The Quest for the Trilogy: Boneslicer; Seaspray; Deathwhisper (43 page)

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Authors: Mel Odom

BOOK: The Quest for the Trilogy: Boneslicer; Seaspray; Deathwhisper
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“They're going to kill us,” Alysta said. “They don't want to try to take us alive.”
“They do at the moment,” Wick said quietly.
“That's because they're afraid Quarrel will fall into the sea with the sword after they've killed her.” The cat's voice was quiet and didn't go far.
“C'mon, girl,” Ryman Bey said. “Make it easy on yourself.”
With no indication of what she was about to do, Quarrel released the arrow. Wick's senses were spinning so rapidly he heard the shaft passing on the polished wood, then the deep, basso
thwang
of the string. He started to demand why Quarrel had fired the arrow when they were at the mercy of their enemies, then realized that
her arm must have been growing tired holding the powerful bow ready. Knowing she'd never have the chance to draw back again, she'd obviously chosen to loose.
The arrow flew straight and true for the center of Ryman Bey's face. Incredibly, the thief leader whirled to one side and took a step back. The arrow sliced through his hair and several strands were sheared.
“No!” Ryman Bey shouted, throwing his hand up to still his men. “I don't want to lose that sword!”
By that time, Quarrel had thrown the bow down and slid Seaspray free of the sheath. The blue-etched blade caught and reflected the slight moonslight. Snowflakes whirled around her.
“Before I allow you to take this sword,” Quarrel promised, “I'll throw it into the sea.”
“Throw it!” Ryman Bey showed his teeth in a wolf's grin. “If I can't stop you, I'll recover the sword from the sea. I'd rather not if we could come to an arrangement.”
Wick stood frozen, not knowing what to do. It was plain to see that Quarrel felt the same way. The little Librarian looked out to sea, hoping against hope that
One-Eyed Peggie
's sails were visible. Only a pale, ghostly fog drifted in atop the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below.
“The only arrangement we can come to,” Quarrel said, “doesn't involve me giving up this sword.”
“Perhaps I could take you with us,” Ryman Bey said. “We only need the sword for a short time, so I'm told.”
For what?
Wick wondered, curious again at Gujhar's purpose and who had sent the man on his mission.
“No,” Quarrel replied. “I don't trust you. I'll never trust you.”
A voice from the ranks of the thieves spoke in a cant known only to them. Wick was familiar with the language from his studies, though he wasn't as fluent as he would have wished to be.
“I'm ready,” the voice said.
Ryman Bey responded in the same tongue, never taking his eyes from Quarrel. “Do it.”
Wick turned to Quarrel. “Look out. They're planning—”
Before he could finish speaking, an arrow sped from the darkness pooled at the tree line. A thin cord trailed after the missile.
Quarrel saw the speeding arrow, or perhaps guessed from the sound of the bowstring that she had been fired on, and tried to spin away. Wick believed that the hidden archer had aimed at Quarrel's chest, but the young woman managed to avoid the arrow for the most part. Instead, it transfixed her left shoulder with a
thunk
.
Staggered by the blow, Quarrel barely remained standing. She looked down at the arrow in disbelief. She thought fast, though, recognizing the cord attached to the arrow and what it represented. Bringing the sword up, she tried to cut the cord, but whoever had hold of the other end pulled on it and yanked her from her feet.
Escape
S
creaming in pain as the arrow twisted in her flesh, Quarrel tried to fight, but she was dragged through the snow like a sled, plowing a furrow. Ryman Bey waited with his drawn sword.
Turning over on her back, Quarrel threw Seaspray toward the cliff.
“No!”
Ryman Bey shouted as he watched the enchanted weapon spin through the air.
But Quarrel wasn't able to get enough strength behind her effort. Seaspray fell short of the ledge and lay on the snow, naked and vulnerable.
“Wick!” Quarrel yelled, drawing a knife from her boot and grabbing the cord in her free hand. “Throw the sword over!”
Alysta lunged across the snow and nuzzled the sword, trying to move it with her head. Unfortunately, she wasn't strong enough. She turned to Wick and yowled,
“Hurry!”
Ryman Bey raced forward, grabbing Quarrel's knife hand in one of his and staying her blade. He plucked her easily from the snow and grinned at her. She tried to fight him, but he was too strong and too quick with his hands and feet, and she was wounded. He grabbed the arrow with his other hand and twisted it savagely.
Quarrel screamed and almost passed out, dropping down to her knees for a moment. When she rose again, she had the thief leader's knife at her throat.
“Don't vex me, girl,” Ryman Bey said. “At the moment you yet live.”
Wick sprinted toward the sword, but one of the Razor's Kiss thieves got there before he did. The man grabbed the hilt and lifted the blade, grinning in triumph.
“Keep coming, halfer,” the thief taunted, waving Wick on with his free hand. “We'll see how you like the taste of cold steel. And maybe we'll see if this sword lives up to the legend that surrounds it.”
Having no choice, Wick stopped.
Alysta threw herself at the man, but he was prepared and fast enough to slap her away. She hit the snow-covered ground and flopped miserably, mewling in pain.
“Take them to the edge,” Ryman Bey ordered.
At sword point, the thief guided Wick to the ledge. He couldn't help looking down at the waves thundering against the rocks. The cliff wall was almost sheer, but there were ledges scattered along the way. None of them were close enough to safely drop down onto.
Ryman Bey brought Quarrel to the edge and stood her there in the wind. Several of the thieves kicked Alysta and drove her away, and the cat had no choice but to go.
Wick's mind worked desperately.
They're going to kill us. Ryman Bey just wants to gloat first
.
“Who are you?” Ryman Bey demanded of Quarrel.
“He's a mercenary,” one of the thieves responded. “I've seen him around the Tavern of Schemes.”
“This is no man.” Ryman Bey pushed back Quarrel's hood and revealed her hair and soft features. “I will weary of asking you, girl. If you would live, you'll answer my questions.”
Quarrel only returned the thief chieftain's gaze full measure.
Ryman Bey grinned. “You've meddled in something that you've no business being part of.” He held out his hand and the thief holding Seaspray handed the sword over.
“I have every right,” Quarrel replied.
Gujhar stepped forward then. “Get me a torch.”
One of the thieves pulled a torch from his equipment pack and lit it.
Taking the torch, the mercenary captain held the flame up and toward Quarrel. The wind whipped the flames, seeking to extinguish them. “I know you,” he said. “I recognize your face.” He reached inside his cloak and took out a book, flipping it open to a familiar section.
“A
book
!” one of the thieves gasped.
Most of them stepped back in consternation.
“If the goblinkin discover you have that,” another thief said, “they'll be down on you in a second with naked steel and clubs. They hate books.”
“I'm certainly not going to tell them,” Gujhar replied. “And even a goblinkin would think twice about taking a wizard's book of spells.”
A wizard?
Wick didn't believe for a moment that Gujhar was a wizard. He was like none of the wizards Wick had ever seen. Wizards were proud and haughty men. (And sometimes women, though he'd only encountered one of those.)
But the book was magical in nature. Gujhar spoke a couple of words and the blank pages that Wick could see suddenly filled with images. One of them was of Captain Dulaun and his wife. Quarrel favored both of them.
“You are one of Captain Dulaun's descendants,” Gujhar said excitedly. “That's how you were able to find Seaspray when we weren't. I knew it had been hidden, but I had no idea where.”
Quarrel said nothing, but she couldn't hide the truth either. “You're not fit to carry that sword.”
“Oh, I won't be carrying it,” Ryman Bey said. “I'm ransoming it to Gujhar's employer.” He eyed the blade appreciatively. “As pretty as this sword is, it's worth a lot of gold.” He smiled. “Consider me crass if you will, but I'd rather have the gold. Besides, I could never unleash the power it wields.”
“Neither can Gujhar's employer,” Quarrel said.
“Gujhar's employer has other intentions for the sword than using it as it was created,” Ryman Bey said.
“Careful,” Gujhar cautioned irritably. “You're speaking out of turn.”
Ryman Bey smiled. “A few minutes from now, it won't matter.”
Wick swallowed hard. For the first time he noticed that the other end of the rope attached to the arrow in Quarrel's arm was looped around one of the bigger thieves' waist. A desperate—and risky!—plan formed in Wick's brain.
You've clearly been reading far too many romances from Hralbomm's Wing
, he told himself. But it was doable. Neither he nor Quarrel weighed half of what the thief weighed.
All they needed was a moment. And a lot of luck. By the Old Ones, they would have to be
awfully
lucky to survive what he had in mind.
“That sword,” Quarrel said, “is meant for our family.”
“Not anymore.” Ryman Bey held the sword level before him. “Gujhar's employer plans on stripping the magic from this blade and using it for something else.” The thief chieftain looked at Gujhar, who stood in silent fury.
“That can't be done,” Quarrel argued.
Ryman Bey smiled. “I'm told it can be. The betrayal at the Battle of Fell's Keep ran deep. Deals were struck and the people involved trusted each other far too much. Lord Kharrion placed his agent within the ranks of the defenders and planned well.”
The news shocked Wick. It was the first confirmation of a traitor among the defenders that he'd ever heard of outside of rumor and the elemental in Master Blacksmith Oskarr's forge. The story was becoming more tangled, and more relevant to things that were going on in the world now.
Just as Craugh and Cap'n Farok had told him. It even lent to the belief that it was something of a legacy Lord Kharrion had left.
“When Gujhar's employer is done with this sword,” Ryman Bey taunted, “it won't be anything but a trinket.”
During the thief chieftain's exchange, Gujhar had been gazing with deep interest in Wick's direction. “You were in the Cinder Clouds Islands.”
The accusation hung in the cold despite the harsh wind coming in from the sea.
“No I wasn't,” Wick squeaked. He cleared his throat, hoping he sounded more firm. “I've never been to the Cinder Clouds Islands.”
Then one of the thieves spoke up. “There was a halfer there.”
“There were a lot of halfers there,” another thief snarled. “The goblinkin had slaves working those mines.”
The first thief shook his head. “You don't often see red hair on a halfer. This one has red hair. So did the one in the Cinder Clouds Islands.”
“I think you're right,” a third said. “I saw him, too.”
Gujhar approached and stood in front of Wick. “You
were
there. Searching for Master Oskarr's axe.”
“It was someone else,” Wick insisted, but his voice cracked and he knew he sounded like he was lying. “Some other dweller. Not me.” He hated the way his voice came out. Just as guilty sounding as it did when Grandmagister Frollo wanted to know who'd smeared jam on the pages of a book or who had (accidentally!) forgotten to return a much-used reference book to its proper place. He hated sounding guilty. Terrible things always followed.
“It was you,” Gujhar said. “What were you doing there?”
“I escaped,” Wick said. “I was one of the mining slaves.”
“You,” Gujhar stated clearly, “were with the dwarves searching for the axe. They found it when no one else could.”
“Not me,” Wick said weakly.
“And now,” Gujhar mused, “you helped this girl find Dulaun's sword in a place we had searched repeatedly.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you know about this, halfer? What do you know about Deathwhisper?”
Deathwhisper
. So Gujhar was looking for the third weapon from the Battle of Fell's Keep. Just as the journal had indicated. But why? The question tumbled endlessly through Wick's mind. Why was Gujhar's master planning to strip the action from the weapons? How had they been bound together a thousand years ago? Had that been why they'd been lost all that time?
He didn't know. The fact that he didn't have a clue made him so curious he couldn't stand it.
“Do you know where Deathwhisper is?” Gujhar asked.
Wick didn't say anything. Dread filled him. He knew what was going to happen next, and knowing that gave him strength to think about the wild scheme that had occurred to him.
“You should tell me,” Gujhar said casually, as if he were talking about the price of apples or whether the ale at the top of a tankard was more flavorful than the ale at the bottom. “It will save you a lot of painful torture.”
Actually, Wick was for anything that saved him painful torture. If he'd known where Deathwhisper was, he'd have told. Immediately. However, he also knew that he'd probably be tortured anyway because Gujhar wouldn't choose to believe him till he'd been tortured for a while. Of course, if he told the truth immediately, there was also the possibility that Gujhar would torture a
lie
out of him. It would be a clever ploy.
But that meant putting up with the torture, and Wick wasn't looking forward
to that. Even when he ascribed to the fantasy that
One-Eyed Peggie
would arrive with Craugh, Cap'n Farok, Hallekk, and the crew, Wick didn't care for even a
little
torture.
Without taking his cruel eyes from Wick, Gujhar asked, “I trust you have someone who's good at torture?”
“I do.” Ryman Bey cleaned his nails on his cloak. “I usually attend to it myself. I'm the best we have.”
“Good.” Gujhar smiled. “I wouldn't want anyone but the best available to handle the chores on this.”
“We'll have to discuss the price, of course. Helping you recover these things is fine, but you didn't mention anything about torture when we made our bargain.”
Frowning, Gujhar turned to glare at the thief leader. “Do you really want to spend more time looking for the elven bow? When you have someone right here who knows where it is?”
“
Might
know,” Ryman Bey countered. “I find I believe the halfer. I don't think he's lying.”
“He lied about being at the Cinder Clouds Islands.”
Ryman Bey grinned coldly. “Yes, but we all knew he was lying about that, didn't we? He's not a very good liar. Doesn't come by it natural enough.”
Idly, Wick wondered if he should feel insulted. Then he decided there really wasn't any room for considering an insult with all the fear running rampant in his mind. Maybe he was quiet on the outside, but he knew he was running around screaming inside his thoughts.
“We had a deal,” Gujhar protested. “I can't have you just assigning new costs to every little thing.”
Shrugging, the thief leader said, “You can always take care of the torturing yourself.” He paused. “If you don't have any tools for it—spikes to drive up under his fingernails, crimpers to shred his ears, knives to split his fingertips—”
Wick shuddered and sour nausea bubbled at the back of his throat.
“I don't have any of those things,” Gujhar said.
With a smile, Ryman Bey said, “I'll be happy to rent you a set.”
Wick knew that he'd never have a better chance of escape. He steeled himself for the course of action he'd chosen, then hoped that he didn't get Quarrel or himself (or
both
of them!) killed.

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