Servant of a Dark God (19 page)

“Bring the torch.”

“No,” said Ke.

But Nettle paid him no mind. Talen took the torch and knelt to the side of the hole. He saw that the hole had been widened. He should have seen it before, but who would have thought they were down there? He stuck the torch down as far as he dared and quickly pulled it back out.

It was enough. What he saw with the brief illumination was a leg that quickly drew itself back into the shadow. Talen dropped the torch and scrambled back.

“They’re down there,” he said. “They’ve subverted the dogs.” He drew his bow and pointed it at the mouth of the hole.

“Put that down,” said Ke.

“You can’t doubt me now,” said Talen.

“River,” said Ke and motioned at the mouth of dog warren with his head.

River calmly walked to the side of the house and knelt by the dog warren.

“Stop!” Talen warned. “Get away!”

Ke’s hands closed around the bow. “Give me the bow, and shut up.”

“Didn’t you see the leg?”

Ke yanked the bow from his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Get them,” Ke said.

Talen watched in horror as River’s head and torso disappeared into the blackness of the hole. He expected to hear her cry out or be pulled entirely in. But after a few moments, she backed out and extended her hand to help a girl and then a smaller boy out. The girl had long black hair and a scar on her cheek. She appeared to be about Talen’s age, maybe a bit older. The boy stared off at nothing.

The girl looked at him with no fear. She looked at him like a bird might a bug. Talen noticed she was wearing River’s trousers all rolled up on the leg.

“Douse that torch,” said Ke. And when Nettle didn’t move, Ke snatched it and ground its flame out in the dirt.

“What is this?” asked Talen.

“Will you shut up,” hissed Ke. He studied the woods.

And then Talen heard the voices of men in the distance. Or at least he thought he had.

“Get inside,” whispered Ke. “Now!”

Talen looked at his brother and sister. They were harboring Sleth. They were risking the anger of the Nine Clans and putting all of their lives in danger.

When Talen didn’t move, Ke handed the bow to River. He grabbed Talen by the nape of the neck with one hand and the back of his trousers by the other. Talen struggled, but Ke’s grip was like iron, and he marched Talen back into the house.

Talen watched in dismay as the girl hatchling led her brother to the hearth. When they were all in, River quietly barred the door and shuttered the window. She faced Ke. “I told Da it would never work.”

Someone called out in the woods.

River motioned for everyone to be still.

Ke turned to Talen. “If you’ve brought a pack of idiot hunters down on us,” he whispered, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Kill me?” said Talen. “Kill me? You two and Da, it appears, have already seen to that.”

“Shush,” said River.

They waited and listened. Queen barked twice and then fell still. Talen strained to hear what was going on outside, but heard nothing. Of course, that didn’t mean a pack of hunters were not moving now to surround the yard or running off to alert the bailiff.

After what seemed like hours, River opened the shutters enough to peer out. A few moments later she closed them again. “Queen’s right in front of the door. She would have barked if someone were out there. I think we’re safe.”

“She didn’t bark at these two,” said Talen. “The dog’s gone traitor.”

River left the window and moved to the girl’s side. She stroked the girl’s hair like one might a niece or sister. “Talen, this is Sugar.”

She put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. His hair shot up like a wildman’s. “And this is her blind brother, Legs.”

PURITY

A

rgoth did not want one of the guards on the walls of the Shoka fortress, jittery from the attacks at the village of Plum, to mistake Hogan for the enemy and kill him. The guards had their orders, but it was night and the moon was only half full. And Hogan was Koramite. So Argoth waited atop the barbican, watching the roads for his friend.

He brought a sprig of spearmint to his nose. Serenity, his youngest daughter, had tied it to a string and made yet another necklace for him. He could never say no to wearing her gifts. In his pockets he carried at least a dozen tokens of affection—a small black stone with a slash of red in it, a finely woven lock of hair, dessicated bits of flowers, the pit of a plum. He inhaled the fine, strong scent of the mint.

Behind him rose the first of two rings of defense. More than seventy years ago, the early colonists had wisely located the fortress here on a wide outcropping of rock that capped one of the three hills of Whitecliff. One side of the hill sloped to the town. The backside of the hill, consisting of cliffs and precarious ravines, dropped straight to the sea.

The first structure built had been a simple timber tower and palisade. That had been torn down thirty years ago. In its place the Clans had erected two walls. The outer wall stood twenty feet high. The inner wall, placed almost twenty yards back from the outer wall, stood double that height.

Tonight, at the base of the outer wall, guards with dogs patrolled the dry moat, expecting some Sleth attack. They stood out against the whitewashed walls of the fortress. The Shoka had learned that trick from an old Mungo slave who had won his freedom: whitewash the bottom half of the walls to make it easier for defenders to see below at night, but leave the top unwashed, allowing the defenders to use the cover of darkness.

They used the idea on the ramparts as well, painting the walkways to allow the men to navigate without torches. As long as the moon shone there would be no torches on the wall. Not a lamp. Not a whisper of light that might ruin a guard’s night vision except in the one tower where men were eating.

The distant sound of laughter carried down from the tower. Then a guard somewhere up on the outer wall called out, having spotted movement in the town.

Argoth looked out toward the town. In the distance he could see the dark, squat towers of the town wall. Closer in and off to the left stood the temple of the Glory of Mokad on its hill. It was too dark to see, but within the round, domed structure stood the altar of sacrifice where the Divines drew Fire. Directly behind the altar stood the raised seat of the Glory. And behind the seat stood the statues of the seven Creators in a semicircle, looking down upon the altar.

During the Festival of Gifts, seven fifteen-foot statues would be made of wood and erected around the temple. They would then be paraded in a long procession to the fortress and then to the sea. Seven statues to represent the seven Creators.

Each was festooned with the creations for which He or She was responsible. The first and greatest was smeared over with rocks and clay. The second was in the form of a tree, woven with garlands of seaweed, flowers, and sheaves of grain; the third had the horns and hides of animals and eyes made of butterfly wings; the fourth wore the skins of sharks and whales; the fifth bore great wings upon its back and was clad in feathers; the sixth was in the form of a man with a face of gold. These were the six, dangerous as they may be, who brought life. The seventh was misshapen and black. Upon its head sat a crown of thorns and about its chest was woven a breastplate made from the bones of a thousand animals.

Who really served Regret? There were rumors of men and women who bound themselves to him. Was the creature that killed the harvest master in the village of Plum one such? Or did Regret work in more subtle ways, coming to you smiling and with an open hand so that you served him and never once thought you were doing anything but standing in the light? Argoth thought of his past before he found the Order. He had been a servant of Regret, even though he didn’t know it at the time. Bless the Six, the Order had found him.

At the base of Temple Hill a light moved along a dark street. It passed behind a number of dark homes. Then it reappeared on the fortress road. Whoever held the torch rode a horse and was accompanied by other men.

A half minute more and Hogan rode into the torchlight at the base of the gate road. Beside Hogan sat one of the barbican watchmen. The man called out his name and rank. “We have delivered Hogan, Bowmaster of the Koramites.”

“He’s mine,” Argoth called down. “Dismount, Bowmaster. Then proceed.”

Argoth descended the stairs from the top of the barbican. Before he reached the bottom, he overheard the guards below.

“What’s the warlord doing letting that thing among us? Who can tell which of them is part of the Sleth nest?”

“Good lord, man, it’s Captain Argoth’s brother-in-law.”

“I don’t care; this isn’t right—”

Then someone must have heard him because the conversation fell silent. Argoth walked into the main passageway and then out to the front of the barbican to stand with the five guards standing posted there. Hogan’s escort had departed back to the city barracks, so Hogan walked the ramp alone.

Argoth could have ignored the guard’s earlier comments, but he chose not to. “Do you know what I love about that Koramite?”

“Zu?” said the most senior of the guards.

“Not his might, nor the many Bone Face kills to his name, but his loyalty.”

“Yes, Captain,” said the guard.

“Mark him,” said Argoth. “I would rather have that one loyal Koramite at my side than a whole company of backbiters.”

“Yes, Captain,” said the guard. “Of course.”

Argoth walked with Hogan out of the barbican and onto a wooden drawbridge that led over the dry moat and to the first gate of the fortress. The gate stood open before them like the dark maw of a giant beast, the raised portcullis a sharp row of teeth.

A set of guards with mastiffs stood just inside that mouth out of sight, waiting and watching for an enemy who might be able to slip by all the outer defenses.

On the drawbridge, away from the guards, Hogan ran his fingers through his beard braids and said, “I will hate to lose this tree.”

The Order patterned itself after an aspen tree. Aspens sent runners under the ground that would shoot up saplings, which in turn would grow and send out runners of their own. A grove of aspens could cover acres and acres, and yet, they were not separate trees. They were all connected to one another at the root. And so it was with the Order. Each area where the Order was established had a Root, a trio of leadership, that governed the tree and branches that might grow in that area. Hogan was the chief Root here, Argoth the second. Matiga, the Creek Widow, was the third.

Of course, the guards wouldn’t call the grove an “order.” To them all combinations of people such as Argoth and Hogan were nests, tangles, or murders. For some combinations those were appropriate terms. But not for those of the Order. Nevertheless, the guards would be horrified to know that a Root of the Grove of Hismayas was about to walk right past them.

A tree might be felled by Seekers, but unless they pulled up the whole grove, the Roots would grow another tree somewhere else, and another and another, until the Order filled the earth. Of course, some trees had to be culled to protect the grove.

“Did you contact Matiga?”

“I did,” said Hogan. “She is prepared.”

In each conflict, the Order took great precautions to make sure the full trio of leaders could never be found together at the same time. If two fell, the third would have a better chance to bear the rest of the grove off to safety and start again somewhere else. Or to mount a counterattack.

“I told her to take the victor’s crown,” said Hogan. The crown of a victor was a special weave. An ancient device used by the old gods that bestowed great might upon its wearer.

“Do you think it will come to that?” asked Argoth.

“This situation is odd. It’s not right.”

Argoth nodded. “So be it. Although I do wish she were here. How can we make a decision to cull this tree without her?”

Matiga was strong-willed. Sometimes to the point of being obstinant. She was currently many months into a grudge against Hogan. She had found an excellent woman for him. The widow of a Koramite boat builder. She’d prepared the woman and asked Hogan and Argoth to consider her for admittance to the Grove. Of course, the woman knew nothing of the Order. She could not. They had tested her in many ways for almost a year. Argoth and Matiga had been satisfied. But Hogan found her wanting. The trio had to act in perfect unison on such matters. And so the woman was rejected. Matiga had been furious. In this case, Argoth thought she had grounds. Matiga might be strong-willed, but she was also perceptive in her odd way. The woman would have been an asset.

Purity was an asset. Matiga’s clear vision was needed here. It was a terrible decision before them. Purity had been a friend for so long. But the Grove couldn’t risk putting all three roots together in this situation. And even if they could, he doubted he would have been able to convince the lords of the Shoka to let him bring in yet another person to see the prisoner.

“If this tree can be saved,” said Hogan, “we will do it. But if it cannot, are you prepared?”

“I am prepared,” Argoth said, his heart heavy. He had brought the required poison with him.

They said nothing more. Argoth led Hogan past the guards and mastiffs, and into the first bailey. They turned left and walked to the second gate and another set of guards.

The whole design of the castle was to create a series of killing fields, areas where attackers would be forced to expose themselves to fire from many directions. The path from the first to the second gate was just such a killing field. The moat, the fortress road, and the spaces before the gates and barbican were killing fields as well.

Something small, probably a rat, scurried out of the gate tunnel before them and into the inner courtyard.

The courtyard itself lay in darkness. An armsman on a horse trotting to the gate nearly collided with Hogan. He jerked his horse to the side and headed for the gate, the clopping of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones echoing in the tunnel.

Across the deep courtyard, the sea tower rose into the sky, moonlight gleaming dully off its ramparts. From the top of that tower a watchman could see miles out to sea. On a clear day he could see the outer islands.