The Fanged Crown: The Wilds (19 page)

“They’re going to burn us out,” Verran said. “Will that work?”

“How should I know?” Boult said crossly, yanking Liel to her feet. A small flame flickered on one side of the roof, but with the oil soaking into the straw, the entire roof would burn soon. While Boult was distracted by the yuan-ti, Liel jerked away from him. Harp saw her slip a dagger from a sheath under her arm and thrust it at Boult. Knowing the dwarf might kill Liel for such an assault, Harp tried stop her, but the dagger sliced into his forearm. The blade split his skin just below the wrist, and Harp felt the warm blood soak down the sleeve of his shirt to his elbow.

When he saw the dagger clutched in the elf s hand and blood running down Harp’s arm, Boult lunged for Liel. Harp stepped between them and blocked the dwarf with his shoulder. The impact of the dwarfs weight sent Harp sprawling backward into Liel, and the two of them tumbled down the embankment into the main grounds of the compound.

When Harp and Liel rolled past the line of trees at the edge of the grove, Boult spun to check the trunk of the goldenfruit tree. Just as he feared, the runes were disappearing. The scorch marks faded from black to gray and

then vanished, leaving no trace on the trunk. The ring of protection was broken.

At the bottom of the embankment, Liel landed on top of Harp, straddling him with her hands pressed against his bloody shirt. He stared up at her, waiting to see what she would do. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the yuan-ti had left the smoldering common building and were closing on them quickly.

“Who are you?” he asked staring up into her sea green eyes.

“Not who you want me to be,” she whispered. She climbed off him and ran through the broken gate. Barely glancing at the elf as she disappeared into the jungle, the largest serpent warrior put his sword against Harp’s throat. Harp remained prone on the ground, not bothering to lift his hands to defend himself. The warrior pressed his sword closer and hissed some garbled syllables at the crewmates standing at the top of the embankment. His meaning was clear even if his words were not: Drop your weapons, or your friend gets gutted.

“We’ll make it,” Kitto murmured to Boult and Verran as they threw down their swords.

“Really?” Boult said, as the yuan-ti dragged Harp to his feet and tied his hands. “Because if I had to imagine what ‘the end’ would look like, it might look a lot like our situation.”

As they were being tied and gagged, the three crewmates watched their captain for a signal. But Harp did nothing. He’d found Liel and lost her in less than a day. It didn’t matter where they took him. He just didn’t care anymore.

2 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

(1479 DR) Kinnard Keep, Tethyr

.he path to Evonne’s grave was well tended. The gravel was freshly raked and the grass along the edges neatly trimmed and leveled. As requested, the gardener had planted stands of red and gold flowers—Evonne’s favorite colors—along the path. It was a steep climb to the wooded grove at the top of the hill, and Tresco paused halfway up to rest. From that height, he could see the crashing waves of the ocean in the distance.

“Where is Cardew?” Ysabel asked, as she waited beside Tresco. It was windy, and Ysabel’s hair was escaping from the sky blue cloth that she had used to tie back her hair.

“He rode into town on business,” Tresco replied. “He’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Thank you for taking me,” Ysabel said as they

continued up the hill. “It’s been too long since I’ve visited my mother’s grave.”

“Of course,” Tresco said. When Ysabel became his ward after the massacre, Tresco ordered the guards not to let the child go anywhere unattended. There were many would-be assassins and many who would pay good coin for the head of the daughter of Evonne Linden. Technically, Evonne’s grave was on Tresco’s estate, but it bordered land owned by House Lahame, a viciously royalist family. Because of their proximity, Tresco refused to let Ysabel travel to the gravesite without him. While Tresco always made it a point to visit Evonne’s memorial on his rare visits to the estate, he didn’t usually bring Ysabel with him. He liked to be alone with Evonne, after all.

“How was the sanatorium?” Ysabel asked. “Did you have any interesting patients?”

“Not my past visit,” Tresco said regretfully as they crested the hill and crossed under the wooden arch that marked the entrance of the memorial garden. “I think the usefulness of that arrangement is coming to an end.”

A year after Evonne’s death, Tresco suggested that Ysabel design her mother’s memorial. When she came to him with the plans, he was taken aback at the scope of the little girl’s vision. But Evonne had left the girl a substantial amount of coin, which Tresco was happy to spend. Ysabel requested a life-size marble statue of Evonne, her hair loose on her shoulders and wearing a flowing gown like a goddess. The statue stood on top of a marble ossuary where Evonne’s bones were entombed. A hexagon-shaped reflecting pool lay at the foot of the tomb. A master stonemason crafted a red and indigo mosaic of a leviathan curled in a spiral on the bottom of the pool. When the wind rippled the waves, it looked as if the leviathan was swimming in circles along the floor.

“You seem distracted, Uncle,” Ysabel said. “Is something wrong?”

Tresco sighed. Ysabel was a bright girl, but for her safety, he’d kept her innocent about the complexities of not only court politics, but the natural hierarchy of power in and out of Tethyr. Given she was of age to marry, he wondered if he had done her a disfavor by sheltering her from the world.

“Do you know of Avalor, Treespeaker of the Wealdath?” Tresco asked.

“The filthy elf who sits at Anais’s knee and laps up her scraps?” Ysabel asked.

“Yes,” Tresco said. “I’ve had word that he hired a mercenary to investigate the colony in Chult.”

“Why would he do that?” Ysabel asked.

“Because he doesn’t know his place,” Tresco said darkly. “Evonne would have done something about it, if only she’d had the chance.”

“What about my mother’s supporters?” Liel asked. “Why aren’t they doing something?”

“You’ve heard of the battle of Ebenspy Keep, of course. Many of your parent’s closest followers died in that assault. But the Branch of Linden still grows. You may yet see the Tethyr that your mother worked so hard to achieve.” A silence fell over them as they stood beside the grave.

“May I ask you a question, Uncle?” Ysabel asked.

“You may,” Tresco replied.

“Why were you annoyed with Cardew last night at dinner?”

“You’re very observant. I was annoyed with him. He failed me in a business venture.”

“A business venture with the colony?”

“Of course not,” Tresco said testily. “That was Anais’s enterprise. It was another matter entirely. But I am a forgiving man, and I’ll give him another chance to prove himself.”

“That is kind of you,” Ysabel agreed.

“Despite Cardew’s shortcomings, he would make an adequate husband for you.”

“It’s not too soon since his wife died?” Ysabel asked.

“No, it’s been almost a year. He’s free to marry. And the sooner the better I say.”

“You know best, Uncle. I know my mother would have trusted your instincts.”

“Your mother was a brilliant woman,” Tresco said, warming up to the conversation. Ysabel had heard him say those things before, but he liked talking about Evonne. “Before I met her, I never put much stock in the intelligence of women. So easily distracted. But Evonne was unique.”

“How so?”

“She had a keen eye for politics. And for people. She surrounded herself with only the finest men. She had natural talent, as well.”

“In magic?”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about magic, but yes, she dabbled in spells now and then. She was always at her books, and I think she learned a great deal simply by force of will.”

“Men underestimate both force and will,” Ysabel said quietly.

Tresco peered down at her, “No child. I meant that she worked hard to achieve what she had. After your father died, she was all alone. Most women would have crawled into a bed and wept. But not your mother. She took up his mantle.”

“You admired that? I wouldn’t think you would approve.”

“I didn’t at first. Eventually, I saw the necessity of her political involvement. It was her other interests that troubled me.”

“What do you mean?”

Tresco sighed. “There was a dark side to your mother.”

“A dark side?”

“She was fascinated by macabre things. Had she lived, I would have made sure to direct her interests elsewhere. I’ve tried very hard to keep you away from such things.”

“How horrible. I didn’t know that about her.”

“It wasn’t dire. Ironically, it was her interests that made me what I am today.”

“How so?”

“A few months after she died,” he said, “I found one of her manuscripts in my study. I’d never seen it before. She must have left it during one of our visits. A bound manuscript filled with maps and theories the likes of which I’d never seen. They were very complex and involved ancient magic from the sarrukh in Chult. To my knowledge, Evonne never traveled to Chult.”

“Chult? Where the colony is?”

“Actually, yes. There are things hidden in the ruins you couldn’t fathom.”

“Oh, do you have more stories of the jungle! Tell me, Uncle. Have you found something incredible?”

“Not yet,” Tresco said. “But I will. And then you’ll see some changes in Tethyr. But enough talk about such things. I’m going to let you and Cardew dine alone.”

“Why?”

“Cardew and I are going fox hunting tomorrow. We will leave early in the morning and return very late.”

“Can I come?” Ysabel asked. “I love a good chase.”

“Not this time. We have politics to discuss.”

“You never let me go anywhere,” Ysabel pouted.

“When I make the world safe for innocents like you, then you may walk freely,” Tresco promised her. “But until that time, I must keep you safe.”

“There are safe places other than Kinnard Keep,” Ysabel pointed out.

“It’s not just the temporal realm, child,” Tresco said

patiently. “The darker realms conspire against us as well. They assaulted your mother, and I was powerless to stop them.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the days before your mother was killed, she talked about her death,” Tresco told her. “It was as if she knew it was coming.”

“How could she have known?” Ysabel asked.

“I don’t know, child. I wish I could have protected her. I know that I’ve guarded you carefully. It’s because I don’t want anything to happen to you the way it happened to your mother. But I must let you go into the world and marry. It would be wrong to keep you a child forever.

“I have something for you,” Tresco said. “I planned to give it to your mother the night she died. I’ve kept it with me ever since, but I want you to have it.”

Tresco opened his hand and held out an amulet. A delicate golden chain held a circular crest embedded with diamonds.

“Oh, Uncle!” Ysabel cried, looking down at it. On the crest was the lithe, curving body of an ermine, the symbol of Kinnard Keep and Tresco’s ancestral house. “It’s beautiful!”

Tresco looked away from the delighted Ysabel to the statue of Evonne, who had a knowing smile carved on her stone lips.

“It is indeed,” he replied.

2 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

(1479 DR) Chult

The yuan-ti stripped the crewmates of their weapons and possessions and tied them together with a single length of rope, so they were forced to walk in a line like pack animals. Verran was in the front, followed by Kitto, Harp, and Boult. Each of the men was gagged, which meant that Verran and his unpredictable spells were going to be of no help to them.

Across from the gate was a massive patch of the crimson flowers like the ones that Harp had blundered into the day before, and Boult noticed that the yuan-ti gave the poisonous blooms a wide berth as they headed into the underbrush. Surprisingly, Boult didn’t feel panic about the direction things had gone in, although he would miss his pipe and griffon-head tamper. The situation hadn’t

played itself out yet. Somewhere in the jungle they had an unknown ally—the dwarf who had cast the ward of protection on the trees in the grove.

Despite the rope on his wrists and the gag in his mouth, Boult felt triumphant. He’d learned a few things from that treacherous elf. Even if Cardew was following the orders of a patron, the Hero of the Realm was still in the thick of things somehow. Since the Children’s Massacre, Boult had devoted his life to exacting revenge on the man who had framed him for murdering the royal heirs. If being captured by crusty snake-faces was just another step on-the path to vengeance, so be it.

As he marched behind Harp of the Slumped Shoulders, Boult asked himself for the millionth time why he traveled with a man whose biggest talents in life were self-pity, self-torture, and self-delusion. That Liel was an evil, conniving bitch did not surprise Boult at all. That Harp had spent years of his life pining for the elf was a little more surprising. There was no doubt that she was attractive. But ever since Boult had begun to piece together the story of Liel, he doubted that the elf had ever loved Harp.

Boult would never admit it to anyone, but it wasn’t compassion that drove him to help Harp in the Vankila Slab. Once he had figured out that Cardew hated Harp specifically, Boult reasoned that there must be ways to use the situation to his advantage. But if it wasn’t compassion that made him take Harp under his wing, it soon was guilt. As Harp endured session after session, every part of him systematically killed and brought back, Boult wondered if that were a punishment that Cardew would have imposed on Amhar—had Amhar not switched identities with the real Boult and escaped the Practitioner’s attentions.

That was something that Boult liked about Harp—his formidable refusal to die. Hopefully that would serve them

in the Chult forest, seeing how they were trussed up and helpless.

The yuan-ti led them down a well-traveled path that headed north along the river gorge. As they crested a small rise and came out of the undergrowth, Boult felt droplets of water dampening his face and clothes. At first Boult thought it was raining despite the sun in the sky, but he realized it was mist rising from a waterfall that lay in front of them. The water rushed through a narrow channel dotted with boulders, over a sheer drop-off, and into a dark blue lake. The yuan-ti stopped and seemed to be arguing about something, giving Boult and the others a chance to stare in awe at the vista.