The Wild Road (23 page)

“It's doubtful,” Darmuth agreed, “in which case you will defeat him, and all the questions of his fitness to ascend shall be answered. But you precipitate matters. Let it play out as it will. Anticipate Rhuan's death, yes, but don't effect it. It's not your place.”

Additional heat spilled down through veins and flesh, limned even bone. “My place is as I make it!”

“In Alisanos, yes. Not here. You risk censure, if the others found out.”

Alario leaned into Darmuth, chests pressing against one another. “And do you intend to carry word, little demon? You have leave to come and go so you may tell tales about how Rhuan fares on his journey.” Alario smiled. “How would you do that thing, were I to unmake you?”

He saw the faintest flicker of startled withdrawal in the demon's eyes. Darmuth, speaking of Rhuan, was confident, protective. He could be nothing else. But now it was his own existence threatened.

“I should give you a taste,” Alario murmured, and fixed upon Darmuth's eyes, his own in unwavering dominance. “Do you feel it?”

Darmuth's lips drew back as breath hissed between his teeth. His head tipped back, baring his throat; tendons stood out like rope. Slits appeared in the flesh of his face, but what he bled was not blood at all. It was light.

“I could flay you,” Alario said carelessly, “and leave you alive to live without flesh. Would the humans accept you then? I quite doubt it.”

Darmuth cried out. He flattened palms against his face, attempting to stop the flow of light. But then identical slits appeared in his hands, and light welled forth. Alario need only extinguish that light, let it bleed the body dry, so that the flesh fell off the demon, the viscera crumbled, and the bones were blown away as a fleeting shroud of dust.

“
Stop it!
”

That wasn't Darmuth. Alario looked up into the branches.

“And will you unmake me as well?” Ferize dropped out of the tree and landed lightly, abreast of Darmuth. The scale pattern was upon her, and her pupils were vertical slits. “Because unless you intend to unmake Darmuth
and
me,
and
to kill Rhuan, the primaries will at some point discover the truth. As Darmuth said, they will censure you.” He saw her feral, malicious smile, elongated teeth glinting in the darkness. “Do you believe they would not? How many challenges do you think you could withstand before one of your opponents was the victor?”

And yet another new voice came out of the darkness. “If you like, I will send Ferize to the Kiba now. And then we shall know.”

Alario was shocked as Brodhi stepped free of shadows, and then angry that the distraction of troublesome demons had kept him from sensing Karadath's get. He should have sensed Brodhi. That he had not would be remarked as a weakness in the Kiba. But, for now, he was
here
, and no one would know.

“She will carry word,” Brodhi continued without inflection, “just as she is supposed to. And if you attempt to unmake Ferize and Darmuth, you will be challenged by Rhuan and I simultaneously. Can you defeat both of us acting in concert?”

Alario's third eyelid slid down, and a faint copper sheen rose up on his flesh again. Though this was not a formal challenge to the death, Brodhi
did
challenge him with provocative words and tone.

Alario laughed as Darmuth fell to his knees. Then he halted the bleeding light, closed and sealed the slits, and made him whole again. His amusement had palled, and now he addressed Brodhi.

“That is not how it should be. Not both of you. Single combat, by get and sire,” he said.

“In the Kiba, yes. But we're not there. We're here. And if you intend to do as you please, regardless of the customs, then we shall as well.”

He let contempt show. And certainty. “I would kill you both.”

“Perhaps so.” Brodhi paused, letting the moment build. “But then Karadath would challenge you in my name . . . would you survive that?”

Alario's flesh began to glow. “Karadath would do no such thing! In fact, Karadath has elected to make another
dioscuri
.”

Brodhi could not hide his shock. The membrane dropped. His skin warmed, casting a faint ruddy sheen. His posture altered. He was so stiff now that Alario smiled. “Send Ferize. She will return with confirmation. Should it come to that, she may even return with Karadath himself.”

Brodhi matched him stare for stare. And then Karadath's
dioscuri
, bitter, looked away.

“You see?” Alario said. “Do you see?”

Brodhi's tone thinned. “Ferize. If Alario kills Karadath's get, or even his own, you should immediately return to the Kiba to tell what has happened.”

He looked again into Alario's eyes. This time, Brodhi did not lower his own.

Chapter 20

B
RODHI KNEW IT
was essential to stand his ground, to recover what he could of his pride; to banish also the shock of Alario's announcement and end his laughter. But now was not the time to consider whether the announcement was true; instead, he focused solely on the hand-reader, on what Alario intended for her. For Brodhi, play in the game had suddenly gone much deeper. He had to craft his words carefully, control his attitude, and shut down any avenue Alario might take—
would
take—to undercut him.

“She'll die,” Brodhi said. “Your seed will kill her when labor is upon her.”

Alario shrugged. “Does it matter? I want the child. Not her.”

“The child is at risk as well. If the woman dies too early in labor—”

Alario detested Karadath's get almost as much as he hated Karadath. He let it show. “If she begins to die before the child is born, I will open her belly and take it.”

“And if I summoned her here now, to hear this?” Brodhi gestured toward Ilona's wagon some distance away. “Human women have methods of ridding themselves of troublesome pregnancies. And she's a hand-reader . . . very likely she could see what was to come of her if one path is followed, or another.”

“Then I will come again and again,” Alario said, clearly amused. “How many times could she rid herself of my seed before the very act of ridding cost her her life? Because it would. You know this.”

Brodhi
did
know that. It was a choice between dying sooner, or dying later. But dying, certainly. And she would not resurrect.

He drew a breath. “If you took her to Alisanos now in order to remove her from the human world, it would be too perilous for her. She could well die before giving birth. Or the change might come upon her and render your seed entirely useless. Or twist it into something that could never be a
dioscuri
.”

Alario scoffed. “My seed? Never.”

“Then take her.” Brodhi was delicately casual. “Take her to Alisanos and see what might happen.
My
human mother was taken to the Kiba. Oh, yes, she died—how could a human woman not die giving birth to a
dioscuri
? But that death came after I was born. If taken to Alisanos early, there is no certainty that the hand-reader wouldn't die before giving birth. Or before the child had the strength to survive.”

Arms folded against his chest, Alario examined him. Brodhi saw it, knew it, hated it. While true that he could challenge Alario and be within his rights, those rights were his only after successful completion of the journey. If he and Rhuan should attack Alario in tandem, they might well defeat him. But that was not considered part of a successful journey. And Ferize and Darmuth were required to report the truth to the primaries. On pain of being unmade, they must be accurate and honest, detailed and precise.

“She may remain,” Alario said abruptly. “Twice nine. But then I will come for her.”

Brodhi had no stake in whether Ilona survived childbirth. Human females died often enough in labor, or after the child was born. In Alisanos, it was a certainty. In no way would it affect his life if Ilona were to die. But he had a stake in what might affect his sire, and therefore his own chances of ascending. If the hand-reader were taken to the Kiba, he could no longer watch the progress of her pregnancy. And it was vital that he should do so, so he would know when, and if, Alario's new
dioscuri
would one day be a threat to Karadath.

It was not impossible that here in the human world, in the characteristically violent birth of Alisani get, the halfling might die even as its mother did. But it was necessary that the child be
here
, where no one could save it.

“Eighteen months,” Brodhi said, using the human counting method. “You've bred her; there is no more for you to do.”

Alario smiled. It was a dangerous smile, and yet also one of agreement. One of certainty that, in due time, none of what was said here would matter. He took two paces away, then swung back. “You need not be concerned, Brodhi. It will be years before Karadath's new
dioscuri
is capable of challenging you.”

It was meant to provoke him, to rob him of confidence. Brodhi ignored it. But he saw Alario look first at Darmuth, still kneeling, then at Ferize. Brodhi knew very well what such potent dominance would engender in them. They were but demons. By a primary's presence, they were diminished.

Darmuth struggled to his feet. Ferize set a steadying hand upon his elbow.

Alario bared his teeth in a feral smile. “Be quit of here.”

Ferize and Darmuth shared a moment looking at one another, lean faces taut, eyes acknowledging they must do as a primary ordered. Ferize did not even so much as glance at Brodhi, and that concerned him.

Scale patterns bloomed, ran like water over every exposed portion of their bodies. Their faces, though shaped differently, took on eerie semblences of something other than human. Claws extruded from fingertips. The flesh of their backs flowed aside, granting room for wings.

And then they let darkness lift them from the earth. Let darkness take them.

As Brodhi stared after them, he heard Alario's quiet laughter. “One day,” he said, “you will have the ordering of demons also. You will be able to make and unmake them. But for now, these two answer to me.”

Brodhi watched as his kin-in-kind turned away from the light of the coals, turned away from the moon called Mother, and disappeared into darkness.

THROUGH DARKNESS AND
moonlight, Darmuth went directly to Rhuan. As he landed, wings withdrew into his back. Scale pattern faded. Claws became fingernails. He felt the brief pain in his eyes that betokened a change of pupils from slitted to round. Inwardly, he was demon. Outwardly, human.

He caught his breath. Whole again, yes. But losing substance was infinitely weakening, infinitely dangerous. He needed meat. Tonight. Very badly. Very soon.
Now
was best, but “now” insisted he tend his
dioscuri
.

Rhuan, sitting up, appeared not to have noticed the method of his arrival. Bruises had begun to form on his face. Darmuth very nearly winced in sympathy. Rhuan would heal significantly sooner than a human, but in the meantime he would nonetheless be in pain. And others would see all the bruises and swelling and ask what had happened.

It mattered that none of them knew the truth. And mattered that Rhuan did not, also. He would challenge his sire. Well before time, he would challenge, and die in the doing of it. Darmuth dared not let that happen. He himself was too vulnerable.

“Hirelings,” Darmuth said matter-of-factly as Rhuan raised his head, “or men who took it on themselves in hopes of finding a bone-dealer at some point. Everyone here still thinks you're Shoia; that remains a believable explanation for you.”

Rhuan, muttering various vicious comments about hirelings, bone-dealers, and Kantic diviners, rose to his feet with great care. “That's what I thought.” He paused. “Did you kill them?”

Darmuth wove the lie effortlessly. “I killed them and fed them to Alisanos. There are no bodies to be found.” Which was perfectly true; there had been no bodies at all. “No questions will be asked.”

Rhuan squinted at him, feeling a swollen cheekbone. “Oh, there might be questions. If they have families.”

Darmuth shrugged. “No one has come looking for them. I think likely they were men traveling alone and believed they saw an opportunity. They all smelled of spirits; maybe they hatched the idea because of too much drink.”

“How many?”

“Three.” Darmuth bent, took the crude map and backing board from the ground, flipped oilcloth over it, and handed it to Rhuan.

“Three,” Rhuan said in eloquent disgust. “Three humans against a
dioscuri
, and they won.”

“But they're dead. For good.” Darmuth put a hand on Rhuan's back and pushed. “Go to Ilona. Rest. Or don't rest . . . it matters little to me if you bed her twenty times a night.”

Rhuan's response was a breathy blurt of sound as he tucked the map board under an arm. “Why not say thirty?”

“Because you're not a primary yet.” Darmuth decided it was worth a tentative test. “Have you recovered any memory of what happened?”

“I don't even know
when
it happened. My brains are scrambled.”

Clearly Alario had removed any memory of the meeting between himself and his
dioscuri
. Now came the most delicate falsehood of them all, and the most important. “You left Ilona because you had forgotten the map. The attack happened on your way back to collect it.”

“Oh. Well, whatever you say. I don't remember any of it.”

Darmuth nodded. “Try not to get yourself killed while I'm in Cardatha.”

The canopy of the hand-reader's wagon glowed gently in the light of the Mother's moon. Darmuth slapped Rhuan on the shoulder and left him. But even as he faded away into the shadows of the grove, he felt a faint breath of cold air tickle the back of his neck.

Nine months. Nine months of life left to Ilona, if she were pregnant. And nine months left to—no. Not nine months left. Twice nine. He had been thinking in human terms. Twice nine bought Ilona and Rhuan more time. And more time before Alario came for Ilona.

Darmuth nodded to himself. More time to perhaps devise a plan for escaping Alario.

ILONA AWOKE AS
the wagon creaked. Tangled in blankets upon the floor, she worked herself free, but did not rise. “Rhuan?”

“Yes.”

A single word, and it kindled pleasure, joy, anticipation. Smiling, she lay back down on one side, planted an elbow, and propped her head up. Through a yawn, she asked, “Where did you go?”

He ducked in, bumped his head on the unlighted lantern, swore, pulled the door shut behind him, and promptly tripped over a fold of blanket. He caught himself even as Ilona lunged out of the way in case he fell. “I left the map out with my markers.”

She heard him set the board and map out of the way and also heard a few well chosen words she hoped he would never speak in the presence of children. “Here Rhuan, light the lantern before you fall flat on your face. There is flint and steel, just by it, tucked in that leather pouch hanging from the doorjamb.”

She felt the wagon rock gently as he moved, heard the rattle as he took the lantern down from its hook, heard also, and smelled, the scrape and spark of steel against flint, the astringency of the resulting bloom of flame, and then the wick was lighted. He cupped his hand around the vents for a moment, then lifted the lantern to hang it once again.

Ilona sat up abruptly. “Sweet Mother, Rhuan, what happened?” The lantern and its light were behind him, but all of the wagon interior was now illuminated to some extent, and she could see the blood and swollen flesh perfectly well. “You
did
fall flat on your face!”