The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) (63 page)

I don’t recognize these men
, Merrick thought.
Not
from the jailhouse. And none of them have the gift
. He rubbed his eyes and
mopped his brow. He was tired, hungry, sweat-soaked, and scared out of his mind
that the nomads might somehow uncover his past. “Did you come to Belmond from
the east a couple of weeks ago?” he asked the man.

“We’re from Decylum,” Hayden said with a slight nod. He had
sad eyes, dark wavy hair, and a month’s worth of stubble clinging to his sharp
cheekbones.

Merrick turned to Swy and shook his head. “These aren’t the
dways I was hoping to find here.”

Swy frowned. “These are the foreigners, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I needed to talk to someone in particular. One of the
dways I met—” He stopped himself short, swallowing.

Diarmid narrowed his eyes. “You know more of
yarun merouil
?
Where are they?”

Merrick could feel his mouth going cotton-dry again. “I ran
into them… by the outskirts.”

“Which outskirts? Where?” Diarmid was excited, almost
frantic.

Merrick realized then that the nomad wasn’t suspicious of
him; he just wanted to locate more of the Decylumites, for some reason. “About
ten blocks south of Bucket Row,” he lied. “It was weeks ago now.”

“My warleader commands me to find every
oen merouil
in
the city and bring him here. The others are searching for them.”

Diarmid had Merrick’s interest now. “There are others?”

“Many others. Many. Not here. In Sai Calgoar. All go to Sai
Calgoar, with Lethari.”

Merrick looked at Swy. “Sai Calgoar is four days away, isn’t
it?”

“At least,” Swy said. “But you’re not thinking of—”

“You can go,” said Diarmid. “We send them to Sai Calgoar.
After we find more, we send them, next time. You go, too. Find the others. The
ones who go with Lethari last time.”

Merrick didn’t like the idea of traveling to Sai Calgoar.
Being among a few hundred savages had already driven him to the edge of reason.
He couldn’t imagine how dangerous it would be to visit an entire city full of
them.
That isn’t worth it
, he decided. “Nope. Forget this whole thing.
Come on Swy. I’m sorry I dragged you all the way across town for nothing.”

“Hold on,” said Hayden. “Who else have you met from Decylum?
Who were you hoping to talk to?”

Merrick hesitated. “The dway’s name was Raithur.”

Hayden seemed to brighten at the mention of Raithur’s name. “Well,
don’t you worry. Raith will come back for us. If he’s still alive, he’ll come
back for us.”

CHAPTER 56

Sniverlik’s Marauders

On her way through the dark tunnels toward home,
Lizneth felt anything but brave. She was more afraid than she’d ever been, and
her fear only grew with every stride. Never in all the times she’d been captured, tortured,
attacked, worked to the bone, half-drowned, or forced to flee for her life had
a feeling of dread bitten her so deep.

There was no way she could face Sniverlik without first
knowing whether her family was alright. It paralyzed her to think that there
might be nothing left of the life she’d come all this way to return to. Other
doubts, too, began to nag at her. When she was standing before Sniverlik, would
she be able to remember everything Neacal wanted her to say? Would she have the
courage to say anything at all?

Border towns brushed by like glimpses from a dream. The
scents started to become familiar as she neared Tanley; there were the comforting
smells of earth and gray stone, along with traces of
haick
she knew.
Her parents’ house sat near the bottom of a dip in the road, a lone ironwood door
in a wall of stone. She knocked hard, out of breath, her heart pounding against her insides. There was no
answer, but the handle moved when she touched it, so she pushed the door open
and went inside.

Empty. The furniture was there, the ironwood table with its benches
and its gnarled round stools, Mama’s rocker and Papa’s armchair, fresh straw
bedding in the recesses, warm ashes in the hearth. But her family was gone; Mama
and Papa, rambunctious Malak, Kritz the leader, sweet Thrin, gentle little
Raial, and all the others.
The mulligraw fields
, she realized.
They
must be there, readying the harvest by now
.

Lizneth ran harder, down the path toward her family’s plot.
She arrived to find the stalks grown tall and the leaves thick and browning at
the edges; a veritable jungle of overgrowth, untrimmed and unkempt. They’d been
watered on an irregular schedule, at best. No one had pruned or plucked them in
weeks.

Fear tightened its grip on her. Farther along the path, she
could see the other fields, the doors in the stone, and the thatched cottages
across the river bridge, where Tanley’s villagers were milling about under
their usual cloud of gloom. She called to Skrikkit as she made her way to where
the mushroom tender was fertilizing a new pad.

“Lizneth,” Skrikkit said, turning in surprise. “I thought I
scented you. Where have you been,
cuzhe
? Your Mama and Papa are beside
themselves with worry. They’ve spent weeks trying to find you. They asked me to
tend your family’s fields while they’re gone. I’m afraid I haven’t done a very
thorough job of it.”

“That’s fine, Skrik,” said Lizneth. She was so anxious to
find them, she thought she might burst like a bittermelon. “Where are they?
Where did they go?”

“To Bolck-Azock, of course. They followed you there, and
they’ve been going back every chance they get. The nestlings are with Nurnik
and Skee, probably still out in the pastures. Didn’t you scent your Mama and Papa
on your way back?”

I didn’t come back through Bolck-Azock
, she might’ve
said, but it was too long a story to explain. She didn’t have time to climb up
to the pastures, let alone run to Bolck-Azock. If she didn’t face Sniverlik soon,
Neacal and his forces would think she was in trouble and storm the village.
I
have to make sure the fighting takes place in the blind-world. If they go to
war down here, innocents will die. Neacal’s calaihn don’t know the difference
between an ikzhe who’s in league with Sniverlik and one who isn’t. Once they’re
on the warpath, they won’t stop to ask questions. Then there’s Deequol and the
others to think about…
“I have to go, Skrik. When Mama and Papa return,
tell them to wait for me. I’m coming back.”

Sniverlik’s stink was all over Tanley. His officers and levy
collectors reeked of corruption, though that was more in Lizneth’s opinion than
in the quality of their scent. She followed the
haick
down the passage
to the rime caves, where the seawater floods had washed layers of salt sediment
over the rock like a thick coat of fur. The icy crystals glimmered a deep blue in
the darkness, but when the light shone upon them they flared a translucent
turquoise, as saturated as a midday sky.

Lizneth thought again of Nathak, the kind merchant who had
befriended her on the Claybridge. He’d traded her a cloak in exchange for a few
mulligraws and a favor that she would probably never return. The cloak’s soft
dark fabric had reminded her of the rime caves. As she neared the Marauders’
stronghold, she decided that she would rather be reminded of them than be
inside them.

She wondered if Mama and Papa had followed her
haick
to the Claybridge and met Nathak. She hoped he hadn’t pointed them in the
direction of the Omnekh; old and feeble as they were, the nethertowns were far
too dangerous a place for them.
It would be better if they met Blitznag
first and he turned them away
, she decided. Thinking of Blitznag put her in
a sour mood, but she wanted to laugh at the same time.
How naive I was. And
even after everything that’s happened, how naive I must still be
.

The rounded pathway that led to the Marauders’ stronghold was
like walking along the spine of a huge snake, the rimed rock smooth and slick
and treacherous. Sluices of thick saltwater ran along either side, like a matched
pair of miniature rivers. Lizneth
was halfway down the path before she realized
she was still wearing her dagger. She knew the Marauders would wonder how a
poor mulligraw
parikua
had come into possession of such a weapon. She
had no cloak to cover it with, and there was nowhere to hide it down here. If
she left it on the ground, it might slip over the edge and into one of the
sluices to be washed away in the tide.
It may give me courage to keep it
with me
, she told herself.
Then again, it might just make me more
nervous.
The last thing she wanted was for them to perceive her as a
threat. Whatever effect the dagger ended up having, she didn’t have much choice
but to keep it with her.

At the end of the snaking ridge, the land widened into a broad,
flat head, where the stronghold stood like a blue wart, a mass of dead tissue
shedding its layers. It was a heap of saltrock slapped together with ironwood
framing; not much to look at anymore. Ankhaz had commissioned it when he was a
fledgling warlord, and its architects had left much to be desired in the way of
structural integrity. In those days, there had been little chance of anything
attacking the stronghold aside from the ebb and flow of seawater, but the
Marauders had been neglecting the structure for years. Countless floods had
eaten away at its foundations, leaving the saltrock so badly eroded that there
were holes between the stones. The ironwood framing was now in a state of
perpetual wet rot, slick with algae and fungal growth.

Lizneth was terrified to approach. The guards looked like
black splotches against the deep blue sheen of the stronghold’s outer walls,
their ragged cloaks wrapping their
haick
in a damp odor. She kept her
feet moving despite her every inclination to the contrary. When they had scented
her, she knew it by the clamor of voices that went up.

“
Se bleschk
,” shouted one of the guards, holding up a
hand as he and two others came out to meet her. All three wore black shrouds over
their snouts, leaving their eyes to gleam wetly at her through holes in the
cloth. Beneath their cloaks, she could see the mosaic of thick hides and rusted
plates they wore as armor, an obstacle Neacal and his bare-chested warriors
would have to overcome.

Lizneth stopped where she was, obeying the guard’s command. “
Ehi
ghi shoghe
Sniverlik,” she told them.

“Sniverlik?” The guard scrunched one half of his face and
turned a rumpled eye toward her questioningly. “
Qag
?”

Because I want to speak with him
. “
Ehi ke eth
,”
she said, as bravely as her shaky voice would allow.

“
Ghageh
?” he wanted to know.

“
Calaihn
.” Lizneth drew out the word, slow and calm,
flaunting its significance.

The guard’s face slackened until she could see the cloudy
cataract in his eye, a drop of milk in a black pool. He grunted at her, then
scooped the air with his hand. “
Se chevehr
.”

She followed, scenting the damp air in hopes of picking up
traces of Deequol’s
haick
, or that of her other brood-brothers and
sisters. Marauders turned to ogle her as she passed.
I haven’t
bathed since I left Gris-Mirahz
, she realized.
I’m filthy, and these
brutes are staring as if I look tastier than a fresh-caught glowfish.
She stared back
at them, wondering if she would even recognize Deequol if she saw him. It had
been such a long time, she wasn’t sure.

The guards took her through the outer gate and its courtyard,
up a set of worn saltrock steps, through an inner door, and down the hall to
Sniverlik’s throne room. When they entered the great hall, there was a long
ironwood table in the middle, covered in maps and pawns. There were no chairs
save Ankhaz’s saltrock throne, where Sniverlik was perched in his banded copper
armor, clutching the Zithstone Scepter that marked him as brood-father. The
Zithstone was as clear as glass, yet it seemed to pull all the light in the
room toward itself, absorbing the color from the walls and resonating with a
dull bluish glow. The guards grunted at Lizneth to surrender her weapon,
which she did.

Sniverlik looked even larger than the last time Lizneth had
seen him. There were no advisors or bodyguards around him, as though he
presumed to need no protection or counsel. His shoulders were broader than the
throne’s half-melted back rest, and his hard, distended gut pouted from his
belly like a tumor. His fur was dark, but his muscled arms were thatched with
coarse gray streaks. He wore a copper champron on his head to match his armor.
Both were green and corroded from salt exposure. His whiskers were fractured
and irregular over the scars that crisscrossed his snout, and the longteeth
below were as notched as old dagger blades.

Sniverlik gave two great sniffs that echoed down the hall
like the sound of a stiff brush. When he looked at her, his eyes shone deep
and ferocious. “
Qag se ghi
?” he asked gruffly.

Lizneth trembled at the sound of his voice. A flood of panic
washed over, and she forgot everything.
Why did I come here? What
was this all about?
She couldn’t seem to remember. She cleared her throat,
feeling an overwhelming urge to say something. When the walls echoed with the
sound, she cowered like a startled nestling.

A sneering smile cropped up around Sniverlik’s lips. “
Se
eth
.”

He wants me to speak. What should I say?
Then it all
began to come back to her. “May I speak with the Aion-speech?” she asked. It
would be easier to impart Neacal’s words without having to translate them to
Ikzhethii.

“
Se eth
,” Sniverlik said again. He tapped the butt of
the scepter twice on the armrest.
Click-click
. Echo.

This is it. Do it
. Lizneth thought of Neacal’s promise,
wondering how long it would take him to come down and rescue her. She imagined
Neacal and his
calaihn
bursting into the throne room and slaying
Sniverlik where he sat, saving her from having to say another word.
Take courage
,
she reminded herself. But courage had come easier when she was far away from
here, surrounded by hundreds of
calai
warriors. Now that she stood
trembling before the warlord who held dominion over her village, she couldn’t
remember what courage felt like.

She took a deep, slow breath, steeling herself. “Neacal
Griogan,” she said, too loud. She adjusted her volume and tried to steady her
voice, striving to recall everything Neacal had told her to say.
“The hu-mans are here to treat with you. They say they won’t stand for your
raids on their northern settlements anymore. Neacal Griogan and his
calaihn
offer amnesty to the great Sniverlik. They ask for a negotiation at the time
and place of your choosing. What is your answer?”
That was the gist of it
,
she thought.

Neacal’s words had been more authoritative, but Lizneth was
proud of herself for spitting it out, however gawky her delivery. This mention
of negotiation was a ruse, she knew. Neacal had told her to offer Sniverlik the chance
to negotiate, but his
master-king had sent him to slay Sniverlik at any cost. Neither peace talks nor
Sniverlik’s full surrender would alter the nomad’s ultimate goal.

Sniverlik shifted on his throne, his armor scraping white
flakes off the saltrock. He stared at Lizneth so intently that she thought his
gaze might knock her over. The champron slid back on his skull when he wrinkled
his brow, his eyes glinting blue in the Zithstone’s vacuous light. “How does a
parikua
come to play messenger for a
calai keguzpikh
? Are you a friend to the
calaihn
?”

If she had been trembling before, Lizneth’s body shuddered in
outright fear now. She felt a wet trickle in the crotch of her chinos. She
crossed her legs, but that only made her more wobbly on her feet. “I’m a friend
to you,” she said quickly. “The
calaihn
made me come here with their
message, but I also came to warn you. They’re at your doorstep. They know your
defenses are weak. But there
is
a way to defeat them.”

“Not only a
calai
-friend, but a master of war, eh? You
have been playing at swords with your garden spade, have you? Go on. Tell me
how to defeat these
calaihn
.” When he waved the Zithstone Scepter, the
light in the room pitched and spun.