Bone War (5 page)

“You still think of humans as less than the Fae, don't you?” Talfi said, trying and failing to keep a note of accusation out of his voice. “You see us as slaves.”

“I—”

“Don't lie.” Talfi hid his face behind his teacup for a moment. “Please don't. Danr can tell when anyone lies, but I can tell when you do.”

Ranadar glanced between them like a trapped animal. He looked both sad and defiant. “You fail to understand. Even you,
Talashka
.”

A cold hand slid down Talfi's spine. He had been half bluffing when he made the accusation, and Ranadar's words confirmed what he had only suspected. Talfi had been hoping he was wrong, and the realization he was right hurt more deeply than the memory of his missing leg. His muscles tensed, and his legs ached from sitting on the bed with the tray across them.

“What don't I understand?” he asked evenly.

Ranadar shifted on the bed and slid his fingers down the seam of his cloak. “I am three hundred and seventy-seven years old. For the first two hundred years of my life, humans were nothing but talking sheep. I did not think this. I
knew
this. It was much better for humans to serve the Fae, where they enjoyed the benefits of a civilized culture and where they did not squabble over land or their foolish honor, where they did not live in the shadow of the Iron Mountains and the Stane who lived beneath them.”

“You mean it was better for humans to live as addicted slaves in Alfhame than with their families and friends at home,” Talfi said.

Ranadar sighed. “Of course. My parents knew it, and my grandparents survived the Sundering to know it. You have to remember that after the Sundering, there were few humans left, and they lived in wretched poverty. There were no crops that first year, and everyone was starving. Humans
begged
to come live in Alfhame, where there was food and shelter.”

“Because the Fae pushed the Stane into destroying the Iron Axe,” Kalessa spat. “If it were not for your
squabbling
, there would have been no problems for anyone.”

Ranadar spread his hands. “The Stane ruled Erda with a cruel fist, and the Fae fought to get everyone out from under it.”

“And the Kin paid the price,” Talfi finished.

“When the Tree tips, everyone pays the price,” Ranadar said.

“The Kin pay more,” Kalessa interjected.

“You are asking why I did what I did, and I am trying to explain,” Ranadar said. “From the moment I was born, my mother and my father and everyone I knew taught me about humans. For two hundred years—twenty generations to orcs—I learned that Kin were lesser beings. Kin have weak minds and are easy to manipulate with even simple glamours. They loved us because they wanted to. I knew this. Here.” He tapped his own chest.

“You fail to make yourself look better,” Kalessa growled.

“And then, one day, a bright and merry slave who would not be cowed and who seemed immune to my father's addictive touch came into the palace and stole my heart,” Ranadar continued, “and I began to wonder if the Kin were something better. Talfi showed me that humans had thoughts and feelings that ran as deep as my own, and I questioned what I knew. Then my father and mother found us out and cut his throat before my eyes. I was too cowardly to stop them, and could only watch his lifeblood spill a river across the floor. It crushed me like a glacier and drove my parents and me apart with a dagger of ice. I ran to the woods and became
mal rishal
, a forest lover who only rarely visited the city. Still, Mother and Father were sure I would eventually return and stay. To them, I was pouting over the loss of a puppy. And perhaps that would have become true in time. Perhaps I would have gone back to my old way of thinking.”

Ranadar continued to draw his cloak through his fingers. “But only a hundred and fifty years after that awful day, I was visiting my birth home for the first time in
decades when my Talfi appeared on the palace steps in the chains of an orcish slaver, and it was the most wonderful and terrifying moment of my life. When I saw you again, I knew I would never, ever give up this second chance. And I did not. I betrayed all my people, helped Aisa kill . . .” Here he paused for a deep, shuddering breath. “Kill my own father. I helped Danr repair the Iron Axe so he could slaughter my own people before they slaughtered the Stane. I did all this because Talfi had returned to me, and I would do it again.” He sighed hard and twisted the cloak about his fingers. “But you and I have spent perhaps two years together,
Talashka.
It takes longer than two years to unlearn the lessons of three hundred and fifty-five others. I am trying, but I often fail, especially where you are concerned. I am sorry for my mistake today.”

Talfi silently finished his food, feeling about six inches high. He touched Ranadar's hand, the same one he had used on the candle wax man. “I'm sorry, too, Ran. It can't be easy to—”

“Oh, cry a thunderstorm,” Kalessa snapped. “The fact remains that you did your best to addict that man to you, and you thought nothing of the consequences.”

“And what would you have me do, orc?” Ranadar flared back. “Should I fall prostrate before you and beg forgiveness? Go back in time and undo it? I suppose in your long and varied history as a murderer, you have begged forgiveness a number of times when you killed by accident.”

“Murderer?” Kalessa looked horrified.

“How many Fae have you killed?” Ranadar said. “Did you check to see if they deserved it?”

“This is not about me,” she said.

“You are not perfect,” Ranadar said, “and yet you expect perfection from me.”

“He apologized—” Talfi put in.

“To the wrong people,” Kalessa said.

“—and we'll accept it,” Talfi finished. “I think that's
enough talk about it. What we really need to know is who that man was.”

“I already know that,” Ranadar said.

“You do?” Talfi set the tray aside and turned on the bed to face him. “Why didn't you say something?”

“We went down a side road,” Ranadar said. “There was a reason the man did not become addicted to me.”

“And that is?” Talfi prompted.

“He was you.”

“Y
ou know you have a sprite in your hand,” Aisa said in the quiet, dim light of the Garden.

“A dead sprite, honey,” Death corrected. “His name is Grak-Lor-Who-Flits-Through-the-Emerald-Stars. He died seven minutes and six seconds ago and tried to sneak through my door, but I snagged him just in time.”

“I hope this is an uncommon occurrence,” Aisa said.

“Why did you snag him?” Danr put in quickly.

“He looked suspicious.” Death waved the hand with the sprite above it, and the sprite bobbled uncertainly. “You develop an eye for this kind of thing after a while.”

“And?” Aisa said. “Death herself stops a sprite from finishing his final task in life, so I assume it was at least a little important.”

“Snippy, aren't we?” Death slid one of the knitting needles from her hair, and for a dreadful moment, Danr through she was going to skewer Aisa with it. Instead she poked Grak-Lor-Who-Flits-Through-the-Emerald-Stars. He squeaked, and his bright form flickered like a flame caught in a droplet of water, but he didn't speak. “Can you guess how this one died?”

Aisa sighed. “Let us pretend we cannot guess and that you will tell us quickly. It becomes tiresome when elder ones speak in riddles.”

“Aisa!” Danr said. “This is Death! You can't talk to her like that.”

“Why not?” Aisa shot back. “We know she will not come early for me. In fact, she will not come for me at all. Not if I will be taking Pendra's place one day.”

“That's not entirely true, dear,” Death said amiably. “I do enjoy our verbal sparring—so few people are willing to talk back to me, and I'd almost forgotten what it was like. Tikk does it, of course, but only when he wants something. At any rate, you aren't a Gardener yet, and I can come for you just like anyone else if you take an arrow to your heart or a sword to your neck. Besides, you have mortal tasks to complete.”

“Such as?” Aisa said, unfazed.

Death cocked her head. “You do remember the reward I gave you after the Battle of the Twist, don't you?”

Here, Aisa did pause, and her hand went to her naked belly. She was remembering, and Danr remembered, too. Humans who remained among the Fae long enough lost their fertility, which was why the Fae needed a steady supply of slaves. Aisa's time as a slave among the Fae had cost her the ability to have children. Death had returned it to her. It wasn't something she and Danr had discussed. In fact, they had discussed very little since they learned Aisa would be . . . leaving eventually. Talking about it made it more real.

“I cannot forget,” Aisa said softly.

“Just checking,” Death said. Was she smiling in that shadow? There was no way to tell. “Anyway, as I was about to say, Grak-Lor-Who-Flits-Through-the-Emerald-Stars here died from wounds he received while capturing Pendra last year. Poor thing has been suffering for months.”

Now Danr came fully alert. “Capturing her? Who captured her?”

“Queen Gwylph,” Death said grimly. “Gwylph has imprisoned Pendra in a great ash tree at the foot of the Lone Mountain in Alfhame and she is draining Pendra's power
for her own use. This sprite was wounded in the capturing, you see, and eventually died of his wounds. Now he sings for me.” Death poked Grak-Lor-Who-Flits-Through-the-Emerald-Stars, and he squeaked again.

Danr cast about, feeling cold and vulnerable and very aware of his nakedness as chilly fingers slid down his spine. Queen Gwylph. He could still see her on the shore of Lake Nu, resplendent in her gleaming armor with her golden hair spilling down her back and her silver scepter in her hand. She gathered up power from thousands of
draugr
, spirits of the dead, and used it to decimate countless trolls, dwarfs, and giants until Danr faced her down with the Iron Axe in his hand. He had intended to kill her, but she had Twisted away at the last moment, and that was the last anyone had heard from her, though he supposed she was still ruling Alfhame. Now it was clear she was up to far more than that. How could she have captured one of the Gardeners?

“This is . . . outrageous!” Aisa sputtered. “Beyond filth!”

“For once, we agree, dear,” said Death. “Queen Gwylph is using Pendra's power to create . . . life. New life.” She poked the sprite again. “Isn't that true?”

“True!” squeaked Grak-Lor-Who-Flits-Through-the-Emerald-Stars. “Who knew? You blew true.”

“Life?” Danr repeated. “But that's only possible for . . .”

“A god,” finished Tan, sliding into view.

“A deity,” said Nu, arriving with her.

There was a pause, and both Gardeners looked at Aisa hopefully. Death nudged her with one elbow. “You know it makes them unhappy, dear,” she murmured, “and they've already been through enough, don't you think?”

“I am still becoming accustomed to the whole idea,” Aisa murmured back, then raised her voice. “The Nine.”

The Gardeners looked pleased for a fleeting moment, and lost the expression just as quickly. Nu said, “This is a disaster.”

“A calamity,” said Tan.

“A . . . catastrophe,” said Aisa.

“Good one,” put in Death. “You earn extra for the alliteration.”

“Extra what?” Aisa shot back.

“Oh, I'm going to enjoy this for the next thousand years,” Death trilled. “Listen, we have to do something, and fast.”

“Quicky,” agreed Nu.

“Speedily,” said Tan.

“Not now,” interrupted Death, then turned back to Danr and Aisa. “Look at the two of them. They're barely coherent without their third. The Garden is dying, the world is sliding into chaos, and soon everything will be gone, gone, gone. All because of that foolish queen. We need to work out what to do, my darlings.”

Danr shook his head, feeling overwhelmed. He was a farmer, a former thrall, not someone who should be discussing the fate of the world with Death and the two remaining Gardeners. He shouldn't be—

Stop it,
he told himself. He had reformed and wielded the Iron Axe. He had faced down this evil queen once and stopped her. He had faced Grandfather Wyrm and brought back the power of the shape. Royalty begged him to dine with him.

Even so. He had been born a farmer, he had lived a farmer, and a small voice inside him said he would eventually die a farmer. And what was wrong with that? He hadn't ever asked to be a . . . a hero. All he had ever done was trudge forward, always forward. What else could you do? And now all that trudging forward had brought him to this very strange and frightening place where Death herself was asking him for advice.

“Why don't you just . . . take her?” he asked. “The queen, I mean.”

“I've tried, sweetie,” said Death. “Oh, how I've tried.
But I can't touch her. I don't know why. And you've seen Nu and Tan here. They can barely keep the Garden from sliding off Ashkame into the void, let alone uproot the plant of someone who is feeding off the power of one of their own.”

“Gwylph is powerful,” growled Nu.

“Potent,” snapped Tan.

“Er . . . divine?” finished Aisa.

“Not yet.” Nu twisted the strap on her seed bag. “But closer and closer every day. She was one of the other choices, you know.”

“Other choices,” Danr echoed. “I don't understand.”

“Aisa was not our only candidate to replace Pendra,” said Tan. “We looked at other powerful women. Strong women who could also wield the sickle without flinching. Queen Gwylph nearly took the power of the Iron Axe for herself and would have ruled the world.”

“If she hadn't destroyed it first,” Death pointed out.

“But it made her a good candidate,” Tan replied.

“She was an evil woman!” Danr protested. “She still is!”

“She thinks of herself as good, you know,” said Nu gently. “She sees herself as a bringer of light and order. To her, the evil Stane need to be uprooted.”

“The terrible Stane must be destroyed,” said Tan.

“The filthy Stane have to be wiped out,” said Aisa.

“Hey!” Danr said, affronted. “Whose side are you on?”

“Apologies, Hamzu,” she said. “Something about this place.”

“What poisons one plant fertilizes another,” said Nu. “The only thing that matters is the overall health of the Garden.”

“How could a mortal kidnap a . . . a Gardener?” Danr burst out. “Mortals can't interfere with gods and fate. It's the other way around.”

Here, Nu, Tan, and Death all looked genuinely puzzled. “What are you talking about, dear?” Death said at last.
“The Nine, the Three, and I exist because mortals exist. And they exist because we exist. On the day the last living thing dies, I myself will cease to be.”

“On the day the last plant sprouts, my job is done,” said Nu.

“On the day the last row is hoed, my job is complete,” said Tan.

“On the day the last weed is cut, my job is finished,” said Aisa dreamily, and gooseflesh chilled Danr's arms.

“The Tree always tips,” Death finished. “But eventually, it will cease to exist.”

And something else occurred to Danr. “Why does it have to tip at all? Every time it tips, hundreds of thousands of people die. Why can't we just stop it from tipping?”

“It is the nature of the universe,” said Nu quietly. “Two points revolve around a center, like a spoke around a hub.”

“The Stane and Fae revolve around the Kin,” added Tan. “Lumenhame and Glumenhame revolve around Twixthame. The Nine form themselves into three groups of three, and two groups revolve around the third.”

“The Nine and the Gardeners revolve around me, dear,” said Death. “So it is, so it was, and so it must be.”

“That doesn't answer the question
why
,” Danr persisted. “Why were the Kin chosen as the . . . the . . .”

“Nexus,” Aisa said.

“Nexus,” Danr repeated. “Why do the Kin pay the price when the Stane and the Fae go to war?”

“Someone has to,” Death said in a voice that ended the discussion. But the question wouldn't leave Danr's mind. Perhaps it was the truth-teller in him, or perhaps it was the simple unfairness of it. He had seen the blood up close and personal, and the idea that more Kin blood would spill before all this was over made him alternately boil with outrage and freeze with sorrow.

“At any rate,” Death continued, “making Gwylph a Gardener would have solved the problems she was creating in the mortal realm. We spoke to her about it, in fact, and
she became angry when we told her we had chosen someone else instead.”

Danr's eyes widened. “Is that why she took Pendra? Revenge?”

“That's probably part of it.” Death waved her hand, and the sprite wobbled over her palm. “Really, you probably should have kept your mouths shut, sisters.”

“She wants to become a Gardener no matter what you decide,” Aisa said in a hushed voice. “She is taking a Gardener's power and she is usurping a Gardener's role.”

“But she's still mortal,” Danr finished, “and a mortal can't use that power, so she is destroying the world instead of helping it.”

“Indeed,” sighed Nu.

“True,” murmured Tan.

“Yes,” said Aisa.

“Who else were you considering?” Danr asked without thinking.

“Queen Vesha of the Stane,” said Nu. “She was, in fact, our first choice.”

“My aunt?” Danr said, amazed.

“She would have been perfect,” said Tan. “A world-class magician. Experienced in the ways of the world. Willing to make necessary sacrifices, even when—”

“No!” Death's voice had gone cold as buried granite. She clenched her fist and Grak-Lor-Who-Flits-Through-the-Emerald-Stars vanished with a
crack.
The wind turned cold and the plants around her shriveled. Danr dropped to the ground with his heart shivering in his chest, and this time Aisa came with him. “Vesha chained me. Vesha took
my
power. I cursed Vesha, and cursed she will remain. The only Garden she will see is at the bottom of Halza's icy cesspool.”

“Of course,” said Nu.

“We agree,” said Tan.

“Understood,” Aisa whispered.

“Very well, darlings.” Death's voice returned to normal
and she balanced the knitting needle point-upward on one fingertip. “But on other matters—there
is
a way to stop Gwylph and free Pendra.”

Danr got cautiously to his feet. By now he was really wishing someone would conjure up a pair of trousers for him, or even just a blanket.

“What's that, then?” he asked, trying to sound amiable.

“A new weapon has entered the world,” said Death. “One that, in its way, is nearly as powerful as the Iron Axe. It's called the Bone Sword.”

The knitting needle lengthened until it was easily three feet long, and flat as well—a sword made of bone. The blade was shiny and so thin it was nearly translucent. A bloodred ruby was set into the pommel. It balanced on the tip of Death's finger, a tall sliver of ivory, and the air seemed to curl away from it.

“What does it do?” Danr asked warily.

“It will cut through nearly anything,” Death replied, “including the ash tree that holds Pendra captive. It may also end Queen Gwylph's life. You'll have to travel to Alfhame to do it, and I shouldn't imagine it'll be easy.”

“And where,” Aisa asked wearily, “can we find this sword?”

The sword shrank back down into a knitting needle, which Death tucked back into her hair. Her voice hardened. “To learn that, dear, you'll have to talk to the sword's creator.”

“And that is?” Aisa prompted.

“Queen Vesha of the Stane.”

With a
wrench
, the Garden vanished. Danr found himself standing on a dusty road with Aisa beside him. His stomach heaved, and this time he couldn't avoid vomiting. The sight of it got Aisa started, and they emptied their stomachs together by the side of the road.