But then I blinked and saw the red streak of light bend toward the butterfly. The delicate creation was moved from its branch to rest upon a half-open rose that took form even as I watched. In sudden enlightenment, I smiled to myself. I watched the red light shimmering in the gloom and waited until the butterfly was firmly settled. “Did you make it?” I said, my voice sounding harsh and strange as it formed the demon words.
And as I expected, the red shimmer flickered into the form of a man when he turned to look at me—a gnarled, little brown man in red shirt and breeches—and beside him another man—younger, quite thin, and very annoyed—dressed in a flowing purple cape. Forms of light, not flesh, but with expressive faces and limbs perfectly shaped, though they had no more substance than lightning.
“Did he speak?” said the one in purple. Vilgor, the gardener had called him.
“He did,” said the one in red. “And the answer is yes, I made it. Why do you care?”
“M-m-arvelous,” I said through chattering teeth. “Exquisite.” The two looked so shocked that I almost burst out laughing at them. “Only a little m-m-ind left and that half frozen, b-but enough to recognize an artist w-w-worthy of p-p-praise.”
“Insolent vermin.”
I wasn’t at all prepared for the powerful burst of enchantment that instantly snatched me away from the garden and back into the swirling murk.
“. . . No doubt of it, good Kaarat. We displayed him to the hunters before bringing him before you, and more than two hundred identified him. He is an yddrass, the very villain Warden who has tried to starve us these times just gone. The cruel hand of the Aife scourge. And because there has been no other but this one for so long, he is certainly the one who gave Barrakeval no choice in his outcome, but killed him savagely, violating the codes of his own kind. This Warden must be punished. Destroyed.” The one in purple was speaking. Vilgor. I recognized his voice, though I could not see him.
I strained to see anything through the gloom. Hours had passed since I had been able to make sense of my surroundings. I had been dragged, bullied, shoved, and prodded into storm-wracked settlements, into buried dens peopled by shadows, and murky rooms flickering with light, all of them packed with hatred so palpable I could have molded it with my hand. Finally we had arrived at this somber gray room, long and narrow, with gracefully arched walls that shot up steeply to a high peak lost somewhere in the ever-present shadows.
Though it was still wickedly cold, we were no longer in the wind. I was grateful for that, as I was bound to a slender column of some sort, my hands over my head, my battered flesh abjectly exposed. At least a hundred demons were present. I could see only a few of them who were turned just at the angle they became visible to me, but I could feel their hot blue eyes on my wretched self—naked, bruised, caked with blood, vomit, and worse. My knees were quivering so badly, they kept threatening to cave in and leave me hanging from my sore wrists. My hair hung lank over my face, some of it stuck to my cheeks and lips with frozen foulness.
“How came this yddrass here? We’ve no record of engagement in the time given.” The stern, calm questioning came from somewhere in front of me.
“The mad ones claim he surrendered himself to them in honor of their past ferocity,” said Vilgor, “if one can believe them. For myself, I think he must have battled with a rogue and got himself captured. Perhaps he killed the rogue, but too late to escape, and then he fell into the pit with the mad ones. But that is no matter. The only question, good Kaarat, is what punishment do we devise, and who has the privilege and pleasure of meting it out.”
“Hmm. A difficult question.” The speaker turned where I could see him as a spare, gray-haired man of advanced age. “Where is Merryt? He’s the one who brought this to my attention, and he asked to speak at the trial. What does he have to say of it?”
Vilgor, the purple-clad demon, was incensed. “The
ylad
! Surely you won’t listen to the vile—”
“I will listen to whomever has light to shed on the matter. Has anyone seen Merryt?”
The judge had raised a commotion. Apparently many others shared Vilgor’s displeasure at mention of this Merryt. An
ylad
—a human. My sluggish blood began to move.
“I am here, noble Kaarat, and greatly value the honor you do me by permitting me to address the Rudai Meet. May the Rudai Circle ever be complete.” The owner of the substantial voice stepped out from behind me, a stocky, gray-haired man who bowed to Kaarat and did not shimmer and disappear. “I bring word from Denas.” Silence fell, as if the storm beyond the gray walls had stopped its raging. “He has commissioned me to tell you that he has no interest in this case. A captive Warden is proper fodder for his Gastai, as has always been the custom.”
Kaarat sighed. “But surely this Warden should be interrogated. I’ve been told he can still speak, and we’ve had so many questions about this particular one. He’s different. Powerful enough to destroy the Naghidda. And he changes form. We’ve much to learn. Matters are moving more swiftly than we’re accustomed to. And if Rhadit’s legion is to embark on the quest—”
“My noble Kaarat, I have no advice upon this business. I only bring you the word of Denas, as he commanded me. As an Adviser of the Rudai Meet, you must determine your own course where it may deviate from Denas’s recommendation.”
Kaarat was flustered. “All right, all right. What insights could I have that would change what passes anyway?” He stood up, flickering in his pale blue brilliance. “I concede that this prisoner is indeed a Warden responsible for multiple deaths. Because he took Barrakeval’s life savagely—without warning or negotiation, thus violating our terms of battle with the
pandye gash
—he properly belongs to those of Barrakeval’s cadre, those who took him captive. Send him back—”
“No!” I croaked, trying not to panic. “Please let me speak, honored sir.” The room erupted with so many flickering lights and forms, all of them shouting and babbling, that I had to close my eyes to concentrate. “I’ve come to meet with those like you. We didn’t know what you were . . . all these years . . . so much misunderstanding . . . Please—”
A powerful fist in my gut aborted my plea. I opened my watering eyes to see the gray-haired Ezzarian glaring ferociously into my face. “You will be silent, prisoner. The noble Kaarat has spoken his judgment.”
“But I’ve come unarmed,” I wheezed, trying to force the sound beyond the broad, flat face to the troubled judge. The words I had held safe for so long in the dark were desperate to get out. “There’s a danger . . . warning . . . please hear me. A Nevai—”
Another blow and I could no longer protest. Vilgor came for me then, elbowing Merryt aside. The purple-caped demon mumbled under his breath as he unhooked my hands from the column and shoved me toward a wavering door. “Cursed Nevai meddling. Who asked Denas to send his mongrel to direct our business?”
I stumbled and fell, retching from the blows, though there was nothing left inside me to lose. Dizzy, doubled over in pain and sickness, I fought to control my terror. I could not let them send me back to Ham-fist and Jack-Willow and the darkness. The Gastai were going to make me forget everything. They were going to crawl inside my soul and stay there forever, feeding on the horrors they inflicted upon me. What if they never let me die? With some mote of foolish resistance, I lashed out at the purple-clad demon. “Hyssad! Begone! I am the Warden—”
I never got out the rest of it, for something exploded in my head, and when I woke again, there was no light.
I could not bear to open my eyes. My head felt like a cracked melon. My gut like fire. My hands trembled unceasingly. When would they come? When would they begin again? I rolled over onto my knees and rested my throbbing head on the formless darkness of the floor, fighting to muster some shred of strength. I would not tell them my name. I would not yield my soul. I would not scream. I would not. I refused to feed a demon’s hunger until there was nothing left of me to care.
“Here, come on.” Hands reached under my shoulders and dragged me up. “And quietly about it.”
I pulled away, wobbling, flailing with impotent fists. “I won’t. I won’t,” I said, mumbling through lips numb with cold and swelling. “You can starve.”
The hands gripped my wrists. “Come, now, hold on. I’m sorry I knocked you about, but I had to silence you. Here . . . lean on me . . .” The whispering man draped my arm across his broad back. “You need to learn how things work in Kir’Vagonoth. Never go about anything directly, and never, ever, let anyone know who your friends are. Now, hush you, lad. We’d rather not allow these devils to know I’ve come for you.”
Through the fog of my fear the voice took hold. “Merryt?”
“Would you please keep your voice down? Since when are Ezzarians so dastard free with names?”
He dragged me stumbling through the cold darkness, through another sickening whirlwind, and into a long dim passage. The only light came from the walls themselves, built of pale gray stone or ice. After threading our way through a maze of such grim passages, we came to a small room, piled from floor to ceiling with clothing, dishes, boxes of candles, balls of yarn and rolls of leather, bars of metal and sticks of wood, and all manner of other things. A half-open wooden chest held hammers and chisels of various sizes, and the walls were hung with loops of rope, lengths of chain, and bundles of leather thongs. “This is a useful hideaway. Can’t keep anything safe in my quarters in the castle. They haven’t found this place yet, and I don’t intend they should. The devils imitate everything that’s been seen in our world, but don’t know the proper use of half the things they shape.” A small desk was littered with pens and ink and papers half written or crumpled. “Some of them shape themselves bodies, too, as if wearing flesh will make them human.”
As I stood hunched and shivering beside the door, Merryt threw open a flat-sided brass trunk, yanked out a small leather pouch, and stuffed it in the folds of his cloak. “I need to teach someone how to speak respectfully,” he said, once the trunk was closed and locked again. He stood up and raked me with his dark eyes. “Damn, you are a wretched mess.”
The Ezzarian disappeared into one corner. He came back with a silver pitcher and filled a crystal goblet, which he gave to me. I stared at it dully, as the contents sloshed over my trembling hands. Cold and clear. Water.
“Go ahead and drink it. There’s no time for anything else. I know you crave a cleaning and a bed and something fit for a human to eat, but it’s best you stay as you are for a bit. You don’t want to appear threatening.”
Threatening. I squinted at what I could see of my bent, scarred, filthy self, and I started to laugh, sagging against the cold gray wall. I couldn’t stop, and Merryt had to catch the shaking goblet before I dropped it. He was missing two fingers on his left hand and one on the right.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to go. Denas is waiting. He’s the most powerful of the Nevai circle, and the only one who could get you away from the pits. I told him you might be useful. Make him think so, and things will be better soon. There are interesting occupations for Wardens who keep their wits about them. I could mentor you.” He refilled the goblet and held it to my lips. Never had I tasted anything so marvelous. Three times he filled it, then he set it down and took my arm. “We must go. I’d advise you keep your counsel. Your secrets are your only coin in this realm.”
“I thought . . .” To think was difficult. “I thought this Denas had no interest in me.”
Merryt leaned his head out of the door, as if checking to see if anyone was coming, then he dragged me into the passage. “It seemed that way at first. For all this time, he’s refused to pull you out. But things change. As I mentioned earlier, don’t ever believe what anyone says. If someone says up, it’s likely to mean down or very possibly sideways.”
“But then everyone knows—”
“Not exactly. That’s why we had to take the risk to send you back to the mad ones, and why we’ll not let anyone know you’ve been dragged out again. Your story is ended as far as most everyone knows. Denas wants an advantage in his enterprises. Perhaps he thinks you can serve.”
“Thank you.” I said no more than that. I did not want to weep in front of him. He had already witnessed the depths of my degradation.
Merryt clapped me on the shoulder, then led me through the passageway and out into the storm. My head was bent into the wind, and I was following just behind the man, doing well to stay upright and move fast enough that my bare feet and hands did not freeze. Merryt had a bit of a limp, and it was the only reason I could keep up at all. But after a long time slogging through the bitter storm, something in the sighing note of the wind set my jumbled thoughts quiet and uneasy. Wary, I looked up. In the distance stretched an arched bridge, long, graceful, an impossible span over a jagged ice gorge, a rainbow of pale colors leading into the soaring, ice-carved fortress of my long-forgotten dreaming.
I stumbled to my knees in gaping wonder, the frigid wind scraping my lungs and making me cough until a fine spray of blood reddened the snow.
Wake up . . . wake up . . . before it comes
. Merryt was already disappearing into the gloom. “Please . . . help . . .” The wind snatched my voice away, and the man did not slow.
Get up. Move. This is not the dream.
My feet were unfeeling blocks of ice, but I got them under me and staggered forward. “Wait . . .”
Merryt turned just as I fell again, and he came and hauled me up, my arm across his shoulders. “Mustn’t leave you out here to freeze. Not until we see what you’re about, at least. Just a little farther.”
More than a little, but I didn’t care. I was not collapsed in the snow being devoured by the darkness.
We did not cross the bridge or enter the castle by its magnificent gates, guarded by towering forms of winged jackals, hacked from the ice. Rather Merryt took me a long way around, climbing up a jagged ice mountain to a back gate tucked inconspicuously between the castle wall and the frozen cliffs behind it. While he unlocked the gate, I stood shivering and gazing down onto the storm-wracked plain where I had lain so often in my dreams. From this vantage I could see the outline of a city in the distance, spires and roofs and towers sprawled across a small segment of the horizon. The city was dark, as if it were deserted, consumed by plague, perhaps, and waiting for the storm to bury it in winter. Just to the right of the city, stretching in a long arc to the base of the castle mount, was a sea of flickering lights. They put me in mind of a warrior encampment on the eve of battle. We’d just come from there, I believed.