Those clever searching eyes of the coyote, fixed on the massive cat. It is a step, my lord. A step closer to your freedom.
The Rossin, tired of these games that the Fensena did so love to play, examined the pelt. Through his geist-sight it appeared like nothing more than a piece of luxurious fur. Not one touch of rune or cantrip was on it. However, there was a tug inside him, and an urge to keep it in his sight. When the first Emperor had ripped it from him, and taken it as part of the pact, it had hurt. It was a part of him; his freedom.
The fact that he did not know what to do with it frustrated the great Beast.
Rage boiled inside the geistlord that Derodak had thought to trick him in such a way. He would have bent and grasped the useless pelt right then and there, had the Fensena not put himself between him and it.
Not after what it took to get this!
The two geistlords snarled and snapped, for a moment reverting to the nature of the flesh they inhabited—a dog and a cat arguing over scraps. It was the danger of being so clothed; it sometimes overcame their greater nature despite all they might do. After a few seconds, they gained control of themselves.
The Rossin, huge golden mane of fur standing out from his body, loomed over the smaller shape of the Fensena, but the pelt had been saved.
Out with your plan, scavenger, the Rossin hissed. Before I lose every bit of my temper.
The Fensena tucked his tail between his legs. The priests I told you about, they have the knowledge of how and where the pelt must be attached to bring your whole power into this world.
I need to be free of this cursed family before the last of their blood dies. The Rossin bent and sniffed the pelt as if it might hide a clue.
It is one part of the puzzle. The Fensena licked his own jowls in a gesture that might have been nervousness. The rest of the answers I will hunt the world for.
There was an ill tone in the other geistlord’s words; an almost leer that the Rossin could not tolerate. He sprang on the coyote, with such little warning that the Fensena was knocked off his paws. He tried to scramble away, but the Rossin slammed one paw the size of a cauldron down on the coyote’s brindle hide, pinning him to the rocky ground.
The Fensena howled in pain, but he was lucky that the great cat did not extend his claws and do him real damage. The coyote made to bite at the paw holding him down, but the Rossin flexed it hard enough to make his point.
Give me what I want, liar, or there will be a true death for you, with no foolish beast or man to give you shelter.
The Fensena looked up at him, and there was a satisfying edge of fear in that gaze. I promise I will hunt down the priests with the knowledge you need. Derodak’s story is old and scattered, but it still exists I am sure.
The Rossin breathed down on him, letting him smell destruction hot on his face. If you do not find what I want, then you will meet the same fate as all my enemies, but their suffering will seem like a welcome relief to that which I will deal to you.
The two geistlords stared into each other, and the memory of flame flickered to life in the Fensena’s gold-coin eyes. That was when the Rossin knew he had not forgotten the Otherside and the chaos of survival there. Geistlords were snakes that fed on other snakes, and the alliance between himself and the coyote was unusual. Yet they had both profited off it.
When the Otherside tears its way into this world, the Rossin reminded him, we will need all those skills and more to survive. I cannot be vulnerable with this body. Help me, and I will help you as of old.
The Fensena’s ears shifted back and forth, as if he were listening to distant sounds and making a judgment. The Rossin had some idea of his fellow’s powers, and it was possible that was what he was doing. He was hearing the sound of distant battles and the breaking of promises all over the realm. Finally, the coyote closed his eyes and dipped his head.
Even living off your scraps, my lord, has always been a fine way to dine.
The Rossin stepped back and allowed the Fensena to climb back onto all four feet. The coyote shook himself as if he had just emerged from a very dark and cold pool. I promise you, great lord, that soon enough you will be free of both the family and the troublesome Bond. I must seek out one more detail for you, and then we shall move.
And these priests that have all the answers, will they die with all their secrets? The Rossin did not like the idea of anyone else finding out his weaknesses or what he was up to.
The bright pink tongue licked once more over the coyote’s nose. I will leave their monastery in flames and their bones scattered in the dust.
Good. We do not have much time to bring this all about. I feel the Wrayth moving in that cursed Bond we share. They are planning something—probably with Derodak—and it will ill suit this world. You must be quick about this task.
The Fensena dipped his head—for once choosing the safer path of not arguing. I will travel swifter than thought, there and back.
Both geistlords stood still for a moment looking up at the stars, judging the turning of the world. The Rossin thought to himself that they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Nothing in the Otherside compared to the gleaming ice blue jewels in the night sky. However, in a constant battle for preeminence, he had never had much chance to look up.
The Fensena tilted back his head and let out a wild, screeching yelp. It was not as magnificent as his own roar, but the Rossin understood what it was: a mark on the world. It was a promise that he was going nowhere.
Hold on to the pelt. The coyote’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. I will bring you news of the rest that is required.
It is my own pelt! Do you think I would lose it? The Rossin growled softly.
The coyote performed his little routine of making a bow, and then loped off into the underbrush. Alone, the Rossin hunkered down on the rock once more, the pelt still lying at his feet. For once the urge to take blood did not touch the geistlord, and he feared what that might mean. The Otherside was closer than it had ever been since the Break. He recalled the joy he’d felt that last time the two worlds intersected, but he’d been on a different side then.
He’d come to appreciate the joys of this realm, and he would not give them up. For now, he would watch the stars, and muse on what might lie ahead.
The morning sun woke Raed with a start. He was naked, lying on a rock, looking up as clouds skidded across the sky. He shuddered with the chill and, wrapping his arms around himself, sat up. Unfortunately, he had a lot of experience waking in such situations, and now, as in every other time, he felt terrible. The blinding pain behind his eyes and the deep aches in muscle and bone were a particularly favored gift of the Rossin. Reflexively he checked himself over, and was surprised and delighted that he was not covered in blood. It felt damn good to have a mouth that didn’t taste like iron and guilt.
As Raed stood up, however, his heart slammed into his throat; not two feet from him lay a bundle. The Young Pretender frowned and cautiously padded over to it.
“Curious,” he whispered, even as a deep shudder ran through him. This rock was definitely cold and exposed. He was used to waking up aching and miserable, but the Rossin had never left him a gift.