Child of a Dead God (63 page)
“I cannot,” she finally whispered.
Magiere reached across the table, gently gripping Wynn’s small hand.
“Then don’t give him false hopes. I know you’d never hurt anyone on purpose, but you could harm him just the same . . . and far worse than you’d care to imagine.”
Magiere took a long breath, as if what she’d said cost more effort than trudging through the Everfen. She released Wynn’s hand and stood up.
“Let’s get our beds ready.”
Wynn’s legs trembled as she got up. “Magiere?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
A day across the western Droevinkan border, well inside Belaski, Chap barked as he saw a good-sized town ahead. Following Cameron’s advice, they had kept due west without incident and only turned northwest after six days. It took longer to work their way into familiar territory.
They had all been surprised to find Belaskian cavalry patrolling the border—and then Chap realized he should have expected such with Droevinka in a state of civil war. But he and his companions passed through easily after answering a few questions about their destination.
Now, finally, they were nearing their home. If they maintained their direction along Belaski’s inland roads, they could gain the coast soon enough, perhaps six or seven days in good weather.
He looked back at his companions, leading the old packhorse Wynn had named Aspen. Its coat was a mix of grays and browns, and Leesil had lashed the covered orb and Wynn’s bundles of texts onto the animal.
Everyone was much improved physically, and Chap’s relief grew by the day. Since leaving Droevinkan territory, they had been blessed by regular stays in villages and better food.
Wynn stumbled, eyes wide, and came running past him. “A town . . . an actual town!”
“Maybe we can buy horses,” Magiere suggested. “And ride the rest of the way.”
“Not for all the dead deities,” Leesil grouched. “After all this, I’m not risking my neck on some half-mad bag of bones—not again.”
“Fine, we’ll buy a wagon,” Magiere snapped back, “since horses frighten you so much.”
Leesil scoffed. “You’d never part with that much coin . . . not before you got us thrown out of the town with your endless haggling and insults.”
Magiere slowed, and her voice dropped to grating growl. “What did you say?”
Osha listened with startled interest, plainly baffled at this couple who never tired of their little battles.
Chap shook his head and scurried after Wynn.
Would Magiere never learn when Leesil was baiting her, or that making her angry gave him a thrill? But Leesil only prodded Magiere when he was happy—and he was happy to be going home. And Magiere only squabbled with him this way when she felt safe, for even a moment.
And they both believed they would stay within the Sea Lion Tavern, finally returning to the life they wanted.
Chap wanted to believe it as well.
But he could not—not since the wide cavern and chasm, when Magiere had mistakenly opened the orb. He had spent the passing days since watching over his shoulder.
They entered a bustling little town, and few townsfolk even looked their way. That in itself was another relief. People passed through the towns and cities of peaceful Belaski every day, and no one gave them much notice.
“I need to find a courier,” Wynn said. “Or at least some place where the caravans stop. I want to send word to Domin Tilswith now, and not wait until we reach Miiska.”
“Chap, go with her,” Leesil said. “Meet us at that stable up the way. One of us will find an inn before you get back.”
He grabbed Magiere’s waist.
“Almost home,” she said tiredly, and Leesil tucked his head in close to her.
Chap did not hear what was said, but Magiere turned a scowl on Leesil.
“Not until you’ve had a bath,” she growled.
Leesil swatted her on the rump and took off before she snatched hold of him.
Wynn looked to Osha. He nodded to her, and she headed off.
Chap followed Wynn, wishing at heart that they could simply go home and stay there.
Magiere fell silent as she walked into Miiska.
She quickened her pace, not wanting to be seen by anyone they knew just yet, not until they reached the Sea Lion Tavern.
They’d arrived from the south, so the tavern was just ahead beyond the trees. All she wanted was to see her home. By the time she reached the sloping road’s bottom, and stepped from the forest into the edge of town, Leesil had to jog to catch up with her. The others were left behind, but Chap bolted headlong around Magiere, racing toward the dockside of Miiska.
And then she saw it.
Leesil’s hand-painted sign hung above the narrow door, and the whole place looked so much the same, as if she’d been away but a few days.
The Sea Lion—and Chap was turning in pinwheels by the time Magiere squeezed the latch and shoved the front door inward.
Everything inside still looked brand new, from the polished bar to the two-sided hearth in the common room’s center. Rashed’s sword hung above the hearth on the room’s bar side, marking the tavern’s rebirth from ashes. Beyond the bar’s far end, narrow stairs climbed to the second floor and bedrooms.
Leesil pushed around Magiere, casting his hungry eyes over everything. At first he couldn’t speak any more than could Magiere. Then he sighed as his gaze fixed on the corner beneath the front windows.
“My Faro table!” he whispered.
Chap squeezed between their legs and made a hurried circuit around the hearth.
“Caleb, you deaf old hog!”
Magiere’s throat tightened. The loud, gruff woman’s voice came from behind the kitchen’s curtained doorway.
“How many damn times have I told you—don’t put onions in the soup when Karlin is coming! You know he can’t abide the taste!”
“I already put his serving aside,” came an answering shout from up the stairs. “Leave me be, woman!”
A stout form in an old purple dress and stained apron burst through the whipping kitchen curtain. She turned, heading for the stairs like an irate captain hot after an errant soldier. But she halted halfway and turned quickly about. She almost dropped the long wooden spoon she wielded as shock washed away the ire on her round, wrinkled face.
“Aunt Bieja,” Magiere whispered.
Bieja barreled along the bar and nearly cracked Magiere’s ribs in a fierce embrace.
“My girl . . . my girl!”
Her aunt’s hair smelled musky, and it took all Magiere’s effort not to weep in overwhelming relief. Bieja had come, just as Leesil had insisted she would.
Magiere’s aunt released her, and with tears on her gruff face, she spotted Leesil. Before he could duck, she grabbed him as well.
“Ow,” he grunted. “Go easy! It’s good to see you, too.”
Bieja stepped back, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, as Chap snuck out between table and chair legs.
“Ah, so the troublemaker is still with you.” Then she noticed Wynn and Osha in the doorway.
Magiere reached back, pulling Wynn in. “Auntie, these are friends. This is Wynn and that’s Osha.”
Bieja crossed her arms, taking stock of the tall, hooded elf.
“Osha,” Leesil mumbled, “better keep your ears covered.”
Beija whacked him in the gut with her spoon. “Shut that mouth, imp.”
Then a commotion began on the stairway. “Leesil!”
Little Rose nearly flew down the stairs.
Caleb descended quickly behind the girl, and his eyes widened at the newcomers. “Mistress Magiere?”
Rose ran straight for Leesil and jumped at him. Leesil hooked her underarms and lifted her with an exaggerated grunt.
“You’re getting heavy!”
In truth, Rose had grown, and her muslin dress looked a bit small. Her auburn hair was thick and long—she was becoming quite pretty. Aside from her aunt’s presence, this was the first mark of just how long Magiere had been gone. Little Rose ran her small fingers down the closed wound along Leesil’s cheek.
“What happened to your face?”
“Fierce battles,” he said in a haughty tone and hefted her higher. “I’ll tell you stories at dinner.”
“No, you won’t!” Magiere warned.
“Just the suitable ones,” he corrected.
Caleb joined them, his back slightly bent, and he grasped Magiere’s hand. “Welcome home, Mistress.”
She gripped his hand with another breath of relief at that one word—
home
.
home
.
“Domin Tilswith?” Wynn blurted out in surprise.
She pushed past everyone as Magiere spotted someone else descending the stairs. He was slight-built and silver-haired, and his old gray robes sagged on him a bit.
Domin Tilswith stepped into the common room with a smirkish grin. His green eyes sparked at the sight of his apprentice.
“I received message . . . came right away.”
Wynn hurried to meet him, but they did not embrace. They only clasped hands with mutual smiles.
Osha still hung in the doorway with the two jars of ashes in his arms. He looked about in complete loss. A pang of guilt hit Magiere for ignoring him, but Aunt Bieja closed on the young elf first.
“Oh, I don’t know where my girl keeps finding your kind,” she said and grabbed him roughly by the arm. “You best come have supper. No one that tall should be so skinny.”
Even an anmaglâhk stood little chance against the will of Aunt Bieja. Osha forgot to duck, and his forehead smacked the top of the door frame.
Magiere clasped the back of Leesil’s head, pulling his face close, little Rose still in his arms. She settled her forehead against his and whispered.
“We’re home.”
Near midnight, Leesil finally succeeded in sending Bieja, Caleb, and Rose off to bed. Osha settled the jars of ashes atop the hearth.
Leesil didn’t want the homecoming celebration to end, but Domin Tilswith had been “smiling” patiently all evening. The old master sage awaited a more serious discussion, particularly when Leesil returned with Magiere from unloading their packhorse, and Wynn had returned from taking Aspen to the local stable.
They gathered in the kitchen around the canvas bundle on the prep table, and Magiere unwrapped the orb.
Leesil suddenly wondered where any of them would even begin to tell their story.
Chap appeared to study Tilswith’s face, which grew dour and puzzled as the old man leaned over the artifact.
“This what Welstiel sought . . . where you find?”
“Do you know what it is?” Magiere asked bluntly.
“Where you find?” the domin repeated.
The old man’s Belaskian hadn’t improved any more than Osha’s had, perhaps less. Magiere, Leesil, and Wynn in turn each told him varied parts of their journey. Osha only listened, and Chap continued watching Domin Tilswith.
Leesil wondered suspiciously at the dog’s fixed attention. Hopefully Chap wasn’t messing about in the old man’s head.
Tilswith’s mouth opened slightly at Magiere’s mention of Li’kän, of the circlet that had removed the spike, and of water droplets rushing madly toward the orb to vanish in its searing light. But Magiere never mentioned their differing impressions of the presence that had risen in the cavern.
“Eô, âg-léak!”
Domin Tilswith sputtered in his own guttural tongue. “Wynn, what we done?”
Domin Tilswith sputtered in his own guttural tongue. “Wynn, what we done?”
Wynn’s olive face flooded with alarm. “Do you know what it is? Where it came from?”
He shook his head, seeming suddenly older. “No. . . . But is more than simple tool, even for it power. The place found . . . so guard and protect it was. And secret so long. May . . . be . . . we should left it there.”
Leesil flushed cold with disbelief. “After all we’ve been through? Sgäile died trying to help us bring this back! And you think we should’ve left it?”
Domin Tilswith’s forehead wrinkled. “I did not understand—”
“You cannot safeguard this?” Osha asked abruptly.
Wynn turned her startled gaze to his face.
Leesil followed her and found the young elf watching the domin as carefully as Chap was.
“Osha, it is not that . . . ,” Wynn began. “I am sure the domin meant—”
“I believed . . . your sages offer safeguard,” Osha cut in. “I complete my teacher’s guardianship because you said sages give . . .”
He struggled a moment and finished in Elvish.
Wynn looked at Leesil. “Security. He thought the sages could provide security, and truly they can—”
“Not from Anmaglâhk,” Osha said flatly.
“What?” Leesil asked.
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