Authors: J.F. Lewis
“No.” Cadence shook her head. “I guess he and his Root Guard made it clear of the attack force.”
“Let's hope so.” Sedric yawned. “I'm going back to my meditation. You might consider getting a little rest yourself.”
“I will,” she assured him as his smoky form came undone and he was gone. But instead of settling down to rest, she gazed into the fire and then . . . beyond it.
CHAPTER 16
DROPS OF BLOOD
The low reverberation of Zaurtol rang like music to the mechanoreceptors of the reptilian warlord. Subtle vibrations of his many servants, relayed to him via the pounding of their tails upon the stone, carried news both from the war front and about domestic issues. His agents could have spoken directly to him had the warlord not gone into sequestration while awaiting the arrival of the blood. Sensing a distinctive drumming in the mix he silenced the advisers directly outside his bathing chamber with three sharp slap-scrapes of his tail.
Zaurtol contained few common unaccentuated poundings akin to the rhythms used to control the mighty Zaurruk; Tail Tongue's elegance lay in its resounding subtlety and nuance: the essence of deep thoughts conveyed by the simple variation of pressure and stroke, force and precision. Xastix closed his eyes in rapture at the distinctive cadence of Captain Dryga's unusual percussive flare. A curve touched the corner of his muzzle then fell away, despite the soothing heat of the hot springs in which he sought brief respite from the constant itching between his shoulder blades.
<
Reaching back to scratch the spot where a pearl-sized shard of the world crystal had been lodged, Xastix winced, fangs gritting tightly when his foreclaw touched the open wound. Long furrows of injured scales raked his back around the small splinter . . . a blessing . . . true, but a painful one. Its presence had brought him insight, strength, and an edge when it came to matters of chance. Combined with the secret voice he'd heard since hatching, the gifts it granted had been essential in his rise to power, but now the sword had proven to be double-edged.
Xastix had been assured the discomfort would abate once he bestowed a sample of all three races of the Grand Conjunction, Eldrennai, Aern, and Vael, to Kilke's decapitated head as a sign of his faith and obedience, but the waiting . . .
<
<
<> Dryga tapped peevishly.
So that was it. Dryga wanted all of the glory for himself. It doesn't matter who gets it here,
whispered the voice in the warlord's mind.
If only matter could be transported as quickly as sound . . . without a Port Gate, of course.
The voice muttered to itself angrily. Not one of the rare and precious communications from Kilke that he so desperately craved, but from the other voice: cruel, arrogant, and heartless, a constant companion to be loved and hated, even feared.
That voice.
In his youth, Xastix learned quickly that other Sri'Zaur did not possess such a gift, and he wondered if it was tied to the shard slot he possessed. Regardless of the source, it was always right, even if it was not respectful or loving.
We need all three! Ask him how long before it arrives
.
Sniffing at the blood in his bathwater, Xastix rolled his neck, scratching his chin with bloodied claws. He breathed deeply, unable to do anything but successfully not scratch his back, for several long minutes.
<
<
Too long! Stifling his rage and impatience, Warlord Xastix submerged himself beneath the now-pinkish surface of the pool. He stayed down for an hour, feeling the vibrations of his people going about their duties, sending reports, redirecting troops. All things Xastix wished he could concentrate on.
We'll be fine when the last sample of blood gets here
, the voice told him. Xastix found comfort in that thought. Once he had a sample of all three types of blood, he could present it to Kilke's head and the itching would finally stop.
That's not what we'll be doing with the blood
, the voice berated, its tone scornful, outraged.
Give it to that decapitated failure?! He doesn't intend to help you. He senses my presence but doesn't know what to make of it. He'll never love you or make you better. We have other plans for the four types of blood.
“Four?” Xastix whispered.
Who?!
the voice thought.
How dare she?!
“I don't understand,” Xastix told the voice, waiting for an explanation, but the voice did not answer him. It rarely bothered unless it felt the need to correct him.
*
Blinking at the image of the warlord bleeding in the natural hot spring, Cadence tried to pull away from the vision, to move on to some other site or even to stand and go check on the young Aern and the human, Captain Tyree. It was easy enough to recognize the warlord as what had become of the same reptile she'd seen hatch, the one who had killed his siblings. That something could seem so strong and yet so pitiable twisted her stomach, bringing to mind the image she'd seen of her son, Caius, as he was now, and the deadly being he could (would? might?) become.
This once-small being, this Xastix, could have become many things, but it had walked the path of conquerors and been dreadfully altered.
Dreadfully?
hissed a voice in her mind.
You stare upon my second self with disdain? You weak, pathetic cow!
Cadence had known fear many times. She had stared into the face of Kholster, white muscle exposed beneath melted skin, as he looked upon her with painful recognition. She had felt the ache, the need for crystal as the last of it left her body. Being beaten and worse had been a regular occurrence of her early life, but even in the depths of Hap's depredations, she had never felt a sensation as distasteful as the touch of the mind to which that voice belonged.
I . . .
No!
But it shut down her response with a slap of its thoughts. Intangible claws sank into her chest, clawing at her heart. She gasped once, twice, trying to fight, to push it away, but . . .
Powerful
, the voice sneered.
I suppose you are powerful, but compared to me you are nothing! You, a mere female, a human waste of potential! You do not get to mock, to judge me, and live!
Breath stopped.
Heart stopped.
Thought . . .
And then there were lips on her lips. Her face flushed with warmth, her thoughts were bombarded with salacious images of herself and the man with the whitest smile she'd ever seen. His breath was clean. His kiss tasted of fresh-cut mint. Hands moved over her body and then . . .
“Better?” Captain Tyree asked.
Cadence's eyes snapped open to find Tyree leaning over her. Reaching up to cover herself, she found her clothes still in place, though her head lay among the dry leaves. Other than falling backward, none of what she had felt appeared to have taken place in the real world.
“Wha-what?” Cadence bolted upright, seizing Tyree with her Long Fist and lifting him into the air until his feet dangled over the fire. Despite the shock, it was such a relief to feel the external presence gone. She still had an impression in her mind of an angry thing lurking within a fanged skull, but it was gone.
“Not that I mind a little rough stuff,” Tyree said, his grin broad though strained, “but these are new boots. Leather scorches, and we're a long way away from anywhere I can buy a new pair, so . . .” The smile touched his eyes, but behind it, she felt a motion in potential. Raised arms and a flick of the wrists.
Calm down, pretty lady.
His thoughts, a form of untrained Long Speaking, bounced off her mental defense.
The bad things are gone and while I'm not always a gentleman, I'm definitely better than whatever that was inside your head.
“So.” She kept him in the air but shifted him away from the fire. “You felt my distress and responded with groping, kisses, and erotic imagery?”
“In my defense,” Tyree's smile became more genuine, mischievous, but real, “you didn't respond to a slap. I confused whatever that mind thing was enough to let you break free. Didn't I?”
“So.” Cadence let him drop to the ground, suddenly aware of the watchful gazes of the young Aern. “You think you rescued me?”
Tyree's laugh was a magical thing, so enticing and genuine.
Have I ever felt that free?
she wondered.
“Not likely, sister.” Tyree sat on the ground, checking his boots to ensure they were undamaged. “I'm no match for whatever that thing was, but you were. I felt its power, but also its distance. That far away, you could shove it off, but only if you could stop being scared long enough.”
“She's your sister and you kissed her like that?” Joose asked.
“Not my literal sister,” Tyree groused. “It's an expression. Oh, and it's okay now, Alberta.” Cadence saw past the implied threat of the weapons on Tyree's wrists to the true danger she'd been in as the man's horse clopped around from behind her. The second layer of threat bloomed in her mind, a horse's hoof to the head.
“You would've had your horseâ?” Cadence asked.
“Call Alberta my backup plan.” Tyree's eyes went hard. “There was always the chance I would have to break your link to the mind monster in a less elegant manner. Not that you aren't elegant, Alberta,” he spoke past her to the horse. “You know you're my best girl.”
“Thanks,” Cadence muttered.
“That was like no Long Speaking I've ever sensed.” Tyree poured water from a battered-looking canteen into a shiny copper pot. The smell of mint awakened her senses as he placed crushed leaves into the pot along with a few cubes of brown sugar.
“I like it sweet,” Tyree explained. “And when I make it everyone drinks it the same. . . . Just to beâ” he laughed. “Sorry, old habit.”
“Habit?” Cadence pondered that. The man had the canny wariness of a thief but the charm of a much different breed.
“I've been a captain,” Tyree told her as he set the teapot atop a three-legged collapsing frame. “The Zaur destroyed the
Verdant Passage
and killed my crew.”
“And you escaped?” Joose, the brashest of the Aern, joined them, his eyes once again normal for an Aern's. All sign of blood had been washed away from his face and hands.
“No.” Tyree shook his head. “Not as such. I cut a deal that should have spared my crew and my ship, but it only spared me. If you ever make a deal with General Tsan, understand that he considers it flexible. Oh, he said he was going to pay me for the crew and the ship, but you can't put a price on a lost life. An amount to end one or another to spare one, but that's as far as it goes.”
He offered Cadence a slice of smoked and dried beef, but she waved it off. She didn't trust her stomach to hold it down. It still felt tight and twisting.
“Anyway.” Tyree chewed at his jerky. “They took me prisoner at Na'Shie and brought me to an underground camp where they intended I should wait out the war and then leave with my money, but I escaped with an Eldrennai named Wylant and an Aern named Rae'en.”
Joose looked at one of the other Aern, Arbokk, as he approached and settled near the flames. Tyree waited expectantly for one of them to say something, but when they didn't he smirked and spoke on. “They paid me for my knowledge of the Zaur tunnel systems. I resupplied at Port Ammond and headed for Midian. Hopefully I can secure funds for a new ship there andâ”
“A new
Verdant Passage
?” Arbokk asked.
“
Serpent's Promise
.” Tyree's eyes narrowed. “You know about me now. I'm Captain Randall Tyree, Maker of Bad Deals. Now how about you?” He poured out a measure of steaming tea into a lacquered wooden bowl and offered it to Cadence.
“I'm Cadence Vindalius,” she managed. “And the power you felt, it's called Long Sight.”
“What did you see?” Tyree asked.
She told him. By the time she'd finished, Tyree was refilling the teapot from the same canteen he'd used to fill it in the first place, which gave her pause until she remembered that the two Aern who had rescued her from Hap, Kholster and Rae'en, had possessed Dwarven canteens as well.
The water that poured out of them was cool, clear, and pure, and if the Dwarves understood how they worked, then that meant at least someone did. She took a sip from her second cup of tea and then another, the warmth of the lacquered wooden cup in which he'd served the aromatic beverage sinking into her fingers, chasing the cold from them. One by one, the injured Overwatches had gathered around. She'd feared she'd need to repeat sections of her story as each Aern roused and came to sit by her fire, but Joose, Arbokk, M'jynn, and Kazan each asked only clarifying questions, never needing her to repeat a point. Best of all, they believed her. Never once did they doubt the veracity of her fantastical story or abilities. Was it that they could smell whether or not she was lying?
“There's one other thing.” Cadence set her tea bowl aside, the fire picking out the purple hues in her tricolored hair. “I saw something else. No. Saw isn't the right word. Because it was black as pitch there, but the blood Warlord Xastix mentioned. The third sample. When it gets there . . .”
“Bad things?” Kazan asked.
“Very bad.”
“For us or for the Zaur?” M'jynn asked.
“For everyone.”
*
Kuort galloped through the deepest pathways of Xasti'Kaur, a flask of the male Weed's sap-like blood strapped to his chest beneath the splint mail armor and a second on his back. Not that the annoying little Weed hadn't complained, but who cared? They had agreed not to chop his legs off unless he tried to escape a second time. They'd even bandaged the shallow wound from collecting the blood.