The Blasted Lands (20 page)

Nachia looked at him for a moment with a puzzled expression and then managed to relax a bit and chuckled. She shook her hair back into something resembling a proper position. “I guess if one doesn’t really know him the old man is rather intimidating.”

“Actually he’s just basically rather intimidating all the time.”

“Are you intimidated by him, General Dulver?”

“Majesty, I deal with people who can order me executed on a whim. Why should one who can turn me into a spider and squash me under his foot be any more intimidating?”

“Do you really think he could turn you into a spider?”

“According to the rumors I’ve heard over the years he could just as easily turn me into a butterfly or kill me with a glance. After a certain point you just accept that the man can kill you any number of ways.”

He kept his tone light, because the Empress needed a bit more levity in her life near as he could tell.

“Well, you may rest assured I’ll only have you executed with good reason and if I do I’ll allow you a fair chance to argue your case.”

“You know, I really don’t know you well enough to get if you’re joking when you say that sort of thing, Majesty.”

“Of course I’m joking.” She shook her head. “I’m just getting used to you. I would rather not go through finding a replacement.”

“Still not sure if you’re joking.”

“Good. I rather like keeping my staff guessing as to my motives.”

“You have been around that damned wizard far too much.”

“I should rather not be described as ‘that damned wizard’, thank you.” Desh’s voice had an edge of annoyance. He hadn’t been there a moment before, but he stepped out of the shadows and looked at Merros with a scowl.

Nachia shook her head. “You’re not to consult your damned spirits about the Roathians.”

Desh looked at her for a long second with narrowed eyes. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good. That’s good. I’d prefer you not disappear for several days again.”

“Pity that. I was planning on going to Roathes myself to see what happened there.”

“What?” It took Merros a moment to realize that he and the Empress had spoken simultaneously.

“I’m going to Roathes. I need to find out what happened there and I have no one else here I can trust with the examinations.”

“Send more soldiers.” Nachia was shaking her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Soldiers won’t answer the questions. I need to go myself.”

“Send one of the Sisters.” Nachia’s expression brooked no argument.

“Can’t. They aren’t here. They’re otherwise engaged.” Desh crossed his arms and shook his head.

“I know you can talk to them over long distances. I’ve seen you do it.”

“I can be there and back before any of the Sisters could manage and I need to see this myself, Nachia. It has to happen.”

“What if I need your counsel?”

“I am the First Advisor, not the only advisor.”

“Fine. Take soldiers with you.”

“They’ll only slow me down.”

“Desh….”

“Nachia. I’ll be back within five days.” He shook his head. “Ten if you make me drag along soldiers.”

Merros watched the two of them as if they were engaged in a proper duel with throwing knives.

“What do you need from the area to know what happened, Desh?” He asked the question with a sigh.

“I need to see what I need to see. I need to touch the sand and examine different homes. I need to investigate for evidence of what transpired. It’s not as simple as merely asking an inquisitor to get answers from witnesses, Merros. There are no witnesses. There’s no one there at all from what you’ve said.”

“Couldn’t you get the answers from the soldiers who made the trip?”

“No. I need more than they can offer.”

Nachia cleared her throat and both men looked at her. Merros felt a quick flash of guilt. For just one moment he’d forgotten he was in the presence of the Empress.

“Five days?” She looked so damned young staring uncertainly at her advisor.

“No more than that. Possibly less.”

“Then do it if you have to, but be back soon.”

Without pausing for so much as a breath, she turned to Merros. “You need to send men to watch him.”

“But, milady, he said–”

“I don’t care. Send soldiers. They’ll follow behind him and stay out of his way.”

“Yes, Milady.” There were logistics to consider. That, and Desh Krohan was looking at him as if he might be more useful as a spider. He apologized to the mage with his eyes, but ultimately they both served the Empress.

“Does this mean we’re at war, General Dulver?”

“Well, I suppose it must, Majesty.”

“Then I do not wish for this to be a case of waiting and wondering, General. I wish the armies mobilized. Look at your maps and find the best way to invade the Taalor Valley.”

Merros bit his tongue. The very idea of trying to move an army through the Blasted Lands was one of the problems that had kept him up and sleepless more nights than he’d managed to rest.

“I’ve been preparing, Majesty. It’s been a matter of waiting for everything to be readied.”

“Waiting for what, exactly?” She wasn’t being terse. He knew that, but it certainly felt like she was. His chest felt constricted his uniform. He hated the formal attire, but had to wear it in the palace, even when the Empress was running around in her riding clothes, which was most of the time.

“Majesty, you’ve seen the Sa’ba Taalor. We have them in numbers, but our army is spread across the entire Empire and theirs is in a single valley. It has taken me time to prepare our soldiers, to make sure they are properly armed and trained.”

“Well, you are in your position because you have the trust of your Empire. But now it’s time to move forward, General. Prepare for war. By the time Desh Krohan gets back here, I want our troops ready to strike into the Blasted Lands and attack the animals that murdered my cousin.”

“Aye, your Majesty. As you command.” He bowed formally. They had a fairly casual relationship and he was grateful for that, but when the Empress gave an order he would obey, even if he feared the consequences.

Desh stared at Nachia Krous for a long moment in silence and then looked toward Merros. The general could not read any expression at all from the sorcerer. He may as well have been looking at a statue of the man.

When Desh spoke it was with a soft sigh. “I suppose I should ready myself. We’re all going to be very busy when I get back.”

Chapter Nine

Andover spent one week in the company of Tusk and his people. He was treated as an equal, which is to say he was treated well enough, but expected to handle his own troubles.

When they left the Durhallem Pass they moved down a short passage to an area that had been set aside for the sole purpose of allowing travelers to rest. The sun shone down on the space and for easily ten minutes all Andover did was close his eyes and feel the warmth and light of the sun on his skin. It seemed forever since he had felt that simple pleasure and he reveled in it. According to Drask the gods had decreed that the location be tended and left for any Sa’ba Taalor who hunted in the Blasted Lands. As the spot was on the side of Durhallem’s mountain, it was his followers who tended to it.

There was a bathhouse, there were stables old and new, and there were rooms with simple but functional beds. For some it might have seemed rather simple, but for Andover Lashk, who had lived more than once in the streets of Tyrne while he was growing up, the bed was a luxury and after the long walk through the Blasted Lands to get there, the baths were as fine a treat as he could recall.

What he found unsettling was the moment when he was joined in the baths by several members of the Sa’ba Taalor, male and female alike.

The room had a few wooden benches built into the walls where people could sit and take off their clothes. In the center was a rather elaborate collection of stone troughs that could be filled with water by working a series of chains and levers. Andover tried to watch when one of his hosts worked the devices but, really, they weren’t the sort of thing he was used to. Mostly if one wanted a bath, one went to a place that offered them or one carried the waters from the Freeholdt River and took matters into one’s own hands. As he’d been apprenticed to a blacksmith, he’d simply washed in the waters there and called it done over the years, and before that when he was a child his mother had prepared his weekly baths. On a few occasions he’d snuck down to the river in a private area and after making certain no one was around to observe his naked state, he’d managed a few quick baths in the extremely cold but fresh waters.

In all that time he had bathed alone, as the gods had surely intended. He listened to the echoes of the water splashing as he settled himself. It sounded like he was in a cavern, not a structure built by people.

According to Drask again, the waters were warmed by the fire within the mountain and then released into the long troughs and allowed to cool down from a hard boil to something that wouldn’t actually cook flesh. The method meant nothing to him but the end result was a delight. He had just settled his body into the heated waters when Drask and Delil both entered the room and stripped down, discussing their reunion with their mounts, who had been waiting in the area when they arrived.

Andover felt himself blush across his entire body, lowered himself in the waters and tried to think himself somehow smaller and less noticeable. Neither of them seemed to have noticed him at first and he was feeling rather pleased with that notion when Bromt and Tusk and seven more of Tusk’s people entered the chambers.

To be fair, seeing Delil and the other women take their clothes off certainly solved a few mysteries of the female body that he had been wondering about for a long time, but watching the men with them peel off their clothing was rather unsettling. Seeing Delil naked also awoke his arousal, and Andover prayed fervently to the gods that no one would notice. Andover had never been in the military and he had most assuredly never bathed with anyone else, male or female. Seeing that much naked flesh was unsettling in the extreme and he was fairly certain that sooner or later they would truly see him and make fun of his naked state of being.

The groups continued their talks while they disrobed and then climbed into the waters around him.

King Tuskandru sat immediately to his right. Sheer fear that the gigantic man might accidentally crush him against the side of the trough had Andover sitting up again in an instant.

Tusk was as naked as the rest, and Andover saw more of the man’s body than he wanted to by a long stretch. Nearly every inch of him was scarred. His muscular chest was hairy, which did nothing to hide the signs of old wounds. He had to resist the urge to check if the king’s penis was as scarred as the rest of him.

The only thing any of them were wearing was their veils. Tusk’s was covered with fine metal rings.

Andover contemplated the best ways to make himself seem either so small as to be beneath notice or large enough to feel less like a child around the Sa’ba Taalor. He was of average size and he knew that, but by the gods even the women of the gray-skinned people seemed more muscular than he.

Tusk looked at him. “You are so pink…”

Andover looked at his hands, at the flesh that had tinged with gray where the iron limbs were fused to the rest of him, and lifted them to where they could be seen by the king. “Not everywhere.” Really, it was all he could think to say.

Tusk roared laughter and cuffed him in the shoulder. He had to assume it was a playful gesture as he was still alive.

“Why are my wrists changing?”

Tusk looked at him for a long moment. “The metal, I suppose.”

Andover looked at him, trying to understand.

Drask leaned over and spoke in their native tongue.

Tusk spoke back and nodded.

When he spoke again it was in the common tongue. “You have not seen our children. You will. When you do, you will understand better. We do not start off gray.”

“You don’t?”

Tusk’s eyes shone in the room. “No, Andover. We are not so different, your people and ours. You will see.” The king called to one of his people who listened and nodded. A moment later the man was rising from the waters and baring his body to everyone there. Not a one of them seemed to care. Andover had to make himself look away. He had never seen so much naked flesh in his entire life. People were clothed, that was all there was to it.

The man walked to the doorway of the bathroom and cupped his hands, calling out. A moment later he nodded, responding perhaps to words Andover could not hear, and then climbed back into his bath.

When he spoke to Tusk, he spoke in the common tongue. “Trumdt will bring them.”

“Who is Trumdt?”

Tusk waved a hand. “Trumdt is here to tend this place. He will be here in a moment with his children.”

A moment later the man approached. Like the rest of the Sa’ba Taalor he carried weapons strapped to his body. He also wore a veil. The two young children with him did not. They were dark haired and their eyes bore the same sort of gray color as the rest of the Sa’ba Taalor, complete with the odd light that seemed nearly to come from inside their skulls. But both of the children, no older than five or six years if Andover had to guess, had dark hair and their pink skin was tanned from many hours of being outside.

He stared at them as if they simply did not belong where they were.

Tusk spoke his native tongue and the man and his children alike nodded and promptly stripped their clothes away. The children were both girls. They did not hide their nudity. Neither did their father.

Trumdt’s body was a map of scars, a book written in healed flesh and callused palms. He was as much a warrior as any of the others around them. Both of the children bore scars as well, though nowhere near as many.

“Do you understand now?” Tusk’s voice caught him off guard.

“Why are they pink?”

“Why are you pink? They have not yet met with the Daxar Taalor. They have not yet worked the metals and shaped their weapons. They are only just learning the ways of the Sa’ba Taalor.”