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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Druadaen leaned away. “Aleasha, there is a survivor.”

“I thought so. Well, get him out.”

“I think it’s a her. But I may need your help.”

“You will need to find a way to act without it. As long as you are rummaging about inside a corpse of their kin, I must work to reassure the supragants, keep them calm.”

“I understand.” Druadaen glanced around helplessly. But what I don’t understand is how I’m going to lift those ribs off…

His glance ran across two heavier and wholly bleached ribs that had snapped free of the carcass’s spine. So: he had levers. But on what can I brace them? Frowning, he leaned down again.

The two feline eyes looked up at him patiently.

“We are working to get you out.”

“That would be agreeable.”

“I must ask about your other side, the one opposite me. Is it against the supragant’s spine?”

“In a manner of speaking. That is what has me pinned here.”

“Is there any room between your body and the spine?”

“Up near my armpit, yes. Lower down… none at all.”

To Druadaen, that answer sounded like an ominous understatement. “If I were to slide a rib in toward you across your chest, could you snug it in the gap between your armpit and the spine?”

“I shall. I must.”

Druadaen nodded agreement. “I will be back soon.” The she-wolf stared after him as he moved quietly but quickly out of the cavernous corpse. “Aleasha,” he said calmly. Her head turned slightly in his direction. “I need the bear to help me.”

She closed her eyes, whether in exhaustion or forbearance, he could not tell. When she opened them, they were on the largest bear, which was sitting at the edge of the circle of death, scratching itself and sniffing uncertainly at the overripe remains. She uttered a low, gargling growl at it, jerking her head toward Druadaen.

The bear looked puzzled for a moment, then shook its massive shoulders and began to pad forward.

She made a warning noise as it was about to clamber over a severed supragant hoof almost as wide as it was.

The bear looked curiously at her, rolled its head, and reared upright to walk around the obstacle. In that instant, Druadaen remembered just how big bears were. This one was at least two feet taller than him.

It dropped to all fours after it cleared the remains and ambled over toward Druadaen, looking up at him with a doglike expression of patient anticipation.

It continued to do so as Druadaen dragged the thicker of the two bleached ribs over to the narrow opening through which he had spoken to the survivor. As Druadaen pushed one end of the rib into the gap, the being labored to guide it over her chest and then down under the carcass’s spine. Her grunts were breathless, more the products of pain than effort.

When the bone lever was finally jammed in place, Druadaen checked the nearby ribs that were still attached, found the sturdiest, and drew his sword. Ignoring the stir in the surrounding ring of supragants and Aleasha’s singsong efforts to soothe them, he cut a groove in that bone: a channel wide and deep enough to hold and guide the rope he removed from his kit. After a moment’s thought, he worked his way down the ribcage to the rear of the beast’s barrel; fewer scavengers had ventured that far. The stink made Druadaen retch, but not before he found some partially deliquesced fat, with which he greased the channel and the center of the rope.

He played its two ends out to equal lengths, and angled them so that, when pulled, they would lift the lever up against the underside of the ribs pinning the wounded being. Whether all the parts would hold under the strain was unknowable, but it was the best, and only, plan he had.

After tying a knot in one end of the rope, he laid it to one side and reached around in the bottom of his ruck for the last, and probably most crucial, piece of his plan.

He dusted off the strange handle he’d found in the tower ruins upon arriving in Hystzos. Well, now we’ll find out if you really can adhere to anything. He fixed it upon the other end of the rope and approached the bear. It stared up at him.

Druadaen opened his mouth, put the handle in it crosswise, and clamped his teeth down upon it. He removed it and held it out toward the bear.

It almost lunged at the unfamiliar object, jaws widening eagerly.

But Druadaen pulled it back, held up a hand, and opened his mouth again.

The bear stared at him. Again.

Proceeding more slowly this time, Druadaen opened his mouth so wide that the joints of his jaw hurt and then, very gradually closed his mouth on the handle.

The bear’s head dropped a bit, then raised in growing comprehension. It opened its vast, tooth-filled maw.

Druadaen made soft noises as he laid the handle so that its bar spanned that yawning cavern and then took his hand away.

The bear’s mouth closed firmly upon the delicate-looking object—and kept trying to close tighter.

Druadaen felt a flush of dreaded disaster run the length of his body, but it proved unwarranted; the bear’s eyes became intense, then annoyed, then angered at a pulse of pain when its teeth ground against the artifact. It spat the object out, eyed it warily where it had landed, still pristine.

Druadaen bent slowly, picked it up, and drawing a deep breath, put it back in his own mouth. Despite the acrid bear drool, he held it there, lips drawn back in a parody of a smile to show that he was holding, not crushing, the handle. He removed it and held it out again.

The bear seemed cross; he’d clearly preferred the prospect of crushing the object much more than simply holding it. But a well-timed grunt from Aleasha wrenched a doglike sigh out of its chest and it allowed Druadaen to lay the handle across its teeth. Which it clenched there, its own lips pulled far back. It looked sideways at Druadaen, who had the growing impression that this was not emulation; this was annoyed mockery. But he was more than willing to tolerate that if the plan worked.

He tied the other end of the rope securely around the part of the handle that protruded from the bear’s mouth, then wrapped the knotted end around his waist. He called down to the trapped being, “We will start in a moment.” He raised his voice. “Aleasha?”

“Yes?” She sounded a little less preoccupied.

“Can you get the wolves to understand that they must help pull the survivor out when the collapsed ribs begin to lift?”

“Maybe you’d like them to dance a jig afterward?”

“Please, Aleasha: can you or can’t you convey that to them?”

“Yes. Very well. Start pulling. I’ll tell them when.”

Druadaen looked at the bear. It looked back. He leaned into the rope and cried, “Now!”

The bear started at the loud, sudden word, then puzzled at the straining human beside him, and finally detected movement in the rope. Slow realization, and the promise of exercising its power, got the bear moving—particularly when it began conceiving of the effort as some kind of contest or play.

As soon as the bear’s full force began pulling the lever upright, Druadaen put his modest effort into ensuring that the rope remained angled to sustain that pressure while remaining securely within the groove he’d cut.

The only problem with the plan was that only two seconds after the collapsed ribs started lifting, they gave way completely. Tearing away from the spine, they flew up, freeing the survivor—but also releasing the still-overhanging part of the carcass to tip back down.

As the lever flew free, Aleasha bark-yelled. Druadaen fell forward as the rope went slack. The bear charged forward, the handle held high in its jaws. Two wolves leaped into the brief gap that had been opened, just as the unsupported half of the supragant’s ribcage began toppling over.

It landed with a sloppy crash—but not before the wolves, teeth locked firmly on the survivor’s tunic, dragged her clear of the falling remains.


Once the violent activity was over, the supragants began perceiving Aleasha’s followers more as newcomers than intruders, and she was able to leave the periphery of the killing field. She approached Druadaen where he was kneeling beside the survivor. “Why have you not moved her out of this—?”

Druadaen looked up the same moment she saw the survivor clearly—and fell silent.

The feline eyes and otherwise human face were all that Druadaen had been able to see, but once freed from the supragant’s ribcage, the survivor’s other significant features became apparent: hoofs instead of feet, long limbs and a longer torso, and perfectly formed human hands—except for the retractable claws in place of fingernails.

But more importantly, its pelvis was crushed, flattened where it had been pinned by the dead supragant’s spine.

“Is she—?” Aleasha whispered.

But even that soft speech caused the abomination’s eyelids to flutter, then open. The slit-irised eyes focused on their faces with difficulty.

“Be at ease,” Druadaen said, laying a gentle, restraining hand upon a shoulder that gave beneath it: a shattered breast-bone.

The being tried to keep itself from writhing, but a shudder ran its length, torturing it further. The already ragged remains of the clothing around its hips tore fully apart, revealing that it was both male and female.

“I’m sorry,” Druadaen whispered. “I should not have… ” He exhaled and started again. “Please tell us where you are injured, so that we may move you without pain.”

“Where am I injured?” the being repeated weakly, using the feminine pronoun when referring to herself. “Almost everywhere, I think. Besides, there is no point to moving me.” The feline eyes inspected the animal snouts leaning in toward it, then shifted to Aleasha. “You are a wyldwyrd.”

“I am. How should we call you? And… how did you learn to speak? Eh, speak so well, I mean?” she hastened to add.

“My name is Neeshu. I speak well because my head has not been touched.” She tried to raise her head, winced.

Aleasha moved forward, hand in the satchel she reserved for medicinal herbs. “Here, allow me to—”

“No,” Neeshu said with a slow shake of her head. “If you mean to heal me, you cannot. If you mean to ease my pain, I cannot have my wits clouded.” She studied the wyldwyrd’s face. “Your accent is from the Godbarrows.” She turned to study Druadaen. “Yours is not. It is from nowhere I know.” She looked from one to the other. “Why are you here?”

Druadaen managed not to avert his eyes. Well, Neeshu, I came here to take you or those like you captive. To deliver you as a prime specimen into the clutches of a people who named all of yours “abominations.” Who told me that your species was incapable of any wit beyond that required to wreak greater and bloodier havoc upon “civilized” realms. He opened his mouth; too many words clamored to come out, so none did.

Yet again, Aleasha saved him. “We are following marauders who come from afar. They have left a trail of bodies—human, supragant, others—from the Last Lands to this place. And apparently beyond.”

Neeshu’s head rested back as if part of her pain had lessened. “I am no fool; I do not trust quickly or easily. But I have little time and you called them marauders, so I have no choice but to believe that is your true opinion of them.”

“It is,” Druadaen and Aleasha chorused.

“Then I must tell you what happened here and plead that you take that message to the only one who might take action against her.”

Druadaen nodded toward Aleasha. “‘Her.’ So this was the priestess’s work.”

“Priestess?” Neeshu echoed. “I would have thought her a sorceress, but no matter. Listen carefully.

“For almost two months now, the ungovernable of my kind have changed their behavior. Usually, they roam wherever they smell prey, but they have begun pressing south more than any other direction, even ignoring promising scents that might lead them elsewhere. This worries the one who cares for us, and sent us to discover the cause of these changes.

“We smelled this death-place and saw the vultures from afar. But when we arrived, we discovered others of our own kind—ungovernables—were already here. But whereas our common scent usually protects us from them, they treated us as if we were just another prey species.”

She shook her head, coughed; when she stopped, her lips were bright red. “My first scout was certain it was because they believed we meant to drive them from the meat here, to have it as our own. Before I could calm him, he went ahead to show the ungovernable that it was not our intent.

“Instead, they attacked him and set upon the rest of us, some eating our dead before the fighting was over. I would have perished along with the rest except that a supragant arrived. It showed no interest in me: only them, particularly the ones that pushed in here to come after me.

“But in charging and crushing them beneath its hooves and heavy tail, the supragant broke the skeleton of this carcass. The spine cracked in two, and I have lain here, pinned and crushed beneath it for two days.” Neeshu’s voice grew weak, distracted. “Or maybe three.”

Druadaen leaned toward her. “What is the message you wish us to carry?”

“The sorceress, or priestess: she had the old powers.”

“Was she here with the other abomi—ungovernables?”

Neeshu started to shake her head, stopped, hissing at the pain. “No,” she said, refocused, “but I could smell the old powers she had used upon them.”

Aleasha frowned. “Those of Pagudon?”

“Perhaps as Pagudon once was… or whatever came before. Her power is so great that I could sense it binding them.” Neeshu shook her head at Aleasha’s reaction. “No, she cannot see and hear through those she controls. It is not a sharing, not like wyldwyrding. The mark of her will was impressed upon them, driving them when need be.”

“They were affined to her,” Druadaen muttered.

Neeshu’s eyes flicked toward him. “Yes, that is the Old Cant word for it, I think. But much greater than what Pagudon can create, now.”

“I’m sorry, but I do not know what or who Pagudon is.”

Neeshu forgot the pain that she might cause herself when she turned her head toward him in surprise. “You—aiii!—you do not know Pagudon, truly?”

“He will,” Aleasha broke in. “I know the name and the threat. I will acquaint him with them. What I do not understand is the presence of the other, older corpses of your species. The sorceress must have killed them herself or allowed the cryptigant to do so.”

“Cryptigant?” Neeshu breathed. “Those other tracks that approached—they were not simply from a much larger supragant?”

“It was a cryptigant,” Aleasha insisted. “There is no doubt. And I am all but certain that the priestess wished it to come here.”

“That is yet more news you must bear. She would only want a cryptigant if she meant—”

“Meant to inflict great destruction. Yes, I know.” Aleasha’s voice was sharp, persistently startling Neeshu—just enough to keep her focused. “But again, why would she have had it kill all the other creatures that were with her, were already bent to her will?”

“Possibly because they could not keep pace once she was moving upon a cryptigant.”

Aleasha leaned in. “I hear doubt in your voice. There is another reason, one you think more likely.”

Neeshu raised and lowered her lids in affirmation. “I, too, saw those earlier bodies. Almost none of their heads had been touched.”

Druadaen frowned. “This is the second time you have said that. Why is it important that no one touches your head?”

She closed her eyes. “Listen to my speech: their heads were not Touched.”

Druadaen heard the emphasis, this time. “You mean that… that their heads were symmetrical?”

She nodded and coughed. “Among my kind, one with a misshapen skull shall be, often from birth, ungovernable.”

Aleasha nodded, asked softly, “You are one of Ancrushav’s, aren’t you?”

She started. “I am.” The name had focused her the way a cup of water might have focused a man dying of thirst. “I am one of his Children. You know Ancrushav?”

“I know of him, but what I know does not all tell the same story as you.”

Neeshu sighed. “It is so. You will meet him and learn. Know that what he most wished was that we gather news of a surprise attack on the Prow. You have heard of it?”

Aleasha nodded. “I have seen it from a safe distance.”

But as Neeshu began unfolding the tale of how she’d been sent by Ancrushav to investigate the possible connections between that attack and the changed behavior of the abominations, Druadaen’s awareness left the Godbarrows—because the name Ancrushav had put him back among the viziers in Sarma. He once again heard them debating the priestess’s arrival in terms of its possible connection to the other malign forces and designs collecting in and around Lorn Hystzos, particularly those of the Nightfall cult:

“You are saying a sorcerer wears the robe of a cultist? Absurd. They can’t be working together!”

“Unless they are one and the same, or have been united under the banner of this new warlord, Ancrushav.”

He heard Neeshu’s voice as she concluded, “Pagudon once again began to gather those of my kind that could be directed at all, mostly to drive them against the Broken and Last Lands. But in the past month, this priestess took absolute control of any she encountered.”

“And sent them south?” Aleasha conjectured.

“Eventually, but first she gathered as many as she could for an attack that, it is whispered, destroyed the Prow. We thought this must have required a siege, but could not understand how ungovernables could have suited such an end. They lack the skills or depth of thought for such activities. But if she had a cryptigant to lay the fortress low, and then my kind poured through the broken walls… well, it begins to make sense. Particularly if it was the Cryptigant of the Mael.”

Aleasha nodded. “That was my thought, too. It is the only known cryptigant in a hundred leagues. And if she is capable of breaking whatever wyrdcraft held it in defense of the Prow and then to turn upon it, then she might very well prevail against its defenders. Besides, it is said that the Prow has fallen into disrepair, that the nations of Lorn Hystzos ignored or forgot their commitments to maintain a watch there. Rumor has it that its parapets are manned only by those who hungered after the modest glory of serving in the most distant wilds of the Godbarrows.”

“It was as you say,” Neeshu agreed, “until Pagudon did away with the last of those guards and manned the citadel with a few of their own order, mostly to oversee the horde of ungovernables they kept nearby.” She had started slurring. “You know all that I do, now. And more. Now, I must go. Quickly. Before my fear becomes too great.”

Before Druadaen understood Neeshu’s request, Aleasha nodded and a dagger flashed in her hand; it plunged straight through Neeshu’s closed eye. She went limp and collapsed.

Druadaen stared down at the abomination that was anything but. “Others, even you, claimed they had no feelings, could hardly speak.”

Aleasha did not look at him as she made her slow answer. “I said most had no feelings. But I have not encountered one such as this. Ever.” She looked up, eyes bright. “This… this complicates many things. And I do not just mean deciding whether we should go to Ancrushav or not.” She pronounced the name with the easy facility of someone accustomed to uttering it.

Druadaen nodded. “You mean that we cannot act as if all abominations are monsters.” He stared north along the trail of the S’Dyxoi. “Whereas all too many of our kind are.” He looked back at her. She was staring fixedly at a point slightly south of the cryptigant’s path. “Is that where Ancrushav is?”

She nodded. “The Armory.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It is historical. The Hystzarchs kept a cache of supplies there, near the best pass through the Cloudcap Mountains. It was established to arm multitudes, should some force from the Shun invade by that route.”

Druadaen folded his arms. “The Sarmese told me that place is death. One of the old places infested by the most dangerous abominations.”

“Shows you what perfumed city fops know. It was dangerous, yes—but because it was rumored to be the last, hidden refuge of Pagudon. Only lately has that rumor changed to warn of it being a lair of abominations.” She looked back at Neeshu. “And now I am not even sure what that word means.”

Druadaen’s eyes followed hers. “Do we have time to… to see to her remains?”

Aleasha shook her head. “If this thrice-damned priestess has such powers of affining that she may bend a cryptigant to her will, and if she wonders why her rabble of ‘ungovernables’ has not yet returned to her, then she may become curious. If she also is capable of the kind of affining which allows her to see through a creature’s eyes, she might send a bird of her own down here. If so, she might find our trail and attack, or follow, us.”

“Yes,” Druadaen said with a frown, “perhaps.”

“You believe she will act differently?”

“Believe is too strong a word,” he muttered. “But I do not think she will come seeking us.”

“Why? We are vulnerable and we know her plans!”

“Do we?”

Aleasha crossed her arms. “Explain.”

“What you project makes perfect sense if she means to make the Prow her seat of power. But I do not think that is what she intends.” Aleasha’s cocked head was an invitation to explain further. “She did not come here to conquer. She came by mistake and knows that she may be followed. So while she may be seeking a safe haven, I suspect that is simply a temporary expedient.”

“While she finds another portal home,” Aleasha finished with a nod. “Still, if she has taken the Prow, she has a fortress, for now. And we must report that.” She glanced over her shoulder, and the faintest hint of giddiness passed across her dark features. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to ride a supragant.”

“And you mean to do so now?”

“Now is when we must ride them. We will travel at least five times as fast that way. And if your priestess sends watchful eyes to this place, it is still best that we’re long gone before they arrive.” She started toward the smallest of the supragants; it resembled one of the aurochs that roamed the steppes of Khazat, back on Arrdanc, but was easily twice as large.

Druadaen checked to make sure that he was carrying what little remained of his original kit and followed her. “So, if you have long wanted to ride one of these creatures, why haven’t you?”

“Why do you suppose? Because I do not invite death to come tap my shoulder!”

“And now?”

She frowned, albeit uncertainly. “Besides having a pressing need, these supragants are now joined to us by a common cause. The scent of resolve is upon them. Cryptigants typically lair in harsh climes. For one to appear here and kill four of their kind in a single slaughter? The supragants will band together to stop it—no matter the cost.” She looked up into the giant auroch’s patient, inscrutable eyes.

“So,” Druadaen said, “it is now safe to ride them?”

“Well,” she mused, “it is not courting death.” She looked up at the auroch’s back, which arched high overhead. “Not exactly.”


As the sun fell and Druadaen finished his last small slice of cheese, he looked up at the sound of hooves moving off. Half of the supragants were trotting into the gathering dusk.

“Where are they going?”

“A day’s ride ahead. We will be much slower, particularly waiting for the wolves.” She regarded the last six with a mixture of sadness and worry. Other than the birds perched on the backs of the remaining supragants, they were now her sole companions and exhausted by the travel, lying on their sides, chests heaving. Out of sheer determination, they had kept up with the long-striding supragants who trotted faster than they could sprint… and for much, much longer. She sat stroking them with one listless hand while using the other to pluck yard-long auroch hairs off her clothes, arms, and legs.

Druadaen dusted his palms against each other, leaned back on his elbows with a sigh. “When Neeshu mentioned Ancrushav, you knew his name.”

She shrugged. “I might have heard it.”

He smiled. “And now you are almost lying to me.”

She spared a ghost of a smile, but it was pensive. “I know his name and little else. It is said that he is hard to reach. Until today, I had not heard his name connected with the Armory. But I had heard rumors that he had abominations as followers. Or so it was said.”

“You thought he might not?”

“No, I mean that even before today, I suspected that if he did have abominations serving him, that they might be different in some way. For almost ten years, there have been reports of them raiding small communities, but without killing the inhabitants. Or any humans at all. Except, strangely, bandits.

“Now, roof-folk”—she glared at him histrionically—“say that patrols and merchants have been killed by Ancrushav’s abominations. And it is true that some of them have been seen not only carrying but using the weapons and goods of just such missing groups.” She frowned. “But those who live simple lives beneath roofs become simple themselves.”

Druadaen smiled. “And what do you suspect?”

“I observe that patrols and merchants have always gone missing, and that there are still bandits aplenty to have killed them.”

Druadaen nodded. “And so, when Ancrushav’s ‘Children’ take the goods from dead bandits and are later seen with them, townsfolk presume it was the abominations who killed the original owners.”

Aleasha sighed, leaned back against the largest of the male wolves. “It is a pleasure—and a relief—that you are not simple. Even though you were raised beneath a roof.”

“Half true. But you never bothered to mention that you are actually from the Godbarrows.”

She busied herself removing the supragant hairs. “Well… you never asked.”

He smiled. “Hmm. One would have to know it’s a question to ask. But more to the point: why did you leave?”

“Because of the troubles in the south.”

“You mean the civil war in Kaande?”

Her frown was severe. “I mean what caused it.”

“So, whoever killed the royal family?”

“Yes, who also just happened to leave the youngest, cat-burning scion alive. And who still holds the city and has sealed its gates. That is not what coups usually do.”

Druadaen nodded. “Quite the opposite. Typically, holding the capital becomes a cornerstone of a faction’s claim to the throne. So I agree: the regicide sounds like an attempt to weaken Kaande, not a part of its succession struggles.”

She smiled at him wanly. “You have seen this little drama before, then?”

He sighed. “More times than I can quickly count. But I do not understand why you left the Godbarrows to help nations that you say you do not trust and which are the architects of their own troubles.”

“And I stand by that. But an innocent babe threatened by war is still an innocent babe, no matter where she was born.” She frowned again. “Besides, troubles down there become troubles up here, particularly if Pagudon is involved. For almost forty years, it has been creating more horrific abominations and in greater numbers. And with this priestess bringing them under her influence, they become a singular threat to all around them.” She shook her head. “It is said that something very similar was what caused the Annihilators to descend upon us in the first place.”

Druadaen started. “The Annihilators were the enemies of the abominations?”

“Enemies? The Annihilators came to exterminate them.” A smile crinkled one corner of her mouth. “You thought the Annihilators brought the abominations with them, didn’t you?”

Druadaen shook his head with a rueful grin. “I confess I did.”

“Well, you were ignorant, but all of us are in one way or another. And at least you are one of the few willing to smile at it and learn. But on the matter of the Annihilators. When they despaired of eliminating the abominations, they changed their strategy to ensuring that they could never reach their world.”

Druadaen nodded. “They resolved to destroy any power that could create or keep control over portals that connected them to Hystzos.”

“See? Even if you are ignorant, you are not slow-witted or arrogant. I ask for no more than that in a companion.” She huffed at annoying memories. “That’s probably why I’ve had so few.” She reached in her larger ruck and pulled out what looked like fluffy, outsized seed cases. “These are tingle pods,” she explained, seeing his stare. “They are some of the most useful items made by wyldwyrds.” She rose. “If broken and scattered, their dust makes almost any creature sneeze. Without warning.” She carried several toward the periphery of their camp. “Almost as good as watch dogs,” she called over her shoulder. “Come and see how I place them.”


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