Something was out there. And it was coming his way. And he didn’t believe it was coming in the spirit of brotherly love. He waited, with a sense of increasing desperation, for the arrival of the magical, intelligent, elven weapons.
If those two humans had double-crossed him, he vowed by the body, mind, and soul of the One Dwarf that he would make them pay—with their lives.
16
“I hate this,” said Rega.
Two more cycles’ traveling took them farther down into the depths of the jungle, down far below the top level, far below bright sunshine and fresh air and cool rain. They had come to the edge of a moss plain. The trail dropped off into a deep ravine that was lost in shadow. Lying flat on top of the moss cliff, peering down into the depths, they couldn’t see what was below them. The thick leaves of the tree branches above and ahead of them completely cut off sunlight. Going below, they would be traveling in almost total darkness.
“How far away are we?” asked Paithan.
“From the dwarves? About two cycles’ journey, I should think,” remarked Roland, peering into the shadows.
“You think? Don’t you know?”
The human heaved himself to his feet. “You lose all sense of time down there. No hour flowers, no flowers of any sort.”
Paithan didn’t comment. He stared over the edge, as if fascinated by the darkness.
“I’m going to go check on the tyros.”
Rega stood up, gave the elf a sharp, meaningful glance, and motioned to her brother. Together, silently, the two walked away from the edge, returning to a small glade where the tyros had been tethered.
“This isn’t working. You’ve got to tell him the truth,” Rega said, her fingers tugging on the strap of one of the baskets.
“Me?” said Roland.
“Keep your voice down! Well, we have to, then.”
“And just how much of the truth do you plan to tell him, Wife, dear?” Rega shot her brother a vicious sidelong glance-Sullenly, she looked away.
“Just … admit that we’ve never been on this trail before. Admit we don’t know where the hell we are or where the hell we’re going.”
“He’ll leave.”
“Good!” Rega gave the strap a violent jerk that made the tyro bleat in protest. “I hope he does!”
“What’s got into you?” Roland demanded.
Rega glanced and shivered. “It’s this place. I hate it. And”—she turned back, staring at the strap, her fingers absently stroking it—“the elf. He’s different. Not like what you told me. He’s not smug and overbearing. He isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He’s not a coward. He stands his share of the watch, he’s ripped his palms to shreds on those ropes. He’s cheerful and funny. He even cooks, which is more than you’ve ever done, Roland! He’s … nice, that’s all. He doesn’t deserve … what we were planning.” Roland stared at his sister, saw a faint flush of crimson creep up from her brown throat to her cheeks. She kept her eyes lowered. Reaching out his hand, Roland caught hold of Rega’s chin and turned her face toward him. Shaking his head, he let out a low whistle.
“I believe you’ve fallen for the guy!”
Angrily, Rega struck his hand away.
“No, I haven’t! He’s an elf, after au.”
Frightened by her own feelings, nervous and tense, furious at herself and at her brother, Rega spoke with more force than she intended. Her lips curled at the word “elf,” she seemed to spit it out in disgust, like she’d tasted something foul and nasty.
Or at least that’s what it sounded like to Paithan.
The elf had risen from his place overlooking the drop and gone back to report to Roland that he thought their ropes were too short, there was no way they could lower the baggage. Moving with elven lightness and grace, he hadn’t intentionally planned to sneak up on the two. That was just the way it turned out. Hearing clearly Rega’s last statement, he crouched in the shadows of a dangling evir vine, hidden by its broad, heart-shaped leaves, and listened.
“Look, Rega, we’ve come this far, I say we carry the plan out to the end. He’s wild about you! He’ll tumble. Just get him alone in some dark patch, maneuver him into a clinch. I’ll rush in and save your honor, threaten to tell all. He forks over the cash to keep us quiet and we’re set. Between that and this sale, we’ll live high for the next season.” Roland reached out his hand, affectionately stroked Rega’s long, dark hair. “Think about the money, kid. We’ve gone hungry too many times to pass up this chance. Like you said, he’s only an elf.”
Paithan’s stomach clenched. Hastily, he turned away, moving silently through the trees, not particularly watching or caring where he was going. He missed Rega’s response to her husband, but that was just as well. If he had seen her look up at “Roland, grinning conspiratorially; if he had heard her pronounce the word elf in that tone of loathing one more time, he would have killed her. Falling against a tree, suddenly dizzy and nauseous, Paithan gasped for breath and wondered at himself. He couldn’t believe he was acting like this. What did it matter, after all? So the little slut had been playing with him? He’d noticed her game in the tavern before they ever left on this journey! What had blinded him?
She had. He’d actually been fool enough to think she was falling in love with him! Those conversations they’d had along the trail. He’d told her stories about his homeland, about his sisters, his father, and the crazy old wizard. She’d laughed, she’d seemed interested. Her admiration had shone in her eyes. And then there had been all those times they’d touched, just by accident, bodies brushing against each other, hands meeting when they reached for the same waterskin. Then there’d been the trembling, quivering eyelids, heaving breasts, flushed skin.
“You’re good, Rega!” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Really good. Yes, I’m ‘wild about you’! I would have ‘tumbled.’ But not now! Now that I know you, little whore!” Closing his eyes tightly, squeezing back tears, the elf sagged against the tree. “Blessed Peytin, Holy Mother of us all, why did you do this to me?”
Perhaps it was the prayer—one of the few the elf had ever bothered to make—but he felt a jab of conscience. He’d known she belonged to another man. The elf had flirted with the woman in Roland’s very presence. Paithan had to admit to himself that he’d found it exhilarating, seducing the wife beneath the husband’s nose.
“You got what you deserved,” Mother Peytin seemed to be saying to him. The goddess’s voice bore an unfortunate resemblance to Calandra’s, however, and it only made Paithan angrier.
“It was ail in fun/’ he justified himself. “I would never have let it go too far, not really. And I certainly never meant to … to fall in love.” That last statement, at least, was true and it made Paithan believe profoundly in all the rest.
“What’s wrong? Paithan? What’s the matter?”
The elf opened his eyes, turned around. Rega stood before him, her hand reaching for his arm. He drew back, away from her touch.
“Nothing,” he said, swallowing.
“But you look terrible! Are you sick?” Rega reached for him again. “Do you have a fever?”
He took another step back. If she touches me, I’ll strike her!
“Yeah. No, uh … no fever. I’ve been … sick. Maybe the water. Just… leave me alone for a bit.”
Yes, I’m better now. Practically cured. Little whore. He found it difficult not to let his hatred and disgust show and so he kept his eyes averted, staring fixedly into the jungle.
“I think I should stay with you,” said Rega. “You don’t look good at all. Roland’s gone off scouting around for another way down, maybe a shorter drop. He’ll be gone for quite a while, I imagine—”