Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) (22 page)

Kiranrao’s voice descended into the gloom. “The day is fading. We are building a fire up here. Would you care to join us for a meal?”

“There is a Preachán saying I admire: If two friends ask you to judge a dispute, don’t accept, because you will lose one friend; on the other hand, if two strangers come with the same request, accept because you will gain one friend.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

P
aedrin knew his shoulder blade was probably broken. His entire left side had the stinging tingles that made gripping anything with his left hand useless. He was weary from the action and concerned at the blood streaking down Hettie’s face, at Annon’s half-terrified expression holding the dagger, and Erasmus’s sudden pallor. But never would a Bhikhu show his fear.

“I hope there are no onions,” Paedrin said loudly, lifting his voice deliberately. “I cannot abide them. But to be honest, we are not hungry and would not wish to intrude rudely on your supper.”

There was a chuckle. “We have enough provisions to starve you out of there,” Kiranrao replied. “I’m not a fool, and we did not rest. We have trailed you all the way here and know you are tired, wounded, and in possession of Drosta’s treasure. The treasure that Tyrus has successfully hidden from me these many years. I could as easily come down there and kill you all for it myself, but I’m rather lazy by nature as most Vaettir are. Besides, there is other information I want from you.”

Paedrin looked at Annon and cocked his eyebrows. Annon shrugged, confused.

“What information?”

“Where is Tyrus Paracelsus expecting you?”

Again, Paedrin was confused. “Where is he expecting us?”

“Where were you going to meet him after this was finished? Where did he say he would be?”

Annon spoke up. “I mean no disrespect, but Tyrus was not planning on…”

“Don’t waste my time, Druidecht. Please. I abhor it when people play themselves as fools. All of Kenatos is abuzz with the news. I do not rely on wagon trains for my information, surely you realize that. And I do not believe he is dead, or there would not be such a grand reward for information regarding his whereabouts. You were the last to have seen him before the explosion. Surely he told you where he was going?”

Even Hettie was perplexed. She pressed her sleeve against her forehead to stanch the bleeding. “Explosion?” she mouthed.

“Well?” Kiranrao said. “Obviously he sent you here for the blade. Yes, I know it is a blade. But to what purpose?”

Paedrin massaged his shoulder, and it throbbed with agony, nearly making him gasp. He stopped the effort at once. “What business is it of yours where we go and what we do?”

“All business is
my
business,” he replied testily. “You want to be coy then. Very well. Girl. Finder. Come into the light.”

Hettie stepped forward slowly, gazing up at the gaping hole in the ceiling.

His voice was full of disapproval. “You are Romani. Your assignment here is through. Come up here and tell me what this fuss is all about. You are Tyrus’s niece. I know that to be true. You will not find a more wealthy bidder than I. Not even Tyrus himself, though he chooses not to bid for you. Come.”

Paedrin stepped forward, moving until he was also in the light. He looked up at Kiranrao balefully. “She isn’t yours.”

They stared at each other, Vaettir to Vaettir. “A pity you are wounded, Bhikhu. It might have been interesting otherwise.”

“I’m not the one cowering at the top of a cave. Come down and see how spent I am.”

Hettie gave him a warning look, which he promptly ignored.

“You are Romani, girl. You
know
you must obey me.”

Hettie gave them an imploring look. “My uncle sent us here for the treasure to buy my freedom.”

Kiranrao chuckled and then laughed long and hard. “The most amazing part is that you actually believe it! Really? I am astounded.” His voice fell serious. “Tyrus serves no man but himself. He used my services to steal that dagger from the Arch-Rike. He knew that I would want it, so he hid it in these forsaken mountains. Your coming to Havenrook was a personal insult to me delivered by yourselves. Instead of seeking my aid, he sent you to a brain-fevered Preachán. This is my lair. This is my country. You are intruders here. The dagger is already mine. You found it, fair enough, but I claim it as my own and challenge you for the right to it. Who will defend your claim on it? Hmmm? Who will bid for you, girl, when I state my intent? I own the dagger. I own you. The only piece of information I am interested in purchasing right now is Tyrus’s whereabouts. I’ll gladly spare your lives, save one. You can argue amongst yourselves as to which one of you must die. I don’t care.”

Paedrin’s mouth went dry. His mind went through a flurry of thoughts. How many were up there with Kiranrao? A dozen? More? His staff was shattered on the floor. His arm was broken and useless. The other two could summon fire, so that would be of help, though the thought of killing them all was distasteful.

“You are bluffing,” Paedrin said. “You are probably up there all alone.”

Kiranrao sighed. “Now you have really insulted me. I think it is you who must die, Bhikhu. The girl is interesting. The Druidecht is bothersome, but at least he is respectfully silent. Erasmus, do you really want to die down in that Cruithnean stink hole? Girl, come closer. I will drop a rope down for you.”

Paedrin scowled and took a step closer.

“No,” Hettie said.

Paedrin stared at her in surprise.

“I was freeborn. I would rather die down here in the dark than be called Romani again. I belong to no man,” she spat.

Kiranrao sighed deeply. “It will be dark soon. You will be hungry. And you will change your mind. I will not tolerate disobedience. You belong to me, girl. I claim you.”

Paedrin saw her fingers begin to glow blue. “No,” he warned.

Some dirt and pebbles tumbled over the edge as another man approached Kiranrao. Furtive whispers came from above.

“What do you mean?” Kiranrao snapped. “He hasn’t returned from fetching water? Why should that…”

There was a roar.

It wasn’t the roar of a bear or the snort of a wolf. It was a sound that penetrated to the deepest part of Paedrin’s heart, a place where shadows bred monsters in the dark. It robbed reason. It stole confidence. Paedrin stood there, knees trembling, and wondered what could make such a sound as that.

Annon had given it a name. The Fear Liath.

The roar was followed by several moments of silence. But the silence was abruptly disturbed as trees and branches gave way to something enormous and strong. There was another roar, this one closer, more terrible. Cries of confusion came from above. There were the sounds of weapons being drawn. Bowstrings twanged. Then a grunt and the gasp of a man smashing into stones before collapsing. Screams followed, shrill and full of dread.

Annon stepped forward into the ring of light. “
Alloren morir
,” he said softly in the Vaettir tongue. The stone hovering over the gaping hole slammed shut, sealing them inside the darkness, blocking out the screams from above.

In the darkness, there was no time. There were faint breaths, ragged breathing. The orbs of light had winked out after the blade had been retrieved and sheathed. Even the creature that had attacked them, the Goule, was motionless. Whatever power that had charmed it was gone. The feeling of fear was ever present.

Annon knew he could summon light by his fingers, but he could not sustain it all night. “Are you all there?” he asked softly.

He heard all of their voices murmur in response.

“Paedrin, you are hurt the most. How is your shoulder?”

“If you want, I could twist your arm, and you would know the feeling. Broken, I think. I need to bind it so that it doesn’t move.” His voice grunted as he sat down. “But without any light, it will be difficult.”

“I can help bind it,” Hettie said.

“How is your head, sister?”

“Bleeding still. Nothing is broken, though. It is so dark. I dread this place.”

Annon also sat down, tucking the sheathed blade in his belt. He dared not release it again. Even with it in the sheath, he was starting to hear it again. “We will do our best, even in the dark. There are no spirits here I can summon to help. The only spirit here is in this blade. It is a dark creation. What I do not understand is why Tyrus sent us to find it. Surely it is worth a treasure to Kiranrao, or he would not have hunted us. But a man like him with this. It would make him do awful things.”

Erasmus’s sigh echoed. “All is not as it seems, which is usually the case. If that boulder will not move again until dawn, we will be here for a while still. Better here than up there with that creature.”

“I am not so certain we are better off,” Annon whispered, again feeling the subtle urge to draw the dagger and kill them all in the darkness. He knew he would not sleep that night, knowing the others might be drawn to the weapon to try and take it from him. He doubted any of them would sleep.

The feeling in the chamber changed. Something had happened above. Was it dawn? Had the Fear Liath returned to the waterfall? Annon was bone weary and weak from the strain against his mind. As if awoken from a dream, he spoke the words again and the giant rock floated upward again, exposing the silvery-blue light of dawn.