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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“So,” Druadaen asked as he leaned back from a dinner of wild vegetables and truffles, “why did you decide to watch me?”

Aleasha stared at him. Had she been a cat, he was sure her ears would have been flattened to either side of her head. “Have you really been waiting to ask that question all this time?”

Druadaen conceived of the last half of the day more in terms of leagues, given that he had spent the first half running for his life. “The question crossed my mind occasionally, yes.”

She glowered sideways at him. “That is now the second lie you’ve told me. You were nursing that question even more than you were nursing your blistered feet. Well, you may have your answer.

“I was uncertain what to make of you, even after we had learned some of each other’s speech. But what I did not share was that the cult I spoke of was likely to have agents in the area.”

“I think I had an unfortunate meeting with them at the camping spot you recommended.”

She nodded. “So I learned.” In answer to his uncertain frown, she gestured to the owl and other birds. “I did not see that battle, because I did not yet keep you within reach of a bird’s eyes. But I saw what remained of those who thought to kill you, and soon after, saw their horses being led north and knew I had found you on your journey to Pakobsid.

“This decided me on several matters. Firstly, that you were so truly ignorant of our world that you could not be from it. That in turn proved that there was no way you could be serving the interests of other powers, not even unwittingly.

“Secondly, you were a far more formidable opponent than I had supposed. And thirdly, having slain the agents of that cult, it was possible that its leaders would endeavor to determine who had done so and visit vengeance upon you. And so, since it was I who sent you that way, and did not give full warning of the dangers you might face, it was upon me to keep eyes upon you and, if possible, intervene if you were put at risk by my failure.”

He was about to protest that she had owed him nothing, that in fact he was very much in her debt, when she stopped him with a raised hand. “And,” she said, almost smiling, “you were interesting in your own strange way. It is not every day I meet a person from another world, especially one so… so imprudent as you!” Then she did smile, slyly. “But what truly decided me was your friend.” She glanced at his bracer.

“It is unusual,” he allowed.

“It is, but its ability to change form was not what compelled me; it was its actions. As I told you. Outwardly, it appears to be an artifact created by a master wyrdcrafter—or even a sorcerer—yet it does not act as a servitor, as most such creations are made to do. It is not merely alive; it has intents and goals of its own.” She shook her head. “I have never seen its like, nor have I heard of such a creature.”

“If it is a creature,” Druadaen amended.

She raised an eyebrow. “It is strange to hear you doubt that, since you treat it as a being. Which tells me that, even if you do not know it to be one, you suspect it is. That is why you show it respect.” She nodded. “That is very important.”

He smiled. “So your birds weren’t just watching over me; they were also showing you how I acted toward something that might not be alive, but merely a construct. You were determining if I was worthy of your help.”

She had begun by nodding at his comments, but ended on an uncomfortable frown. “No, that was not a concern. I know when humans are bad. And if I were somehow to misjudge”—she gestured toward the animals around them—“my friends would not.”

He frowned. “Then why did you feel it necessary to measure me, if you did not fear that I was evil?”

She glanced at him then glanced away again. “It was still possible that you might be stupid.”

Yet another chastening comment from Aleasha. But his responding smile was genuine, if ironic. “I don’t seem to make a very good first impression.”

She glanced back but this time left her eyes on him. “It is not that so much. It is just that your entire reason for coming here… well, I am sure that many would call it noble. To me, it seems foolhardy.”

His smile broadened. “To me, too,” he agreed.

Her expression was wiped away by an abrupt, rising chortle. “Then why do it?” she said when they were done laughing.

He shrugged. “It sounds ridiculous, even to me, but when it came time to decide whether I would pass through the Shimmer or not, it seemed as though I had to do it. All the questions and quandaries I investigated had gone unanswered or were deflected. But they had this in common: in every case, a supposed rule—or truth—of my world was being violated or suspended by forces that lay beyond it. So, perhaps I had to leave it to discover what those forces were and why they were acting as they did. And since the Mirror had shown my image to the Lady, she surmised that the Shimmer was presenting itself as my portal to such a place. Besides,” he added, tapping his bracer and his sword pommel, “these indicated that it was a good idea.”

Her brow set in a severe line. “I am still not sure that explanation makes your choice any less foolhardy, but I understand how those would be powerful reasons.” She regarded him, raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe that going through the Shimmer was your destiny?”

“You mean, do I believe that there is a special purpose that I had to serve by doing so?” He shook his head. “No, but I acknowledge that sometimes people may come to a place where, although they may choose many different paths, one is clearly more needful than the others.”

“Needful to whom?” she persisted.

“I cannot say. Maybe just to me. But if so, then the velene and the sword are very indulgent.”

“Unlikely, since they all but pushed you through the Shimmer.”

Druadaen simply shrugged and nodded. It would not have supported his easy dismissal of destiny to tell her that his “aunt” had brought the velene to him, or that his uncle, acting on unexplained orders, had put the sword in the care of the dragon decades before Druadaen was born.

Aleasha smiled even as she frowned. “You are not bad for one who comes from under a roof. But I do not trust thinking creatures or their works the way you do. I do not trust kings or countries. I do not trust orders given by gods we cannot see or believe in a fate that seeds our steps before they are taken.” She held his eyes. “But sometimes, I trust individual people. And I trust you.”

“Enough to finally tell me who those cultists were? I suspect they are what the Sarmese call Nightfall—”

She raised her hand. “Stop. Is that what the Sarmese concluded?”

“They could not agree on what they were. At first they presumed them to be Nightfall cultists because of the robes I found on them. Others feared they might be members of a resurgent order of much-feared sorcerers. They also mentioned a warlord and more mysterious forces, all of which might be using the abominations for one of several purposes. In the end, they didn’t agree on very much.”

Aleasha nodded. “Their confusion is understandable. It is normal enough to suppose that one’s problems are caused by a single enemy. Possibly two, working in concert.”

Druadaen heard her tentative tone. “But you believe there are more than two and they are not allies. Rather, they may be working at crossed purposes.”

She nodded back. “You perceive. But the truth is likely to be still more complicated; it is likely that they are not all equally aware of each other. If at all.” Noting his raised eyebrow, she expanded: “The sorcerers the Sarmese mentioned are an ancient order known as Pagudon. And I suspect that some of their agents have entered the ranks of Nightfall, claiming their sorcery to be priestly powers.”

Druadaen sat straight. “Which is why the Temple of Disfa believes that their deity has awakened. And that in turn has given them the power and authority to exploit the Kaandean war of succession.” He smiled bitterly. “With Sarmese backing, no doubt.”

Aleasha sighed. “And here you see why I did not name the cult when we first met. It would have meant peeling back all the layers of a rotten onion I had hoped would never concern you.” She lifted a powerless palm toward the sky. “Sometimes, I am still an optimist. Even I have failings.” They chuckled together.

Druadaen leaned back with a sigh. “It seems a year since I laughed.”

She circled her knees with her arms. “Where was it? Back on the ship?” When he nodded, she pressed eagerly, “Were they a merry crew?”

“They were. I have been on many ships. I was happier on that one than most of the others.”

“They were so amusing?”

Druadaen shook his head. “No… well, yes, they were… but that is not why I was glad to be among them. However different they were—and they were from all the nations of Lorn Hystzos—there was much amity among them.”

“As if they were family?”

“Actually,” he reflected, “three of them were, I think. The officers and captain—Lorgan—were all from Tyrmcys, at any rate. They claimed to be related, but who can tell?”

Aleasha’s face had lost its easy animation. “This captain, Lorgan: you felt you could trust him?”

“I did, in fact.”

“Why?” Her tone was surprisingly inquisitive. And serious.

“Well, it began as an impression: that he had nothing to hide.” Druadaen frowned. “No, that’s not quite right; he made it quite clear he did have some things to hide. But that’s just it, you see: he said it right out. He was not concealing anything; he openly asserted that there were matters he did not wish to share at that point.”

Aleasha shook her head. “The most cunning dissemblers are those who learn how to seem honest about their secrecy. Even you might be deceived by so accomplished a liar.”

Druadaen smiled. “Yet, I knew he wasn’t.”

“How?”

“The way I knew the same about you. And that I could trust you.”

She frowned. “I could have misled you about who I am and what I intend, had I wished.”

Druadaen grinned. “Perhaps. But your companions could not do so.” He gestured at the various members of her furred entourage.

“My companions? And how would they tell you anything one way or the other about me?” She stopped when she saw his smile widening, stared in sudden comprehension, and began smiling back. “Of course; ‘One’s companions reflect one’s character.’ It’s an axiom in every language.” She nodded, and her tone was serious when she admitted, “I do not often encounter wisdom among roof-dwellers.”

“It’s not my wisdom. I learned it from traveling with persons far, far more astute than me.”

“You were wise enough to listen to them, and that is a form of wisdom in itself. So, you judged this Lorgan by his crew.”

“Let us say his crew confirmed my instincts. They were as different as different can be, but had this in common: I saw no dissemblers, no hypocrites, no factions. Most seemed honest, or at least fair. Still, they were sailors. I doubt any could be deemed virtuous. Most of them would probably have deemed that a slur, not a compliment.”

Instead of having grown weary of his description of the crew, she had remained attentive. “All this is useful to know.”

“Why?”

“I might—” She stopped as if someone had stuck her with a pin. She rose abruptly. “We must go.”

Druadaen rose, grabbed his kit, glanced at the sun. “Are we to travel in the dark?”

“If need be.” She was gathering her many companions, but sent two wolves racing off to the east.

“You have been shown something?”

She glanced at him. “Yes. It concerns you. And your world. Now hurry.”


Seen at a distance in the pre-dusk light, their destination was marked by a thin cloud of black smoke, apparently buffeted by fickle winds. But a minute later he realized his eyes had tricked him.

What he’d taken to be smoke was a roiling mass of carrion birds of different kinds, flocking, shifting, some diving, some climbing, but in ever-increasing numbers. Having run almost the entirety of the day, he could not even gasp a question toward Aleasha, who had pulled ahead of him. But after running for almost an hour, their destination was finally less than a mile away.

Before reaching it, however, a cacophony of bellows, hoots, roars, and trumpetings dispersed the birds in a startled, complaining mass that rapidly diffused toward every point of the compass.

In response, Aleasha held up a narrow-fingered hand. Her followers stopped. Druadaen staggered up alongside her.

“What is—?” he started.

“We must walk now,” she interrupted. “Stay well behind me. My companions will surround you. Stay in their midst. No time for questions; that would slow us even more.”

She moved to the front, but whereas she was normally escorted by several of her wolves, this time she was flanked by lately joined antelopes. The wolves arrayed themselves around Druadaen instead, and together, they walked in her wake. After approaching for only a few minutes, the horizon was troubled by low hills.

Moving hills, Druadaen realized a moment later. Which actually meant—

A gathering of supragants. He wondered at them, not because of their size—he’d seen similar breeds in Dunarra—but because of so large a gathering occurring in the wild. They rarely traveled in groups larger than three, but there were at least four times that number, and they seemed to be circling the same area upon which the now-scolding vultures and ravens had been fixed.

As Aleasha approached the immense creatures, they turned toward her, nostrils and spiracles flaring. One or two took a ground-quaking step forward, then paused, and moved back far enough that she and her loose column of companions had space enough to pass between them.

As he and the wolves entered the gauntlet that remained in her wake, the supragants became more tense, eyes and rows of light-sensitive spots widening. Horns, trunks, tentacles, antennae hovered close, some almost overhead, the various disparate leviathans unified in their readiness to detect any hint of aggression among the predators that moved carefully, cautiously between them.

Emerging from the narrow pass through their ranks, Druadaen saw Aleasha standing very still some yards ahead—and beyond her, what had brought the carrion birds and then the supragants: a small, body-piled battlefield. Or so it appeared, at first, but as the wolves parted to allow him to join her, thereby unveiling the details of the aftermath, he realized that the pattern of the bodies told a different story: almost all the dead had fallen facing away from the center.

This had been a massacre of the unsuspecting, whose flight had been shaped by only one concern: to run in whatever direction they could.

Wordless, he and Aleasha began following the periphery of the slaughter, she pacing clockwise, he walking the other way.

Druadaen could not distinguish all the species that had met their end in the place. The four supragant corpses were unmistakable, but between and under them were telltale signs of both four- and two-legged bodies, many reduced to skeletons. At least half bore scorch marks or signs of self-inflicted wounds. Many were abominations, easily distinguished by the briefest of glances: mismatched limbs and appendages; asymmetrical torsos; severed extremities on which talons sprouted next to delicate fingers.

However, mixed in among the older remains were ones that were quite recent, possibly no older than two days. These more recent dead had arrived in two different groups: a large party of abominations from the north, and a much smaller group of them from the west. Judging from the way they were arrayed in opposition to each other, it looked as though they had been wrangling over the already present carnage.

Aleasha met Druadaen on the other side of the circle their two paths had traced around the death ground. “Since you do not mention it,” she muttered, “I presume you found no bodies of the evil ones from your world.”

Druadaen shook his head. “Did you expect to find them?”

She frowned. “No, not initially. But as we approached, a wren showed me—and then I saw—the tracks of the supragants that died here. They are the four the evil ones were riding. So I thought they must have perished, too.”

Druadaen was puzzled. “Then what do you think happened here?”

She nodded to herself. “Your path around the bodies did not show you the other, larger set of prints.” She looked up again. “A cryptigant attacked. It came from the north and left heading northeast. It was almost twice as large as the supragants. They had no chance of defeating it.” She frowned. “But I am surprised that none of the four made an escape. They died facing away from it, trying to flee.”

Druadaen considered the heaped bodies again. “Might the ‘priestess’ have called the cryptigant?”

Aleasha stared at him. “You mean, summoned one? Even in legend, no wyrding can influence them from a distance.”

Druadaen reflected. “But once present, could it be controlled?”

Her look suggested she feared for his sanity. “Controlled? Perhaps, but there is only one tale of such, and it was accomplished by a sorcerer of old.”

“Is it so difficult?”

“Not difficult: dangerous. All affining requires physical presence, and the more difficult the subject, the closer the one attempting it must be.” She shook her head. “The sorcerers have never been brave, and if their wyrding failed, a cryptigant would have slain them instantly. And effortlessly.”

Druadaen nodded. “So if the cryptigant couldn’t be summoned, then in the tale of the sorcerer who did control one, how did he find it? Even in my world, cryptigants are said to be as reclusive as they are rare.”

Aleasha shrugged. “He did it the way you attract any predator: stake out its prey. And wait.”

“And what is the preferred prey of cryptigants?”

“Supragants. Anything smaller is not worth their effort.”

Druadaen stared at the dead supragants. “Then maybe she finally achieved what she’s been working toward since landing near Agpetkop.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if she learned—or already suspected—that a cryptigant cannot be summoned from afar, what better way to attract one by riding upon four specimens of its favorite prey?”

Aleasha’s expression made it quite clear that she no longer doubted Druadaen’s sanity; she was quite certain he had lost it. “You are saying it was always her plan to bring a cryptigant to her? But why?”

Druadaen shrugged. “Well, I have also been told that it would take a small army to slay one. And even then—”

“So she wants it as a weapon!” Aleasha’s concern was instantly replaced by revelation, and then sharp focus. “But—would she really be so bold? Could she really be so powerful?”

Druadaen shrugged again. “I cannot say. But I saw scorch marks on the dead, and I think I understand them now. They were mostly on the legs of two of the supragants.”

“To slow them down?”

He nodded. “And perhaps, while the cryptigant was gorging itself on four supragants, it grew sated, even groggy.”

Aleasha smiled; evidently, her insane friend seemed sane again. “And so whatever resistance it had to her affining was lowered.” She put her hands on her hips. “And that explains why neither of us saw any signs of her group’s gear—which, if the cryptigant devoured them, it would surely have spat out. And this also explains why the great beast departed to the northeast.” Druadaen’s quizzical look drew an explanation. “That is the direction your enemies have been moving, ever since they left the ruins where my owl first flew past you.”

One of the wolves, the oldest female, entered the death ground, edging toward the largest of the supragant carcasses. Aleasha made a nickering noise at it. The animal turned, shook its head with a grumble, looked toward the carcass and whined faintly, pawing the ground.

Aleasha frowned but made a gesture of permission.

The wolf trotted forward beneath the glare of the now inward-staring supragants. Once at the carcass, she picked her way gingerly into what would have been its barrel. The ribs, sagging apart, were mostly open to the sky. Upon reaching the part where the tumbled arcs of bone arose from the spine, she made a sound more like a bark than a howl.

The supragants shifted uneasily. One lifted an immense foot to start forward…

Aleasha stepped toward it, hands raised, singing a strange wordless melody as she crushed a collection of herbs Druadaen had not noticed in her hand. She glanced over her shoulder, met his eyes, and jerked her head in the direction of the wolf.

Druadaen strode toward the female and braced himself, expecting the corpse stench to increase. However, it diminished once he ducked into the collapsing cavity of the behemoth. Everything had been picked clean, right out to the margin of the hide. On reflection, it was not surprising; many carnivores and scavengers consumed viscera before any other parts of a kill.

The wolf pawed at a point where the spine had sunk to the ground, two of the ribs crushed beneath it. Druadaen leaned over, hand still over his nose and mouth.

That was why he did not shout or even gasp in surprise when a voice said, “I’m right here.”

Peering under the lower of the two ribs, he found himself staring into two calm, feline eyes looking over the crooked rim of a badly broken human nose.


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