Hunter and Fox (12 page)

“Finally she came to the lake of molten fire at the edge of the world, beyond which lay only the raw stuff of chaos. Despite her age and struggles the Kindred would not yet aid her in any way.

“Three times they called from within the lava boiling from the depths of the world. They called for her to jump into the flames and speak to them in their own realm. Ellyria may have aged, but she did not yet wish to let go her grip on life.

“The first time she demanded, ‘Show me your face.'

“The lava leapt forth and burned away a portion of her own face, including her peerless eyes.

“Howling, she again denied them. ‘I cannot walk where you walk.' At this refusal the fire sprung forth and burned one leg to a withered stump.

“Again they called and this time, she had nothing left of herself to lose. Crawling on her knees, clawing her way forward with her fingernails, she finally entered the lake of fire.

“Though her body should have been burned away totally, the lava scourged her but did not consume. The pain was more than any creature before or since has endured, but Ellyria did not call out. She let the pain have her and passed beyond it to the other side where the body is lost and only the pureness of spirit exists.”

Finn paused for breath, only a beat but enough to judge his audience. They were silent, entranced. Even Talyn, who surely already knew this tale, did not stir. He went on quickly before his thrall wavered.

“The Kindred stood before her wreathed in flame and power. Though they were fearsome to look at Ellyria did not bend to them.

“‘Why have you called me here?' she asked, though she could not even tell if she still had lips.

“‘You are to be blessed.' The swirling eyes of the Kindred seemed to pierce her through. ‘You and your people will be given great Gifts and great burdens.'

“Ellyria knew the way of things and that such generosity usually came with a price, so she was cautious. ‘Why?'

“The air grew hot around her. ‘You of all the people in the White Void have been called to us to join us in the great task. You will become part Chaos and receive the Gifts we offer in order that you may be equal to the task.'

“Ellyria felt the weight of those words enter her and knew this could be the making or the unmaking of her kind. Yet she was strong and stepped forth boldly. ‘We will take up the task.'

“‘Be warned,' the Kindred whispered, ‘if you fail, if you fall at your task, there will be no safety in this world or any other.'

“‘I swear we shall not fail you,' Ellyria promised in her arrogance.

“‘Very well then.' The Kindred caught her up once more, bringing her into their fire. Into her eye they burned seven stars to equal the seven Gifts they had to give.

“And from this came the Pact that all Vaerli sing to this day.

They gave us Gifts mighty Kindred, for we are held most high.

First given; earth sense, no place would ever be strange.

Second was empathy, another's feelings would exchange.

Third found was the strength of flesh, to pain and not to die.

Fourth; the giving Seers could see the future through their eye.

Fifth was the gift memory control, so it would never derange.

Sixth; both gift and curse, to travel and yet to never change,

Last gift, the Seventh, time mastery, though for others it might fly.

Ellyria's Pact was made, the Chaos Kindred bound.

But Gifts are not given easily, and for everything

There is a price for Vaerli and for Kin who stray.

Beware the Void they called with frightening sound,

Cursed you will be if it comes and you cannot sing.

Hold fast your word, and flame may be held at bay.”

He knew in the Vaerli tongue it sounded better, yet he hoped the message still reached them.

The room grew suddenly warm and the slightest of stirrings in Finn's audience told him he did not have long before the Caisah returned. He'd been lucky to get this far.

He went on quickly, for a moment losing his careful pacing. “But it is we who must not forget. The Pact was broken and the Harrowing has all but destroyed the Vaerli. The time of reckoning is coming, and without rebellion against the Caisah the world of Conhaero is in danger from chaos and destruction.”

His ending words were not enough. Just before leaping off the table, he swept back and bowed to his audience. “This is a tale of warning by Finnbarr the Fox. Ignore it at your peril.”

He could actually see the top of the Fire Lord's costume over the heads of the crowd and recalled Ysel's warning. Despite his yearning to come face-to-face with the tyrant, he suspected it would be the last thing he would ever see.

Letting himself fall backwards off the table, Finn called on his minor powers with all of his strength. He promised not to think of them as little if they would only help. Even though he had been prepared to risk his life for this telling, he would still prefer to walk away. Would the Caisah call on Talyn to slay this upstart talespinner? Would she obey?

As it was, he would never find out.

The world dipped, wavering even as he waited crouched at the far side of the table. He could hear the Caisah's footsteps only a yard from his position, but he did not look up—concentrating instead on his powers.

“Search the grounds.” The Caisah's voice was full of outrage, and the room was so warm that sweat began to pour down Finn's neck and back. “Find that rebel and bring him to me immediately!” The guards' armor clattered as they hurried to obey.

The ballroom broke into chaos as all thoughts of mindless pleasure were abandoned. Taking a deep breath, still keeping his eyes averted, Finn rose to his feet and joined his erstwhile audience escaping the ballroom. Surely Talyn could see him even if the Caisah could not. His cloak of insignificance had never fooled Vaerli. However, there came no shout of alarm or heavy hand on his shoulder.

Even when he stood breathing heavily on the streets outside the Waterfall Gates of Iilthor he still couldn't really believe it. The Caisah had looked right past him, like just another person. It raised his spirits. Their tyrant was not all-powerful if even a minor talespinner had been able to dupe him.

With a spring in his step, Finn turned downhill to his inn. He had gotten away with kissing the Caisah's Hunter and had repeated a seditious tale in front of the whole Court. All in all, it wasn't bad for a night's work.

T
hey caught up with Byre not far from Oriconion. He had considered leaving the Road and heading into the Chaoslands, but he was not trained in the ways of his people. It would have been a quick way to suicide, so he stuck to the Road hoping to find a wagon.

Byre's luck, such that it was, did not hold; no before-time flash warned him, only the sound of pounding hooves. So he ran, but this was open country and with nowhere to go the Rutilians simply rode him down. He managed to get a few satisfactory whacks in with his stick, but their greater numbers overwhelmed him.

Knocking him to the ground, they set about kicking and punching with great enthusiasm. Rolling into a ball, he tried to protect his head and let his mind wander away from his body even when he recognized the tune of a rib snapping.

When they had finally worked themselves into a state of exhaustion, they pulled him to his feet and tied his hands behind his back with never a word spoken.

Gasping at the pain, Byre dimly made out two figures standing watching the whole affair. The Kindred wore their ethereal form, and their red eyes were fixed in an impassive stare. This time, though, there was no help. No eruption from the earth itself came to save him.

Byre didn't understand.

The guards threw him over the back of a horse—as if he was no more important than a sack of wheat—and set off at a canter. The Vaerli was able to gather from their conversation that the whole of Oriconion had risen up, but from their coarse jests Byre realized it wasn't the first time it had happened. They didn't seem particularly worried.

In a very short space of time they had ridden to Fort Harsen, but Byre got to observe little of the outside. Most of what he caught, as he dropped in and out of unconsciousness, was the dusty road and the cobblestones of the keep. His head rattled about and his whole body ached, yet he sensed there was far worse to come.

He had no chance to get his bearings before they dragged him down to the well-equipped dungeon area. Already there was a considerable resident population. Byre glimpsed wild eyes and grasping hands beyond the bars, and the smell of fear and defecation made him gag. The sounds were a kaleidoscope of panic: soft sobbing, frantic wailing, and hoarse ragged shouting.

Byre was desperately afraid, himself, for he had heard the tales of the Caisah's punishers. His adoptive parents had made him listen, hoping to instill in him such a deep fear that he would never get himself into a situation where he met them. They would have been sorely disappointed today.

Though the prison was stuffed to overflowing, there was still enough room for one more. He even got a cell all to himself. They quickly manacled him to the wall and shut the barred door behind them.

He hung there for a while, enough time for his aches to subside. His people's remaining two Gifts, which the Caisah had not been able to strip them of, healed his bruises and gave him a little more hope than most of these wretches. Byre was no fool. He could be made to feel as much pain as any of them.

The door opened, and he was grateful to be on his feet to meet his captor. He was surprised though, for it was a woman that entered. Her brown hair was tugged back in a ponytail and a thin bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. Dressed in workday pants and shirt, she looked vaguely dirty and harassed, as if she was part of a hard-done-by workforce. She was unremarkable in every way. That was, until she looked directly at him. Her eyes were a startling shade of green and drilled right through him.

Striding toward him with a sigh, she backhanded him. Byre's head rocked back, his jaw snapping with the impact.

The woman was smiling now. “My name is Flyyit, what is yours?”

Tasting blood in his mouth he replied carefully, “Byreniko.”

Her eyebrow rose at how easily he had given it away, but it was not his real name so it was nothing. A stooped figure had arrived at the door and Flyyit gestured him in. With a lurch, Byre saw this newcomer was laden with a tray of instruments whose purpose he need not guess. The newcomer placed it just beyond the range of the manacles and, with a little bow, left.

For a moment, looking at those dreadful implements, Byre felt utterly beyond himself—as if he had stepped into an awful nightmare. He could work out exactly how he had got here though, that was the worst bit. If only he'd paid attention to the Wyrde.

Flyyit was arranging the tools on the tray with all the professional efficiency of a dressmaker at her silks. Her voice was light and chatty. “I have never had the pleasure of working with one of the Vaerli.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

He might as well have saved his breath, because she didn't acknowledge his presence. “I understand those two remaining Gifts of yours will make you resilient to damage. You might think that will help you, but in fact I think soon enough you'll be wishing you weren't Vaerli.”

Byre swallowed and strained against the manacles. “What do you want to know?” he asked, trying to buy himself some time.

Flyyit was tying on a thick leather apron. She waited until she was finished before turning to face him. “Know? Nothing. You are Vaerli—that is all I need to know. The Caisah has given the word that should any of your people be anything but compliant, they are to be tortured as warning to the others. Your pain is all I want from you.”

He gabbled a few incomprehensible sentences, trying to slow her approach, but she was nothing if not dedicated.

She worked him with pincers and red-hot irons at first, before pausing to examine her work and watch his body heal. Byre took long, shuddering breaths through tortured lips, while the smell of his own flesh burning dissipated into the cold room.

Then she got out her knives.

The world narrowed to incredible simplicities: the application of pain, and the blessed relief when it stopped. Byre did not cry out despite it all. His blood boiled and his flesh screamed, but only gasps came out of his throat.

Flyyit paused, mainly to wipe her brow and take some water. She eyed Byre speculatively even as his body healed. “Why do you not scream? People have told me it releases some of the pain.”

Byre smiled, though his jaw was still half broken. “Have you not heard the story of Ellyria?” His voice came out slightly slurred. “The Kindred tested and tormented the first Vaerli. She went through the fire and said nothing. What can you do to me that my kind has not already suffered?”

She smiled at that and strode across the room. Her kiss forced open broken lips and jaw and nearly shattered his fragile control. Flyyit pulled back, grinning. “Foolish, very foolish to lay down such a challenge like that. Believe me, I am only getting warmed up. I like to find the most effective places lightly at first. Men are like a lute to me, but I think I have found your sweet spots.”

While he was still reeling, she unchained him from the wall and knocked him roughly down. Then she manacled his neck to a ring set in the stone floor. Gasping for breath, Byre was only just able to turn his head, as she bound his arms at his sides and against the flagstone.

He could feel a change in the atmosphere: a ripple that he knew signaled only one thing. The two Kindred in etheric form were watching him again, red eyes narrowed.

Flyyit had picked up a heavy mallet. She rested it near his head before bending down to stroke his wet hair out of his eyes. “I have a theory.”

“How nice,” he whispered into the dust.

“If I break your arm and tie it tightly enough so that your body cannot heal it properly, I believe the pain will be…exquisite.”

She got to her feet and took up the mallet.

Byre squeezed his jaw tight. The first blow made the world explode into brightness, but—terribly—not unconsciousness.

“Impressive,” Flyyit muttered behind him, winding herself up for another blow.

Byre tasted blood in his mouth once again, but this time it was because he had bitten through his own lip. He prayed for darkness and death, though what gods might be listening he could not imagine. The Vaerli had never owned any before.

Through the pain, he kept his eyes locked on the impassive Kindred who watched his agonies and yet did nothing. They had helped him before and now, when he was at his greatest need, they did not move in his defense.

As Flyyit worked and sweated over this most unsatisfactory of victims, she could only take some small measure of victory. The Vaerli, when she paused, could be heard whispering against the stone, “Why? Why?” over and over again, while his eyes remained locked on the corner of the room. She gave him no answer and instead set herself to the task at hand.

If there was one place of peace remaining in V'nae Rae, it was the temple to the Lady of Wings. As Talyn knelt in the stone coolness of it she tried to let the turmoil of the previous night pass over her.

The tall vaulted ceilings with their vast honeycomb of nests running right up to the ceiling echoed with only the sound of birds. Though it was a temple to a Scion of Right, Talyn felt herself calm in such a place. Everything was blue-gray and serene. Even the occasional bird dropping was hastily swept away by a small army of acolytes.

Talyn sat at the far end of the temple near to the only other decoration required in such a place, an image of the Lady herself. The simple statue showed her with wings outspread, a beatific smile on her face, as she prepared to lift into sky and transform into a bird. Above the image in letters deep, yet blurred with time, were words of praise.

O Lady, exalted creature of the air, thou art the hawk in the sky, avenger of man, and the judge of all words.

If only that were still true. The Lady was the scion of the Refae clan of Manesto. It was she who had found the way through the White Void for them. So perhaps Talyn rightly should have harbored some resentment toward her.

The Lady's Swoop had always been a force for good in the days before the Caisah. It was not their fault that—like all of Conhaero—they had to bow to him.

Few birds remained in the roosts. They were a symbol that most people obeyed, but when called upon the Swoop could be a dreadful enemy indeed. Still, looking up into the beautiful gold eyes of a sleepy owl, Talyn could only find peace here.

She heard the sound of boots against stone. Talyn kept her head bent in the hope that whoever it was would pass on by. All chance of that vanished when she glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw Azrul smiling back at her.

“Thought I might find you here.” The Commander of the Swoop tugged her honey-brown hair out of its braid and pulled herself up to perch by the statue of her Lady. She sat there, grinning at the Hunter and swinging her winged helmet in one hand. “I only just got back and already I hear you have been causing quite a stir.”

The number of people who would have greeted Talyn the Dark with such familiarity could be easily counted on the fingers of one hand, and yet despite that the Hunter could not dislike the young commander. It was not just that she was an efficient and capable officer. It was the ease with which she did everything. Her brown eyes were honest and unfettered by any dark motivations. Talyn had more than once found herself close to unburdening on the young commander.

“I'm sure you have heard many things,” the Hunter replied, getting up and giving Azrul a chilly look, “but not even half of them are true.”

“You mean not even the bit where the Caisah nearly kissed you?”

“That, however, could be,” Talyn admitted with a shrug. “He only did it to show everyone I am his. At least, that is what I am hoping it was.”

Azrul examined her toes. Any mention of the Caisah always made her flinch, so it made for difficult conversations. Deftly, she managed to move the subject from their lord and master. “And what about this suicidal talespinner? I've heard so much already…”

Talyn stared at her blankly. “It was a good story, that is all.”

“More than that.” Azrul took her arm without any sign of fear and guided her into one of the side chapels of the hall. “The whole city is buzzing. They are talking of rebellion and how the loss of the Vaerli might have condemned us all. It must have been a real tale!”