Well of the Damned (22 page)

Sitting
around the fire, chewing on the tough meat and sharing a skin of
wine, the travelers listened while Daia read from the journal. Cirang
grew more fascinated, not only with Sevae’s persistence, but
with Kinshield’s fascination with the well.

The
servants’ passageways that run through the palace have been of
great use to me in my pursuit of knowledge. I’ve spent many
hours in King Arek’s library —
not the downstairs room where he often receives visitors, whose
benign books of literature and scientific treatises provide a
comfortable backdrop for conversation, but the upstairs library where
his father and his father’s father and his father before him
stored and studied the more esoteric books and articles on all things
mystical and arcane. Information about the Well of the Enlightened
has been kept closely guarded for many years, much like our past
kings’ interest in this wondrous source of magic. I do not
understand why Arek refuses to hear my arguments on the matter.
Surely he has read these books and knows the power of those ancient
waters! Yet he keeps sullenly and most stubbornly quiet about matters
even remotely related to the Well of the Enlightened, as if his mind
on the matter were a door bolted firmly shut. In fact, his refusal to
speak of it is in itself curious. I must understand why.

“What
did King Arek know that made him so wary of it, Gavin?” Daia
asked.

Kinshield
shrugged. “He was close-mouthed about it, only warned me not to
pursue it. Said it destroyed an entire city but wouldn’t say
how. Just asking about it got him red.”

The
hunger for knowledge is a fever coursing through my mind but one I
can heal with neither herbs nor magic. My every waking thought is
consumed by this hunger to the point where I’m unable to
contain my curiosity to the nighttime hours. I slip into the king’s
forbidden library when the king and queen are otherwise occupied and
devour the words with my eyes. I know it is wrong, but I cannot stop
myself. King Arek is the only one who can cure this sickness, yet he
refuses to acknowledge the reason for it. I believe a time may come
when I must take matters into my own hands and leave the palace to
pursue the wellspring alone, though I realize to pursue it is not
enough. To look upon it, to confirm its existence for myself, will
not quench this undeniable thirst for its waters. In my dreams, I
taste its sweetness upon my lips like a lover’s kiss, and I
find I must have more.

“Sounds
like Sevae became obsessed with it,” Vandra said.

“‘In
the absence of facts, faith is born,’” Daia said.

“Huh?”
Vandra asked.

“From
the novel
Threnode
by Gauthiess Ransae. I read it in the
months before I left home.”

“Further
proof nobles are better than everyone else, Daia?” Cirang
asked.

“Shut
up, Cirang,” everyone said in unison.

I
have been gently persistent in speaking to King Arek about the
wellspring, believing if I could coax him to listen to my proposal,
we could find some common ground in terms of an approach to its
acquisition. He puffed up like a bloated fish and turned a shade of
red the likes of which I’ve never seen before or ever will
again, and he forbade me to speak of the matter again. Forbade me, in
front of the queen and their toddler son, as if I were an insolent
child! Never in my life have I been subject to such humiliation. I
loathe even the thought of speaking ill of my king, for I swore
complete obedience and lifelong loyalty, but the man is an irascible
fop. His ignorance and short-sightedness absolutely astounds me. The
Savior forgive me; I contemplated regicide today, not to satisfy my
lust for power or anything of that hideous nature, but for the good
of the people of Thendylath, for King Arek would deny them the
spiritual enlightenment obtainable by merely drinking the pure waters
of the wellspring. A man with such a high degree of contempt for the
people he governs should not be king.

“He
was bold to write such things,” Daia said. “If his
journal had been discovered...”

Kinshield
nodded. “Then I wouldn’t be here today.”

Cirang
studied him, wondering whether he meant he wouldn’t be king or
wouldn’t be alive at all. No matter. She knew now why the Well
of the Enlightened had captured his attention. If a mere sip of the
water had the power to cure diseases of the soul, a skinful could put
both coin in her pocket and gratitude under her hat.

She had to get that journal. With
the map inside, she would find the wellspring and claim the water for
herself. She kept an eye on the journal after Daia set it down and
the conversation turned more casual. They told stories and jested
with each other, even teasing Kinshield as if he were a peer and not
the king. He took it in good stride, seeming to enjoy not being bowed
to and “my lieged” at every word. Daia made fun of his
horrible eating habits, which Cirang didn’t find as disgusting
as the high-born battler did, but the more she complained, the louder
his smacking got. Cirang found herself chuckling with the rest of
them, almost regretful that they would die in their sleep.

Almost.

Chapter 25

It
was the mirknight, when only the owls and deer stirred. Cirang sat on
the cold ground with her back against the wet bark of a tree,
listening to the steady breathing and soft snoring of her captors.
Her arse was numb from all the riding and sitting, but with her mind
focused on executing her plan, the discomfort was easily ignored. At
least she was dry beneath Kinshield’s magical canopy that
fortunately stayed up even while he slept.

She
chanced opening one eye. Vandra was sitting a few feet away with her
back against a tree, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. The little
trollop had dozed when she should have been watching her prisoner.
That meant her mind would be fuzzy and her guard low.

Cirang
would have to use the powder on each of them speedily so no one would
have time to call out an alarm. Serragan powder’s dizzying
effect made judging relative location and distance of objects next to
impossible, and so she wouldn’t have to fight anyone who was
affected. It numbed actions, thoughts and speech and worked quickly
once inhaled. Who to assail first? Kinshield slept several feet away
from Daia, with Brawna to her right. Cirang didn’t truly know
whether Brawna was a skilled fighter. She expected not. The trull was
young and had only achieved a green sash at the Sisterhood before it
was disbanded. The rest of them were equally dangerous, and Kinshield
had magic healing abilities. If he could heal himself of the powder’s
effects, he’d be able to draw his sword against her. It would
be best to incapacitate him first, then Daia. That way, she could
dispose of Brawna.

With
her plan firmly in mind, it was time to begin. “Vandra,”
she whispered. “Hey. Psst.”

Vandra
lifted her chin and blinked a few times. “What do you want?”

“I
have to shit.”

“Wait
until morning.” Vandra lowered her head and closed her eyes.

“I
can’t,” Cirang said as quietly as she could. “The
meat I ate is tearing up my insides. If I don’t go soon, I’ll
make a terrible mess in my clothes.”

Vandra
sighed and got up. “All right, but if you wake King Gavin, I’ll
thrash you.”

“I
won’t,” Cirang whispered. Not yet.

Though
Vandra untied the rope binding her to the tree, she held its other
end like a leash, with Cirang on the dog’s end. Cirang’s
hip and back ached and stiffness had set in, which made standing up
slow and painful. Vandra took her by the arm and pulled her the rest
of the way to her feet. “Get to it.”

Cirang
shuffled into the woods, emphasizing the limp to make Vandra think
she was lamer than she really was. She found a spot to lower her
trousers and squat. Vandra waited a few feet away, her eyes averted.
Her modesty was laughable and would be her undoing.

From
the top of her boot, Cirang withdrew the pouch of serragan powder,
tapped a pinch into her palm and closed her fist around it. “Vandra,
lend me your arm to help me stand,” she said. “My back
hurts so much.”

The
unsuspecting wench actually did it, so naive she was. As soon as
Cirang had her trousers laced, she opened her hand and blew. Before
Vandra could cry out for help, Cirang yanked the rope out of her
hands and wrapped it around her head and into her open mouth to
silence her.

Vandra
darted out splayed hands, trying to find something steady to grasp
and found Cirang.

Cirang
hooked one foot behind Vandra’s leg, gave her a push and guided
her fall quietly to the forest floor, then dragged her several paces
farther from the camp. Taking Vandra’s knife from its sheath,
she knelt with one knee on the other woman’s neck. Vandra made
some muffled choking sounds. The chain mail and the tunic beneath had
risen up, revealing Vandra’s torso, rippled with muscle. Cirang
plunged the blade into Vandra’s gut and held it there until her
squirming stopped, then wiped the blood from the blade with Vandra’s
shirt tail and turned, still squatting low, to assess the camp. All
was quiet. One down, three left.

The
thought occurred to her to run now, shackles and all, but with four
horses and a mule and the rain, the others would catch up to her
fairly quickly if they had the most basic of tracking skills. No, she
needed to get a horse and the journal first. The map to the
wellspring was in that book. Besides, Vandra’s sword was still
beside the tree where she’d been dozing, and Cirang didn’t
want to flee without a sword. She cut the rope from around her waist,
sheathed the knife and strapped the sheath to her own calf.

As lightly as she could, she
circled around the sleeping battlers to approach from behind. They
were conveniently lying in a neat line so she could incapacitate them
one by one with a minimum of noise or movement. Brawna was nearest,
but the gems in Kinshield’s sword were glowing brilliantly. She
was afraid it would awaken him, and so she went to him first.

Cirang
took a large pinch of the serragan powder and let it fall into the
’ranter’s face. With a quick step to the side, she did
the same to Daia. She was just about to take another pinch of it when
Brawna opened her eyes. Cirang blew the powder forcefully into her
face.

To
her left, Kinshield opened his eyes. She had to hurry.

Brawna
tried to sit up, but struggled to get her elbow beneath her. “Whoa.
I’m tho dithy. Oh, no. Thiran!” She reached for her sword
but had difficulty pulling it from the scabbard. Cirang kicked it out
of her reach.

“Thop,”
Daia cried, swatting at Cirang. “Gavin, wook out.”

Kinshield
reached for his sword. Before his fumbling hand could grab it, Cirang
trapped it on the ground with her foot. She blew another large pinch
of powder into his face. He was so big, the second dose was needed to
fully subdue him. He immediately shut his eyes and mouth and turned
his face away.

She
bent to pick up the glowing sword. Without its gems, his magic was
less effective, making her more difficult to follow with his gaze.
The hilt heated up so quickly, it nearly burst into flame in her
hand. She dropped it, hissing from the pain. Smoke rose from the
blistering skin on her palm. “Damn your heathen magic.”
She kicked the sword away from Kinshield and kept pushing it with her
boot until it was hidden in the grass and weeds, while she held her
hand out, palm up, in the rain to let the water cool her burnt palm.

“Thirang,
thop o die,” he commanded.

Now
the others were scrambling around, trying to draw weapons or crawl on
their knees. Daia swung a sword at her and missed, and swung again.
Cirang laughed, easily deflecting Daia’s lame attempts to fight
her. “If only you could see yourselves. You look ridiculous.”
Ignoring the pain in her hand, she picked up Vandra’s knapsack
and rifled through it, found the shackle key, and freed her hands.
First, she disarmed everyone and tossed their weapons into the weeds.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll put an eye out
before you die.” For amusement, she shackled Daia’s right
wrist to Brawna’s left, and then threw the key into the dark
brush as hard as she could. “Good luck finding it.”

Kinshield’s
language grew coarser, though it was honestly difficult to make out
what he was saying under the effects of the powder.

“Save
your breath, Kinshield,” she said, pulling their cloaks off
them and tossing them behind her. Beneath the king’s was
Sevae’s journal, which she tucked into Vandra’s knapsack,
along with the remaining serragan powder. “No one can
understand you anyway.” She drew her knife, bent down and
picked Brawna’s head up by her hair, intending to slit her
throat. “I wanted to kill you first, but Vandra drew that
straw.”

“No!”
Brawna screamed. She struggled and slapped at Cirang, but her efforts
only served to wound her with several cuts.