Bone War (8 page)

“Why are you three out here at night?” Aisa countered.

“We were visiting Slynd at the farm and lost track of time after Gwylph showed up to talk with Ranadar,” Talfi said brightly. “We couldn't find a carriage and had to walk back to—”

“Gwylph?” Aisa interrupted. “The elven queen?”

“What's she doing here?” Danr demanded.

“This is no coincidence,” Aisa said. “It must have something to do with Pendra and the Garden.”

“And then there's the candle wax man,” Talfi put in.

“Enough!”
Kalessa boomed.

Everyone, including Welk, turned to stare at her.

“Prisoners and queens, Death and the Gardeners, wyrms and candle wax—it is obvious we need to sit down and repeat our various stories to each other,” Kalessa said. “But only back home and over something deeply alcoholic.”

“Mrs. Farley and the butcher are going to love this,” Talfi observed.

“The butcher?” Danr replied, scratching his head.

“Yet another story, I fear,” Ranadar sighed, and made way for another troll.

*   *   *

“So let me get this straight.” Danr pushed his cup aside. “You found a guy in the twilight market who looks exactly like Talfi, except for the melted half of his face, but he ran away before you could ask him anything, and then Ranadar's mother begged him to come home and be prince, even if it meant bringing Talfi along.”

“That's about it,” Talfi agreed.

“And you two,” Ranadar said, pointing at Aisa and Danr with a shaky finger, “talked to Death and Gardeners, who said without Pendra, the other two Fates are unable to function fully. Death learned that my mother—my
mother
—kidnapped Pendra because she was unhappy about not being chosen as a Fate, and now she's using Pendra's power to create some kind of new life, which is corrupting the Garden beyond the Fates' ability to repair, so we need to ask Queen Vesha of the Stane—another former candidate for Pendra's position—for the Bone Sword, the only weapon that can free Pendra.”

“And it all started with a picnic,” Aisa said.

“Is this a normal day for you people?” Welk blurted out. He was sitting at the far end of the common room table, a little red faced from liberal applications of Mrs. Farley's home-brewed ale.

“You're a shape mage now,” Danr said. “Get used to this.”

“It seems clear,” Aisa said, “that all this is connected—the candle wax man, Ranadar's mother taking Pendra, her appearance to Ranadar at the wyrm farm.”

“Do you think she's responsible for the candle wax man?” Talfi said. “Did Gwylph . . . create him?”

“I do not see how or why,” Ranadar replied. “She may have access to a Gardener's power, but creating a new Talfi . . . that would be beyond her. She would require . . . material. And she has none. Talfi is here.”

“Aunt Vesha is involved in this somehow, too.” Danr munched his way through a loaf of bread. “Did you get the feeling Death was sending us to her because she—Death—is angry at her?”

“I did,” Aisa admitted.

“You've seen Death get angry?” Welk took another slug of ale. “I was going to ask if maybe you might want another shape mage to . . . you know . . . help out summat here and there, but now I'm thinking it would be smarter to join the army after all. Less deathy.”

“We should secure this man,” Kalessa said. “He is a thief and cannot be trusted. I can bind him so he will not move the entire night long, even to relieve himself.”

“He did some regrettable things, my sister,” Aisa said, “and he will work to pay for his crimes, but we need not be cruel to him in the meantime.”

Danr crossed his thick arms. “He did turn me into a toad, you know.”

“And you forgave him,” Aisa replied.

“Mostly,” Danr grumbled, and Welk gave him a sickly grin.

Ranadar said, “I will take care of him.”

“You will?” Welk said warily.

In answer, Ranadar dipped his finger in ale and flicked several drops at Welk with a few murmured words. When the drops touched Welk's skin, they glowed faintly and vanished.

“What did you do to me?” Welk asked, eyes wide.

“If you wander more than one hundred yards from my person, you will die instantly,” Ranadar said carelessly. “And if you use your magic, you will die a painful death that stretches out for more than an hour.”

“Oh,” Welk said in a small voice.

“I didn't know glamours could do that,” Talfi said.

“Mind magic is more powerful than you think,” Ranadar returned.

Danr closed his right eye and looked at Welk. He saw no glamour there. The truth came to him. Ranadar was lying about the magic. But what did it matter as long as Welk thought it the truth? Danr gave Ranadar a brief nod of acknowledgment. The elf's expression didn't change, but he sipped from his glass.

“Perfect,” Kalessa said. “What do we do next?”

“In the morning, we need to deliver him”—Danr jerked a thumb at Welk—“to the prince. Then we need to track down this candle wax man and go ask Aunt Vesha for the Bone Sword.”

“What if she doesn't give it to us?” Talfi asked.

Danr cracked his knuckles. “We'll take it.”

*   *   *

Dawn woke Danr. The chill morning air hovering in the bedroom made him decide to stay in the warm bed just a few more minutes—a luxury he'd never been afforded as a thrall. Then he realized that Aisa was no longer beside him. In fact, she wasn't even in the room.

He tossed aside the blankets and pulled on his chilly clothes. “Aisa?”

No answer. Unease stole over him. The door was still shut and locked from this side. He cast about uncertainly. Where had—

“Good morning, Hamzu. I am glad to see you up and dressed.”

He spun. Aisa was standing behind him, looking tired.
Startled, he swept her into an embrace. “You worried me for a minute,” he said. “Where did you—?”

The top of her head was under his nose, and he sniffed her hair. It carried a different scent than usual, a scent he recognized. He gave a second sniff, then backed away and held her at arm's length.

“You were in the Garden last night,” he accused.

She nodded. “I was.”

He was wary again. “Did . . .
they
summon you?”

“In a way. I could hear them talking in my head.” She rubbed her ear. “It woke me, and I felt a strong urge to go. And then . . . I was there. They
need
me, Danr. The Garden needs me.”

“Why didn't you wake me first?” His voice was calm.

“It . . . didn't occur to me. I wanted to be there, and I just . . . went.” She took his hand. “Are you angry? Please do not be angry. This is something I needed to do.”

“I'm . . . a little angry,” he was forced to say. “Not that you went to the Garden. It's that you went and didn't tell me.”

“Yes. I am sorry.” Her eyes went down. “I just did not wish to wake you, and it felt urgent to go. Please do not be angry anymore.”

She was wrong, and he was right. For a moment, he wanted to hold on to the anger, the righteousness of it. For years, he had never been allowed to get angry at anyone, and now he had a chance to be both right and angry.

But then he paused. How small and stupid was that? This was someone he had quite literally died to save. Without thinking, he ran his hand over his chest, where the silver sickle had split him open, spilling the life's blood that had saved Aisa's life. The small, petty anger dissipated.

“There's no reason to be angry,” he said with half a smile. “But I wish you'd've woken me up first. Did it . . . help? Was the Garden any better?”

“Not that I could tell,” she sighed. “But neither did it hurt.”

Downstairs, they found the others already at breakfast. Mrs. Farley was cutting bread and cheese at a side table while everyone ate. Welk hovered in the corner, refusing to take his eyes off Ranadar, who calmly downed cold meat and day-old biscuit. Kalessa gulped the strong tea she favored in the morning while Talfi doodled on his plate with a bit of blood sausage. Danr peered over his shoulder.

“A heart?” he said. “How sweet.”

Talfi skewered the sausage with a knife and ate it. “I'm not awake yet, troll.”

“Grouchy,” Danr observed.

“How long will the glamour last?” Aisa asked Ranadar with an eye to Welk. Danr wondered if Aisa knew the truth, too.

“As long I wish it,” Ranadar replied. “He should be pleased I do not plan to ride horseback to the Gold Keep.”

They actually hired another carriage. Aisa made a caustic remark about Welk running behind it that made Welk blanch, but in the end he was allowed to sit on the floor. Danr, who had not at all enjoyed his time as a toad, didn't feel inclined to offer him a seat. The morning promised plenty of sun, and Danr clapped a heavy felt hat on his head to ward it off. It was nice to be in a position to afford felt hats and hired carriages.

The driver, a large man with green eyes and a close-cropped head of graying brown hair, perked up noticeably when Ranadar gave him the destination. Passengers who went to the Gold Keep would have money, and money would mean a good tip. He hopped down from the seat and bustled lap robes around them to keep their clothes free of flying mud and manure, a constant hazard in an open-topped carriage like this one. Welk's head poked out from the swaddles of cloth like an odd rock in a river.

“Get you there in a jiffy, sir!” he said. “My name's Joe. Joe Saylor. You need anything, you just let me know, good sirs! And ladies!”

“A sailor who drives a carriage?” Kalessa said.

“'S right, lady,” he said, touching his hat. “Twenty years at sea, until that golem stepped on my ship during the Blood Storm. Now I'm driving a carriage. Never know where life'll take you, and that's a fact!”

“Tip him extra,” Aisa murmured to Ranadar.

Joe gave Danr a quick look as he tucked in the final bit of robe. “You got any preference about the route, sir?”

“The route?” Danr repeated. “No. Why?”

“Only there's this group of people down by the temple of Grick. They're shouting and chanting about . . . certain types of folk.”

“You mean half-bloods,” Danr said evenly.

“And them new shape-shifters,” Joe added.

“Grick's priests preach acceptance of all people,” Aisa said in a tight voice. “This . . . demonstration is aimed at them.”

“The temple is right on the way,” Joe said, suddenly unsure of himself. “I only ask because there's another way to the Keep. We could avoid the whole thing, but it would take a lot longer. It's entirely for you to say, sir.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Ranadar said imperiously. “We are not concerned with such people and will take the shorter route.”

Aisa said, “Perhaps we should take the—”

“We will take the normal route,” Ranadar interrupted. “Drive!”

Joe touched his hat. “Right, sir.”

“Why must every day be interesting?” Kalessa mused aloud.

And Danr was forced to answer, “Because it's us.”

They heard the shouts before they saw the people. The temple of Grick was a wide, serviceable set of brown stone buildings tucked behind a wall that curved along the street. In front of the wall swarmed a hive of people, three or four deep. A few crudely made straw dummies poked up from the crowd on sticks. Some dummies were human shaped, others seemed to be animals. A few soldiers kept a wary
eye on the people from a distance but otherwise stayed out of it. The imposing iron gate partway around the wall was firmly locked.

Danr closed his right eye and looked at the crowd with his left. Instantly, he saw the truth: pinched faces, tight bodies, curt gestures. These people weren't truly angry—they were merely afraid. But they put a mask of anger over their fear, which only made the anger burn brighter.

Joe turned the carriage down the street, his mouth tight. “We could go around, sir,” he said over his shoulder. “I think the carriage could squeeze down one of those side streets if we're careful.”

“Just drive,” Ranadar said.

“What are they chanting?” Danr asked.

Aisa listened. “It sounds like ‘Half-blood, half-dead.'”

“Some of them are shouting, ‘Shift is shit,'” Ranadar observed.

“Imaginative,” Kalessa said, touching the hilt of her knife.

“They're scared more than anything,” Danr told them. “They're afraid of shape-shifters and half-bloods because both things are strange and different. And they're afraid of the Stane, too.”

“They don't look very scared,” Talfi said nervously. “Right now they're looking at us.”

“Ranadar, my dear friend, why did you insist we go this way?” Aisa said.

“I am a prince of the Fae,” Ranadar said, but with a hint of doubt now. “My business will not be delayed by common—”

“A half-blood!” someone shouted, and a glob of mud sailed straight at the carriage. It fell short and splattered the wheels. “He's riding in a carriage like normal people!”

“Who do you think you are?” shouted someone else.

“He thinks he's better than us!”

“Go back to Halza, half-blood!”

Danr felt the old anger stir, but it mingled with the truth he had seen earlier, which forced it back. Getting angry at
these people would be like getting angry at the wind—there was no point. Clearly, they didn't recognize him as Danr, the half-blood who had wielded the Iron Axe. Not long ago, the greater danger would have been that the crowd might overwhelm the carriage to touch Danr, even tear away his clothes for souvenirs. He had been the only human-troll half-blood in Balsia, and everyone knew who he was. Ironically, his fame as the Hero of the Battle of the Twist had encouraged more half-bloods to go public, and now there were perhaps a dozen or twenty living openly in Balsia alone. But instead of creating more acceptance, it had created a rift among the human population. Some humans had indeed become more accepting, but others had run in the other direction.