The Dragonstone (52 page)

Mayam motioned to one of the acolytes, and she handed a curved needle threaded with fine gut to the Dylvana. Arin eyed the needle and thread in the lantern light. “Has the wound bled sufficiently clean?”

“A candlemark, at least,” replied Mayam.

“Then let us begin.”

Carefully, with fine stitching, Arin closed the wound, Burel looking on and grimacing each time the needle went in and the gut was pulled through, yet he held onto Aiko’s hand, his grip gentle, steady.

Egil and Ferret came into the infirmary, Ferret with Aiko’s blades, Egil with Burel’s. They stood beside Delon and watched as Arin closed the long cut. At last the Dylvana said, “There. ’Tis done.” She turned to Mayam.
“Hast thou a poultice we can apply? Gwynthyme? Eretha? Or other such?”

“Poultice?”

Arin nodded. “She has no fever and her color is good, and so I, too, deem the weapon bore no poison, yet a poultice against such cannot harm.”

Mayam nodded, and she opened a chest nearby, fetching herbs from within. “This I would use,” she said, displaying a handful of yellow mint leaves.

“Gwynthyme,” said Arin, approving.

“Malak waraka,”
said Mayam.

They prepared a poultice of gwynthyme leaves—the minty fragrance heartening—and applied the warm, wet pulp to a cloth and bound it to Aiko’s wound with strips of clean linen. At last Arin stepped back and viewed her handiwork. Nodding to herself, she said, “Now we must let the tiger sleep.”

With Alos drugged and Aiko unconscious, the others quietly moved out from the infirmary, all but Burel, who stayed behind holding Aiko’s hand.

*   *   *

In the late morn, with Egil, Arin, Delon, and Ferret standing ward, the priestesses harvested the slain camel at the tunnel entrance, and the meat and hide and guts were all carried back inside, where the whole of it would be put to use: some meat to be cooked; some to be pulled into jerky and set out to dry; the viscera to be used to make spiced sausage and cooked as well; the hide to be scraped and salted and stretched in a curing frame; and the inedible and otherwise unusable parts to be tilled into the fields.

Yet although they were guarded, nothing came to disturb the women’s bloody work.

*   *   *

Just before dawn Aiko awakened to find Burel asleep in a chair at hand with his head cradled in his arms on the bed at her side. And as she stirred he came awake. He looked up at her and sighed in deep relief. Then noting where he was, he jerked erect. “I beg your pardon, Lady Aiko, but I did not mean to presume.”

She smiled at him, then suddenly sobered and bolted upright, the sheet falling away revealing poultice bandages high across her chest and a glaring red tiger between her firm breasts. “The demon!”

“Slain,” interjected Burel, looking away as she recovered her modesty. “You impaled it on its own sword. And though I took off its head, I deem it was already as good as dead.”

Wincing slightly with pain, Aiko leaned back and looked about, the Ryodoan noting Alos snoring away in a bed across the room. “Where are we?”

“In the abbey, in the infirmary.”

“And my swords?”

“At hand,” he replied, nodding toward a table where rested her blades and shiruken. “Ferai retrieved them.”

“And your blade…?”

“Egil.”

“What of the demon’s dark weapon?”

“They say there is no sign of it.”

Aiko glanced over at the old man. “And Alos…?”

“Battered and bruised, and some broken ribs. He was stepped on by a camel wild to escape the demon’s stench.”

Suddenly Aiko’s dark, tilted eyes widened.

“Milady?” Burel inquired, frowning.

She looked at him and reached out to touch his hand. “The peril, Burel: it is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Entirely.” She grinned and withdrew her touch. “I think you are no longer cursed.”

Something unspoken hammered at his lips, but all he said was, “Thanks to you, Lady Aiko.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Burel said, “Are you hungry?”

“Immensely.”

Burel shot to his feet. “I’ll be right back with your breakfast.”

As he rushed away she smiled and slid down under the covers; for the first time in her life she was ready to be cared for by a man.

*   *   *

“But I don’t know how I did it,” said Aiko, shaking her head in puzzlement. “There was a moment when everything went red, and next I knew Burel was carrying me.”

They sat outside in the afternoon sun—Arin, Egil, Ferret, Delon, Aiko, and Burel. Alos was yet abed in the infirmary, demanding the acolytes serve him a tot of medicinal brandy to soothe his battered frame, or so he claimed, though nought was given him.

Aiko looked from one to another, her brow furrowed in perplexity.

“Was there nought more?” asked Arin.

Burel cleared his throat. “There was a loud sound, a strange sound, short and sharp and savage, something between a cough and a roar.”

“Can you imitate it?” asked Delon, his bardic curiosity aroused.

Burel frowned and closed his eyes, remembering, and then he barked:
“Gruh!”

Aiko looked at him, her eyes wide, but it was Ferret who said, “Did it sound rather like:
Rruh!
”

“Yes. That is more like it, but louder, much louder,” replied Burel.

Ferret looked at Aiko, her gaze centered on the Ryodoan’s chest, as if trying to see through her silken shirt; then Ferret turned back to Burel. “That is the chuff of an enraged tiger.”

Now all eyes turned to Aiko, but she was as bewildered as any.

Egil asked, “How know you this, Ferai?”

“We had tigers in the
cirque.
” Ferret looked toward the gate beyond which the remains of the demon lay, her thoughts on the furrowed right arm she and Egil had seen, an arm perhaps clawed by a savage beast, perhaps rent by the talons of a tiger when it aided Aiko to turn the sword backward and shove it into the demon’s own gut. Ferret looked at the tiny Ryodoan and then shook her head to clear it of these vagaries.

*   *   *

Late that afternoon, armed and armored, Arin, Egil, Ferret, Delon, and Burel stepped under the portcullis and made their way through the tunnel.

As they came to the dark ruddy stain where the camel’s blood had pooled on the crimson stone, Egil held up his hand, stopping all. Yet it was not blood from a camel that the five had come seeking, but a demon instead. For although Aiko sensed no peril in Burel or the surround, still they would put it to the test. Egil turned to the big man. “Remember, if a demon appears, step back inside.”

Burel grunted and moved past Egil to stand just inside the opening, his two-handed sword gripped tightly. Then, weapon raised, he stepped forth from the holy ground to see whether or no another demon would appear.

None did.

*   *   *

Burel retrieved the demon’s severed head, declaring, “In the name of my father, this I must destroy.” But as he stepped back into the tunnel, lo! the head crumbled to dust and fell to the stone, where it burst into furious flames. Burel sprang aside, and the others stepped back from the raging fire, the heat intense.

“Huah!” grunted Egil. “Now we know why it didn’t come in after you or your mother.”

They turned to go back to the cloister, only to find Aiko standing behind, her swords glittering in the crimson dark.

“My Lady,” protested Burel. “You should not be—”

“Oh, but I should,” she replied.

*   *   *

They spent another fortnight at the abbey, Aiko’s wound healing rapidly under the ministrations of Arin, though the Dylvana declared that it had less to do with her own skill and more to do with Aiko’s splendid vitality, as well as the aid of the gwynthyme. Even so, the Dylvana bade Aiko to do no strenuous exercise, and so the golden warrior forwent her daily drills, though she did school Burel morning and night.

During this same fortnight, Alos, too, was treated with the golden mint, this in the form of a tea, which he grudgingly took, complaining that any fool knew a jot of brandy would make the tisane a much better medick. And even though bones knit slowly in the elderly, at the end of two weeks he was declared fit to travel, as long as he did not overexert himself and put pressure on his ribs.

*   *   *

Just after dawn on December 12, 1E9253, five hundred thirty-three days after Arin had had her vision, again the seven set out from the Cloister of Ilsitt, and once more women wept to see all of them go, but especially at Burel’s leaving, for when he was gone, it truly would become a nunnery where no man trod, an unwelcome state for several within. Even so, these last two weeks, Burel had not pleasured any of those who had yet to speak their abstemious vows.

The demon,
said some,
took his desire away.

But others looked at the regard he paid to the yellow warrior and nodded to one another knowingly.

And amid tears and kisses and anguished good-byes, through the tunnel they fared—Aiko in the lead, her armor repaired, Burel following after, then Egil, Delon, Ferret, and Arin.

Once they were clear of the tunnel—and nothing untoward had occurred—then led by acolytes the camels came next: seven saddled for riding, four bearing supplies. As if remembering past terror, the animals balked at entering the confining way again, yet the handlers were adamant, and grumbling and protesting, the beasts finally went through the narrow passage.

When those also reached the far side—again with nothing of note coming to pass—then and only then did Alos venture into the dark strait, Mayam at his side, the old man moaning about his cracked ribs, though the abbess knew his words were impelled by fright. At the distant end, he peered out cautiously, trembling, and finally stepped forth, ready to bolt inward at the slightest need. But nothing appeared and so, grudgingly, Alos trudged to his camel.

Mayam stepped to each of them and murmured, “May Ilsitt favor you with her protecting hand.”

She embraced Burel and kissed him one last time, then stepped back as they mounted, the camels
hronk
ing and grumbling as they stood, their long legs awkwardly levering them and their burdens upward.

When they were erect and ready to go, Mayam called
out, “Each and every one of you are welcome to return as you will. Fare you well.”

And amid growls of camels and cries of good-bye, the small caravan set off down the deep slot in the towering crimson stone.

A
s they set about cleaning up the camel dung, Burel said, “I have always known that the demon and I would meet someday, for it was written. What I did not know is that Lady Aiko would be there as well.” The big man smiled over at the Ryodoan, receiving a smile in return.

Ferret cocked an eyebrow. “It was
written
?”

Basking in Aiko’s grin, Burel swung his gaze to Ferret and nodded.

“What do you mean, ‘it was written’?”

“Something my mother told me before she died,” replied Burel.

“Oh,” said Aiko, her voice all but unheard, her smile fading.

“What is it, my Lady?” asked Burel, turning his attention again to her.

Aiko sighed. “I was hoping your mother yet lived.”

“No. She died of fever when I was but ten or so.”

Aiko looked down at the red stone. “My own died giving birth to me.”

Burel dropped the bag he was carrying and stepped to the Ryodoan and embraced her. “I at least have my memories,” he rumbled, “whereas you have none.”

His arms around her, Aiko looked up at Burel as if studying his face. At long last she said, “I’ve never told anyone this, Burel: I never knew my mother, but even so, I miss her.”

He looked at her and wanly smiled. “As do I, Aiko. As do I.”

Aiko’s heart suddenly leapt, for it was the first time he had addressed her in the familiar.

“My mother is dead, too,” said Ferret. “And my father. Murdered both.”

She gazed back at the campsite where the others readied for the day’s travel. “I wonder if any of us have parents alive.”

*   *   *

They walked and rode all that day, pausing to take up old camel droppings they had left behind on the way in, as well as taking up any new; too, they cleaned up their own excrement old and new as well, leaving nothing behind to point to the temple in the maze. At sunset as they made camp they heard the demon horn howl, and Alos jumped and spat oaths. It sounded at midnight as well, startling the old man awake once more. “I’ve heard that cursed thing twice a night for the last, um, twenty, thirty days. Is it to plague me the rest of my life?” In spite of his ire, he fell instantly asleep again.

As they fared for the second day through the twisting rock canyons carved deep in the scarlet maze, the talk did turn to parents, and only Arin of them all had a dam and sire who yet lived, though not upon Mithgar but Adonar instead. All the others had died of illness or in battle or of natural causes, or had been murdered, or, in the case of Aiko, her father had died broken and disgraced, denied even the honor of committing
seppuku
when his daughter had been unmasked.

Upon learning this, when next they led the camels, Burel slipped an arm about Aiko and they walked along in silence.

“Well then,” said Delon, after a while, striding alongside Ferai, “we’ll just have to become our own family, though I’ll consider you, my sweet, as but a remote tenth cousin.”

Ferret looked up at him. “Tenth cousin? But why?”

“I would not have you be close kin, for then I couldn’t do this.” And he paused and took her face in his hands and kissed her long and gently.

Their camels, disturbed at being stopped, emitted loud
hronks.

Alos, following, broke out in a cackle.

Ferai, her heart pounding, her face reddening, drew
back from the bard. But he threw his arms wide and broke out in song.

Together they tugged on their camels, the beasts growling in dismay for now, of all things, they were being asked to move again, when they had just barely gotten stopped.

And down the canyon they continued, Delon singing a heartfelt refrain shared by two other men deeply enamored, each of them oblivious to the fears of those they loved: Dara Arin, who dreaded what the oncoming decades would do to her mortal lover and how he might react; fierce Aiko, who could but barely acknowledge that she had room for love in her warrior heart; and untrusting Ferai, who’d been raped as a child.