Stonewiser (18 page)

“Who took him?” Kael asked.

“Who else? The Shield.”

“Why?”

“How am I supposed to know why they took Leandro?” the caretaker said. “The wall's broken. The whole world has gone crazy. The land is like a huge atorium.”

Perfect. Not only was Leandro not at Alabara, but he was lost to them, and they didn't even know why. Sariah's search was as wrecked as the atorium.

“What will you tell his daughters?” the caretaker asked. “They can't expect retribution on a madman, can they? I can't be blamed for this tragedy.”

“I'm not sure what I can do,” Kael said.

“Wait.” The woman scurried to a small chest in the corner. “There might be a way.”

Kael exchanged a glance with Sariah. There was nothing more to do here. It had been a worthless errand and now the best thing to do was leave Alabara quickly.

The caretaker pulled out a tiny sack from the chest. It was marked with Leandro's name in large crude letters. “His gaming set. I was going to keep it for fees. Perhaps the daughters will be appeased by their father's belongings? Will you take it to them?”

“I suppose it's the least I can do.” Kael accepted the little sack. “We'll be leaving now.”

They had not taken more than three steps toward the door when a boarder, an old woman, blocked their way, pointing at the sack with a filthy finger. “That's not yours.”

“It's all right,” the caretaker said. “I gave it to them.”

With amazing speed for someone her age, the old crone lunged to snatch the sack from Kael. She missed, but her jagged fingernails caught on the sack's cord, ripping it open. A cascade of little snakes and scorpions spilled on the dirty floor.

“That's not very nice,” the caretaker said.

Kael scooped a handful of gaming pieces from the floor and returned them to the sack. Sariah picked up a tiny scorpion and held it on the palm of her hand. It was a perfect diminutive replica of a live scorpion. It had a sleek, elongated body, endowed with four pairs of legs and a set of impressive claws. A segmented, artfully carved tail curled high in the air and ended in a sharp stinger. It was masterfully sculpted from very fine stone, some type of deeply veined orange-yellow rock imbued with sparkling, iridescent crystal. It must have been Leandro's very own little treasure. No wonder the caretaker had wanted to keep it.

A strange sensation tickled her palm, and for a moment Sariah thought the scorpion's fanged tail had stung her hand. She recognized the feeling. Could it be? She pressed the piece to her palm. Meliahs help her. It was wised!

The old woman dropped to her knees besides her. “Will you take me with you? Please, I beg you, take me with you.”

“I'm sorry, I can't.”

Was there a tale in the game piece? Could it hold a viable trance? Sariah tapped the scorpion's base. A face flashed in her mind, Leandro's stubbly profile. Excitement blazed through her veins. Had the man imprinted his tale in these stones? Was the trail of the pure still fresh in the game pieces? If only she could wise these right now. Would each piece hold a different tale? Or would each piece hold a part of the same tale?

“We need all forty-eight pieces.” Sariah scrambled on all fours, scouring the floor for snakes and scorpions, trying to shake off the boarder. But the pleading crone was stronger than the bones sticking from under her rags suggested. She clung to Sariah's leg with determined zeal.

“Take me with you,” she pleaded. “The cold demons. They're coming.”

“Hush,” Sariah said. “You'll wake up your friends.”

Other boarders began to stir, a murmur of dark draped shapes rising in the shadows. The old crone got a hold of Sariah's veil and wouldn't let go.

“He said someone would come,” she whispered. “For my soul. For yours.”

“Who?” Sariah asked. “Who told you I would come?”

“Madam, please.” Kael had come to help. “Let go.”

“She knows something.”

Unexpectedly, the old crone dodged Kael and fell on Sariah, an assault of coarse blankets and flinging arms, a flash of wild eyes and sharp claws. “You've brought doom to us.”

A blood-curdling scream issued from the woman's toothless mouth, a high-pitched, sinister shriek that pierced Sariah's eardrum and blasted her face with a rush of fetid breath. An invisible gate toppled. The madness in the room spilled into pandemonium. A man sprang from the floor and began to trot in pointless circles. A woman sat on her haunches, shouting a song without melody. A number of bodies contorted on the floor or climbed over each other, howling. A man dangled from the rafters bellowing obscenities.

The door crashed open. Men poured into the room. Frogs spurted in by the thousands. Hysteria took over the boarders. The caretakers swung their bats without pause. Kael was struggling to rid Sariah of the mad woman's clutch.

“Beware of the one who always wins.” The crone's slobbering mouth pressed hard against Sariah's ear. “Beware of the one who plays the stone and not the game. His tales are your demise.”

There was a sequence of muted thumps. Blood spurted from the crone's nose, spraying Sariah's face. The old woman's head caved in on one side. A clump of white hair sunk in a puddle of blood. Something struck Sariah hard. The room spun like a wobbling wheel. Croaks and shrieks deafened her senses.

The next blow, to her forearm, shattered her inconspicuous cast. Her bracelet's red glow spilled through the cracks. She looked up to see Kael above her, still wrestling. She heard the sickening crack of wood against bone and watched helplessly as his face tensed and then went slack. The last thing she remembered were his closed eyes and a trail of blood trickling fluidly over his forehead.

Fourteen

 

“L
OOK WHO'S AWAKE
,” Alfred said. “Welcome, Sariah, isn't that your name? Welcome to the house of Orgos.” The man's camel lips flapped with his version of a smile, and whatever haze still shrouded Sariah's mind evaporated with the chilling show of fangs.

She remembered the commotion at the atorium, the old crone, Leandro's wised gaming pieces. Wised! She remembered the caretakers, knocking people's heads with their bats. Many more had come. One had obviously carved a knot on her head—

Kael. Where was Kael? She craned her neck to look around, testing the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. They were sturdy enough. She found Kael lying face down next to her on the floor, trussed like hunted fowl. The side of his face was crusted with dry blood and his eyes were closed, but thank Meliahs, his respiration seemed steady and strong.

“I have to say, you both have iron balls showing up here,” Alfred said. “You must be Stonewiser Sariah. The banished vanished. The Domainer who doesn't belong in the Domain. The lad who is not a lad. Yes, I looked in all the places I shouldn't, and confirmed all of it.”

“So you can tell gals from guys?” Sariah said. “How impressive.”

Alfred's boot collided with her stomach and left her wriggling like a stomped maggot.

“Watch your mouth, you little trollop. There're a couple of nasty posses clamoring for you outside the gates. I'd be happy to feed them pieces of you.”

Breathe
. If she curled around her knees, the pain throbbing in her middle became bearable.
Breathe
. Never show fear to a growling dog.

“The mob?” she rasped.

“They're waiting,” Alfred said, “and I have no doubt that as soon as Orgos returns, you'll find your end at their hands.”

That explained why they hadn't been killed yet. Orgos wasn't currently in Alabara and Alfred was waiting for his boss to return. He wouldn't move without Orgos's approval. Damn, her middle hurt. Perhaps he had broken a rib or ruptured her bowels. How long did they have before Orgos returned?

“You can tell the bastard that Alabarians don't forgive fire and blade.” Alfred toed Kael's inert body with the tip of his boot. “I might have missed him if we hadn't been warned. This time he won't get off so easy.”

So Alfred hadn't recognized Kael after all. Who had warned Alfred and why? Choice or duty, Sariah regretted Kael's presence in Alabara. If only he hadn't been so stubborn.

“You knew, didn't you?” Sariah wheezed. “About me. That I was coming here?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Someone was tracking her and closely. Could it be the same man who had spoken to the forester? Or was it the burly mob leader? Was it Arron's or Grimly's agent? Perhaps it was another executioner sent after Delis? They had to find their way out of Alabara. What about Mia, Malord and Delis? Had they been caught?

No. If little Mia felt threatened and unleashed her power in Alabara, the whole settlement would know it. They must be hiding. There were more crannies and nooks in the watery basement of Alabara than in Meliahs’ maze.

“Don't think I didn't find the stones in your braid,” Alfred said. “We heard about those. They're deep in the rot flow, mind you.”

She shook her head and found her plait undone. The stones were truly gone. Whoever was tracking her must have seen her attempt to use the stone at the executioners’ nets. The loss, however, was not as poignant as she first thought. The bursting stones she carried were too powerful to help them in Alabara. The settlement's structure was too frail to withstand an explosion. It could cause parts of the settlement to collapse, killing them as well as a whole lot of other people. She made a mental note to consider this problem later. If they survived.

She had to get them out. Perhaps she could get a message to Delis. She looked over her shoulder to Kael. Like hers, his weapons belt was missing and so was Leandro's game. She couldn't leave without it. Leandro wouldn't have gone through the trouble of imprinting those little stones unless he had something important to say, hopefully about the pure. What had Alfred done with their possessions?

One of Alfred's men barged into the room. “Trouble at the gates. Will you come?”

“I want these two guarded at all times,” Alfred said. “They're very dangerous. Orgos will be happy to profit from the woman's fate, but he will be even more delighted to see his old flame. Maybe this time, Orgos will get his price.”

Old flame?

The door closed, leaving Sariah in a darkness tinted red from her bracelet's glow. Outside, the hasp fit over the staple and the padlock clicked in place with horrifying finality. Sariah sat against the wall and found it solid. They weren't in the flimsy part of Alabara, but rather in the second or third level, where the floor boards were two stones thick and the walls and ceilings were built of petrified wood. The weather had turned steamy again. The tiny room had no windows, no vents, no openings of any kind. It was as if they were in a locked box. Box.

The memories crushed her like a rockslide. She remembered her knees jammed under her nose, bruised and scratched from hitting the wood; the darkness, bearing down on her child's mind like a hammer's blow; the growl of her empty stomach almost as loud as her cries before her voice had eroded into hoarse wails; the acrid taste of blood trickling in the desert of her mouth. She had been what? Maybe five years old?

“Kael.” She whispered against his ear. “Wake up. Kaelin?” She leaned against his shoulder and shook him. “Please. Get up.”

She didn't know she was crying until Kael stirred. With a grunt and a heave, he turned on his back and sat up groggily. “Sariah? Are you crying?” He pressed his face against her cheek. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

Where had these tears come from? “I'm fine, I swear. And you? Is your head badly wounded?”

Against the tinted darkness, she spied his head's slow motion as he leaned it carefully against the wall. “It's aching some but I think I'll live. Are you sure you're all right?”

She was fine if she didn't mind her heart. It was pounding against her breastbone, a deserter trying to jump out of her throat.

“We have to get out of here.”

“It's this place,” he said. “You can't stand the tight space. Try not to remember. It's not that bad. I've been in worse places. And with your bracelet's glow, I can even see some of you.”

“Don't make light of this,” Sariah said. “You're a wanted man in Alabara.”

“But yours is the only light I need.”

He said it factually, naturally, as if she were his sword, or his sling, or his lamp, and yet the words were like a bandage to a ruptured stitch. Sariah laid her head on his shoulder. Orgos's cell was not so bad. It was small and hot, but she could move and breathe and he was right, her bracelet's glow helped her to make out her surroundings.

“Do you recall the fray?” Kael asked.

“I think those were Alfred and his men who broke down the door.”

“Aye, perhaps the caretaker sent word to him.”

“Leandro's gaming pieces are wised. I have to have them. And the crazy old crone, she knew something too.”

“I seem to recall she's dead. She can't help us now.”

“The mob's out there. Alfred was here, gloating.” She told him about her conversation with the thug.

“I wonder when Orgos is expected,” Kael said. “Turn on your side, let me see if I can work on your ties.”