Wolf's-own: Weregild (51 page)

Some kept their pet full-Bloods alive and compliant through drugs, Samin knew, but that altered the Blood in ways Malick understood and Samin didn't, but he believed Malick when he said it made the amulets weaker and the spells not as reliable. The men who'd bought Shig and Yori had kept Shig alive and bleeding for them only because they hadn't the funds or connections to pay one of those skilled enough to jam a spike into her brain without killing her. They'd kept Shig compliant through drugs, and Yori compliant through Shig.

These people didn't look drugged. These people looked... asleep. Pale, perhaps, but healthy enough. The only evidence of harm was those bandages on their wrists, and even those looked clean.

Confused, deeply uneasy, Samin sent his thoughts out to Shig, even more uneasy when nothing came back to him.

A rustle at the other end of the long room jerked his attention back, even before Fen's hoarse voice, tone sharp and urgent, snapped, “Morin!
Run
!"

Without thought, Samin shoved the boy behind him, raised his sword, and watched as shadows came to life to either side of Fen, took on substance. Fen stood between them, knives ready, backing up a few paces so he could watch them both as they solidified between him and the set of bunks over which he'd been working. Samin made out the bright glistening tracks of blood on the throats of two of the prone bodies, his ears picking up the wheezy gasps of emptying lungs and the steady
drip-drip-drip
of blood hitting the rush-covered floor. But his eyes watched the shadows recede, watched that Xari woman emerge from them with a man Samin guessed was Yakuli, because that was just how Fen's luck seemed to run.

"There is no need for panic,” the man said smoothly. He flashed a sad smile at Fen then a cordial nod down to Samin. Samin's gut gave a twist. “Nor is there a need for violence,” the man went on, indicating with a graceful wave of his hand Fen's knives, and the blood dripping from them, then the gaping wounds on the throats of the two soon-to-be-corpses. “I intend no harm to you or yours,” continued Yakuli. “In fact, I think you and I can come to a very satisfactory arrangement between us, young Fen-seyh."

Xari stepped forward and bowed her head to Fen, by all appearances deferential and respectful, but the woman was maijin—they all knew how to lie and make it look good. “Things are not as you see them, lad,” she said, a thick thread of condescension in her tone, like she was speaking to a small, stupid child. Her smile was beautiful on her gorgeous face, but there was nothing real about it. Samin wondered if Fen could see it, too, wondered if he could see anything clearly, or even think, with that ring wedged on his brother's finger and not his own. “I tried to explain it to you, but Kamen will not....” Xari shook her head, mouth turning down. “Kamen sees only you, and would give you what you ask for, even if it is not his to give.” Her smile came back, soft and motherly; it made Samin want to gut her. “You asked for Yakuli's head,” she told Fen with a wave at Yakuli. “Kamen would give it to you, even though it would mean his soul. Even though I warned him that death and violence were not the only ways to—"

"I didn't, actually.” Fen's voice was hoarse and low, still with that flat quality to it, but Samin could hear the anger building beneath it. For whatever reason, it made Samin breathe a little easier, and he patted Morin's shoulder again when the boy edged to his side. “I didn't ask for Yakuli's head,” Fen went on, nodding at Yakuli. “
Your
head. I didn't ask for it. I asked Malick... Kamen to help me find my mother.” The knife in his right hand turned and twirled, spinning along his fingers, blade-hilt-blade-hilt, casual, unconcerned. “If there's a better way, perhaps you'd like to tell me now, before I, um....” A pause, and a thin, scary-looking grin bloomed on Fen's face. “The Ancestors are very loud tonight."

He left it there, kept that creepy grin. Samin supposed Xari and Yakuli knew what it meant. Samin certainly did. And hoped like hell Fen was bluffing.

Yakuli seemed unaffected, merely met Fen's smile with a friendly one of his own, and nodded agreeably. “Yes, we can come to an accord like reasonable men. Asai often spoke of his beloved Untouchable.” Samin didn't miss Fen's flinch, and he knew Yakuli and Xari didn't, either. “Told me proudly more than once that you were unlike any other in decades. That you were sharp and strong enough to do what he needed of you, though....” He paused, smile falling down into sympathy. “Xari has told me how you turned on your master. I am very sorry it became necessary, lad. I know he loved you in his way."

Fen flinched again, and Samin took a quick step forward, said, “Fen,” surprised when Morin clamped on to his coat and held him back.

"Don't,” Morin whispered, urgent. “He knows what he's doing, and they'll kill you if you interfere."

The hard look Xari shot Samin confirmed it, but... damn it, was he supposed to just stand here while they ripped away whatever flimsy stanchions Fen was standing on? How much could Fen take before he broke completely?

"I see it grieves you,” Yakuli was telling Fen. “And I am sorry for the losses you have suffered.” He took a step in toward Fen—not too close, and he didn't reach out for him. “It can stop now, Fen-seyh. You and yours can walk away from here now, with my blessing. As Xari has already promised, you can leave Ada, and leave behind forever the shadow of threat that hangs over your earth-bound brother."

As if the mention had called it, the ground beneath their feet rumbled enough to nearly unbalance Samin, and he reached out for Morin to keep him steady. Samin had no way of knowing if it was Subie or Joori, but the way things were going, he'd bet on whichever was more likely to get them all killed in the messiest way possible.

The lamps swayed on their rope fixtures on the ceiling, casting shadows everywhere, and the frames of the bunks creaked and shivered. Samin hoped like hell none of those bodies got dumped from them. That would be just a little
too
much creepiness.

Fen didn't move through it all, just stood there and waited for the ground to stop shaking, kept staring, still outwardly calm. Samin wasn't close enough to see Fen's eyes, but he imagined they'd gone stormy and confused.

"My mother,” was all Fen said when the ground stopped rolling beneath him, but his voice wasn't as even and calm as it had been.

"Ah!” said Yakuli. He smiled wide—warm and gracious—and shook his head. “I'm sorry, lad, where is my head? Of course, of course.” He peered at Fen with something akin to friendly warning. “Your mother is not here in this room. I have moved her somewhere safe.” He shot a quick smile at Xari. “You understand, lad,” he said to Fen. “One cannot strike a proper bargain if one hands everything over too quickly.” He reached into his high-necked tunic and pulled out an amulet. Even from where he stood, Samin could hear Fen's growl, but Yakuli merely gave him another condescending smile, reached out to the body lying nearest him, and whispered a spell.

Samin didn't have the wits to watch Fen's reaction. He was too caught up in his own. He took an involuntary step backward when the “body” sat up, blinked its eyes against the lamps, turned its head from side to side, and settled its gaze on Yakuli. A gasp left Samin when its mouth turned up in an obsequious smile, and it dipped its head then rasped, “Good evening, Beishin. How may I serve you?"

"You see, Fen-seyh,” Yakuli said. “Things are not as you seem to think them. There is hope yet for your mother."

Fen only stared for several long, silent moments, narrow-eyed, then he flicked a wary glance at Yakuli, and a downright distrustful one at Xari. And then his face set, lost all expression, and Samin had no idea what to make of that.

The... thing's eyes were as blank as Fen's were. Samin wondered if Fen could see it, too, but he thought perhaps not. The voice was hoarser than even Fen's, but this one sounded like it was more from disuse than strain, and the movements were too mechanical, the facial expression a weird imitation of Yakuli's own.

Hadn't someone called this man a “Puppet Master"?

"Watch,” Morin whispered behind Samin, just that, just that one word, but it was soft and firm, like he knew exactly what Samin was thinking.

Samin made himself look back at Fen, profoundly relieved when he saw Fen seeing it all, that he'd
been
seeing it all. Still, Samin's lungs filled with air again when he saw the disgust and rage well up in Fen's face, and his hands grip tight around his knives. Fen didn't believe these people were still inside themselves any more than Samin did.

It was clever, Samin had to give Yakuli that, and if Fen were a man who didn't expect to get fucked over by everyone at every opportunity, he might have fallen for it. As it was, Fen flicked a glance at Samin. Samin might not really know exactly what it meant, but he knew Fen well enough to understand that it at least alluded to
MAYHEM
in big, bold, capital characters.

Yakuli must have seen it, too, because the bodies on the frames all began to stir at once, jerky, loose-limbed motions as they were clumsily pulled from their prone positions and began to get to their feet. Samin only stared at them for a moment, more revolted than he'd ever been in his life. This man wasn't only Disappearing these people and using their Blood to arm his men with the amulets he made from it—he was turning them into an army of revenants he could control
using their own magic
.

The disgust overwhelmed him, took him. He waded in with his sword swinging, disgusted all over again at how Yakuli was too obviously using them as a wall to keep Samin and Morin away from Fen, at how easy it was to land blows on them because they didn't back away or flinch. At how they
just kept coming
, regardless of how thoroughly he hacked them.

They were slow, but they were effective. They kept Samin and Morin penned on the opposite side from where Samin had last seen Fen, and who knew what might be happening down there now, because Samin couldn't bloody
see
, damn it.

Morin was faster, but then he would be. He swung around Samin and launched himself at the nearest bunk, flew up it like a monkey climbing a ladder, and cut the rope that held the nearest lamp to the ceiling. Oil splashed out over the damp reeds on the floor, and fire followed immediately, catching the pools and drops of oil and climbing to the thin wood of the bunks. Yakuli's puppets just kept coming, stepping into the flames like they didn't feel them, body hair catching fire and burning down to skin.

Samin nearly jumped out of his own skin when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. And then he almost gutted Husao, just for making him nearly jump out of his skin.

"Get the boy,” Husao ordered brusquely. “There are more souls to save than these."

Samin saw the sense in it and tried to see the stomach-curling roast going on in front of him in terms of saved souls, rather than senseless horror. Except he couldn't quite get past the horror. He did manage to nod, though, managed to force a swallow down his bone-dry throat, but didn't manage to do much more than wheeze, “Oh, shit,” as he went after Morin.

Shig
, he sent as he snagged Morin down and again pushed him behind him, firming his grip on his sword,
I think we're going off plan here
. He clenched his jaw, snapped, “On your right, Morin!” and kept swinging, even as Husao grabbed his surcoat from behind and dragged him out.

The look in Joori's eye must have been a little wild, maybe even crazed, because the three men, trained as warriors, armed well and thoroughly competent, stared at him, frozen—
afraid
. And then they began to back away.

Joori laughed again, a deranged little titter that sounded nothing like him, and he sidestepped the loose, cracked earth at his feet, moving deliberately toward the men, instead of away, like he should be doing. He had no idea what he intended to do—make a great, big hole and drop them into it, maybe, or bury them alive—but he was vibrating with strength, with power. Every bit of him shuddered with something deep and driven, and he didn't want to crush it down again, didn't want to stuff it back inside himself where it had lain somnolent for so long he'd almost forgotten it was there.

And then Malick laid a hand to his arm, and it all went away. Just went away. Gone. Everything around Joori went dull, muffled, as though someone had just thrown a thick blanket over him.

"Run,” Malick told the men, flat and even, and they didn't even turn to check with each other—they spun around and ran.

Joori watched them go, a strange sense of loss he didn't want to define burning through the weird, heavy fog. It felt a little too much like thwarted lust, and if it turned out that was what it was, he didn't want to know it. Anger curled through him, and he didn't know if it was at them, at himself, at the spirit of the earth that lived inside him and turned him into something he didn't want to look at... it could have been any of them, all of them, and he didn't know what to do with it. So he pointed it at Malick.

He wrenched his arm from Malick's grip. “
Now
you decide to use your magic? Where the fuck was it when you were over there fighting for your life, huh? What am I supposed to do if—?"

"You're supposed do what I bloody
told
you to and
get out
!” Malick snapped. “My magic is being used for other things at the moment, and what isn't is being spent on protecting everyone else, which includes
you
and
your brother
, so I'd prefer it if you didn't take stupid chances like wading into a clutch of professional soldiers and
not running
when I tell you to!"

Damn, Malick could be scary when he wanted to be. With the wavering light of the fire crawling all over him, throwing his face into alternate flame and shadow, and his eyes catching the conflagration, flaring it out like it was inside him....

Joori deflated somewhat, choked out a wheezy little, “Oh,” and then he just let Malick shove him away from the great crevice in the ground Joori had wrought when he'd been pretending to be someone strong, away from the fire and the bodies scattered around it, around them.