The Jewel of Turmish (37 page)

Pained surprise showed on the druid’s face as he died with the bone shard driven deep up through his throat and curving into his brain.

“No!” Haarn shouted, moving toward the skeleton, but he knew he was too late to save the man.

The skeleton held the dead man at the end of its arm, then cast the corpse away and pulled another broken bone from its rib cage. It turned to face Haarn.

Haarn whipped his scimitar forward, slapping the skeleton’s hand away and kicking the foul thing in the side of the head. Bound by the narrow spinal column and whatever magic had brought it to life, the skull rocked precariously but didn’t snap off.

A new and eerie purple light filled the skeleton’s eye hollows, warring with the green fire the druid maid had ensorcelled him with. Its mouth opened, dropping broken teeth out, and it spoke in a dry, hoarse voice.

“Don’t fight. Run.”

At first, Haarn thought that it was talking to him, trying to scare him, then he realized that the voice was someone else’s. Someone else had entered the skeleton’s skull through a magical link, and the instructions were for the undead thing.

The skeleton turned and ran away from Haarn, streaking for the jewel lying a short distance away on the cobblestones.

Body protesting, pain screaming in every joint, Haarn pursued the skeleton, overtaking it in five long strides even as it reached down for the jewel.

Haarn smashed into the skeleton with his shoulder, knocking it from its foot and wooden block. Landing on the ground, it seemed to bounce then turned over and flailed at him with its fist. The cracked knucklebones skidded across Haarn’s face, opening cuts that stung like he’d brushed up against fire weed. Face aflame with pain, Haarn drew back his scimitar and brought it down, crushing the skeleton’s skull and extinguishing the purple light in its eye hollows.

Gasping for breath and wary, struggling for control, Haarn crossed to the jewel.

“Be careful,” the druid maid called from her position across the street.

Senses alive for the slightest danger, praying to Silvanus to guide his hands, Haarn dropped the scimitar and fell to his knees. Anxiety filling him, he cupped the jewel in his hands, finding to his surprise that it was cool to the touch for something that blazed so hot.

Concentrating on the task before him, he prayed to Silvanus and invoked a spell designed to seal the magic inside the jewel. With Silvanus’s blessing, his own meager magical seal would hold the jewel dormant until he was able to turn it over to Ashenford Torinbow or one of the other members of the Elder Circle. Perhaps there was even a wizard in Alaghôn who could more properly deal with the device.

“Do you know what it is that you’re holding, boy?” a harsh voice demanded.

Haarn looked up, and his blood ran cold.

Borran Kiosk stood on the other side of the street. Naked to the world except for a sash and pouch girding his bony hips, the mohrg held the young druid maid against him like a shield. One of the skeletal hands was cupped under the girl’s chin and the other pressed against the side of her head.

Four skeletons stood at Borran Kiosk’s side, flanking him. One of them held a large ruby jewel that looked like the piece Haarn held, but was four times as large.

Holding the jewel in one hand, Haarn reached for his scimitar with the other.

“No,” Borran Kiosk growled. He shook the young druid maid, making her yelp in pain.

“Fm sorry,” the young druid said. T didn’t hear him. I should have been watching.”

Haarn stayed his hand, his mind wrapping around all the possibilities left open to him. They were precious few. If he’d been in a forest or even a marsh, he would have had more options. The city was dead to him. Nothing lived

that he could touch and use, and nothing lent itself to him for cover.

Moving with slow precision, Haarn stood, not wanting to face the foul undead thing before him on his knees. How many druids had died at Borran Kiosk’s hands this day alone? How many more would die if he surrendered the jewel?

Haarn said, “We’re at an impasse.”

“No,” the mohrg replied. He moved his hands again, making the girl cry out. “If you make the wrong decision, half-breed, she dies.” The creature set his teeth like he was grinning. “You hold her life, like that jewel, in your hands.”

Haarn said nothing. The four skeletons at Borran Kiosk’s flank stepped forward. Matching them, giving no doubt as to what he would do, Haarn took a step back toward the only alley open to him. The alley led back to the harbor, but he was prepared to take his chances there.

“Wrong,” Haarn said, “you hold her life in your hands.” He raised the jewel in one hand. “While I am certain I hold the lives of several others in mine.”

Borran Kiosk seemed surprised, and if he’d had a face, Haarn felt certain that would have shown as well.

“You would run?” the mohrg asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Haarn replied without hesitation. “Sometimes, Borran Kiosk, the few must be sacrificed so that the many may survive. That is nature.”

“And have you no feelings for this poor child, boy?” Borran Kiosk demanded.

“I will mourn her,” Haarn said. He glanced at the druid maid as he spoke, offering his words to her. “And I will remember her to Silvanus.”

“I understand,” the girl said, struggling to get the declaration out through the skeletal hands that held her.

She straightened herself as best she could, but tears gleamed in her frightened eyes. The way Borran Kiosk gripped her, she was helpless.

It was almost too much for Haarn to bear. Still, he’d

slit the throats of fawns that had ended up bereft of mothers in the dead of winter because there was no way to keep them alive, and he’d eaten their meat so they wouldn’t go to waste and so the balance that Silvanus stood for would be maintained. Nature was hard and demanded such sacrifices so that only the fittest could survive. Those laws didn’t go by the emotions of civilized men. Grief was still mixed in there, but above all was the balance.

“Malar’s fangs, boy,” Borran Kiosk roared in inarticulate rage, T don’t understand. I don’t understand at all how you could turn your back on her. By Malar, I despise you damned druids and your stupid ways!”

He snapped the girl’s neck and let her fall, lifeless, to his feet.

“Now,” the monster continued, “give me that damned jewel or I promise you 111 make your death much harder than the kindness I showed her!”

Steeling himself against the pained confusion that filled him at the sight of the girl’s death, Haarn turned and fled as fast as he could toward the alley.

The shadows in the alley were off, all angles and lines that wouldn’t have been found in nature, and as a result, he didn’t see the spider web broaching the narrow throat of the alley until he was almost into it. He stopped just short of it, avoiding the sticky strands by perhaps another layer of skin.

Then he noticed the way the web quivered, the silken gossamer reflecting the orange flames of the ships and buildings burning in the harbor district.

Haarn looked up, knowing what he would see.

The giant spider, opal eyes blazing without pity as it slid down a single strand, dropped toward him, closing on him before he could run.

Broadfoot had arrived seconds before, so silent on his great padded paws that no one knew he was there. Druz

had slid from the bear’s broad back and crept as close to Haarn as she’d been able to. She’d seen the spider web a moment before Borran Kiosk had murdered the young girl.

Broadfoot raced from the shadows, snarling and roaring, raising himself to walk on his hind legs, wobbling from side to side in a manner that would have been comical if the whole situation wasn’t so filled with the threat of death.

Throwing herself the last few feet as Haarn stopped short of the spider web, Druz caught the druid around the waist with one arm and pulled him away. They hit the ground hard.

She was up before he was. Shaking off the effects of the harsh landing, she gripped her long sword and faced the spider, aware that her move might have saved Haarn from the arachnid but it had left them both open to attack from Borran Kiosk.

The spider approached on all eight legs, standing taller than Druz. Her mandibles moved and dripped green ichor.

Broadfoot slammed into the skeletons, scattering them. The bear’s undead foes jumped to their feet and fought again, protecting their master. Their bony fists sounded like mallets as they struck the bear, but Broadfoot gave as good as he got, smashing the skeletons and breaking pieces off of them with each swipe.

Haarn struggled to his feet while Druz slapped away the leg the spider-woman stretched toward them.

“Get up,” Druz said to Haarn. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

The spider-woman laughed, using both her front legs now to test Druz’s defenses.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Haarn said.

“What was I going to do?” Druz asked.

She freed a dagger from her boot, blocking every attempt the spider made to reach her, but she couldn’t maintain her position. The spider-woman kept forcing her back, and there was only the wall behind her.

Across the street, Borran Kiosk turned and spoke a

word to Broadfoot. The bear had broken free of the skeletons, leaving at least two of them in broken shambles behind him. Before Broadfoot reached Borran Kiosk, the mohrg flicked out a hand. Violet fire sparked from the skeletal hand touching the bear’s broad head. Borran Kiosk dodged away as Broadfoot became an inanimate lump that looked like a taxidermist’s project. Without a sound, the bear smacked onto the cobblestones and lay there limp.

Carrion stench, the odor of dead things, filled the street, and Druz knew it came from the bear’s body. Borran Kiosk had slain the mighty ursine with just a touch. The cold realization of what she faced daunted her. She backed away from the spider-woman, but nausea welled up in her guts.

“Catch her,” Borran Kiosk commanded. “I want her alive.”

Unable to compose herself against the carrion stench coming from the bear, Druz was no match at all against the spider-woman. Before Druz could move, the giant spider had her trapped in two strong, hairy legs. She tried to break free, but the nausea kept welling up in her and doubling her over. She tried to tell Haarn to run, but she couldn’t even get that out.

Calculating and cold, Borran Kiosk crossed the street.

We lost, Druz thought as her stomach tried to empty. She gazed at Haarn, who stood with his back against the wall. He held the jewel they’d come for in one hand. His scimitar was in the other. She knew he wouldn’t give it up.

Borran Kiosk stopped ten feet away. His thick purple tongue darted out from between his jaws, the length of it coiling in restless abandon in his hollowed-out stomach.

“If you give me the jewel,” he suggested, T might let you live.”

Haarn shook his head. He stepped forward and threw his scimitar.

The blade whipped end over end, flying straight at Borran Kiosk. The mohrg flicked out a hand and knocked

the scimitar aside. The weapon clanged against the cobblestones.

Haarn steadied himself with his free hand on the stone wall behind him.

“I don’t suppose you’d give me the jewel if I told you I’d spare the life of the woman?” Borran Kiosk said.

Druz wanted to tell Haarn not to agree. The mohrg was lying; he had to be. She didn’t dare hope that he would let her go. The single possibility that remained was that Ettrian would arrive with help in time to save them, but the street remained empty at both ends and the spider web blocked the nearest alley.

“No,” Haarn said in a flat voice.

Druz chose not to hold the answer against the druid. She might have answered the same way had their positions been reversed. Borran Kiosk wanted the jewel, and maybe Haarn could destroy it. Maybe that was why the mohrg was hesitating.

“Then you can die,” Borran Kiosk said, gesturing and speaking words Druz didn’t understand.

The mohrg opened his hand and a fireball formed there. He threw it at the druid and it swelled, growing larger and larger as it flew. It was almost as big as Haarn when it reached him.

Druz couldn’t believe the druid made no move to flee. Maybe the carrion stench had made him sick as well, too sick to move with any real speed—or to move at all. It looked like the fireball drove him back against the stone wall.

It exploded, detonating in a sulfurous haze that threw heated air over Druz. At least the sudden blast of hot wind cleared the carrion stench from the street for a moment.

When the smoke dissipated, there was nothing left of Haarn Brightoak. He was gone. Only the red jewel, gleaming and unmarked on the cobblestones in front of the wall, remained.

Druz stared at the ground where Haarn had been, not believing he was gone. She had seen him fight slavers and

Stonefur, zombies and skeletons, and he’d survived. How could he not survive this? She felt cold and empty inside, and it wasn’t just from the sickness that still twisted through her.

ŚŠŚ

Excitement flared through Borran Kiosk as he crossed the short distance to the fifth and final piece of Taraketh’s Hive. He’d already assembled the other four jewels, but the magical device wouldn’t work unless all of them were together.

He knelt and picked the jewel up then fitted it into place with the other four. He started the incantation, watching as the jewels glowed in an alternating pattern and dimmed as Taraketh’s Hive fed on its five pieces.

He glanced up at the woman who remained in Allis’s spidery grasp and said, “You’re going to live, by the way.” She looked like she didn’t believe him, and he found that amusing. “I want someone to inform the Emerald Enclave that their doom is coming.”

She swore an oath that surprised him.

“It isn’t often that I pass up the chance to slay a woman,” he said, “especially one as pretty as yourself, but I want the Emerald Enclave to know they and all of the Vilhon Reach are going to lose more than this city. I am going to take the life from this place, and—Malar willing—move on from here.”

“They stopped you last time, Borran Kiosk,” the woman said, “and they’ll stop you this time. This time they’ll destroy you. There will be no mercy from Eldath or any other.”