Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 (11 page)

“I feared you’d say that,” he said.

On the parapet above, men called to each other, but they hadn’t spotted her.

“Back away from the opening,” she whispered. “I don’t want him to feel you.”

Oaks moved away and squatted next to the outer wall of the fortress. She sat down and tore her soul away from her body yet again. This time the pain did not fade, even when she pulled on her skenning. She turned to retrieve the blackspine, but it was gone. Dismay filled her. She frantically looked around, then realized, in her haste, she’d left it in the cavity.

Far above, three red and black skir chuffed and passed over the castle. Something else groaned in the distance. Below her, Argoth and the others made their way across the rock.

If she was going to deal with Walkers and howlers, she needed a weapon. She had to go back.

She shot through the hole and found the Walker already halfway through the wood, his spiked head and torso hanging from above. He saw her, and pushed harder to free the rest of his body.

Sugar ran for the blackspine and picked it up.

The Walker pushed through past his waist.

She changed her grip and stabbed two-handed, but the Walker drew his smoky red blade and turned her thrust. Then he shoved with one leg and slipped the rest of the way through the wood and tumbled to the floor. He immediately rolled up and sprang at her.

Sugar stabbed at him, but he deflected the point with his armored hand. This exposed her side. He slashed at her with the smoky red blade.

She braced herself for the pain, but his stroke only felt like someone had struck her and knocked her to the side. She looked down. The blade had slightly cut the skenning, but it had not sliced through.

Surprise briefly flashed across the Walker’s face, but it was immediately replaced by resolve.

Sugar yelled and feinted a jab at his face.

He raised his blade and tried to block it. When he did, instead of trying to skewer him, she brought the end of the staff around and struck him on the side of his crab-armored head. He reeled back a step.

Sugar struck him again. Hard. She went to strike him a third time, but he lunged for her and took her by the throat. She tried to strike him with the blackspine, but struck the horned side of his helmet with her hand instead, piercing her soul.

She cried out, pulled the hand of her soul back.

It was the moment he was looking for. He slammed his horned elbow into her face. Pain shot through her. Then he slammed her to the ground and pinned her below him, a few of the spines of his armor pressing through the skenning.

His face was full of murder. “Whore,” he said, his voice sounding like the rustling of leaves.

She clawed at his eyes, but he punched her in the face. The blow dazed her.

She looked for her weapon and saw the blackspine lying only a few feet away.

From some pocket he retrieved a length of cord woven with some bright material, but it wasn’t a cord. It was alive, twisting. “I’ll bind your soul now. I’ll get your pretty body later. You and I are going to have a good time.” Then he grabbed her by the top of the head and pulled her exposed neck back to wrap the thing about it.

With her free hand Sugar reached out, fumbling, and seized the blackspine four or five inches from its point.

He brought the twisting collar around.

Sugar yelled and stabbed the point of the blackspine straight into his face.

With a body of flesh, her thrust would have been stopped by the bones of the skull. Not so with the soul. The point of the blackspine sank deep. The Walker reeled back and dropped the living cord.

Sugar rolled to her knees, grabbed the shaft with both hands, and shoved it forward as hard as she could, sinking the point to the back of his spiny helmet.

He screamed with that rustling voice—it was no sound a human could make—then toppled to the side, writhing in pain.

She pulled the blackspine out, then shoved it through the armor into his chest. On the floor, the living cord snaked toward her. Sugar pinned it with the point of the blackspine, then whipped it out through the mouth of the cavity and into the night.

The Walker rolled over, tried to rise, but fell to the ground again.

A dark substance rose from the wounds she’d inflicted on him. It spread in the air like ink in water. She noticed a similar substance rising from the howlers.

She wanted to retrieve the Walker’s blade, wanted to steal his armor and anything else of value, take it all to see what she might do with them, but she didn’t dare delay. The inky substance began to fill the cavity like smoke.

Sugar backed away from it, scrambled out. Oaks was still waiting for her. Argoth’s men were below her and far to the right, but there were only four of them with him, which meant one must have fallen to the river below.

Above her the fortress rang with shouts. Dogs barked. At the corner of the fortress wall, just where the rocky slope began, a giant dogman held a lantern aloft and looked down. He had two of the massive maulers with him. At the opposite corner, a group of soldiers with torches began to climb out on the rocky slope toward her and Oaks.

Sugar took off her skenning and merged with her body, still feeling the wound of the tear. “Oaks,” she hissed with the mouth of her flesh.

“About time,” he said.

“We need to go down. Follow me.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing anything else,” he said.

Sugar turned to face the slope and, still looking in the yellow world, began to back her way down, guiding Oaks as best she could. She tried to be careful and not give their exact position away, but she kicked loose a rock. The Mokaddian soldiers above heard it and shouted. She and Oaks continued to descend, then angled toward Argoth and the others.

But the dogman was joined by another, and then both began to climb down the slope angling toward her and Oaks.

“That dogman’s coming for us, isn’t he?” hissed Oaks.

“And bringing a friend,” Sugar said.

They quickened their pace. The dogmen and maulers scrambled down the slope, gaining on them.

Sugar knocked a few more rocks loose, and then a whole section of rock and soil broke loose underneath her, and she was sliding, falling. She tumbled the last twenty feet and wheeled over the edge of the cliff, Oaks tumbling behind her.

The rush of the river echoed off the face of the cliff. She yelled as she fell, but managed to pull her soul completely in. The yellow world winked out, leaving her in darkness, robbing her of the ability to see where the surface of the river was. A moment later she smacked into it, the cold water slapping her hard in the side and face. Pain shot through her broken nose again, and she went under, startled at the shock of cold water. She tumbled, took in a mouthful of water and came up coughing. Above her, the two dogmen sprang from the edge of the cliff.

Sugar turned and swam downstream with the current. Then Oaks called out some distance to her right, telling her to swim for the far side. She was magnified, but the current was cold and strong, sapping at her strength, and the river was wide. How were they going to make it all that way?

Behind them the dogmen splashed into the water.

The current carried her downstream, but she swam for all she was worth in the freezing flow and suspected she and Oaks would be swept out into the bay. But then she heard one of the dogmen behind her and realized they would probably catch her first.

She put on a burst of speed, but the dogman was faster, cutting through the water with huge strokes. At the last moment, she reached for her knife and turned. But he grabbed her knife arm with his huge hand and pushed her under. She struggled, but he took her knife, then grabbed her around the throat, his hand like a massive collar.

She thought she would drown, but he yanked her back up, held her to his chest, and backstroked toward the shore. She flailed once, but he growled and put her under the water until she stopped struggling. She came up coughing, and he continued on. A minute or so later, they reached the rocky shore downriver from the fortress. The dogman stood and dragged her up out of the water. Upon his arm he wore a weave of might, a big metal bracelet woven with big open gaps.

He dragged her up onto the rocky bank, flung her into a wet heap, and barked something at her.

Sugar looked around. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. He was larger, faster, stronger. Out in the water, two of the huge maulers were paddling toward shore. He whistled and they quickened their pace. Then they too climbed up the bank and shook the water out of their large coats. Their eyes were small, their huge mouths full of teeth.

The dogman issued a command and the two monstrous animals woofed and padded over to her, growling. They stood above her, rigid, tense, teeth bared, waiting for her to move. Their breath stank of rotten things, and she was positive they could bolt her down with two bites of those massive mouths. Every inch of her flesh prickled, and Sugar looked away from their eyes for fear of provoking them.

A few minutes later the other dogman hauled a half-drowned Oaks ashore. The second dogman grinned, said something that made Sugar’s dogman laugh. Then the first dark-haired giant turned to her.

“Up,” he said.

10

Prisoners

ONE DOGMAN LED Sugar and Oaks up the hill to the town gate. The other walked behind. One of the maulers stayed close. Every so often it would growl and send a shock of fear coursing through her. The other giant dog roamed as they walked. Oaks held his forearm. The dogman had broken it in the water to subdue him.

They came to the town wall and were stopped at the gate by a Fir-Noy captain of the guard and five others who, with spears and torches, barred the way. The captain said, “Well done. Leave them with us. We’ll take them up.”

The dogman laughed, deep and full-throated. “And take our pay?” He turned to his dog. “What think you about that?”

The huge mauler walked forward until it stood before the captain and sniffed the man’s chest, then his face. The captain stepped back. The second mauler stopped its roaming, turned to watch, and growled. The soldiers looked nervous.

“Find your own booty,” said the dogman. “Or should I call to my brothers walking your streets?”

The captain hesitated a moment, then ordered his men to back off.

The big dogman pushed through. Sugar and Oaks followed. The second dogman brought up the rear. As Sugar walked past the Fir-Noy, one of them said, “The sleth girl from Plum.”

Sugar ignored him and kept moving forward through the gate. The wind blew down through the moonlit houses and cobblestone streets, cutting like ice through her wet clothes and hair. The dogmen led them past another group of Fir-Noy soldiers huddled around a fire and then onto the wide winding road that led up the hill to the castle. As before, one mauler stayed close to Sugar and Oaks while the other roamed. They hadn’t traveled far when horse hooves beat on the cobblestones behind them. A rider wearing the colors of the gate guards galloped past.

“Shum,” said the dogman behind her. He and the other dogman exchanged a few more words in their language, then the lead dogman howled. A moment later a howl rose in the distance, and was picked up farther away. When the calls died down, they continued on. Even with her broken nose, she could smell the musk of the dogmen. It was pungent, earthy, mixed with the tang of sweat. She expected such large men to lumber, but they walked with power and grace.

They passed houses, a town square, more houses. She could see guards and fires down a number of lanes. As they approached the castle, they were met by a troop of at least fifty Mokaddian dreadmen led by a man wearing a scarlet and white padded tunic over mail. The eye of Mokad was embroidered in the fabric of his tunic. But it was the sash he wore over his shoulder that proclaimed him a Guardian, a Divine who led dreadmen to war. He rode a white horse. Another mounted man burst from the castle gate behind the troop and galloped his horse forward. He was bald with a thick black beard. As he came forward, Sugar recognized him as Lord Hash.

“They’re mine!” he roared.

The Guardian paid him no mind. He rode up to the lead dogman and said something in their tongue. The dogman replied.

Lord Hash trotted up in a huff and reined in his mount. “They murdered my wife!”

The Guardian looked at the Lord. He did not raise his voice. “You will go away now, Lord Hash.”

“Zu,” said Lord Hash, “I demand blood!”

“You do not demand anything. Now you will go away.” He turned back to the dogman and asked him a question in the man’s language. The dogman responded.

“I—”

But before Lord Hash could say more, a number of the dreadmen turned their spears on him. He looked at their spears, looked at the Divine who had turned back to the dogman. He leveled a gaze of hate at Sugar and Oaks, then turned his horse and gave it his heels.

The Guardian dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to one of his soldiers, called for a torch. While he was waiting, she quickly adjusted the collar of her tunic to hide the weave.

The Guardian walked over and looked down at her. He examined her broken nose in the torchlight, then must have seen something, for he fished the necklace out of her tunic and fingered the weave.

His hair was trimmed short and tidy. The cords of his muscles stood out on his arms and throat. He didn’t say a word to her, just retrieved a silver collar from his pocket and clasped it about her neck. Sugar closed her doors as tightly as she could, but moments later she found it increasingly difficult to maintain her Fire. The Guardian put another such collar around Oaks’s neck, then pointed at a dreadman. “Take their names. Make a full report.”

Then the Divine turned and mounted his horse. Other dreadmen came forward and bound Sugar’s wrists behind her back. They bound Oaks’s as well, even though his arm was broken. Then they led them up to and through the gate of Blue Towers.

As they crossed the inner bailey, she spotted the outside of the grand apartment and the wind-torn balcony. Then they were led through a door at the base of one of the towers and down a stair into a dark cellar below. Sugar was still wet and freezing, and the stones of this dungeon only offered more cold on her bare feet, but she felt relief being out of the cold wind.

The dreadmen exited the pitch black room and barred the door behind them with a ka-thunk. The silence was thick, and then she heard the wind moaning softly over the edges of an opening somewhere high in the wall.

Oaks said, “You think you might ease my knots?”

Sugar used her shoulder and elbow to locate him next to her in the darkness. Then she turned her back to his so she could feel his knots with her own bound hands. She ran her fingers along the knot. It took some time and some gritting of teeth on Oaks’s part to loosen the cord. When it was off him, he moaned a thanks. Then he turned and with his free hand worked her bond. He said, “Six of us for a Skir Master. I’d say that’s a good trade. Although I’m not too happy about being one of the six.”

“I suppose,” Sugar said and thought of Urban and his ship fleeing over the waves in the moonlight. She’d been a fool. Maybe she had needed to stay, but Legs hadn’t. Why hadn’t she sent him with Urban?

“It’s not going to be pretty,” said Oaks. “You and I are in for some hard experience.”

* * *

She didn’t know how long they sat there on the cold stone floor of the dungeon, wet and freezing, but it was still dark outside the small window when the door opened and three dreadmen came for her. One held a lamp, the other two handled her roughly, binding her again. Then they barred the door, leaving Oaks behind, and led her up the stairs and out onto the bailey.

The moon had moved to the west and so she knew she’d been down there a few hours. They crossed the bailey, away from the grand apartment and Lord Hash’s tower, to another one of the towers, and led her up to a room on the second level. A fire blazing in the hearth and a number of candles on corbel shelves illuminated the room.

There was no bed, only a few tables, chairs, and a desk. A bear skin lay on the floor. There were casements for books and other objects. Like Lord Hash’s room, the walls were plastered and painted with a mural, this one depicting a great battle where men wore livery of bright yellows and oranges. The warmth of the fire felt good, and she desperately wanted to edge closer, but the two men held her between them and waited.

A few minutes later, a tall hooded figure walked in holding a cup of steaming liquid on a saucer. He dismissed the two guards with a wave of his hand. She couldn’t see his face clearly in the fire and candlelight. But when the two guards were gone and the door shut, he pulled back his hood and smiled at her.

It was Flax.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. “How did you . . .” It was impossible. Truly, the Hand was amazing.

He led her over to a chair. She sat, her wrists still bound behind her, and tried to get closer to the lovely warmth of the fire.

“Take a sip,” he said and raised the cup he was holding to her lips. “You must be very cold.” He tipped the cup, and she couldn’t help but take a sip. The liquid was warm and bitter and felt good going down her throat.

She pitched her voice low so she wouldn’t be overheard outside the room. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“One more drink,” he said and tipped the cup again.

When she’d swallowed, he set the cup aside and pulled up a chair. “Your broken nose is unfortunate; it mars an otherwise beautiful face. Not a stunning face, mind you, but coupled with your courage and grit, it all works together into something quite nice. You are someone who needs to be known to be appreciated.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m appreciating your breeding,” he said. “Which brings me to your brother. He’s an interesting study. He doesn’t have a fully developed seed in him, but he has power. I want to know what happened to him.”

Why wasn’t he asking about the attack? Why didn’t he release her bonds? “How are we going to get out?” she asked.

“My dear, you’re not getting out.”

“But—”

“No, you’ve done quite enough damage for one night’s work. I have to hand it to Shim. We didn’t see the attack coming. Not like this.”

She tried to process what he had just said, and then the dreadful truth came to her. “You? You’re allied with Mokad?”

He smiled.

“You’re the traitor?”

“No,” he said as if patiently instructing a child. “I am loyalty itself. My job is to protect and preserve.”

Alarm filled her. She tried to get out of the chair but he pushed her down.

“You made your first mistake drinking the tea,” he said. “There are herbs that ease the process. By now you will find it’s a bit more difficult to close your doors.”

Sugar tried to close the doors of her soul, but they were sluggish to respond. “No,” she said.

He reached forward and felt her mother’s weave. Then he turned it, undid the clasp, and held it up. “This whole Grove is full of surprises and unexpected skills,” he said. He looked at it a few moments more, then set her mother’s necklace on the small table. He rolled the cuff of his left shirt sleeve up.

How could this be? How could they not have detected a Divine among them?

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“You will now have the pleasure of a seeking. Let’s see how well they taught you to resist.”

“You won’t get anything from me.”

Flax raised his hand. In the palm, standing out from all the tattoos there, was the burning eye of Mokad. Flax placed the palm of his hand on her forehead.

“No,” she said. It was barely a whisper.

Then he forced himself into her flesh and through the closed doors of her soul as if they were made of paper. She tried to shut him out, but it was like trying to hold back a stream of water with your hand—he just flowed around her. The weight of him pressed in upon her, and she felt as if she were suffocating. Then she heard him in her mind.

“You shall begin,” he said, “by telling me about your mother.”

* * *

Sugar told Flax everything: her mother’s history, what happened with her little brother Cotton, Legs. She told him about Urban and his crew and the strap Withers gave her that she wore across her back. Through it all Flax stood above her, the palm of his hand on her forehead, the eye burning in her mind. There were no threats or shouts. Only methodical questions.

When he finished, Flax removed his hand and rubbed his palm. He was sweating. He stood back, picked up a large mug he’d left on the table, and drank its contents. He pulled his hood up, hiding his face in its shadows, and called for the guards to bring him a bowl of water and a towel. All the while he looked at her.

She felt defiled. Horrified. She was sure she’d just endangered her friends in ways she probably couldn’t comprehend. And she’d done it with hardly a fight.

Sugar had never been raped, but she wondered if this was how it felt. Her mind was raw. For a few moments she could do nothing but curl in over herself.

“If it were up to me, I’d put a thrall on you and let you help me from the inside when the fighting starts. But I don’t want you to die by accident because I think you’d be put to much better use in a bit of a spectacle we’ll hold in Whitecliff. You know, at first, we thought the attack tonight was Nilliam. But this couldn’t be better. We’ll let all of the herd in this land see the Divine killers brought to justice. Let them see Mokad has power to protect. We’ll sacrifice you on the altar at Whitecliff. When the priests finish, your body will go to the dogmen. And in that way, not a scrap of you will be wasted.”

“It was worth it,” she said. “A trade of six dreadmen for one Skir Master.”

“That is a good trade, except our fat friend is not quite dead yet. There are gifts given to those who serve the Mother. If you’d cut off his head, or burned him alive like you did those Kains, that might be one thing. But his wounds were not enough to overcome the grace that grows in the Mother’s servants. He will be with us tomorrow when we begin the harvest. Injured, but very much present. He will be with us when Shim and the others fall into our trap.”

Her heart sank, and she thought of Urban—why hadn’t she listened?

Flax’s man opened the door and walked in with his bowl of water and wash cloth.

Sugar saw her chance and bolted for the open door, but Flax snatched her arm before she’d taken two steps. She struggled, but he wrestled her to the floor.

“I wish half the sleth I have taken were as lively as you,” Flax said, then told his man to call her escort. A moment later the guards came and bound her.

Flax picked up her mother’s necklace from the table by the hearth and put it in a red lacquered box on the desk. Next to the box lay the strap Withers had given her. She wondered if it still held the blackspine.

“You should know I was going to preserve your brother. But our glorious Sublime wants him culled. He will be in the spectacle with you. That should give you comfort—knowing you’ll see him again before the end.”

* * *

When they returned Sugar to the tower dungeon, she found Oaks gone. They chained her to rings bolted to the stone walls and shut the door, leaving her with nothing but the cold stone floor, the darkness, and the wind murmuring over the edges of the small opening.

She sat and contemplated her end. Everyone’s end. Argoth, Shim, the Creek Widow, the Mistress—they were all going to die. Ke had never returned. Nobody knew where River and Talen were. Sugar herself would be torn to pieces in body and soul. She had always thought of death as a doorway to something better, and maybe for some it was, but for her there would be no happy reunion. No perilous adventure to brightness. She’d seen the skir harvesting the souls, and she knew that, for her, death would be the end.