Heights of the Depths (36 page)

Zerena’s eyes were wide as she sat there, her hand over the lower part of her face. She started to speak but instead choked on some of her own blood.

“It’s not going to go back to the way it was, Mother,” he said heatedly. “You made your opinion on Jepp, on me, on all of it, very clear. And I’m not going to listen to it anymore. I don’t know why you’re here—”

“Neither do I!” Zerena managed to say.

He shook his head, not understanding. “What do you—?” He looked to Mingo, who still seemed somewhat disgruntled over nearly being decapitated. “What is she talking about?”

“Gods as our witness, Karsen, I am not quite certain how we came to be here,” said Mingo.

“How can you not be certain?”

“I…” He paused, trying to pull his thoughts together. “I remember that we tried to follow you. I remember that the jumpcar gave out. Then I remember it starting up again, and we tracked you all the way to Porto.”

“But how is that possible?”

“It’s not,” said Gant, speaking with the voice of the Piri. “It is not possible.”

“But if you remember—?”

“I did not say we did it,” said Mingo. “I said I remember it. I remember it as if from…”

“From what?”

“As if from someone’s mind other than my own.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Yes,” Zerena now said, sitting up in the Truller. “It makes no sense. But the way he describes it is exactly the way it is in my own head.”

“No specifics,” said Mingo. “No recollections of details. I don’t recall stopping along the way, eating, sleeping, anything. Like a waking dream, we started in one place and wound up in another, and the rest is a blur.”

“But that makes—”

“No sense, yes, we’ve established that,” said Mingo.

The Truller car lurched, causing everyone within to tumble to the floor, except for Eutok at the controls and Rafe who was keeping himself upright with his tail. The howls of the infuriated Piri were receding to nothing but faint echoes.

“You don’t understand anything,” said Zerena. Using a cloth from her bag, she was stanching the bleeding. “We are being used. You. Me. All of us.”

“Used?”

“By her. By that…Jepp. And try to strike me for saying that when I’m actually on my guard this time, it will turn out very differently, I assure you.”

“So!” said Rafe Kestor in his typical stentorian fashion, which was actually necessary in this instance since the roar of Truller car made it difficult for anything else to be heard. “Where are we going?”

“The Spires,” said Karsen.

“The Spires.” Zerena looked at the others. “Where the Travelers and the Overseer roam, and certain death awaits us? Because that’s where the Mort has been taken?”

“That’s right.”

“Certain death!” Rafe looked positively transcendent in his joy. “It does not get more exciting than that!”

“The way things have been going,” said Eutok, “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

firedraque hall, Perriz

“I miss them,” said Kerda.
 “Why did you let them go?”

Clarinda was in her quarters, which was where she typically was during daylight hours. Cloaked and hooded, she had learned to adapt to and survive the harsh sun, but she still far preferred to remain indoors while the irritating orb hung in the sky. She had been paging slowly through a Mort book, wishing that there was some way for her to decode the odd little scribbles across the pages. Now she looked up from it as Kerda stood in the doorway, or more accurately bent nearly in half so that she could be visible through it.

“Them?” Clarinda said blankly. Then she realized. “Oh. Of course. Berola and Turkin.”

“Why did you let them go?”

“I did not ‘let them.’ I presented them with an opportunity to follow their hearts, and they made their own choices.”

“They could very well be in danger.”

“They very well could be. On the other hand, danger can present itself anywhere you go, so—”

Suddenly they heard the pounding of feet coming toward them. Reacting instantly, Kerda practically bent herself in half in order to shove her way completely into Clarinda’s chambers. “Get back!” she ordered, and even though she was young, there was unmistakable authority in her voice. Clarinda instantly obeyed her, positioning herself so that the Ocular was between her and whoever was heading their way. She could take an educated guess who it was.

As it turned out, she was correct.

Evanna appeared at the doorway, and there were several Mandraques backing her up. Clarinda recognized one of the Mandraques as having been there with Arren the night that they had first tried to enter Perriz. “Where is he?” Evanna said without preamble.

“Get out of here,” said Kerda. She had her arms spread to either side, blocking any possible avenue of access to Clarinda.

“Where is he!”

“Get out of here!”

“Where is he?!”

“Get out of here!”

“I beg the pardons of all concerned,” said Clarinda. “But I think we can all agree that this conversation is getting us nowhere. Perhaps matters can progress if you’d be more specific as to the ‘he’ you seem to have misplaced.”

Evanna pointed at her accusingly. “You,” she said, “have abused the laws of hospitality.”

“I already apologized for breaking that glass the other day. In my defense, it was already cracked.”

“Not that! You know it’s not that!”

“If I do, it’s certainly no thanks to you,” said Clarinda.

“Arren Kinklash.”

Clarinda tilted her head. “Are you introducing yourself? Because I could have sworn you had a different name.”

“Do not play games with me. Where is Arren Kinklash?”

“How would I know that?”

“Because Xeri told me that you and two other Ocular led him away into the sewers.”

“Oh.” Clarinda’s jaw twitched. “Yes, well…that would be one way. Why, may I ask, did he tell you that?”

“Because I’m not stupid,” said Evanna. “Because I saw the Ocular walking around with these…” She gestured toward her own face. “These visors, which I very much suspect that only Xeri could have fashioned! And suddenly I receive word that Kinklash has vanished, apparently right out from under our very noses! And the two oldest Ocular appear to be missing. So I confronted Xeri about it. He managed to hold up under questioning a whole two minutes before he told me exactly what happened.”

“Xeri, if I remember correctly, is your intended mate. I can see the attraction. Easily controlled and pushed around. Someone who is as controlling as you—”

Evanna had heard all she cared to. “How dare you interfere in Firedraque policies and Firedraque internal business!”

“I don’t give a damn about your internal business,” Clarinda said, allowing a tint of anger to creep into her voice. “The laws of hospitality don’t require me to help you keep order in your own house. Kinklash came to me and sought release from someone who was holding him in an oppressive grip. That is something with which I have some familiarity. He came to me with an offer and two of my Ocular decided to take him up on it. I lent him my assistance.”

“You had no right—”

“To what? To help a dedicated brother endeavor to aid his sister? You, who haven’t the slightest interest in helping your own father, dare to lecture me?”

“Do you think I don’t want to help my father? Is that what you truly think?”

“You haven’t done a damned thing to prove it.”

“I don’t have to prove it. Not to you, not to anyone.” Evanna took a step toward her and Kerda struck an even more defensive posture, if that was possible. “If there is one thing my father taught me, it’s that there is an order to the world. And that order flows from the Overseer, and the Travelers are the symbol of the Overseer’s authority! The Zeffer no doubt was acting on the Travelers’ behalf, and I have no right to question it.”

“You are wrong,” Clarinda said. “You have a brain. You have intelligence. The fact that you possess those means that you have not only the right, but the responsibility. If you’ve decided to abrogate that responsibility, that is none of my concern. You cannot control the world, Evanna.”

“I’m not trying to control the world! Just my own little piece of it!”

“Evanna!”

It was Xeri. His voice echoed down the hallway and they could hear the sound of his running feet.
“Evanna!”
 he shouted again.

She looked momentarily chagrined and then rallied. “Xeri!” she yelled. “I ordered you to remain in your chambers until I—”

Guided by her voice, Xeri was at the doorway. The Mandraques barred his progress, but he didn’t appear to notice them. “Evanna—”

She put up a hand preemptive hand. “There is plenty of time for apologies later, Xeri. Now we must attend to—”

“We are under attack!”

Evanna stood there, stunned. She could scarcely process what he was saying. “What?”

“We are 
under attack
! We—”

That was when she heard it. From outside there were sounds that at first could have been mistaken for thunder, but then she realized was a building toppling. The windows in the small chamber rattled. “Who—?”

“Mandraques! Mandraques under the command of Thulsa of the Odomo House! And he has…he has…”

“He has what? Large weapons? A limited amount of time to live once I get my hands on him?”

Another thunderous noise shook the hall to its very foundations. Barely able to speak above a whisper, Xeri said, “Zeffers.”

“Zeffers? Are you sure?”

“Who could possibly mistake Zeffers for anything else?”

“They’ve taken over Zeffers?”

He shook his head. “The Serabim are fighting alongside them.”

Evanna had no idea what to say, no idea what to do. It was only at that moment that she remembered that the three Mandraques who had accompanied her were of the Odomo house. They were looking at each other uncertainly, and then—without having to say a word—they came to a mutual decision. They yanked their swords from their belts and shouted as one, “For Odomo!” One swung his sword straight at Xeri, who avoided the thrust by the simple expedient of falling backwards, startled.

Evanna stood there, paralyzed. She could have spit fire at them, but every muscle in her body had locked up. The Mandraques turned their attention from Xeri to Evanna and came right at her.

They did not get within five feet of her. That was because Kerda’s arm reach was six feet.

Without hesitation she drove a fist forward, and it struck with such impact that it caved in the chest of the nearest Mandraque. He went down, gasping, his lungs filling with blood. Realizing their jeopardy, the remaining two Mandraques approached her with greater caution, trying to figure the best way to come at her.

With a roar, Clarinda came straight at the one on the right. His attention distracted, the Mandraque only noticed her at the last moment. He brought his sword around but she ducked under it and an instant later was upon him.

It was a joyous moment. Clarinda had resigned herself to the fact that, for as long as she resided in Perriz—which might well be forever—she would never again be able to know the joy of savoring the blood of anything other than animals. Now, though, she was under attack, and she was quite certain she wouldn’t have to worry about Evanna gainsaying her. She didn’t just sink her fangs into the Mandraque’s throat; instead she clamped down and tore it out. Blood gushed from the gaping wound. The Mandraque tried to shriek but his vocal cords were already gone; Clarinda was spitting them out onto the floor. He tried to bring his sword up, but it was already slipping from his numb fingers. With a cry of undiluted joy, Clarinda drank deeply from the Mandraque as if she were a parched person coming upon a geyser in the middle of the desert.

The entire attack took scant seconds. Usually when Clarinda drank, it was from something small and pathetic, some rodent that she drained slowly because food was not always plentiful and she had to make it last. Here, in the heat of combat, fighting for her own life and caught up in the blood lust, Clarinda drained him in no time. He tumbled to the floor and she rode him all the way down, finishing the last of him while on her knees. Then she looked up, her eyes blazing, her lips drawn back, blood dripping from her lips.

“And you…?” she said to the remaining Mandraque.

He needed no urging. The Mandraque turned and ran.

Slowly she got to her feet, new strength flowing through her veins. Then she saw the appalled look on Evanna’s face, on Kerda’s face. For a moment the look she was receiving from the latter was enough to make her feel ashamed. But then she drew herself up, squared her shoulders. “This is what I am. This is who I am. If you have a problem with it, then now is the time to say something.”

Kerda, with effort, shook her head.

She turned to Evanna. “So…controlling your own little piece of the world. How is that working out for you, Evanna?”

For once in her life, Evanna had nothing to say.

the lower reaches of suislan

I.

The castle in which Pavan
 was being held had been fairly quiet of late. The majority of the Mandraques had departed, including the officious Thulsa Odomo. The Mandraques who had been assigned to guard him were still present: the one outside the door, and those who were outside the window of his imprisonment. There was always the chance that he could leap down upon them, overwhelm them, go running off. But he remained a pacifist at heart. It was the aspect of his personality that made him fit to be a Keeper, and useless in a combat situation.

He suspected he knew the reason for their departure. They were embarking on their mad quest against the Firedraques.

On the one hand, he was appalled by their actions. Their willingness to take such an insane risk against the status quo of the world as they knew it to be.

On the other hand, as much as he was reluctant to admit it to himself…

He envied them.

Even though he had been victimized by Thulsa’s drive and the relentless ambition of the Mandraques, he envied the fearlessness of their actions. He had lived his life tentatively, always trying to please, never wanting to overreach. And look where it had gotten them, and look where it had gotten him.

Having been forced into isolation, Pavan took a long and hard look at his life and did not especially like where it had brought him.

“I have spent so much time blaming my parents for abandoning me,” he said, “that I have wasted—”

“Oh, will you please shut up!”

It was Belosh, the guard outside the door.

“I was just thinking aloud.”

“You’re always thinking aloud! Do you understand that thinking is typically something that is done in your head rather than outside your head? It’s bad enough that I’m missing the slaughter, but to have to stand out here and listen to your drivel, hour after hour after hour! Thulsa Odomo told me I cannot kill you, but if this keeps up much longer, I’m going to kill myself!”

Pavan sighed heavily and went to the window. He had been doing that quite often, looking longingly toward the mountains. He knew that it was geographically impossible, and yet he couldn’t help but feel as if they were further away with every passing day.

Then he spotted something in the distance.

He couldn’t believe it.

It was a Zeffer.

It was his way out.

ii.

The Zeffer was definitely shifting
 direction.

Arren didn’t know why, and he didn’t care. The way that it veered off indicated that it had a specific destination in mind. That being the case, he had every reason to think that he would be able to catch up with it soon and then…

Then what? He wasn’t exactly sure. He was undertaking a good deal of this with improvisation. He was not comfortable doing it. It ran contrary to his nature, his nature being to plan and scheme and try to anticipate everything that could possibly go wrong. But he really didn’t feel as if he had much choice.

He was still riding astride Turkin’s back. “How are you holding up, Turkin?” Turkin inclined his head slightly, but that was all.

“I think it’s heading toward that castle over there,” said Berola. “The one with the Mandraques standing in front of it.”

“Mandraques? Wait, stop.” He tapped Turkin on the shoulder and the Ocular slowed to a halt. Arren squinted, trying to see that far into the distance. “Are you sure?”

“I see them, too,” said Turkin. “These visors you’ve created are amazing. We’ve gone from being blind during the day to being able to—”

“Are you completely sure?”

“Well, not completely,” said Berola in annoyance. “It could be a Phey. I hear they’re shapeshifters. Or it could be a Firedraque in a cunning disguise. Or it—”

“All right, all right. They’re Mandraques. And you are sure the Zeffer is heading toward them? Right, of course you’re sure,” he said hurriedly, cutting off Berola before she could come up with a scathing retort. He thought about it. “Can you get us there before the Zeffer?”

For answer, Turkin began to run again, and Arren had to hold on more tightly than ever. He realized with a distant shock that the Ocular hadn’t really been going at full speed until now. Turkin had been conserving his energy, keeping a pace that he could maintain. With a destination in sight, though, he was cranking himself up to full speed, and it was all that Arren could do to hang on. Berola was keeping up with him easily. He wondered if she might be even faster than Turkin, but couldn’t quite bring himself to embrace the notion of riding a female Ocular.

The guards at the base of the castle didn’t seem to know where to look first. They saw the Zeffer coming their way, but didn’t appear particularly threatened by it. Arren found that curious, since the typical attitude of a Mandraque was to feel threatened by just about anything and try to destroy it before it destroyed the Mandraque. So the fact that they were just watching it rather than, say, seeking out bows and arrows and attempt to shoot it down struck Arren as curious.

Why would they not feel threatened?

“They’re allied,” he said.

Turkin, still running at full speed, was huffing slightly, but Berola looked at him and said, “What?”

“Those Mandraques. They’re allied with the Serabim.”

“How do you know?”

“I pay attention to things,” said Arren. “From the colors of their leathers, I think they’re of the Odomo house. That makes them Thulsa’s. Thulsa rules with an iron claw. There is no way they would be acting on their own initiative, which makes me think that Thulsa is organizing it.”

The Mandraques had now noticed the Ocular coming their way. Small wonder since the running Ocular were creating a tremor that a deaf person would have perceived. As opposed to their relaxed reaction to the Zeffer, they immediately responded as if the Ocular presented a threat. They drew their swords.

And did not attack.

The normal Mandraque reaction to a perceived threat would have been to come right at it. The fact that they were staying put told Arren that they were guarding something. That immediately made the castle of even greater interest to Arren.

“Put me down,” he said. “I am head of the Five Clans and it is high time they knew who they were dealing with.”

Turkin promptly did as he was instructed, slowing to barely more than a trot and allowing Arren to drop off him and hit the ground in a crouch. Arren straightened and the Mandraques, even though they were still a short distance away, recognized him immediately. They were stunned, obviously unable to comprehend what the head of the Five Clans was doing in the company of two Ocular…in the daytime, no less, when Ocular were typically helpless.

“On your knees! Show respect!” Arren ordered, and when they hesitated, he bellowed, “I said on your knees! Or I’ll cut your legs off just above them and feed them to the Ocular!”

This was sufficient threat to prompt them to genuflect. In a low voice, Berola said, “We don’t actually eat other members of the Twelve Races. That’s just a story.”

“Yes, but they don’t know that. I know that you would never—”

“Not never. We used to. We just stopped because their bones kept getting stuck in our gums.”

He stared at her. “Are you joking?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you hear…singing?” said Turkin.

At first he did not. His tongue flicked out several times, getting a sense of the vibrations in the air. “No. I hear nothing. Are you certain…?”

“Yes, I’m certain. It’s light and airy that it almost could be mistaken for a passing breeze.” Turkin looked down at him. “Can’t you Mandraques hear?”

“We hear fine,” said Arren, feeling strangely defensive at the question.

“Maybe it’s too high for them to hear,” said Berola. “Maybe they can’t perceive sounds in the upper registers.”

“Which means that’s likely not a Mandraque who’s doing the singing,” said Turkin.

They walked up to the Mandraques on guard, who had remained on bended knee the entire time. They looked to the left and the Zeffer was drawing steadily closer. Arren wasted no time. “What are you doing here? Who are you guarding?”

“We were given strict instructions,” one of the Mandraques said, “to tell no one of—”

“I am not no one,” Arren said heatedly. “I am Arren Kinklash, head of the Five Clans, and I do not care if you are taking your orders directly from the gods themselves. You will answer my questions. Keep in mind that I have already figured out much. Thulsa Odomo, who answers to me I might add, has formed an alliance with the Serabim. He is going to be using the Zeffers for conquest. What I do not know is how he has managed to accomplish that, but I suspect the answer is up there. Now are you going to tell me? Or do I have to go up there and find out myself.”

The Mandraques exchanged uncertain glances.

Arren had had enough. His voice was brisk as he said, “Turkin.”

Turkin stepped forward, all business. “Yes?”

“Eat one of them.”

“Which one?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Surprise me.”

Turkin advanced on the Mandraques, who backed up until their backs were against the wall of the castle. He smiled down at them and then, pointing at each one in succession, spoke an ancient Ocular rhyme that was used by children to make a choice.

“Fee, fie, fo, fum…”

ii.

Belosh had no idea why
 he had been left behind at the castle on this pointless guard duty.

He knew why the others had been left behind. They were idiots. He suspected that they had been dropped while still eggs, and thus were typically given less important assignments. But Belosh had every confidence in his abilities as a warrior and a dedicated follower of Thulsa Odomo. Why, then, had Thulsa chosen to leave him guarding the fool Serabim Keeper?

Oh, he knew what Thulsa had told him. “Because I need someone I can trust. The very fact that the others are—less than competent—is all the more reason that I require someone of intelligence and vision to make certain that nothing goes wrong.” Those had been fine words, but Belosh kept wondering if words were all they were. Was it possible that, for whatever reason, Thulsa saw Belosh as no different than those idiots below?

The more he thought about it, the more he dwelled upon it, the angrier he became. But he had no outlet upon which he could vent that anger.

None save the fool in the chamber he was guarding.

He had warned the Keeper not to speak. If the Keeper continued to do so, that would be more than enough excuse for Belosh to go in there and vent some of his frustration by beating the mewling Keeper severely around the head and shoulders. The best aspect of that was that since the Serabims’ hides were so thick, a sound beating wouldn’t inflict any permanent damage.

The problem was that the Keeper appeared to have heeded Belosh’s instructions.

Belosh placed his ear hole against the door, straining to hear something. A muttered whisper, an abortive soliloquy. Something.

There. He thought that maybe he just might have heard the Keeper saying something under his breath. That was good enough.

Belosh had a short club dangling from his belt on one side and a sword on the other. The sword wouldn’t be needed for this business. Pulling out the bludgeon, he unbolted the door, yanked it open, and stalked in.

He stopped dead. His jaw went slack.

The Keeper was standing at the window, his mouth open, gesturing smoothly. He appeared to be saying something, but Belosh could not determine what it was. A distant whisper, at most, was all he could perceive. But Belosh’s eyes made the impending threat clear enough. There was a Zeffer drifting toward the window, and a Serabim was astride it.

It was a rescue mission. A damnable rescue mission.

Belosh had no idea how it was possible. He knew that much of the kidnapping of the Keeper was simply a way to force any reluctant Serabim to go along with the plan that had already been concocted between Thulsa and Seramali. The fact was that, for the most part, the Serabim had embraced the notion of flexing their collective muscle. They had use for the Mandraques, and the Mandraques for them, and that would mutually benefit them until the inevitable moment when one of them decided to betray the other. Ultimately there would only be one left standing, for such was always the way of things on the Damned World.

So who the hell was mounting a rescue attempt?

The Keeper was summoning it somehow. That had to be it.

The bludgeon was obviously not going to be sufficient.

Belosh vaulted across the room and grabbed Pavan from behind before the Keeper even realized he was there. As he moved he yanked out his sword and brought it up and across Pavan’s throat. Whatever Pavan had been doing to summon the Zeffer, he stopped doing it now, if the gasp and sharp intake of breath was any indicator.

The Serabim who was astride the Zeffer saw what was happening and shouted angrily, “Leave him alone! You leave him alone!”

It was a female by the sound of her. She roared a challenge and bared her claws, and it was obvious from her look and attitude that she shared none of the pacificistic leanings that made the Keeper so easy to control. If she drew near enough, Belosh was going to have a fight on his hands. Not that he wasn’t confident that he could handle a single Serabim, but the Keeper might take the opportunity to try and escape while Belosh was busy battling the female.

Fortunately there was another way.

“Back away!” Belosh shouted. “Back away or his blood will be on his fur…and on your hands! Back away, I said! Back away or your precious Keeper dies!”

“If he dies, then you’re going to follow him!” Her voice was uncertain, though, which was all that Belosh needed to grow confident. She wasn’t going to have the will to challenge him; he was positive of that.

“I’m willing to take a chance with my life!” he called out to her. “Are you willing to gamble with his?”

Suddenly a hand clamped down on Belosh’s shoulder. Assuming that it was one of the idiots from the guard squadron below, he started to say, “Not now!” even as he glanced behind him.