When True Night Falls (8 page)

“The hands won’t pass,” Tarrant said shortly. “Not with claws instead of fingernails. Best to count on gloves for that, and leave the fur to soften the effect if they have to come off. But there is one more thing....”

He placed his fingers upon her eyes, touching the inner corners. Her cry of pain was short and ragged, and it seemed to burst loose some dam inside her. When he withdrew from her, there was blood in her eyes in the place of the inner membrane, and tears also. She began to shake uncontrollably.

“That’s all,” Tarrant assessed. Oblivious to her suffering. “If she’s careful she should pass.” He nodded, clearly pleased with his work. “You may release her now.”

Carefully, Damien loosened her bonds. Gently he folded her bruised wrists across her chest and gathered her up in his arms, as he would a child. She moaned softly and pressed her face against his chest, burying herself in his warmth. He wished he had a third hand, that he might stroke her with. He wished he had something to say that could ease the pain, or lessen the humiliation of her disfigurement. But all he could whisper was, “It’s all right.” All he could think to say was, “We’ll get him, Hesseth. We’ll kill the one who started all this. I swear it.”

Carefully, tenderly, he carried her out of the Hunter’s lair, and up into the healing night.

It was midnight when Tarrant left. A bright night, with Domina’s full disk and Casca’s three-quarter face lighting the sky. A brisk night, with uneasy waves that trembled white at their upper edges, as if undecided about whether or not to break into froth. But Tarrant had assured them that the wind would grow no worse for an hour at least—although how he knew that without the earth-fae to draw on was beyond Damien—and so they were setting sail despite it. Or setting
oars,
more accurately.

Damien strained to make out the form of an island to the east of them, but could see only water. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t there, of course. He had the utmost faith in Rasya’s observations, and if she said there was an island due east of them he wouldn’t think to doubt it. Ever.

An island. That meant land, cresting above the waves.

Earth-fae.

Beneath them the lifeboat struck water, with the deep, resounding slap of a nuwhale’s tail. Rasya swung herself over the side of the ship and began to clamber down toward it. Damien briefly considered insisting that he take her place, that he should be the one to transport the Hunter to shore ... but they’d had that argument before, several times already, and he’d lost each time. Rasya wanted it this way and Tarrant had agreed, so who was he to interfere? What was he afraid of, anyway—that she’d see his power in action and instantly be corrupted? Give her more credit than that.

He felt strangely out of control, with Tarrant leaving. A curious feeling. As if he had ever really controlled the Hunter. As if anyone ever could.

At last the two men who had helped lower the lifeboat withdrew, leaving Damien and his dark ally alone on the deck. For a moment Tarrant just watched the sea, moonlit waves rippling like mercury beneath a haze of silver spray. Waiting. At last the men’s footsteps were distant enough and faint enough that they could be certain of their privacy.

“You never asked why I came on this trip,” the Hunter said quietly.

“I assumed you had your reasons.”

“And never wondered what they were?”

Despite himself he smiled. “You’re not an easy man to pry information out of.”

“That never stopped you from trying.”

Damien shrugged.

Tarrant looked downward to where Rasya was waiting. Damien knew better than to press him. At last he said, in a voice hardly louder than the breeze, “He came to me, you know. Our enemy’s pet demon, the one she called Calesta. He came to me in the Forest, when I was done healing. I remembered him from her citadel....” Damien saw the muscles along the line of his jaw tighten momentarily. Remembering the eight days and nights of his captivity, when he had been at the mercy of a being even more sadistic than himself? “It was he who’d revealed that his mistress had trapped me not with sunlight, as I’d perceived, but with simple illusion. A sorcerer’s trick! It was my own fear that defeated me....” The pale eyes were narrowed in hatred; Damien thought he saw him tremble. “He came to make peace, as demons will do when their masters die. I felt myself safe, being in my own domain at last, and made the mistake of listening.” He shook his head, remembering. “He nearly caused me to betray myself. There in my own land, where the very earth serves my will ... he almost bested me.” His expression was tight, but the emotion causing it was hard to read. Anger? Humiliation? The Hunter had never handled defeat well. “I spent five hundred years making the Forest into a haven which neither man nor godling might threaten. It survived wars and crusades and natural disasters and was as much a part of me as the flesh that I wore ... and he took me on there. There! Tricked me, and put my very soul in jeopardy....”

He drew in a deep breath, slowly. Trying to calm himself. “If the Forest is no longer my refuge, then no place will ever be. I could hide myself away with my books and my conjurings for a month, a year, a century ... but the threat would always be there.
Will
always be there, until I deal with it.” The pale eyes fixed on Damien. “You understand?”

“I think so.”

“You’ve always distrusted me ... which is appropriate, I assure you. But the day may come when that will be a dangerous luxury. Our relationship has been strained even here, on this ship, and I know you’ve had your doubts about the wisdom of our alliance. That’ll only get worse as time goes on. Our enemy seems adept at reading our fears and turning them against us—perhaps even
feeding
on them—and so I thought it best if you understood why I was here. How much is at stake for me in this venture. I thought that knowledge would be worth more than anything I could say about trustworthiness, or loyalty.”

He could feel the power in those pale eyes as they studied him, weighing his soul for reaction. And for an instant—just an instant—it seemed to him that he could sense the uncertainty that lay hidden within their depths, the terrible vulnerability within the man. Because when all was said and done, the Hunter was no more comfortable with their alliance than he was. It was a sobering thought.

“I understand,” he said quietly.

With consummate grace the Neocount swung himself over the ship’s railing and onto the narrow rope ladder beneath.
The natural grace of a predator
, Damien thought. As repelled as he was fascinated by the insight. When Tarrant’s feet had caught a rung he paused, and looked at Damien. “Expose my quarters,” he commanded. “Tear down the walls that guard it. Bring my possessions into the daylight and expose them as well, so that nothing remains of my power.”

“I imagine we’ll expose the whole ship when we reach port—”

“Now,
priest. Before the locals contact us. Our enemies also shun the sunlight, remember? Best not to confuse that issue.” A hint of a smile, ever so faint, creased his lips. “Trust me.”

“You once cautioned me never to do that,” he reminded him. “But I’ll take care of it.”

“At dawn.”

He winced, and counteroffered, “Early. I promise.”

Tarrant chuckled. “Good enough.” He began to make his descent—carefully, lest his ankle-length garments get caught between his feet and the rungs—but Damien stopped him.

“Tarrant.”

The Hunter looked up at him. And for a moment Damien saw in him not the cold-blooded murderer he was, but the man he once had been. A man of infinite vision. A man of faith.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “For telling me.” And he added, “It helps.”

The Hunter nodded. His expression was grim.

“Let’s hope it’s enough.”

Rasya. He dreamed of her, and woke to find himself stiff with longing. They’d had such a good time together when the journey had first begun, what with his energy and her exuberance and a good bit of sexual know-how on both their parts. A perfect match, it had seemed. He’d hoped it would last. But then, as their navigational instruments began to fail, she grew increasingly restless. Tense. He made the mistake of thinking it was because of her work. By the time he realized the true cause, it was too late to salvage what they’d shared.

I’ve got wards to keep me from getting pregnant
, she’d told him,
but what if they go, too? Hell of a time and place to be having kids, don’t you think?

And then there were the volcanos of Novatlantis and the flood tides of the Eastern Gate and the time never seemed quite right to suggest that there were more mechanical means they could resort to. Because they were beyond that, really. They’d fought enough over trivial things before her real fears came out in the open that recapturing those moments of intimacy would be all but impossible. Women were like that.

Too bad, he thought. It was good while it lasted. That’s all you could really ask for, wasn’t it?

He turned over to go back to sleep, half hoping his dream would pick up where it left off. Then a soft knocking on his cabin door reminded him of what had woken him up in the first place.

He fumbled for the lamp, managed to get it lit without setting himself on fire. Then bunched up the blankets where it mattered most and called out softly. “What? Who is it?”

The door creaked open, ever so slightly. A slender figure slipped inside, draped in a coarse seaman’s coat. With bare legs, he noted. Shorts, in this weather? How like her.

“You up?” Rasya asked.

It took all his self-control not to make the obvious wisecrack. “I am now,” he managed. “Tarrant gone?”

She nodded.
“Dissolved into night
, as the poet would say. Quite an impressive display.”

“Yeah. He’s an impressive guy.”

Her blue eyes were fixed on him. Sparkling. Mischievous. God he still wanted her. “You up to some some company?” she asked softly.

“Why? Has something happened?”

“Not yet.” She smiled, somewhat tentatively. “But I was thinking maybe it might.”

She came to the bed and sat down on it. By his side. Close enough that he could feel her warmth through the blanket.

“What about your wards?” he managed.

She grinned. “His ex gave them a boost for me when we reached shore. Why else do you think I rowed him there?” The coat slid off one shoulder as she spoke; she wasn’t wearing very much under it. Maybe nothing at all. “The way I figure it, we’ve just about completed the second most dangerous voyage on the face of this planet, and so I’m about due for a little celebrating. Right?” She cocked her head and studied him. “Of course, if you’re not interested....”

“Hell I’m not,” he muttered, and he reached for her.