Liar's Island: A Novel (25 page)

The weight lessened greatly, though the armor didn't seem to change; it just got lighter. Rodrick began to smile. This might not be a dream, exactly, but it was
like
a dream, in that thoughts could affect it, to some extent. He should have realized when he'd noticed Lais was taller here than in reality—some subconscious desire for more stature had translated itself to actuality here.

Well. Let's see what
conscious
desire could do.

The ground abruptly receded as Rodrick grew himself to giant proportions. He wished the helm away, then changed his mind and made it transparent, instead, then made the whole suit of armor into magical ice instead of impossibly lightweight steel. The sword, too, shifted to resemble Hrym in his true form—or his sword form, anyway; maybe this dragon was his
true
form, in some more fundamental sense.

Rodrick towered over the demon lord now, and he swept his sword down in a great arc, bisecting the monster's body. The severed segments sprayed hideous ichors in green and yellow, and its back end thrashed wildly, unwilling to die. Lais somersaulted away from the thing's throes, then got the hang of the trick herself, growing to a size matching Rodrick's. She grabbed the end of the demon lord still connected to its head and began to twist while Rodrick set about chopping its still-living back end into tiny chunks.

NO!
the demon boomed, and it tried to grow, too, and to heal its wounds, but it was no match for an onslaught on three fronts. When next it opened its hideous maw to shriek, Hrym shoved his head
inside
the cavernous mouth and breathed ice down Kholerus's throat.

The demon lord's body crystallized, turning blue, and when Rodrick struck it with his sword, the great worm shattered into fragments. Rodrick ground anything that resembled an eye, or a tooth, or a tongue into icy dust as fine as sand, and Hrym raged about, hurling ice at the volcano until it was all just a smooth hill of whiteness blending in with the plain.

Then they stood and stared at one another. “Is that it?” Rodrick said. “Did we—”

The distant background hum stopped, and the white world vanished.

19

Aftermath and Ambush

Rodrick blinked around in the sunlight. He was sitting on the ground again, holding Hrym's hilt and Lais's hand, at least until she slid her fingers free and stood up.

“The taint is cleansed,” the monk said. “I felt it disappear. Are you all right, Lais?”

“That was amazing!” she said. “Have you done this sort of battle often, master?”

He shook his head. “Not often. Psychic battles are common among some mystics, but my interest has always been more in the material world.”

“I became a giant! We wrestled a demon!”

The monk smiled, all amused tolerance for the enthusiasms of youth. “And bested it, I see. Hrym, how do you feel?”

“I felt fine before,” the sword said peevishly. “But it's possible I feel slightly
finer
now. I do notice my lack of arms and legs and wings rather more keenly than I did before.”

The monk handed the sword to Rodrick, who took it, grinning widely, as they got to their feet. “I can't thank you enough. Both of you, Lais, and—what was your name, master?”

“Jayin. I am pleased to help prevent the demonic taint from spreading farther.” He frowned, a line appearing between his eyes. “Now that the immediate threat is past, there are your other problems to consider. My student tells me you are being hunted by members of the Knife in the Dark?”

“I think so,” Rodrick said. “They—”

His eyes widened, and he raised Hrym. A winged creature was swooping down toward them from the sky, big as a person—much
like
a person, but with the face of an eagle, and great spreading wings, more than twice as wide as it was tall. Was this another rakshasa? Did those with the heads of birds actually
fly
? He pointed the sword, intending to knock the creature out of the sky.

His legs went out from under him and he fell onto his back, Hrym bouncing from his grip. The master's bare foot pressed against his throat, and the man looked down at him, just as placidly as ever.

“It's all right, Rodrick, she's a friend!” Lais said.

“Friend?” he muttered. “You're friends with a rakshasa?” Everything was confusing. He'd thumped the back of his head on the ground and sparkles and black motes overlaid his vision. “Or … harpy? No, those have the heads of women and the bodies of birds…”

“She's a garuda! Her name is Dhyana. An old friend of my master's.”

“Garuda,” Rodrick murmured. They'd appeared in the storybook he read on the voyage over, too. They were supposed to be as good as rakshasas were wicked. “Noble creatures,” he said. “Protectors. Gallant.”

“He flatters me.” The bird woman now stood beside Jayin, looking down at him. He had no idea what her expression held. It was because of the beak. Beaks were difficult to read.

He groaned. “Could you take your foot off me, please?” The master complied, and Rodrick sat up, rubbing his head. “Are you all right, Hrym?”

“As long as I don't have to meet any more people,” he said. “Did it have to be someone with wings? I just
lost
my wings.”

“I very much look forward to finding out what I've missed,” Dhyana said. “I brought fish. Shall we eat them, and you can catch me up?”

*   *   *

The interior of Jayin's cave was not a cave at all, but a snug little house built into the hill, its entrance made to look natural in order to conceal it. The house was hardly palatial—monks weren't usually great lovers of material things, in Rodrick's limited experience—but it was comfortable, and hardly seemed subterranean at all, apart from the lack of windows, and the many lamps made up for that. The decorations were sparse, just a tapestry depicting a robed figure in meditation beneath a semicircle of mystic symbols, a shrine to some Vudrani deity or another, and a shelf that held a bowl of Andoren pottery—that probably qualified as exotic, here. This room lacked anything that Rodrick would consider a chair, but there were a profusion of cushions on the rich carpets, brightly colored, and the others seated themselves casually, Dhyana arranging her wings neatly behind her as she knelt, Lais sprawling on her side, her master sitting cross-legged. “Lais,” he said. “Perhaps some refreshments?”

She bounced up and set a kettle on a small iron stove, then brought out bunches of grapes and bowls of berries and flatbread and bean paste and arrayed them on a low round table. Rodrick did his best not to gluttonously devour everything, at least until the monk said, “Yes, eat, you've had a long day.”

Dhyana chatted with Hrym, who rested on a cushion beside her. “So you two are treasure hunters?”

“We seek our fortunes in different places,” Hrym said. That was true enough. “This is a beautiful island, but it hasn't been lucky for us.”

“To run afoul of the Knife in the Dark is bad luck indeed. They're not a large cult, I don't think, but if so many attacked Lais in the jungle, they must be having a meeting there. Best to avoid the area now.”

Rodrick swallowed the last of his bread, washed it down with a cup of cool water, and said, “Have you heard of something called the Scepter of the Arclords?”

The monk and the garuda exchanged a look, and then the monk said, “Why do you ask?”

Rodrick shrugged. “That … might be where the treasure map leads. I'm not sure, but I heard it mentioned. I assume the scepter dates from the days when the Arclords ruled Jalmeray?”

“The Scepter of the Arclords is very famous here, a legendary artifact of great power,” Jayin said. “The Arclords left it behind when they fled from the island, and the stories say it is still hidden somewhere on Jalmeray. The unscrupulous routinely try to sell jeweled staves covered in glowing runes, claiming they've found the true scepter, but they're all counterfeits, mere trickery and illusion.”

Rodrick would have to remember that. Selling false scepters of the Arclords could be a lucrative scam.

“The scepter is reputedly so powerful it would make even Hrym here seem commonplace in comparison,” Jayin went on.

“Doubtful,” Hrym said.

“What does it do?” Rodrick said.

Dhyana shrugged, with a great rustling of feathers. “No one knows, not really. Even its provenance is unclear. Was it a scepter that belonged to Nex, inherited by his servants, who in time became the Arclords? A magical rod the Arclords used to maintain order among their servants? No one can say, and the Arclords are notoriously closed-mouthed.” Her tone became gentle. “This map you found … I hope you didn't pay too much for it. There are people who sell fake maps, as well as fake scepters.”

“Ah, no. My partner, she's from Nex, and she had me dig around among some old books and scrolls in a forgotten corner of a library. That's where we found the map.” Let them think he'd found it
in
Nex. He was trying not to lie outright, just to be on the safe side, but it was like asking a fish not to breathe water. The shame of Nagesh catching him in mid-scam was too fresh, and who knew what powers garudas had? If she could read minds, he was doomed anyway, but couldn't some creatures detect lies?

“Maybe the map really does lead to the scepter,” Lais said. “Wouldn't
that
be a find!”

“Do you still intend to seek this treasure?” Dhyana asked.

Rodrick shook his head. “I just want to get away from here. Besides, the jungle is crawling with the Knife in the Dark, and with my luck they'll be camped right on top of the thing.”

“This … is very troubling.” The monk's tone didn't sound troubled, but that didn't mean much. “You told Lais your associate ran off with the map, because you disagreed with her desire to continue your search?”

“I did say that, yes,” Rodrick said, still carefully keeping to the letter of truth.

“If your former partner saw members of the cult and survived the experience, they might well be hunting her. When they find her, they will find this map, and will surely be curious about where it leads. If it does take them to the scepter…”

“That would be disastrous,” Dhyana said. “Anyone who possessed an object of such power could easily use it to gain influence with the thakur and the Maurya-Rahm. The Knife in the Dark could parlay such a find into positions of untold power, and bring about terrible destruction.”

Lais stood holding the tea kettle, a cloth wrapped around the hot handle, her eyes wide. “That would be horrible!”

“It must not be allowed to happen,” the monk said. “Dhyana, I think you should fly to Niswan and alert—”

The door burst inward, wood shattering, and a tiger nearly the size of a horse charged into their midst, snarling and lashing out with its claws.

The next seconds were a blur of fur, teeth, blood, and howls. Dhyana snatched up Hrym, bellowing in anguish and rage, and Rodrick dove out of the way before the garuda could point Hrym anywhere in his general direction. He didn't like being around the sword's icy wrath, not without the protective power that came with holding the hilt. But Dhyana didn't try to use his ice magic at all, just swung Hrym like an actual sword, something Rodrick had rarely done himself. Hrym's blade was supernaturally sharp as well as supernaturally cold, and the dire tiger's head tumbled from its shoulders, rolling on the floor.

There was no moment of relief, though, because two others followed the tiger in, equally furred, but moving upright like men—more weretigers, prominently wearing the medallions of the Knife in the Dark. Lais hurled the teakettle at one weretiger's face, and he fell like a branch cut from a tree, giving her room to launch herself at the other, fists and feet in a flurry, driving him back against the wall. The garuda still had Hrym in her hand, and she stepped to the fallen lycanthrope and stabbed him neatly through the heart—he still didn't twitch, unconscious unto death.

Before it even occurred to Rodrick to draw his knife—the only weapon he had on him—the fight was done, and Lais and the garuda were kneeling beside Jayin. Rodrick joined them, looking down at the man, or what was left of him. The dire tiger had struck Jayin fast and hard with claws and teeth, and his body was a ruin, face spattered with blood and eyes glazed and lifeless.

Dhyana dropped Hrym and stalked outside, and after a moment Rodrick grabbed Hrym and went with her. There might be more cultists outside, after all. He didn't make a habit of running toward danger, but being in the room with a man who'd done him a kindness and been killed for his trouble was worse than the prospect of fighting devotees of a treacherous god.

The garuda leapt into the air and spiraled upward, flying in wide circles overhead, as Rodrick walked around the hillside, almost in a daze. There were no other assailants, as far as he could see.

Hrym said, “I liked that old man, Rodrick.”

“He … I … yes.”

“The old man saved my life. You know that. Probably my soul, too, if I have a soul.”

“We're lucky he died
after
doing so, for sure.”

“We brought this trouble down on him, Rodrick. The Knife in the Dark was looking for us. He died because of
us
.”

Rodrick kicked at the ground. “We don't
know
that. Lais came upon the cultists in the jungle, too. They said the Knife in the Dark hunts down anyone who might identify them. This could have happened anyway. It can't be laid at our feet!” But everyone who'd seen Lais's face was dead or frozen in place in the jungle, probably food for predators by now. There was no reason anyone would be looking for her.

“You can lie to others all you like,” Hrym said quietly. “Don't you lie to me. Don't you lie to
yourself
.”