The Other Lands (60 page)

“Am I important enough to him now that he would tolerate insolence?” he asked. “I should be. Where would he be without me? I’m his expert on the Known World. Perhaps,” he added, offering a faint invitation to conspiracy with his tone and grin, “we should tell him I’m not well. A headache perhaps. What think you of that?”

The girl could have been asleep with her eyes open.

Even a beauty like you can get tiresome
, Rialus said silently, though he did not mean it. Aloud, he acquiesced, “Fine. I’ll meet with his magnificence.”

Fingel pivoted. He followed her, his eyes incapable of looking away from her figure. He almost detoured to the toilet chamber before he left. There, in the near privacy, he regularly used mental images of Fingel as he pleasured himself. He knew he could have physically taken her anytime he wanted to. She was a slave in his complete power. Devoth had made that clear. For that matter, he had bedded servants back in Acacia who he knew were not terribly willing. Just a part of the privilege of his office, it had seemed. But here he was not so sure he could face Fingel’s reaction.

She deposited Rialus in the care of four of Devoth’s slave soldiers. They were young men, thick about the chest and as haughty as newly appointed Marah, though sullen as well. Two of them had the Lvin clan’s white facial tattooing. The third had whiskers. None of them were a match in appearance to the victor of the mêlée, but few men would be. Like Fingel, they spared no words for Rialus. As they trudged through the city streets, Rialus framed by the square of them, they occasionally talked among themselves. When Rialus offered a thought or question, however, stone silence. They acted as if they were waiting for an excuse to ram their rather horrific-looking pikes through his guts.

Nothing new. All the slaves he had interacted with in Ushen Brae made it clear that they held him in complete disdain. Total lack of interest. He could make no sense of it. Shouldn’t they look to him as a connection with their homeland? Anger or hope. Either emotion would have made more sense to him. They gave him nothing. Despite his strangely privileged position, this troubled Rialus. Might he find no allies here? Nobody to turn toward to help him find the means to defy his captors? Though he could not define the shape of his eventual defiance, he was sure it must come. Must, if he could find the way to achieve it. But he was no closer now, weeks later. He still knew nothing, it seemed, of this land or people.

If he could slip away on his own for a bit, explore where he wanted to, probe around … Devoth had promised him that he would learn about Ushen Brae. What had he said?
You’ll see many grand things. You’re our guest, so you’ll see the things that make us great
. So much for that. He had never left the environs of his own quarters except for excursions of a mile or so to meet with other Auldek officials, escorted always by slave guards. Would that he could see what they were hiding from him.

Although, having thought that, maybe being by himself would not be a good idea either. There were things living in Avina that he had no interest in coming upon by accident. Once, while following Devoth through a long hallway, past doors that opened onto different gymnasium chambers, he had seen a creature that made him stop abruptly. It had caught his eye because of its size, which was like that of no other creature he had ever seen. Like one of the foulthings, perhaps, but he had never set eyes on one of those.

This thing stood to the height of three or four men; and even that was not an accurate measurement, for it squatted on long, bent legs. It was winged as well—large, black, jointed wings, membranous and foul, awkwardly held out as it waddled. It looked like some sort of bat, made gigantic. It was furred on the chest and around its long-jawed, canine face. Horrible, and somehow made more so by the sight of an Auldek high on its back, fastened there in a harness. The creature leaped about at the Auldek’s direction, its wings aiding it. The Auldek held a spear in one hand and had several more quivered beside him.

“Nice, huh? That’s a kwedeir,” Devoth had said, having stepped back to see what Rialus was gaping at. “You don’t want to go in there. It’s near feeding time.”

As Devoth said this, Rialus noticed a slave being led in and then pushed against his will toward the creature. “You don’t mean it’s going to—”

“Eat that man? Yes, I do. Strange, the way they eat. They like to stalk their food. Even when it’s presented to them, they stalk it, and then leap and bite it around its head and then pause. Every time they do the same. They pause and listen as the unfortunate one screams. And then they bite down and rip the head off while the body still flails about beneath. Do you want to watch?”

His eyes seemed inclined to do just that, but Rialus snapped up a hand to block the view. “By the Giver, no!”

Devoth rumbled out his mirth, but he nudged Rialus to get him moving down the corridor. A few steps farther on and a high-pitched scream cut through the air, an anguished cry of terror. Devoth did not so much as flinch. He did, however, grunt and say, “We use them to catch runaways. Good sport.”

On reaching Devoth’s estate, his escorts put Rialus in the care of the household servants and then turned away without a word. And what then? Was he rushed right in to an audience with his magnificence? Hardly. Instead, as he expected, he was told to wait in the inner courtyard. It was a beautiful enough space, partially open to the air, with pillars of marble that supported trellises thick with flowering vines. A pool in the floor gurgled, home to eel-like fish that cocked their heads and followed Rialus’s every move. It would have been a pleasant enough area to wait in, if there had been something to sit on. What kind of waiting area did not provide a place to sit?

Typical Auldek, he thought, display luxury while making one uncomfortable at the same time.

Standing, he wondered what Devoth wanted to talk about this time. He feared he had exhausted his knowledge of usable information. Their last meeting, actually, had a note of finality to it, as if everything had been decided. Devoth had summed up the entire plan of attack. It was to be one great march of virtually the entire Auldek population, all except those unfit the journey. Many of the divine children would accompany them, warriors and servants both. The Auldek did not seem to fear to return the quota to their homeland, at least not the ones they were planning on taking with them.

“It will be a misery,” Devoth said, “but we must begin the journey in the winter. We will spend the first month trudging into the arctic, getting colder each day. We’ll stay all along the coastline, frozen stiff, no doubt, thinking ourselves insane for leaving Avina. On this schedule, spring will start to warm the land at about the time we must leave the coast. Here.” He pierced the map with one of his long fingers. “But then when we turn inland, it will grow cold again. We’ll return to winter. That’s what Calrach swears, and he says it should be that way, because for a time we travel only upon ice, on some inland sea. We must be fast, though. For if we are too late getting there, the ice will thin. We might fall through. Calrach lost several of his tribe to that fate.” Devoth spoke this with an air of solemnity Rialus had never observed on him. “At least,” he added, “they had but one life to die through.”

Strange, Rialus thought, to imagine an existence in which a single death was an oddity. He wondered if such a perspective was a strength, or if it might be a weakness somehow. “I’ve said it before, your magnificence, but, please, allow me to express my concern. …”

Devoth scowled but did not otherwise dissuade him.

“It will not be the same as with the Numrek. The league will certainly warn the empire.”

“You chirp like a cricket,” Devoth said. “Listen, chirp no more. This war will happen. It will be a wonder. You can’t imagine! You don’t know how we go to battle. We haven’t done so in hundreds of years—not since the early days, when we were drunk with the soul catcher’s gift. Few of us even remember those times. But I do. In the past we warred with one another and almost destroyed our race. Ironic, no? We win the gift of immortality and become so high with it that we slaughtered one another like never before. You have no idea. This time, the clans will all join in one massive force. We’ll roll across the land, marching, riding haired rhinoceros and kwedeirs and fréketes. You haven’t seen a frékete yet, have you? Oh, but you will.”

The image of the winged, jointed monstrosity that was the kwedeir flashed in Rialus’s mind. The bunched muscle beneath the gray skin, the swaying movement, the enormity of it as scaled by the Auldek riding its back. And that was what he had seen. What might fréketes be? He could not help himself. He shuddered.

“Exactly,” Devoth said. He grinned with one side of his mouth. “Snow lions hunting for us and antoks clearing the way. Behind us, still other slaves will push weapons of war. We’ll ride singing, Rialus Leagueman, chanting, joyful. The Numrek tell me they had a mighty slaughter when they fell upon your lands. This, though, will be like nothing your people have ever seen. Be glad you’ll get to watch it from our side instead of from the ground as we trample you. Leagueman, try to understand, we’ve been dead in our living bodies for years now. We are ready to live again, to battle, to risk everything, to make children, and even to die. It will be wonderful. For us, at least. Not so much for your people.”

A male servant finally came and got Rialus, a good hour after he had arrived. A short time later, the servant paused and pointed to a figure in the center of a large, labyrinthine inner garden. “He is there, master. Can you find your way from here, or should I walk farther with you?”

“No,” Rialus said, more sharply than he expected. He was quite capable of finding his way forward now. I can see him, he thought. In the Giver’s name, I’m not a complete idiot! He had the impulse to wiggle his fingers in the servant’s face dismissively, but he knew the man would not so much as deign to respond if he did. Rialus would be left looking silly. “I’m fine,” he said. A few steps forward, however, and he was not sure of that.

A snow lion stepped out onto the path some twenty feet in front of him. It was a massive thing that moved with slow, heavy menace. For a moment Rialus thought it would cross the path, but, sensing the Acacian, the feline paused. It turned its head and set its gray eyes on him, moving as if its head and wild mane were as heavy as stone. Its tongue lolled out a moment, wagging, and then was slurped back in. Rialus cried out, “Eyyaaahhhh.” His fingers twitched. The summons fell from his hand and clattered, all too loud, on the marble tiles.

The cat lowered its head, the muscles along its back and forelegs rippling beneath its white coat. Its tail flicked, one quick movement that was enough to make Rialus start. He was sure the beast would leap on him, knew that it could cover the distance in one bound, knew its large paws hid claws that would grasp him as mercilessly as an alley cat does a mouse. Indeed, the lion seemed to be speaking to him. Did he realize, the beast asked, that it could crack Rialus’s head between his jaws and slop out his brains with his tongue?

Rialus peed. He did not feel it coming. It just happened, the warm flow starting at his groin and trickling down both his legs. He would never be sure—but he had his suspicions—that the act of releasing his bladder saved his life. The lion’s nostrils flared. It obviously smelled the urine. Its upper lip drew back from its teeth and trembled for a moment—a look of derision if Rialus had ever seen one. It raised its head, turned away in disgust, and carried on across the path, leaving Rialus the sight of its swaying genitalia as a lingering image.

He considered backing out, running to his quarters, and changing his clothes, but there was not time for that. He picked up the summons and carried on, walking awkwardly, for the urine was already cool, hoping his robe would hide any stains.

As he walked, he noticed something strange in the air around Devoth, things darting and hovering as he stood still. A swarm of insects? Perhaps the beetles performing some strange act of Auldek hygiene? He could not make out what it was until he drew quite near. Then he saw more clearly.

Not flying insects at all, but hummingbirds! Ten or more of them zipped through the air above Devoth, flashing scarlet and metallic green and yellow. They darted, swirled, chased one another, and then hovered. They were beautiful, all motion and grace and … they returned again to Devoth. He even held one on the palm of his outstretched hand. They had no fear of him. Indeed, they seemed to be competing for his attention.

Noticing Rialus, Devoth turned to face him. He smiled as the tiny bird flitted up from his hand and then settled again. “Ah, there’s my leagueman. Do you like my birds? They like to dance with me. They love me, as you can tell. And I love them.”

Staring at them, Rialus did not know how to answer. He opened his mouth, but only a breath of indecision escaped him. He might never understand these people. He wished to think them foul and base and ugly, but nothing as beautiful as a hummingbird had ever loved Rialus. Fast behind this thought came another, completely unbidden and without warning. What, he thought, if the world is not meant for Acacians after all? What if the Auldek deserve it more than we?

As if in answer, Devoth grinned. For the few seconds that he held the grin, Rialus was certain the Auldek could read his thoughts. “You know, leagueman, if you hold still like that for long enough, one of my birds may nest in your mouth. That would do neither of us any good. Come, we have things to discuss. We’ll begin the march within a fortnight.” With that, he bobbed his upraised hand, and the tiny bird whirred into flight once more.

M
ena would never forget the strange song that Corinn whispered to Aaden as he lay unconscious and bleeding that horrible afternoon. She could not remember the words of it. She was not even sure there were words. It had a shape that might have been language but that was vague and hidden beneath a melody that defied description. It was sound and breath and notes. It contained more voices than just Corinn’s, mixed with music and exhalation and sobbing and a thousand promises. It mystified her.