The Spider's War (The Dagger and the Coin series) (49 page)

The girl nearly cried out then. But she bit her lip as hard as she could to stop herself, and dropped into the tall grass.

She lay hidden there in the cold, muddy field for hours. She had to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. She heard the soldiers shouting to each other, and there were strange hammering and flapping sounds. Occasionally, she would hear one of the villagers beg to know what they had done to displease the emperor. The only reply was a loud smack.

It was dark, and the fires had all flickered out, before she moved her numb limbs up into a crouch and took another look.

In the center of the town, a huge brown canvas tent had been erected, easily five times larger than any hut in the village. The soldiers stood in a circle around it, holding torches. She couldn’t see her fellow villagers anywhere. Cautiously, she crept a little closer.

A tall man who wore a long, hooded white cloak instead of a uniform stood at the entrance to the tent. In his hands, he held a large wooden box. One of the soldiers opened the flap of the tent entrance. The cloaked man went into the tent, accompanied by a soldier. Some moments later, they both emerged, but the man no longer had the box. The soldier tied the flap so that the entrance remained open, then covered the opening with a net so fine not even the smallest bird could have slipped through.

The cloaked man took a notebook from his pocket as soldiers brought out a small table and chair and placed them before him. He sat at the table and a soldier handed him a quill and ink. The man immediately began to write, pausing frequently to peer through the netting into the tent.

Screams began to come from inside the tent. She realized then that all the villagers were inside. She didn’t know why they screamed, but it terrified her so much that she dropped back into the mud and held her hands over her ears to block out the sound.
The screams only lasted a few minutes, but it was a long time before she could bring herself to look again.

It was completely dark now except for one lantern at the tent entrance. The soldiers had gone and only the cloaked man remained, still scribbling away in his notebook. Occasionally, he would glance into the tent, look at his pocket watch, and frown. She wondered where the soldiers were, but then noticed that the strange boxy ship tied at the dock was lit up, and when she strained her hearing, she could make out the sound of rowdy male voices.

The girl snuck through the tall grass toward the side of the tent that was the farthest from the man. Not that he would have seen her. He seemed so intent on his writing that she probably could have walked right past him, and he wouldn’t have noticed. Even so, her heart raced as she crept across the small stretch of open ground between the tall grass and the tent wall. When she finally reached the tent, she found that the bottom had been staked down so tightly that she had to pull out several of them before she could slip under.

It was even darker inside, the air thick and hot. The villagers all lay on the ground, eyes closed, chained to each other and to the thick tent poles. In the center sat the wooden box, the lid off. Scattered on the ground were dead wasps as big as birds.

Far over in the corner, she saw her mother and father, motionless like all the rest. She moved quickly to them, a sick fear shooting through her stomach.

But then her father moved weakly, and relief flooded through her. Maybe she could still rescue them. She gently shook her mother, but she didn’t respond. She shook her father, but he only groaned, his eyes fluttering a moment but not opening.

She searched around, looking to see if she could unfasten their chains. There was a loud buzzing close to her ear. She turned and saw a giant wasp hovering over her shoulder. Before it could sting her, a hand shot past her face and slapped it aside. The wasp spun wildly around, one wing broken, then dropped to the ground. She turned and saw her father, his face screwed up in pain.

He grabbed her wrist. “Go!” he grunted. “Away.” Then he shoved her so hard, she fell backward onto her rear.

She stared at him, terrified, but wanting to do something that would take the awful look of pain away from his face. Around her, others were stirring, their own faces etched in the same agony as her father.

Then she saw her father’s sea glass necklace give an odd little jump. She looked closer. It happened again. Her father arched his back. His eyes and mouth opened wide, as if screaming, but only a wet gurgle came out. A white worm as thick as a finger burst from his neck. Blood streamed from him as other worms burrowed out of his chest and gut.

Her mother woke with a gasp, her eyes staring around wildly. Her skin was already shifting. She reached out and called her daughter’s name.

All around her, the other villagers thrashed against their chains as the worms ripped free. Before long, the ground was covered in a writhing mass of white.

She wanted to run. Instead, she held her mother’s hand and watched her writhe and jerk as the worms ate her from the inside. She did not move, did not look away until her mother grew still. Only then did she stumble to her feet, slip under the tent wall, and run back into the tall grass.

She watched from afar as the soldiers returned at dawn with large burlap sacks. The cloaked man went inside the tent for a while, then came back out and wrote more in his notebook. He did this two more times, then said something to one of the soldiers. The soldier nodded, gave a signal, and the group with sacks filed into the tent. When they came back out, their sacks were filled with writhing bulges that she guessed were the worms. They carried them to the ship while the remaining soldiers struck the tent, exposing the bodies that had been inside.

The cloaked man watched as the soldiers unfastened the chains from the pile of corpses. As he stood there, the little girl fixed his face in her memory. Brown hair, weak chin, pointed ratlike face marked with a burn scar on his left cheek.

At last they sailed off in their big boxy ship, leaving a strange sign driven into the dock. When they were no longer in sight, she crept back down into the village. It took her many days. Perhaps weeks. But she buried them all.

Captain Sin Toa stared down at the girl. During her tale, her expression had remained fixed in a look of wide-eyed horror. But now it settled back into the cold emptiness he’d seen when he first coaxed her out of the hold.

“How long ago was that?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” she said.

“How did you get aboard?” he asked. “We never docked.”

“I swam.”

“Quite a distance.”

“Yes.”

“And what should I do with you now?”

She shrugged.

“A ship is no place for a little girl.”

“I have to stay alive,” she said. “So I can find that man.”

“Do you know who that was? What that sign meant?”

She shook her head.

“That was the crest of the emperor’s biomancers. You haven’t got a prayer of ever getting close to that man.”

“I will,” she said quietly. “Someday. If it takes my whole life. I’ll find him. And kill him.”

Captain Sin Toa knew he couldn’t keep her aboard. It was said maidens, even eight-year-old ones, could draw the attention of the sea serpents in these waters as sure as a bucketful of blood. The crew might very well mutiny at the idea of keeping a girl on board. But he wasn’t about to throw her overboard or dump her on some empty piece of rock
either. When they landed the next day at Galemoor, he approached the head of the Vinchen order, a wizened old monk named Hurlo.

“Girl’s seen things nobody should have to see,” he said. The two of them stood in the stone courtyard of the monastery, the tall, black stone temple looming over them. “She’s a broken thing. Could be a monastic life is the only option left to her.”

Hurlo slipped his hands into the sleeves of his black robe. “I sympathize, Captain. Truly, I do. But the Vinchen order is for men only.”

“But surely you could use a servant around,” said Toa. “She’s a peasant, accustomed to hard work.”

Hurlo nodded. “We could. But what happens when she comes of age and begins to blossom? She will become too great a distraction for my brothers, particularly the younger ones.”

“So keep her till then. At least you’ll have sheltered her a few years. Kept her alive long enough for her to make her own way.”

Hurlo closed his eyes. “It will not be an easy life for her here.”

“Don’t think she’d know what to do with an easy life if you gave her one anyway.”

Hurlo looked at Toa. And to Toa’s surprise, he suddenly smiled, his old eyes sparkling. “We will take in this broken child you have found. A bit of chaos in the order brings change. Perhaps for the better.”

Toa shrugged. He’d never fully understood Hurlo or the Vinchen order. “If you say so, Grandteacher.”

“What is the child’s name?” asked Hurlo.

“She won’t say for some reason. I half think she doesn’t remember.”

“What shall we call her then, this child born of nightmare? As her unlikely guardians, I suppose it is now up to us to name her.”

Captain Sin Toa thought about it a moment, tugging at his beard. “Maybe after the village she survived. Keep something of it in memory, at least. Call her Bleak Hope.”

A Shadow in Summer

A Betrayal in Winter

An Autumn War

The Price of Spring

The Dragon’s Path

The King’s Blood

The Tyrant’s Law

The Widow’s House

The Spider’s War

Leviathan Wakes
(with Ty Franck as James S. A. Corey)

Caliban’s War
(with Ty Franck as James S. A. Corey)

Abaddon’s Gate
(with Ty Franck as James S. A. Corey)

Cibola Burn
(with Ty Franck as James S. A. Corey)

Nemesis Games
(with Ty Franck as James S. A. Corey)

Babylon’s Ashes
(with Ty Franck as James S. A. Corey)

Unclean Spirits
(as MLN Hanover)

Darker Angels
(as MLN Hanover)

Vicious Grace
(as MLN Hanover)

Killing Rites
(as MLN Hanover)

Graveyard Child
(as MLN Hanover)

Leviathan Wept and Other Stories

Balfour and Meriwether in the Incident of the Harrowmoor Dogs

Hunter’s Run
(with George R. R. Martin and Gardner Dozois)

Star Wars: Honor Among Thieves
(with Ty Franck as James S. A. Corey)

“This smart, absorbing, fascinating military fantasy, exciting and genuinely suspenseful, will keep readers on their toes.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(Starred Review)

“Abraham is a graceful writer, treating his male and female characters with respect and exploring both their strengths and weaknesses.”

—
Library Journal

“Abraham builds on
The Dragon’s Path
to create and sustain a rich, satisfyingly complex epic fantasy.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(Starred Review)

“You have to admire ace storyteller Abraham’s skill at building plausible alternate worlds, a trade much practiced, but not often so well, ever since the days of Tolkien and the Shire… Another trademark romp in the otherworld, and a lot of fun.”

—
Kirkus

“Daniel Abraham’s new novel cements his status as the literary successor to George R. R. Martin.”

—
Grasping for the Wind

“Abraham questions and explores the fantasy-world assumptions that most authors take for granted, telling an enjoyable and genuinely innovative adventure story along the way.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(Starred Review)

“A pleasure for Abraham’s legion of fans.”

—
Kirkus

“Prepare to be startled, shocked, and entertained.”

—
Locus

“
The Dragon’s Path
is an enjoyable read that holds great expectations for the series.”

—
SF Signal