Stonewiser (43 page)

Horatio wrinkled his nose. “The stench.”

“The better part of fear,” Sariah said. “Stay then. Don't forsake your nose's sensibility for the likes of me.”

“There's only one way down,” Horatio said.

“I can make it faster for you,” Delis offered.

The stolen cape was too big, the skull was too heavy, the damn claws burst open every time Sariah touched them, threatening to cut off her fingers or nose.

“Where are you going?” The keeper's voice froze Sariah's clumsy attempt at Hound-dressing. “You're not leaving, are you?”

The panic in the man's voice threatened to undo Sariah's resolutions. “No, nay, no. There are… arrangements that must be made. There are things I must do before—”

“We can help,” the keeper said. “We're ready. We can scout, infiltrate, attack. We can do anything you need.”

“Heed me, keeper, the time is not right yet—”

“But the dome, the sages, the signs. They're all there. We're worthy. Let us show you.”

The misery stamped on the man's face was too much for Sariah to bear. It was not just the keeper who would feel this way. Her desertion would affect all of the Hounds. She didn't want to use them for her own purposes and yet here they were, at her feet, begging to be used.

She hurt for them, but a descent from the safety of those cliffs meant more useless destruction. She didn't want them dead or annihilated. She had to keep them here. It took her by surprise. When had she begun to care for Vargas's blood-licking Hounds?

“Listen to me, keeper. You're right. The signs have been given but it is I who must decide the time of the going. There's much work to do before your people can come down from the Bastions.”

“I understand. It's foretold. The guide will know the when and the how.”

At least the damn prophecy gave her a little working room. “Your people must stay here for the moment. First and foremost, you must protect the stone at the Dome of the Going. Do you understand?”

“The stone will be protected, on the Wisdom we swear.”

“The Hounds, they must continue to do whatever it is that they do. No changes.”

“No changes.” The keeper nodded. “The defectors won't suspect us.”

To the Hounds, the defectors included everybody in the Goodlands. What a mess.

“What else will you have us do?” the keeper asked.

Sariah was thinking fast. “There will be need for food and supplies, so the harvests must be kept and the herds must be tended to. There will be some who will recklessly want to follow me to the Goodlands. They must be kept back.”

“Done. Do you wish for us to deepen our recognizance of the Goodlands?”

“Recognizance?” Dear Meliahs. “No changes, remember?”

“But we have always patrolled the foot of the Bastions.”

An idea occurred to her. “If you must continue your patrols, then strive to make friends.”

“Friends?”

“We'll need all the allies we can find when the time comes. We must seed goodwill among all we encounter.”

“Even the armed ones?”

“I'll be the first to admit that making friends with the Shield is not easy,” Sariah said. “Keep them away as you must, but try to refrain from slaughter.”

The keeper scratched his head. “I thought our mandate was to spill their blood.”

“Not at the moment.”

“Strategy, aye. We understand it.”

“You must learn from friends and enemies. Learn about their customs, their beliefs, their concerns.”

“What else?” the keeper said. “What else can we do for the guide?”

“That's a lot, keeper.”

“We're capable of more.”

“I know, but—”

“Targamon.” Delis interrupted. “Send messengers there.”

Meliahs grant her patience. “I said
you
should go, Delis.”

The keeper jumped at the chance. “We can be your envoys. Nobody will run swifter or surer than us.”

“My donnis, the Hounds can run your messages and I can stay with you. They can journey to Targamon. They can report back to you faster than I ever could. They can also take your message to Metelaus.”

Metelaus. Meliahs only knew what he would make of her message. But what else could she do? How long had it been since Kael had purchased her atonement from the executioners? Over five months. The journey had been grueling, the end wasn't yet in sight, and less than three months remained before the deadline. Who knew how much farther she would have to go? What guarantees did she have that she could return to face the executioners in time?

“It's the right decision, my donnis. The Hounds can be trusted with your messages and I can come with you. You won't have to travel alone and unarmed.”

“Alone and unarmed?” the keeper croaked. “Not the guide. Never. We'll carry your messages and escort you wherever you go. How many do you require? Ten thousand perhaps?”

Ten thousand?

Horatio Maliver was snorting like the damn pig he was. Why didn't she just leave him behind? She didn't need him and he wasn't telling the truth, that much she knew. He was probably lying about the stones he claimed he had. Then why was she considering letting him come? Was it because putrid as his soul was, he had helped them escape the Guild once? Was it because after wising his life's tale she pitied him? Because she wanted to know if he had changed? Maybe. But she had other reasons as well.

Safer is the rabid wolf tied to your leash than the faithful mastiff stalking you freely in the bushes.
Vargas's notoriously fierce Wisdom surfaced spontaneously from the depths of her mind. She didn't like having Horatio close by, but there was no better way of watching him than through her own two eyes. She had reasons to suspect his every action, his every thought.

He had come here, risked his life, for an important purpose. Sariah needed to discover what it was, because ignorance was the lure of tragedy, and even the slightest glimpse of deceit was an omen for destruction down the road. He was most likely a deadly trap. Without knowing why Horatio Maliver needed her, Sariah risked walking into that trap in the worst possible way—without warning or recourse.

“We could provide ten times ten thousand if you'd like,” the keeper was saying. “We could flood the Goodlands with Hounds if you wish it so.”

“I travel in secrecy,” Sariah said. “My inquiries are discreet. I don't need a hundred thousand Hounds to terrify everybody in sight.”

“Then you need a fast team, quiet and fierce. Twenty pairs of claws can massacre a hundred Shield. We did it at—”

“I really don't want to know.” A headache was beginning to gather behind Sariah's eyes.

“It's a good idea, my donnis. We can manage, if they dress like proper Goodlanders. We can pretend we're merchants, like when we went to Alabara.”

“Remember the trouble that got us into?”

“I'm just saying, my donnis. I welcome a fist and a blade if it makes you safe.”

“Fine. If it gets us off these cliffs and on our way, let's have them and be done with it.” Damn if they didn't gang up against her with the slightest ease.

The keeper was already giving orders and sending messages to the domes. It was as if they had always been packed and ready. In less than an hour, a group of fully equipped men and women without their Hound disguises materialized at the cliffs. The keeper took his gear from one of them and strapped his pack on his back.

“You?” Sariah was surprised. “But what about your family?”

“They'll be proud that I go with you. Some come with me.” He slapped the man standing next to him on the shoulder. “My brother, Torkel.”

“The goddess's greetings,”
Torkel said.
“For you we die.”

She flashed Torkel a tremulous smile and followed Jol, who was painstakingly reviewing the others in his outfit. “Listen, keeper. I don't want you or your brother to die.”

“To die for the guide will be the greatest honor.”

“You'll hate this trip. You'll hate me. I'll be bossy. There won't be any Wisdom allowed, no blood licking or self-mutilation. You'll have to do what I say.”

“What's obedience but faithfulness to the truth?”
the keeper said.
“What is faithfulness but loyal following?
Do you forget, wiser? You drank my blood. I'm your keeper. I must come. Because if you die, who but me will drink your blood?”

Thirty-one

 

T
HE DISTANT HOWLING
stopped at the night's darkest hour. Wedged between Delis and Horatio, Sariah sat up on her blanket and waited anxiously for the keeper's return. She figured she had a good hour before he came back. It was amazing how the Hounds managed to communicate using their ferocious howling. The terrible sound carried for great distances. Messenger teams established relay positions across extended territories, conveying important if abbreviated news faster than any runner. That's how she kept abreast of her messengers’ progress. A fortnight had passed since she left the Bastions. Despite the awful weather and the Shield, the messengers had to be very close to Targamon.

The communication system had its drawbacks. No details could be properly conveyed, and the howling, as brief as possible, couldn't take place near their camp for fear of attracting attention and revealing their location. She had tried to go with the keeper, but he wouldn't have it and neither would Delis. Inasmuch as they accepted her authority on most everything, when it came to her safety, those two stuck together like love bugs.

Sariah lay back down on her blanket, but she was listening for the keeper's return. What news would he bring tonight? She didn't know what she feared worse—knowing or not knowing Kael's fate. And poor little Mia. Had she found a way to cope with the legacy's separation effects? Sariah dared to hope, mostly because the thought of her inadvertently hurting the child made her ill. They were putting more leagues between her and the farm every day. Sariah looked up at the beam streaking the sky like an omen. She had no choice. Although she was fairly sure of her destination, she couldn't chance making a mistake.

Delis got up and walked to the nearby woods. Almost immediately, Horatio Maliver rolled over to her blankets. His warm breath tickled Sariah's ear.

“My little wiser can't sleep?”

“I'm not your little wiser, and my sleep is my business.”

“Cranky, aren't we?” Horatio snuggled closer. “I don't blame you. It's damn cold. Arron's Shield is everywhere we go. People in the Goodlands are in a state of panic. That so-called road is nothing more than a neck-breaking deer track.”

“Stop whining and go to sleep.” She didn't want to have an argument with him. Neither Delis nor the Hounds purported a liking for Horatio Maliver. One of these days his antics were going to get him killed before she could learn his true purpose.

“Do you ever regret us?” he asked.

“There was never an us.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Every time I see your face.”

That would have sent any dog yelping with its tail between its legs. Not Horatio Maliver. She almost screamed when she felt his hand on her thigh.

“Take. Your. Hand. Off me.”

Horatio whispered. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“I don't regret it.” He deliberately ignored her warning. “The road is long, the night is cold. Loneliness is a sad condition, my little wiser, easy to cure, even now.” His hand froze on her belly. “The rot burn me.
Are
you pregnant?”

In one swift movement she had him flat on his back with her knife at his throat. “Don't you dare touch me again. Ever.”

“You are pregnant.”

Rage was easy to call on Horatio Maliver. All it took was a palm to his throat and a quick, short stone wrath strike. It left him gagging, whimpering and slobbering like a dog choking on a bone.

She hissed in his ear. “If you say a word to anybody, I swear I'll kill you.”

Delis was just returning from the woods when Sariah stomped by her.

“My donnis, what happened?”

Sariah walked away, ignoring Horatio's strangulated squeals and the scent of urine rising from his blankets. She took some consolation from Delis's delighted chortles.