here filthy water ran through the gutters, and the odor of urine and garbage forced Carmondai to breathe through his mouth.
Disgusting!

As he leaped across the rooftops, he observed the town. It consisted of several small fortresses surrounded by solidly built houses, reinforcing his
idea that they might regularly face invasion.
If we are to conquer this town we will have to be careful and clever.
Poisoning the well seemed a sensible option, as the stone houses would not be seriously damaged by fire.

The amulet was shining so brightly now that it served as a torch, but it was making him visible, too. He cupped it in his hand, checking it every so often to ascertain he was going the right way.

It took him a further splinter of unendingness to find the point where the effect was most intense. He looked up from the amulet to find he was standing on the stone roof of an old building. A trap door led to steps down into the house.

I wonder what I'll find.
Carmondai lifted the hatch and climbed down, listening for sounds of occupation. He could hear a woman talking to a couple of men. He followed the voices and came to a door silhouetted against a bright light.

Holding his face against the wooden panel, he found he could see through a gap and into the room on the other side.
There she is!

The young barbarian escapee was sitting at a rough table with two men in simple clothing; an elderly woman was flitting about the room in quite a state, bringing food and filling their wooden beakers with fresh wine.

Despite the stink emanating from the men, Carmondai picked up the scent of sweet soap. The young woman must have arrived in Halmengard shortly after him and in the meantime had either washed or taken a bath.

“And then?” asked one of the men. “Exactly what happened? Where did they come from?”

She's told them about us.
Carmondai found it difficult to fathom why she was not yet in the office of the commander-in-chief:
perhaps she needs local support to gain admittance at court. How else would a simple girl get anyone to listen to her?
He licked his lips in anticipation. He was not too late.

“How should I know where they were from?” she snapped at them. “The dwarves have been defeated, I said!”

“I don't believe you,” muttered the old woman, taking a seat. “They have always been there to protect us . . .”

“I bet they've made a pact with the monsters,” one of the men hissed. “They've plundered the mountains till there's nothing left and now that there's no more gold and silver in their mines they're looking to steal ours!”

“It must be great to have as simple a mind as yours, Olfson,” groaned the other man. “Did you not hear her say the dwarves have all been killed?”

The girl raised her arms, “Uncle Olfson, Uncle Drumann—don't start arguing. Just take me to the governor so I—”

“The king needs to hear about this, Famenia,” the woman said. “And then we must send word to the whole of Girdlegard. They need to send an army—”

“Parilis!” Drumann called the woman to order. “Hold your tongue! You know Famenia was always cooking up wild stories like this when she was younger, trying to get attention.”

Famenia leaned back in her seat, horrified. “You think I'm making this up?”

“Well,” Drumann replied slowly. “I remember, from previous visits—”

“Shall I repeat what the dwarves told me before they sent me to warn Girdlegard?” Famenia stood up and crossed her arms furiously. “The orcs were chasing me through the Gray Mountain tunnels and I only just managed to escape.”

Carmondai was listening carefully outside the door. He wanted to learn what the young famula had managed to piece together.

“Orcs!” Drumann laughed scornfully. “Do you know how rare they are here?”

Olfson slammed his fist onto the table. “They were from the other side, you idiot! There are plenty of them over there. And trolls. And ogres and—”

“Älfar,” muttered Parilis to herself, tugging nervously at her apron. She was obviously frightened, much to Carmondai's satisfaction. His people's reputation was suitably terrifying. “Ye gods! If Samusin doesn't step in and help us we are lost!”

“It must have been älfar.” Famenia took a deep breath. “They looked like normal elves—but in the sun their eyes were black! Black as the night and full of murderous intent.” She shuddered and hugged herself in fear. “The dwarves sent me south as soon as they could after the attack so I could get
away, but the monsters started swarming into the tunnels. I had to hide until there was an opportunity to escape. I am certain the dwarves were all killed. There are no fifthlings anymore.” She gulped down her wine. “The tunnels are full of these fiendish monsters, preparing to invade us.”

“But what are they waiting for?” objected Drumann. “If, as you say, they've killed off the dwarves, why haven't they marched in? It'd be harder for them come the winter.”

What's your explanation for that?
Carmondai would have liked to record what he could see and hear.

Three pairs of eyes were focused on Famenia.

“I . . . They are waiting for something. The dwarves said the creatures were being led by the älfar. The black-eyes will be deciding when to launch their campaign. And . . . the dwarves told me the monsters have a spirit with them,” she reported in a quavering voice. “A thing of mist and cloud with lights and flashes and an uncanny radiance—”

“A spirit?” Drumann interrupted her again, laughing out loud. “A load of nonsense, your story.”

Olfson frowned.

“But it's true, I say! Every single word!” The young girl had tears of frustration in her eyes. “If Magus Jujulo had not sent me to the dwarves with a message for their king we'd never have known about the danger that awaits us.” She threw up her hands in despair. “You are my uncles! You should believe me and do everything you can—”

“To get Famenia an audience with the king!” concluded Parilis with determination. “Your uncles will do exactly that. They were both in the king's private guard for long enough to get themselves heard by their old comrades and their superior officers.” She stroked Famenia's blond hair. “The king will listen to you!”

Famenia seized her hand and kissed it gratefully.

No, I don't think the king will ever hear you, little Famenia.
Carmondai rubbed the eye he had been using to spy through the gap in the door.

Olfson jerked upright. He had come to a decision. “Someone must ride to the Gray Mountains and take a look!”

“No!” shrieked Famenia. “That's too dangerous. We must send an army!”

“She is one of Jujulo's famuli, she will be believed!” interjected Parilis, her expression full of concern.

“So why not go straight to Jujulo?” muttered Drumann. “A ruler would be more likely to listen to a magus rather than two ex-guardsmen nobody at court can remember.”

“Because the älfar are following me and I need your help!” Famenia implored them. “I need the help of fighting men! And you were the nearest, and without my amulet—” She burst into tears.

Carmondai clamped his fist around the medallion.
It's nearer than you think.

Apart from the girl's sobs the house was quiet. Parilis, Olfson and Drumann were staring at each other; finally Drumann dropped his eyes and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets.

Parilis lifted her head slowly. Her face was ash-gray. “The älfar followed you here?” she whispered tonelessly. “O Vraccas and Sitalia and Samusin, stand by us!”

“They lost my trail, I'm sure,” said Famenia softly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I took long diversions along stream-beds and no one saw me.” She put an arm around her aunt's shoulder. “You'll be safe, don't worry.”

I rather doubt that.
Carmondai gave a satisfied smile. So far Famenia had only told her own family and they were not sure if they believed her. He felt a little uncertain about what was to come, but he was not reluctant to undertake it: he knew no pity. But he had to bear in mind that the men used to belong to the king's personal bodyguard.

It's quite some time since I last wielded a sword in earnest. Well, there was that bunch of óarcos, sure, but they were fairly drunk.
The fact that nobody in the room had any weapons was in his favor, of course.
And anyway they are only barbarians.

“Here's what we'll do. Let's get some rest now and we'll set off in the morning.” Olfson got to his feet. “I'll warn the guards at the gate to be extra watchful in the next few nights.”

Drumann stayed silent, but it was clear from his pursed lips that he still did not believe his niece. Olfson took his cap down from the hook on the wall and Parilis adjusted the collar of his shirt.

She's tidying him up for his death.
Carmondai drew his short sword and used his native powers to subdue the lamps.

Twisting wreaths of darkness floated out and insinuated themselves through the gaps around the door as he concentrated on extinguishing the lights. The barbarians would not notice these fingers of black slowly approaching to snuff out the candles flames.

“What's wrong . . .” Parilis looked around in alarm.

“Must be those low-quality wicks they sold me.” Drumann searched for a spill to light from the dying embers of the stove. Suddenly all the tiny flames went out. “What the . . . ?”

Darkness had overwhelmed the whole room.

He heard Parilis's sharp intake of breath. “By all the gods!” she squeaked. “My heart! It's going so fast!”

Carmondai put the amulet away and moved silently into the room.

His flat-soled boots made no sound on the floorboards. “You should have believed young Famenia,” he whispered into Drumann's ear. “The famula was telling the truth.” Carmondai slit the human's throat and then sprang across the room to Olfson while his first victim was still falling to the ground, gurgling and spouting streams of blood. Drumann's broad body convulsed, boot heels hammering on the wooden floor.

“Sitalia, come to my aid!” whimpered Parilis as she sank onto her knees and crawled into a corner, her arms held up to protect her head. “It's the älfar!”

“Famenia, run! Run!” Olfson picked up a chair and was about to whirl it blindly above his head.

“You stay here!” Carmondai aimed a kick and the chair back splintered, bits of wood flying to strike the young girl as she attempted to flee. She stumbled and fell. “Your death, barbarian, is called Carmondai,” announced the älf as he slew Olfson with a swift strike to the heart. “It was Famenia that brought me to you.” He dealt with Parilis as he strode past, his blade stabbing down behind the collarbone, slicing through arteries and entering the lung, so that she'd choke to death slowly on her own blood. “There's your own niece to thank for that,” he said, as he withdrew the blade.