“If death is what you want, then tell me how to kill you.”
“I cannot be killed. The curse holds me here. Until the law of death is mended, I cannot die any more than your uncle can. Release me, and I shall mend the law of death.”
“And die yourself?”
“I swear that if you release me, I will deliver you from this place. I will leave, and I will do all in my power to die.”
Anne considered that for a long moment.
“You cannot lie to me.”
“You know I cannot.”
“Suppose I consider this,” Anne said slowly. “How would I free you?”
The shadow seemed to waver for a moment.
“Place your foot on my neck,” he snarled bitterly, “and say, ‘Qexqaneh, I free you.’”
Anne’s heart raced faster, and her belly seemed to fill with heat.
“I want to go back to my friends now,” she told him.
“As you wish.”
And with that she stood once more in darkness, with the earth tugging harder at her feet.
Aspar followed the woorm trail up a talus slope wiry with young trees to a great crack in the mountain, a natural cul-de-sac fifty kingsyards wide at the mouth and narrow toward the rear, where a great cascade of water plunged from far above. Predictably, the waterfall had dug a deep pool for itself, and just as predictably, the creature’s trail vanished into it.
The holter dismounted and walked the border of earth and water, searching for any other sign of the beast but only confirming what he already knew: The beast was in the mountain now. Whether it had reached its destination or was just passing through again, he could not know.
“Sceat,” he muttered, taking a seat on a rock to think.
Was Fend still riding the woorm? The last time he’d spoken to anyone who saw it, they’d reported two people on its back. If that was the case, then either the water passage was short enough for the men to survive or the two had dismounted as they had in the Ef valley. If that was true, they were waiting somewhere for the woorm to perform whatever task it had here.
The third possibility was that Fend and his comrade had drowned, but he didn’t think that was particularly likely.
On the chance they had dismounted, he checked carefully for traces but didn’t see any sign of men on foot. Given the fact that the earth here was covered in high moss, fern, and horsetail, it would be nearly impossible to avoid leaving some trace, even for Sefry.
That suggested that the woormriders had gone swimming with the woorm, which in turn implied that he might be able to follow. That belief was strengthened by the likelihood that this was the entrance to yet another Halafolk rewn. Sefry couldn’t hold their breath any longer than humans, so he ought to be able to make the swim, as he had done to enter Rewn Aluth.
Of course, a short swim for the beast might be a long one for him. Still, going after it was likely to be his only hope now.
That meant that once again he and Ogre had to part.
Wasting no time, he unbuckled the stallion’s saddle and slid it off, along with the blanket. Then he removed the bridle and hid it all beneath a small rock overhang. Ogre watched him the entire time, seeming strangely attentive.
Aspar walked him back to the entrance of the rift, then around the side of the mountain opposite the approach he expected Hespero and his men to take.
There he put his forehead against Ogre’s skull and patted his mount’s downy cheek.
“You’ve been a good friend,” he said. “Saved my life more times than I can count. Either way this goes, you’ve earned your way through. If I don’t come out, well, I maun y can take care of yourself. If I make it, I’ll find someplace quiet for you where y can stud and eat. No more arrows or greffyn poison or what have you, yah?”
The bared bay tossed his head, as if shaking off Aspar’s embrace, but the holter calmed him with another few strokes on his cheek.
“Just stay over here,” he said. “I wouldn’t have one of Hespero’s men riding you. Don’t suspect you would, either, and they’d probably kill you then, so just rest. I might well need one more fast ride out of you aer this is over.”
Ogre stamped as he walked away, and Aspar cast one glance back and raised an admonishing finger.
“Lifst,” he commanded.
Ogre whickered softly, but he obeyed and didn’t follow.
Back at the pool, Aspar unstrung his bow and wrapped it in an oiled beaver skin, tying it taut. He put the sinew in a waxed bag and tightened that, as well. He wrapped up his arrows, especially the arrow, in otter skin and bundled it all to his bow. He checked to make certain he had his dirk and hand-ax, then sat by the pool, breathing deeply, getting himself ready for a long underwater swim.
At his eighth breath, bubbles appeared in the pool, and then the water suddenly began to rise. Aspar watched for a few heartbeats, rooted, but as he understood what was happening, he grabbed his things and darted through the trees to the cliff, where he started climbing as swiftly as he could.
The rock face wasn’t all that difficult, and when the sudden flood slapped against the stone, he was already some four kingsyards up, well above it. But it wasn’t the water he was worried about, so he continued, straining his limbs, practically vaulting from hold to hold.
He heard a low, dull whump, and a moment later a brief shower of water pelted him, though he was already as high as the tops of the lower trees.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw the woorm tower up, wreathed in poisonous vapors, eyes glowing like green moons beneath the shadow of the sky.
9
An Unexpected Ally
Some scholars in times past have wondered what need the loon has for feet, legs, or indeed limbs of any sort. They cite as the source of their confusion the fact that the creature spends the vast majority of its time in captivity, carried hither and yon by its keepers. What they fail to see is the humorous side of the VLL’s natural history, to wit, that though it is often a helpless captive, its nature is to be dissatisfied with such humiliation.
Its legs, therefore, exist for the sole purpose of allowing it to walk from one detention to the next…
Despite the stew of anger, fear, and frustration that seethed in Stephen, he had to admit that the Sefry were better hosts than the slinders.
Yes, he and Zemlé were captives in the sense that they weren’t given any choice about where they were going. However, the Sefry handled them gently—royally, even—bearing them on small chairs set atop wooden poles and constraining them with numbers rather than violence. Their path wound deeper into the shadow forest, through fernlike trees and dense vines that drew closer, narrower, darker, until with a start Stephen realized that they had passed into the living stone of the mountain itself without his noticing the transition.
There the journey became more harrowing, and he wished they’d been allowed to walk as the cortege proceeded down a steep, narrow stair. On the left was stone, and to the right there was nothing but a distance their lanterns did not penetrate. Even the rewn had not seemed so vast. Stephen wondered if the mountain was entirely hollow, a brittle shell filled with darkness.
But no, not just darkness; something tugged lightly at the hairs of his arm and neck, and the faintest musical hum vibrated from the stone itself. There was power here, sedos power such as was only hinted at by the faneway he had walked and the others he had known. Even in Dunmrogh, at Khrwbh Khrwkh, where Anne Dare had unleashed the dormant might of an ancient fane, he hadn’t sensed this sort of subtle puissance.
Thankfully, the seemingly bottomless pit finally showed its foundation, and the Sefry took them through a more manageable cavern. It was still grand but low enough that he could make out the glittering stone teeth depending from its ceiling.