Liar's Island: A Novel (21 page)

What was an archaka? Rodrick didn't know. But that mention of a rakshasa—the creature must have been sent to hunt him by Nagesh.

Grimschaw groaned and started to sit up, and in the moment Rodrick glanced at her, the weretiger struck, leaping from concealment to take him from his blind side.

Just because Rodrick wasn't looking didn't mean Hrym wasn't, though, and the sword sent forth a spiraling cone of ice that caught the weretiger's midsection and sent it flying backward. By then Rodrick was looking in the
right
direction, so he had a good view of Hrym conjuring bands of ice to pin the creature to the ground. It writhed and struggled against the shackles, but couldn't break the magical ice. “Good,” Rodrick said. “Now we can ask it—”

Grimschaw howled, leaping upon the weretiger much as it had leapt on her, slashing with her machete until the beast's throat was a ruin. She remained crouched atop the corpse, breathing hard, staring down at it.

“—a few questions, I was going to say.” Rodrick sighed. “That was intemperate, Grimschaw.”

She turned her head and stared at him with such hatred that he took a step back. “What questions could this abomination possibly answer?”

Ah. She hadn't heard it speak to him, apparently. Maybe it was better to let her think this was an attack of opportunity, and not someone sent to pursue a fugitive.

Grimschaw was still talking. “The jungle is full of dangers, and there's no need to
interrogate
those dangers. As for this thing … It attacked me. It
dared
. And after it knocked me down, it didn't even kill me! It ignored me. Me!”

“It didn't kill you because I pinned it with ice,” Rodrick said. “You're welcome, by the way.”

“Technically, I was the one who sprayed the ice,” Hrym said. “Give any thanks and financial gratitude directly to me, please.”

“It treated me like I wasn't a threat at all,” Grimschaw said. “Such an insult could not be borne!”

What a baffling woman. “Of course,” Rodrick said. “You can't go around letting people
slight
you. No one has manners anymore. Do you murder people at dinner parties if they use the wrong fork?”

“This is no dinner party.”

“Really? I hadn't noticed.” Rodrick froze Hrym to the sheath on his back, then knelt by the tiger. There was a medallion around its neck, etched black metal on a dark chain. The symbol inscribed on it was unfamiliar to him: a circle, its inner circumference lined with many triangles pointing toward the center. It looked like the stylized representation of a leech's mouthparts. Rodrick shuddered.

“Look at this, Grimschaw. Do you think it's the emblem of some cult? Worshipers of some Vudrani god or another, I mean?”

Grimschaw scowled, cleaning the blood from her weapon on the fallen creature's striped fur. “Very likely. They have thousands of gods. I can't be expected to know all their ridiculous beliefs.”

Some scholar and devotee of secret knowledge she'd turned out to be. Rodrick felt around until he found the necklace's clasp, then unhooked the chain, removed the medallion, and put it in his pack. Maybe it was valuable, or even magical, though it obviously wasn't a medallion of protection against ice. Or machetes. He patted down the creature, but it didn't have any weapons or coins or keys or maps or letters explaining its exact relationship with Nagesh. Did weretigers ally themselves with rakshasas, or let rakshasas dominate them? Or did Nagesh and this hunter have some other relationship, like membership in a shared cult? The weretiger had said “we,” which suggested it wasn't a lone agent.

To distract himself, Rodrick said, “I don't suppose you're religious. You Arclords have only one god, don't you? The wizard Nex.”

“Nex was
better
than a god, he was—” She stopped abruptly. “I'm not an Arclord.”

“No, no, I misspoke. An Arclord wouldn't have needed a knife to kill this poor creature. She would have opened her third eye and projected a blast of mystic mind-energy, or something. You're a devoted servant, though, aren't you? If Nex
were
a god, you'd be a priest—not a
high
priest, but one of the lower levels who gets the work done and keeps the shrines polished—but since Nex was a wizard, and not a god, you've got no one to pray to. You aren't a magic-user yourself, though? No mastery of the arcane? You didn't spend time studying in—oh, what's it called, the magical college in Absalom? The Obfuscatorium?”

“The Arcanamirium. And, no. My interest in the arcane extends only to ancient texts. I've told you, I'm a collector. There are
many
who come from Nex who have nothing to do with the Arclords. They're not even the leading faction in the country anymore.”

Rodrick snorted. “A collector. You spirited me out of the city in a smuggler's wagon, which I noticed was
not
stuffed with rare volumes of forgotten lore, then abandoned said wagon without regard for its contents. You have mysterious ‘friends' elsewhere on the island, apparently with a ship. Am I to believe you're a group of devoted lovers of ancient manuscripts, then? With the resources to field a secret expedition to Jalmeray for the purpose of stealing what looks remarkably like a treasure map, marked with the same symbol I saw flapping on an Arclord ship during my journey to the island?” He'd finally remembered where he'd seen the eye inside a triangle before, and it only served to cement his suspicions. “Forgive me if I'm skeptical, Grimschaw. I tell lies for a living. You clearly do not, or you'd be better at it.”

She rounded on him, glaring. “Who I am and what my purpose might be don't matter. We have an agreement, don't we?”

“Get me on a ship and safely back to Absalom, or some other friendly port, and the map is yours.”

She narrowed her eyes and touched her weapon. “I'll take you to the ship, and send you on your way, but you'll give me the map
before
you depart.”

Rodrick shook his head. “You have no strength in your negotiating position, I'm afraid, so stop posturing. I'm not going to trust you or your people. A lot of bad things can happen on the open water. Get me to a foreign port, ideally Absalom or points north, and the map will be yours, and not before—that will be an incentive for you to make sure I have a pleasant and uneventful journey.” He looked at the corpse of the weretiger. “But in case you're thinking you can sneak up on me unawares, as this beast did, just remember—I'm going to be keeping my eye on you, and on those occasions when I need to sleep, Hrym will be ever watchful.”

“Hmm?” Hrym said. “Oh. Right. Be good or I'll shoot icicles through your face.”

Grimschaw took her hand from her blade, turned her back, and began marching through the trees again.

“Do you have to antagonize her?” Hrym said, almost quietly. “Usually you try to
charm
women. You were even nice to that sorcerer with the parasitic twin growing out of her back last year.”

“Ah, Zaqen. She was a lively conversationalist. A shame she turned on us. I actually quite liked her, aberrant blood and all. But Grimschaw … Some people are immune to charm. Trying to flirt with them is like pouring water onto desert sand—they just soak it up and give you nothing back and don't change a bit themselves in the process. She's a woman on a mission, and keeping us alive is a necessary step. Keeping us
happy
isn't.”

They walked for hours in silence, and weren't attacked again, though a few times they paused and waited for large things moving nearby to leave the vicinity. At one point, Grimschaw stopped, turned toward them stiffly, and said, “You did save my life from the weretiger. I realize that. I am … grateful.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Rodrick said.

She nodded brusquely, turned, and continued on, slashing with her machete.

Rodrick pondered whether the thanks were sincere. Expressing gratitude had certainly seemed to pain her, which pointed toward its authenticity, but maybe she was trying to lull him, and make him relax around her. But why? A woman armed with a spear and a knife, even a very big one, was no match for Hrym, and Hrym would be watching over him even if he did let his guard down. Rodrick decided vigilance was still the safest bet, even though being on alert all the time was exhausting. Especially as the day faded toward evening, and the jungle filled with flickering shadows the mind could use to conjure any imaginable danger.

Rodrick was no tracker—he could get around in a city, but forests and jungles were not his milieus—but even he could discern that they were finally following a path of sorts, instead of just hacking their way through, and Grimschaw seemed to know where she was going. He tried to take comfort in someone else's certainty, but he vastly preferred his own, which wasn't available at the moment. Eventually they emerged into a small clearing, where a wooden cabin was halfway through being devoured by the forest—its roof was drifted with leaves, and one wall looked to be held up entirely by a net of tangled vines.

“I've camped here before,” Grimschaw said. “We should be safe for the night.” She went into the structure, and after a moment, Rodrick followed. It was in little better repair inside, but the floors had been swept clear of debris and there was a lantern resting on an overturned half-barrel.

He propped Hrym in the corner, then put his back against the most solid-looking wall and sat down, legs aching from the long walk. His trousers were stained green with sap—plant's blood. Ah, well. Better than human blood. Or tiger blood, for that matter.

Grimschaw opened her pack and removed a few edible odds and ends—round rolls of bread, dried fish and meat, a block of waxy orangeish cheese. Rodrick sighed as she grudgingly passed him a meager portion. “I ate much better in the thakur's palace,” he said around a mouthful of terribly dry bread.

“Then you shouldn't have tried to murder the man.”

“That's vile slander. I didn't try to kill anyone. What happened was … halfway between an accident and an escape attempt.” Grimschaw had thanked him for saving her life, so he thought he might as well extend the hand of camaraderie to her as well. “The thakur's advisor, Nagesh, tried to force us to commit a killing for him, to murder some rajah who's visiting the palace soon. He wanted Hrym to ice the man, so he could blame it on foreign agents, that sort of thing. Nagesh promised us rewards and freedom after the job was done, but he was certainly lying, and anyway, we might not be honest, but we're not murderers. We were pretending to go along with the plan, biding our time until we could escape, but we, ah … made a mess of things, and left in greater haste than I'd intended. And with more pursuit.”

Grimschaw cut a slice of cheese and chewed it thoughtfully. “Vudrani politics are complex, but the thakur doesn't have a reputation for cutting throats to advance his ends. Manipulating people into cutting each
other's
throats, possibly, but hiring a foreign killer is a new direction for him.”

“The assassination probably wasn't the thakur's idea,” Hrym chimed in. “Most likely it was all Nagesh's idea. He's a rakshasa, you know.”

Grimschaw let out a low whistle. “One of the thakur's chief advisors is a
rakshasa
? Are you sure? Information like that could be very valuable to the right people.”

“Sell it to whomever you like,” Rodrick said. “Consider it a gift. Though feel free to pass along a finder's fee if you discover a buyer.”

“I don't know much about the creatures,” she said. “Just that they're fiends, exiles or invaders from another plane of existence, and their very natures embody treachery. Are you sure it was a rakshasa and not something more mundane? Another weretiger?”

“When Nagesh was hurt, and let his illusion drop, I saw he has a snake's head,” Rodrick said. “Are there were-snakes? There are those stories of an ancient empire of serpentfolk—but Nagesh has backward hands, just like the rakshasas in storybooks.”

“Hmm. Interesting. But evidence of rot in the thakur's court is no concern of mine.”

“I'm sure it will delight your masters the Arclords, though.”

Grimschaw rolled her eyes. “You sing the same song over and over, don't you, Rodrick? Learn a new one.”

“I don't suppose you have a deck of cards? Dice? Any interest in carnal—no, no, never mind, I can't imagine either one of us would have much fun doing that. Well, in the absence of ways to pass the time, I think I'm going to sleep.” The light was nearly gone anyway, purple deepening to black. “Hrym, keep an eye on her, in case she tries to murder me.”

“I suppose you'll expect me to
stop
her, too,” Hrym said. “Honestly, the demands you make.”

Rodrick wrapped himself in the cloak of the devilfish, tried not to think about insects burrowing into his brain and laying eggs, and drifted off to sleep.

*   *   *

Rodrick was having a lovely dream, making love to the captain from the voyage to Jalmeray, except this time she had four arms like a Vudrani deity, and she knew how to use
every
one, caressing his chest with one while the others—

He opened his eyes to blackness, and there was still a hand reaching into his shirt. He grabbed the wrist, and something struck him in the cheek hard enough to make him loosen his grip. “Hrym!” he croaked.

“Your sword can't help you.” Grimschaw's voice was low and, for once, amused. “Look.” Light bloomed, blinding him, but he blinked until they adjusted, revealing a globe of light bobbing over Grimschaw's head. She had the map clutched in one hand, and the machete in the other, blade angled perfectly to chop down onto his neck. The two of them were covered by a glittering dome of bluish light. Hrym was still propped in the corner of the shack, outside the dome, and by all appearances doing his very best to rescue Rodrick, with his spears of ice striking the dome and shattering soundlessly.