The Pleasure of Memory (54 page)

Chance knew the charge was good on this sentry. There was no sabotage here, no corruption of his caeyl energy. He could depend on this one. “Sentry,” he said, “I have instructions for you.”

The blue eyes flared briefly as the head slipped back into a translucent state. Then it turned its mantis-like head and looked down at him with its blue, orbish eyes. “I am prepared to accept your instructions, lord,” it grated.

“Once you’ve sensed that we’ve left the cave below,” Chance said carefully, “You are to release the hatch.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Chance looked up at the creature for a moment as he considered their next move. “When my companion and I have departed Sanctuary,” he instructed it, “I want you to exit the hatch and fly to the Iron Mountains. Seek out Jhom'ne Fenta at the War Ministry in Barcuun City. Give him this message from me:

“War is imminent from Prae and the Vaemyn to the south. They’ve invaded the southern perimeter of Na te’Yed. Immediate military intervention is imperative. We’re in the tunnels beneath the Swamp of Voices, but the tunnels are flooded at Sanctuary North. We’ll retreat to the southern fork and begin heading eastward again from there. I’m leaving this sentry at your disposal with instructions to answer to you only. I expect an energy level of one month’s active use.”

The sentry successfully repeated its orders back.

“Once you have delivered your information,” Chance told it, “You are to put yourself at Jhom’s disposal. Follow his directions and no one else’s thereafter, except at his bequest, do you understand?”

The sentry again acknowledged the orders.

Satisfied, Chance ran back down the spiraling corridor. He’d just reached the bottom when Beam stumbled backward through the door from the main room, landing hard against the corridor wall. Though covered in blood, the man didn’t even pause for air before pushing off and diving back into the room.

Chance immediately followed after him, angling toward the fight with his staff leveled and ready, but the warrior saw him first and threw Beam into him. The impact knocked them both to the ground.

Beam had only just risen back to his feet when the Vaemyd rushed him again. She threw him into a pile of bags and dove into him, straddling his chest as she laced him with a storm of punches. The only consolation to be found was that they appeared to be painted in equal portions of blood.

Beam managed to break free of the warrior and immediately broadsided her with a fearful slug. She reeled into the wall hard enough to crack bones. It should’ve been enough to put her down, but to Chance’s dismay, she barely flinched before stepping back into the battle. Beam was just giving him the thumbs up sign when she plowed into him. He stumbled over a discarded pile of armor and drove face first into the wall, and then dropped into the debris. For a moment, he simply sat there with a queer grin snaking through the blood. He seemed stunned, even confused.

The warrior grabbed a torch from the wall and moved toward him with nothing short of murder in her eyes. She waved the torch threateningly.

Chance knew he couldn’t unleash his caeyl energy without jeopardizing Beam as well. Instead, he’d have to use the staff as a polearm. It was as solid as a tree trunk, and the caeyl in its grip was like a chunk of rock. Perhaps he could knock her unconscious with it, though he had no faith in the plan. The Vaemyn were biologically stronger, faster, and more resilient than the Parhronii. He was within a yard of her and ready to make a move when she overtook him. She moved like an acrobat, spinning around and kicking his staff off target with one foot while almost simultaneously landing the other in his chest. The blow sent him skidding across the floor and into the edge of the doorway.

He pushed himself slowly up from the floor and shook his head to clear the shock. When he looked up again, Beam was back on his feet. The half-breed now had his sword. He held it with both hands, leveling the blade threateningly at the warrior. The red light of the caeyl only made his bloodied appearance that much worse.

“Stop!” Beam shouted at her, “You've got the stone. Just take the damned thing and go!”

Chance used the wall to climb to his feet. His head was pounding, his back on fire. Still, he threw his hand out and summoned his staff. Once it was securely in his grip, he eased his way around behind the warrior.

“Don’t do it, caeyl mage!” she yelled back at him, though her eyes were locked on Beam’s sword. Without even gracing him with a look, she swung her torch back at Chance. “Just back away now. You can’t use your caeyl without risking your sweetheart here.”

“Beam’s right,” Chance told her, “Listen to him. He’s offered you an exit strategy. You have the stone in your possession. You have what you came for, so just go on your way. I swear we won’t try to stop you.”

She threw him a warning glare. “Do I look like a fool, caeyl mage?”

It was then he realized she was nearly as brutalized as Beam was. Her hair had long since escaped its restraints. The disheveled braids pasted with blood to her scraped brow and lacerated cheeks like the tentacles of a swamp crab. More blood covered her face and painted her bared teeth pink. One eye was swollen, though nowhere near closed.

“I’ve no grievance with you,” Chance said as he moved around her, “Leave now. Go on about your business and we’ll make to attempt to stop you.”

The warrior moved so suddenly, there was no time to brace himself. She flew across the space separating them, throwing a ferocious kick into his shoulder. He stumbled backward through the debris and fell over a snarl of old swords, landing roughly amid a cluster of armor-filled boxes.

Before he could recover, she threw the torch at him. It narrowly missed, bouncing off the wall above him in a shower of sparks and landing in the piled clothes, which immediately erupted into flames.

Chance scrambled frantically back from the fire. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The flames had erupted too abruptly. They were even crawling up the stone wall. Then he realized why. Laying at the edge of the mound of cloth was a fallen lamp. The lid was gone, the brass surface slick and glossy. It was the oil burning.

Beam’s cry shocked him from his thoughts.

He turned to see him and the Vaemyd fighting at the rear of the cave. Beam threw a brutal slice at her with his longsword, but she easily dove inside the weapon’s reach and knocked him roughly to the floor. The sword clattered away, now well out of his reach. She threw herself on top of him, swinging hard. He heaved her to the side and assumed the top position, though she quickly reversed it. They trundled across the floor together that way, rolling one over the other through the scattered clothes and debris like a single creature, a bizarre composite of blood and flaying limbs. They were only feet from the edge and heading for it fast.

“Beam!” Chance yelled, “Watch the ledge!”

Beam either couldn’t hear him or couldn’t comply. He and the Vaemyd continued their punching duel, rolling closer and closer to the drop.

Chance ran to intercept them. He leapt over a pile of weapons and threw himself into a dive, hitting the ground hard. He slid to a stop just as Beam and the Vaemyd toppled over the ledge and into the dark abyss beyond.

XXVII

AFTERMATH

 VOICE MURMURED SOMEWHERE IN THE DARKNESS.

He tried to open his eyes, to look toward the voice, but couldn’t manage the effort. His side was on fire. The air was thick as oil. Someone was burning something sweet and unpleasant nearby. It was hard to breathe.

Someone spoke to him. He could hear the sound of the voice but couldn’t find the words. He tried to move, but his body again refused the order.

“…awby? Can you…”

What was that? Someone was calling his name. Was he lost? Were they looking for him?

“…hear me? Mawby? Can you hear…”

Mawby flinched and opened his eyes.

He was lying on his back. Angry black clouds rolled against a darker sky high above him. He was wet and cold, but it wasn’t raining. Where was he? He should know where he was.

A face hovered into view. He knew this man kneeling over him. “Ven?” he whispered. He tried to sit up.

Ven pressured him back to the grass with a hand on his shoulder. “No, Maw. Don’t move. You’re hurt. You’re hurt bad.”

Mawby tried to push him away, but couldn’t find the traction he needed. He relaxed back into the wet grass. “Where’s Koonta?”

“Maw, you’re in a bad way. That bastard Maeryc slipped a knife along your side. Think he might have caught a couple ribs. And the mage burned your face with his caeyl. He burned it pretty good.”

Burned? Mawby touched the side of his face. The skin was damp and bumpy, but he couldn’t feel anything. He wondered why it didn’t hurt. His oteuryn seemed unharmed. He still had his eye.

He tried to sit again, but Ven’tar again pinned him back.

“Damn it, Ven!” he shouted, “Let me be!” He rolled to his side and shoved Ven away, but the price was high. He doubled forward and struggled to breathe. The side of his chest was on fire.

“It’s bad, Maw,” Ven whispered, “It’s real bad.”

“My face?”

“More than that.”

“Damn you, stop talking in riddles. Where’s Koonta?”

“She’s gone. The Parhronii dragged her down into the pit with her.”

Mawby suddenly felt sick. He steadied himself for the dreaded question. “Was...was she alive?”

“What?”

“Was she alive? When she went down the goddamned hole? Was she alive?”

Ven shrank back. He fell to the side, propping himself up by an arm in the dark grass. He coughed and dragged his hand across his mouth. “Ay’a,” he said quietly, “I think so. Last I saw. Then the caeyl fire started, and…I…I can’t be sure. I’m sorry.”

Mawby felt the world open beneath him. He felt like he was dropping into a black abyss. It was too much, the thought of her below ground with that barbarian. He fell back into the grass. He grabbed his head and shoved the thoughts from his mind. There was no time for them now. If he dwelled on it overlong, those thoughts would crush him.

The black clouds sliced through the darkness above him, giving him the sense that the sky was standing still and it was he who was spinning away. The sight threatened his stomach. He closed his eyes against it.

“Who has the stone?” he asked. When Ven didn’t respond, he reached over, seized him by the mail, and pulled him closer. “Who has the goddamned stone?”

“Maeryc.”

“Maeryc? Where...where is he?”

He turned to search the hill, but the pain in his chest threw him back. He released Ven. He grabbed the side under his right arm and tried to stay conscious. He focused on the wet grass beneath his head. He felt like he was floating.

“You shouldn’t try to move,” Ven whispered.

“I want Maeryc restrained,” Mawby said through the pain.

Ven didn’t move. He only looked at Mawby.

Mawby reached for him, but the pain again threw him back. “That’s an order,” he said through clenched teeth, “Do it now, damn you!”

“I...I can’t.”

“What…what did you say?”

“I can’t.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Ven suddenly doubled forward. He was shaking. Hard. Was he crying?

Mawby rolled to the side and forced himself to his knees. The pain was like nothing he’d ever endured before. It felt like Maeryc’s knife was still lodged in his ribs. His face burned where the breeze hit it. When he was confident he wasn’t going to fall, he braced his side and climbed to his feet.

The smell hit him before he ever saw the bodies. He took a few steps closer and saw the legs sticking out in the grass beyond the hatch. There was no need to examine the corpses.

Ven walked up behind him. “It was the mage’s caeyl fire, Maw. It killed Heo on the spot. Yeal was burned bad, too. He didn’t last very long...fortunately.”

“Where’s Maeryc?”

“He’s gone. He took the stone while you were out. He…he’s gone.”

“How long was I out?”

“An hour, maybe two. I’m not sure. I…I don’t have any sense of time.”

Mawby heaved a threatening stare down on the warrior. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

Ven shrank back. “I tried, Maw. Heo and Yeal were dead. You were down. Goudt took off after him, but he’s burned pretty bad himself. I tried to...I…”

Mawby felt everything collapsing around him. Everything they’d worked for, all their fears, it was all so much shit now. Koo was gone. The hack had the stone.

He looked over at Ven and fought with the urge to slap him. “You should’ve stopped him,” he said instead, “You should’ve put your useless life before the loss of that caeyl!”

“I…I tried…I swear…I…”

Mawby grabbed the warrior by a wad of mail. “You tried?” he yelled, “You should’ve—”

Ven made no effort to resist, but only stared up at him from an expression of shock. Something wasn’t right.

Mawby carefully released him and turned his palm open toward the slowly growing daylight. A thick, wet sheen covered his hand. It was blood. He looked at Ven. “What happened?” he asked.

“I tried to stop him, Maw. I swear it. You know me. You know I’m no—”

“What happened?”

“He got his knife in me. Think he ripped open a lung.” Ven wavered, and then started to drop. Mawby caught him and eased him back to sit on the edge of the hatch. The warrior was having trouble breathing. His lips and chin were black with blood.

Mawby suddenly felt sick with guilt. “I’m sorry, Ven,” he said, “I…I didn’t mean to...”

Ven’s trembling finger pointed off into the dawn. “He went that way,” he whispered, “South by southeast. Watched him long as I could manage.”

“Ven. I didn’t know. I—”

“Forget it,” Ven said, pushing Mawby back weakly, “It won’t help. Go after him. Help Goudt stop that goddamned hack before he gets—”

Ven started coughing. Mawby felt the warm spray of blood on his forearm. He slid an arm around the wounded warrior and eased him down into the grass so that he was sitting back against the hatch’s rim with his legs out in the wet grass before him.