Grudgebearer (54 page)

Leaving the web of destiny, he returned to the realm of the gods, shifting beyond that to the realm of souls. He stood at the bone gates, gazing on the one hand into paradise and the other into punishment.

“Husband?” Minapsis appeared moments later, clad in red silk. Torgrimm knew he loved her more than she loved him, but that was only because to be what she was, the goddess of reward and punishment, required a certain detachment. Her eyebrows furrowed. The gauzy film of a shredded soul hung from one of her crown-like horns. “I was in the middle of—”

“May I ask a favor?” Torgrimm looked into her eyes and hoped she would agree. If his plan was to go forward, there was one last preparation which needed to be made.

CHAPTER 48

CAPTIVE

“What did I do to get chained up with an Oathbreaker?” Rae'en asked, spitting out the remains of her gag. Her mouth tasted like a lizard had relieved itself, or perhaps a small animal had died in there.

She narrowed her eyes at her fellow captive. “I am Rae'en, by Kholster out of Helg.”

I think that's Wylant
, she thought at Kazan, trying to send him the image.
She looks like bird squirt.

Rae'en examined the woman's bonds, the Zaur-leather bit in her mouth and nodded.
Thunder Speaker; that would fit.

“You're Wylant, aren't you?”

The Eldrennai . . . no, Aiannai, Rae'en corrected herself, nodded.

Rae'en glared at the twenty Zaur guards. Surely Wylant and she could take twenty of the cursed lizards if they worked together.

“I'll tell you when,” Rae'en blurted in Aernese, incrementally increasing the pressure she was exerting against her manacles. Disguising it as an angry attempt to grab at Wylant.

Did they know she was Aiannai, not Eldrennai? Or did they expect Rae'en to occupy herself trying to kill her? Rae'en pulled again, taking the measure of the chain binding her to the wall. It felt strong, but there was enough give to the bolt to convince her she could break free if she had sufficient time—and if there weren't twenty Zaur soldiers staring at her from across the room.

“Stop talking,” one of the guards ordered sternly.

“Or what?” Rae'en snarled. “You'll kill me? Beat me unconscious? I'm an Aernese warrior, you belly-crawling reptile!”

“I'll use acid to flay the scars from your back.”

Rae'en worked her tongue at the scale between her canines as she thought that over. Would that even work? She didn't think so. Maybe Ghaiattri flame would do it, but she was pretty sure if teeth came to bone she could strip the skin from her back and the scars would be whole once it grew back. But did she want the Zaur to think the threat worked? Let him think he could control her with it?

The scale finally worked free and she spat it on the ground. Low and ready, the Zaur edged toward her, reptilian eyes glaring up at her inscrutably.

“Well?”

Rae'en made an open-handed gesture of agreement and nodded curtly.

Wylant made a rude noise, the cousin of a donkey's bray and laugh, accentuating the sound with a vulgar Aernese gesture: little finger folded in, her other fingers and thumb waggling. It was a gesture older Aern used to gently tease children and one Rae'en had seen a lot while making her chain mail. Puzzlement gave way to comprehension when Wylant cut her eyes to the guards.

Rae'en knew it was gentle chiding, almost warm and affectionate, but the Zaur didn't know that. She lunged at Wylant several times in quick succession, growling like an animal.

“Stop teasing the Aern,” the guard ordered again. “Or I will cut off one of your paw digits . . . from one of your hind paws. You'd hate that, wouldn't you, biped? Perhaps I should do that anyway and feed the bits to the Aern.”

Twisting her head as far left as she could, Rae'en looked on in amusement as Wylant responded with the same defeated gesture and nod Rae'en had used to signify her own acquiescence. Wylant met her gaze imperiously, eliciting a snarl from Rae'en.

By Torgrimm
, was this woman really Wylant? In the paintings Rae'en had seen, Wylant had been blonde. This Eldrennai, or Aiannai, had dark, almost black, eyebrows. Had she shaved her head and dyed her eyebrows black to pass as a rank-and-file Oathbreaker?

Hours passed, each refusing to be the first to look away, drawing the guards into their staring match, keeping their attention focused away from Rae'en's subtle movements.

Rae'en's neck muscles began to burn, but by then her head was clear and all signs of injury from her battle with the Zaur were gone, healed, thanks to the marvelous physical superiority imbued in the Aern by their creator. Rae'en concentrated on the muscles in her neck, relaxing each one individually. Vander would have been impressed. She rarely found much use for meditation back home in South Number Nine, preferring to spend time with Kholster or her Overwatches learning the daily needs of the army.

They would rise early; the entire army, soldiers and noncombatants alike, would line up in the great hall of the forge masters for the morning workout. Many Dwarves would come to watch them, lining the underground terraces and balconies. Some did their best to keep pace with the Aern, managing it in the beginning but nearly always giving up toward the end of the exercise.

Officially, every Aern was part of the Aernese Armed Forces, but in truth, in truth . . .

A spasm went through Wylant's neck, and she almost looked away. This had to be torture for her, Rae'en realized. As beloved as the Aiannai was by the Aern, she didn't have their fortitude. The wounds from some recent battle still covered her body. Bruises. Lacerations . . . not all of them looked like Zaur work to Rae'en.

Realizing she couldn't keep up anymore, Wylant gave in to the pain, loosing a single bit-muffled scream, letting her body writhe in the agony she surely felt.

Smiling slightly at Wylant's past-the-mark performance, Rae'en incrementally increased the tension she was applying to the chains that bound her arms, simultaneously flattening the soles of her feet against the wall behind her. She pushed off the wall, shifting her weight upward, putting pressure against one side of the metal band which bound her waist.

I have to get her out of here
, she thought at her Overwatches.
She needs medical attention.

CHAPTER 49

NEVER TRUST A PIRATE

Randall Tyree awoke to what he was sure must be the sounds of battle. The slightly acrid smell of metal filled his nostrils. A great weight pulled his head forward and down. Irrationally, he felt certain that one of the Zaur had put a bucket on his head as some kind of sick prank. Which, if he was honest with himself, would have been an improvement . . . something . . . anything to break the monotony. He'd already found the money he was to be paid, stolen it, and put it back a hundred times or more.

He'd even been caught twice, but Dryga didn't seem to care in the least: where did Tyree think he was going to escape to and past how many guards and wasn't he an ally anyway?

“Bird squirt.” Tyree reached up to pull the imaginary bucket off only to cough up a mass of whitish pus into the metal basin next to his bunk. Pain sloshed randomly through his brain, clouding his thoughts.

I guess this is yet another Zauran delicacy that disagrees with me
, he realized slowly.

Where was Kreej? Tyree looked around his “room” and didn't spy the Zaur. At least he was someone to talk to.

“Kreej?”

No answer.

Tyree lay on the small bunk, the dim illumination from one of his Dwarven lanterns casting a soft glow over the stacks of books, small desk, and wall hooks upon which his three sets of clothes hung that were all there was to the small quarters in which he'd been billeted.

“But none of the other gals are lucky enough to have a door that locks,” he said mockishly to himself. “Now if only they'd installed it on the correct side . . .”

<> Kreej's tail thumps rattled from the stone.

Aern?
Tyree stood quickly, relieved to find his head spinning only a little, and darted as carefully as possible from room to room to catch the best vibrations.

<> someone thumped back. Tyree guessed it was Dryga. <>

Prisoners
, Tyree rubbed his arms and legs to get the blood flowing.
And the human
.

“I don't think I like the sound of ‘And the human.'” He took a drink from Uncle Japesh's canteen, a disreputable-looking, battered thing that refilled itself at least once a day, even in the tunnels of the Zaur. Tyree rinsed the taste of roundtrip bug out of his mouth. Then, he sliced the top bit off of the twig he used for cleaning his teeth and went about getting ready for his day. Quite possibly his last day in the prison. They'd taken his weapons, true, but they'd left him his pack. Did they really think “And the human” was so stupid as to not have a few tricks up his sleeves? He slipped on a pair of innocent-looking steel bracelets and pulled his lock picks out of their leather casing. Silly lizards really weren't used to keeping prisoners.

And the human.

Nope, not a good sign at all.

Time to go.

As he reached through the bars to pick the lock on his door for the umpteenth time, Tyree ran over his mental map of the tunnels. One human pirate couldn't fight his way out of here, but one human pirate and an Aern . . . ?

“Don't pass wind and tell me you were whistling, Dryga,” Tyree muttered under his breath.

*

Randall Tyree trod along the underground passage cursing himself and fingering his steel bracelets as he approached a guard he recognized. Of course, they'd increased security with an Aern and an Eldrennai down here.

Tyree mentally traced the image of the maze that filled his mind.

“You've walked far enough, human,” a Zaur hissed. “You're near a restricted area.”

“Restricted? Aw, don't tell me I'm going to be cooped up on the same route every time I want to go for a walk, Fifth H, because I'm going to be here for the long haul.”

“Nevertheless, here is where you must turn around.” The fifth hatching of Majita's third brood walked forward to place a restraining claw on Tyree's arm.

“This is where you're holding the Aern and the Eldrennai, right?” Tyree whispered with a conspiratorial air. “I heard you've got two females in their smallclothes. You've got to let me see them. I may not see another woman for a long time.”

“No.”

Slipping out from under the guard's claw, Tyree felt the tip tear his sleeve. “I won't even say anything. I'll just peek in from the hallway. What could it hurt?”
This will never work
, Tyree thought.
It's a lizard. You can't charm a lizard this quick.
He tossed the guard his most disingenuous grin. “Trust me.”
Trust me.

A sensation not unlike a fingernail on skin slid up Tyree's spine. He held the smile, let his eyes twinkle.
Trust me!

“I don't know why.” The guard made a gurgling rumble in the back of its throat. “And it's against my better judgment.”
TRUST ME!
“But I do trust you, Captain. If Lieutenant Kreej or Captain Dryga catches you . . .”

“I'll tell them that you left me safe and sound in my quarters and I snuck out again on my own,” Tyree assured him.

“Very well.” The Zaur nodded, twitching its tail in a matching motion before dropping to all fours. “I'm going to get my meal ration. I'll expect you to be back in your room when I return.”

Tyree saluted the Zaur, touching his fist to his own chest twice. “You're a real gem, Fifth H. I can't believe they haven't named you yet.”

With careful treads to minimize the vibrations as he walked, Tyree slipped past a partially installed door affixed at the entrance of a room that he guessed was a former dining hall. A mass of Zaur were partially visible to the left of the doorway guarding two highly unlikely prisoners.

The Eldrennai he recognized. “Wylant,” he muttered her name in an unconscious whisper. He'd had to steer clear of her when he'd been arranging his deal for the census data. If he helped rescue her, the reward could be nearly as large as the payment he'd been promised by the Zaur, and he wouldn't have to waste the time stealing it before they left. For that matter, his knowledge of the tunnel system would buy him no small reward by itself.

At the mention of Wylant's name, the Aern's eyes flicked open and found him crouching in the shadows. Gods, she was beautiful, as though Shidarva herself had fashioned a Vael out of Aern flesh. Even chained, she looked dangerous, defiant. Tyree held a finger to his lips.

“I'm here to help you,” he whispered so softly that he couldn't hear his own words, but from the look on the girl's face, she heard him well enough.
Those Aernese ears
, he thought to himself.