EXILED Wizard of Tizare Page 18

  She came to him, resting her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. He loved you so much. What a horrible accident.”

  He looked at her. What am I looking for? he thought. Some flash of insincerity, some sign that she knew about it? She seemed to have no interest in my being alive. Ashre’s death could have been an accident ... the twisted result of her attempt to kill me.

  Or was it our resident murderer, Sirrom, just trying to keep his hand practiced?

  Or was it some other, some half-crazed renegade who haunted the streets of Gfaar waiting to kill some wandering pilgrim”

  All he knew was that it wasn’t an accident.

  But Taline’s eyes held only sorrow. “Yes,” he whispered. He pointed at the exposed tomb. “And I’ve found the tomb. I just want to get the book now, and leave,” he said with disgust.

  Taline put down her sword. “I’ll help.”

  Now they both locked their hands around the handle and started tugging. At first, their grunting efforts were useless. Even when he braced his feet against the wall, the coffin stayed encased in the wall. Taline licked her lips and he saw her arm muscles clench tightly.

  Then it moved! The slightest of movements, but it now jutted out of the wall.

  “Come on, Taline. It’s moving.”

  “I’m pulling as hard as I can,” she grunted. Then she too placed her feet on the wall, and they both reared back.

  “Perhaps you’d better—” she started to say.

  But the box suddenly slid out, almost as if it had been released. It slid back, sending them tumbling, and Falon saw that it was going to come flying out on top of them.

  “Move!” he yelled, and he rolled to the side, hoping that Taline was doing the same.

  The heavy box crashed to the ground and sent the torch and the swords clattering onto the floor. Falon popped up quickly and looked over the dark coffin.

  “Are you all right? Taline?”

  She sat up, snatching the torch off the ground. The dull yellow light made her golden fur glow brilliantly.

  “I’m fine.” And then she extended the torch over the coffin.

  It was cracked right down the center, neatly split in two. The wood was old and brittle, and the dark swirls of the grain were covered with scratches from the sand.

  Falon reached out and grabbed at the top, just where the wood was cracked.

  Taline brought the torch closer.

  “Try not to singe my hairs,” Falon said.

  “Sorry.” She brought the torch up a bit.

  He peeled back one part of the coffin.

  It split in two, sending up a spray of dust and musty smells. Taline started coughing. The dust swirled in the air for a moment, then it cleared. Falon leaned forward.

  He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. He had seen dead bodies before. Death, in a small village, is no secret. Some of the older ones still asked that their remains be burned on top of Mount Zaynir, a ceremony Falon had seen more than once. Most were buried in coffins. The very poor were just placed in a hole in the ground. And he had seen bodies after they were dug up, bits of flesh still clinging tenaciously to tiny nooks and crannies of the skeleton.

  But he had never seen anything like this. He gasped, and literally rocked back on his heels.

  Perhaps it was because it was so dry here. Without moisture, there could be little real decay. There didn’t seem to be any insects or rodents or other creatures that would feed upon the dead. A body would just slowly dry up until it resembled a shrunken version of a living mrem.

  “Charissar,” he said softly.

  Taline came closer. “He looks as if he’s sleeping. His fur looks perfect.” She reached out to touch it—and then seemed to think better of it.

  Falon took the torch from Taline, and checked the body from its feet to its head.

  “I don’t see anything, no book, no—”

  Taline pointed.

  And the gesture so startled him that Falon thought old Charissar had opened his eyes, ready to welcome them to the land of the dead.

  Ashre would have loved it. Just another street mrem, Falon tried to tell himself. Like hundreds ... thousands in any city. Nothing special.

  “There,” Taline said.

  And she was right. Just below the body, its corners visible, sticking out.

  It was a book.

  “Yes,” he said unenthusiastically. “Well, then, give me a hand here.”

  He reached down, and felt the leathery skin yield to the pressure of his fingers. “Go on,” he said. “Grab it on the other side,”

  Taline didn’t rush to pick the body up, but she did finally dig her hands under the dead mrem’s buttocks. Falon worked his hands under a bit more. His fingers hit the stubby tail, all rigid now, and he recoiled.

  “All right, all right,” he said, speaking, he knew, to himself. “We’re all ready now. On three. One …”

  He tightened his arm muscles. “Two.”

  Taline took a deep breath.

  “Three!”

  They lifted together, but the body rose up only slightly, like a plank of wood.

  He let one hand touch the corner of the book. “Almost—just got—to—”

  His claws dug into the old book.

  And he felt cold. His skin prickled. His fur stood on end. It was like before, when he was running, through the streets of Gfaar. Something that connected him to this book ... and this place.

  He pulled the book out, grunting with the effort of his one-arm hold. “Got it!” he yelled, and they both released the body.

  It clattered down into the coffin.

  Charissar’s jaw flung open with the jolt.

  And, by the All-Mother, if he didn’t seem to be smiling!

  •

  Falon stumbled out of the temple. He had let Taline take the old manuscript, its pages all crinkly inside dark covers.

  We got it, he wanted to say.

  At what cost ...

  Now, let’s get out of this bone-dry town.

  But Anarra was there, just outside the temple waiting for them. “What was all the noise in there?” she snorted.

  Taline brandished the book in front of her eyes. “The Song of the Three Moons,” she said. “Falon found it.”

  “More likely that little runt he dragged along with him ....

  He thought he saw her sneer. He couldn’t be sure—it was dark. He took a step toward Anarra.

  Taline tried to place herself between them. “The kit is dead, Anarra, crushed by a fallen statue.”

  “Pushed ...” Falon whispered, his eyes locking on Anarra’s.

  Undaunted, she took a step towards him, brushing Taline aside by her sheer bulk. “And what foolishness did you push on him, what highlander stupidity did you suggest that cost him his life?”

  Falon went rigid.

  A familiar feeling crept up his spine. The slow and, for him, inevitable loss of control.

  His claws came out.

  “Don’t ...” he said. “Don’t say a word about Ashre ... just keep your furry big lips shut.” Now it was his turn to take a step closer to the burly female. “Because if you don’t, I will shut them for you.”

  She smiled. She was enjoying this, that much was obvious. But just when he hoped that it would pass, that she’d let him lick at the wound of his grief, she spoke again.

  “That,” she said, “is something I’d like to see.” Anarra turned to Taline. “Just what do you suppose this buffoon is hiding, Taline?”

  “Anarra, please. Stop this now.”

  Anarra looked back at Falon. “What dirty little secrets is he hiding, secrets about him and his little street runt from Fahl?”

  “Anarra, I order you—”

  Anarra wanted this. Falon knew that, yet he was helpless to prevent it from going
further.

  Anarra came close to him, her breath and spittle falling on his nostrils. “Why don’t you tell us what you did to kill him?”

  He raised a hand and he screamed, the sound echoing weirdly in the deserted courtyard.

  His claws shone in the light.

  “Falon!” Taline called, but he ignored her yell. There was only one thing that he wanted to do.

  He wanted to claw Anarra to pieces, no matter what the code of the mrem demanded.

  She seemed to have expected his claws. Her sword was out, ready to slice at him. “Come on, my highlander misfit. Come, and let me teach you how we butcher the uxen in Tizare.”

  He leaped at her, jumping, not really caring whether she was fast enough to get her sword out in front of her.

  She wasn’t. His frenzy so startled her that he was on her too fast, knocking her down, cradling her big head in his hands, the claws digging into her dark fur, cutting, tearing ....

  “Is this how they do it?” he asked. And then he dragged his claws down her face some more.

  Her sword was now useless, but he felt her hands fumble at his back, and then the pain of her strong claws digging into his skin.

  No matter. He pulled at her face, imagining—hoping—that she was the one.

  Let it be Anarra. Let her be the one. And let this be Ashre’s revenge.

  But she rolled over, and leaped backwards.

  “He’s mad!” she bellowed, blood tracing matted lines down her face. Her eyes, glowing with pleasure only moments before, now gave off the even brighter fire of fear.

  Falon was off the ground, slowly stepping towards her. Without thinking, he made the first tentative steps of the Dance of Death.

  Anarra had no use for such protocol. She gathered up her sword and took a great swipe at Falon. He leaped to the side, easily avoiding the blow.

  “Another step, and I’ll cut you down!”

  “Falon! Stop! This won’t bring Ashre back.”

  He took another step.

  “No, it won’t!” Another voice bellowed out from the darkness.

  Falon knew it was Sirrom, but he paid the voice no heed. “It took me to do that!” Sirrom yelled again, closer now. And then Falon, still in the ceremonial crouch, heard another voice….

  IT WAS Ashre.

  “Ashre!” Falon yelled. He looked at the two figures coming out of the gloom and there was Ashre, walking beside Sirrom.

  “Found him over in my area. Gave me a good scare, he did,” Sirrom laughed, rubbing the kit’s pointy ears.

  But how? Falon wondered. He had seen the kit crushed under the enormous stone. There had been no time for him to dodge away. And if he had, Falon certainly would have seen him.

  He walked over to Ashre.

  “The kit probably thought better of staying with you, highlander,” Anarra sneered.

  But he ignored her. Instead, he just went to Ashre, crouched low, and grabbed his shoulder.

  “Ash—How? I—I—”

  The kit grinned, a big wide-open smile that displayed his teeth, fangs and all. “I’ll tell you later,” Ashre said.

  Taline came beside him. “What’s going on?” she asked Falon. Then, looking up at Sirrom, “Falon said that the kit had been killed.”

  “Aye, it’s a strange place, Gfaar. There are mrem who wouldn’t even look at this town, let alone step in it,” Sirrom offered.

  “We have the book,” Anarra growled, waving it in the air.

  Sirrom took it from her hands. “I hope your lord finds it worth all our efforts.” He looked right at Taline. “And I hope he knows how to keep a bargain.”

  “You have my word as his daughter.” She looked at Ashre. “What happened, Ash? How did you end up with Sirrom?”

  He grinned again. “I don’t know. Maybe I got scared, lost ... wandered around. I’m not really sure.”

  “No matter,” Sirrom announced. “But you have your book and we are leaving at dawn. We may as well make camp here, get some sleep. We’ll be back out on the desert before long.”

  They all began unrolling their sleeping mats. And Falon saw everyone was taking care to keep a weapon close by.

  Then he watched Taline go over to Sirrom. Close.

  She stood there beside him for a moment. Sirrom nodded.

  “What’s wrong?” Ashre said.

  “Oh, nothing,” Falon answered, trying not to watch.

  Taline went over to her pack and brought her mat back to where Sirrom was.

  Not a surprise, Falon thought. Still, it was disappointing. Anarra cleaned her face—he swore he could hear her spitting in his direction—then found a spot to sleep well away from the others.

  He unrolled his mat and lay it near Ashre’s. Ash was already on his side, ready to go to sleep.

  Falon sat on his mat.

  The twin moons were almost behind the temple. Soon it would be very dark here.

  “Tired?” Ashre nodded.

  Falon crouched down and spoke, now, in a whisper.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Ashre’s eyes blinked open. “Yes,” he whispered. “At least what I know.” He gulped.

  The kit was scared, Falon could see.

  “I saw the stone coming down ... as if it was taking forever. I wanted to move. But there was no time. But still, I wanted to get away ....”

  “And?”

  Ashre gulped again.

  “I started to feel this tingle, not like anything I’ve felt before. And the next thing I knew I was standing next to Sirrom.”

  Falon nodded.

  Well, then ... it couldn’t have been Sirrom who pushed the statue over. And it sounded as though Ashre had added a new wrinkle to his bag of magic tricks.

  “I’d keep quiet about this,” Falon said gently. “It’s a neat trick, but let’s keep it our little secret—for now.” Ashre nodded.

  Falon lay back, and he watched the stars grow even more lustrous as the moons were eclipsed by the temple. So many stars, much more than he ever could see even on the cloudy mountain top. The air here was so clear.

  And cold. He pulled his sleeping mat around him like a blanket, but it did little to keep the chill off. Ashre was all curled up, falling fast asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly.

  He’d sleep soundly until awakened.

  Then Falon heard something faint. Whispered voices, the movement of fur against fur.

  Then Taline’s laugh. Gentle and sweet, and Sirrom’s, muffled.

  And oh, the images that began to dance in Falon’s head.

  He checked that Ashre was asleep. And he listened. They tried to be quiet about their lovemaking. But whatever passion Taline was bringing to Sirrom’s sleeping mat was just too strong.

  She made a low growl, and then Falon—feeling a bit guilty—stared into the darkness; He saw her rise above Sirrom. Her sleek silhouette was barely visible. But still he could see her move, and he heard Sirrom’s low grunts of pleasure.

  Falon pulled his sleeping mat tight around his head, trying to block the sound.

  But it was hopeless.

  And even after they were done, he was left, wide awake, wondering why the good Lord Rhow’s daughter would chose a murderer, with a wife and kits, rather than an ambitious highlander.

  It didn’t do much for his sense of confidence.

  Ashre woke up, feeling the strange, uncomfortable tingle running through his body like never before.

  Something bad was coming, real bad, right towards them from the east. The feeling was so strong it nearly had him scampering to find some dark corner in the town, some dismal hole he could hide in. He was practiced at finding such hiding spots.

  Only this time he knew that he wasn’t alone. He was with others. Others that could help him ... or trap him.

&nb
sp; The feeling grew worse than ever before, and it was almost too hard to resist the temptation to just run, dash away.

  Let the others face the danger alone.

  Instead, he ran over to Falon and shook him once, then again. Back and forth, until he blinked awake, licking at his whiskers.

  “Wha—It can’t be time—”

  “Falon,” Ashre said, “Get up. Please.”

  Then he ran over to Sirrom, his massive body entangled with the fair-furred Taline. He hesitated a moment, then touched Sirrom’s shoulder. Sirrom was alert instantly.

  “Yes, what is it?” he asked. Taline stretched next to him.

  “Visitors,” Ashre said, and he pointed east. “Coming fast.”

  Sirrom was already on his feet. “A mrem of many talents, Ashre. Tell me, how many of them?”

  “I ... I’m not sure. There’s more of them than us. And—”

  “What else?”

  Ashre shook his head. “They’re not just mrem. There’s something else ... something, I don’t know.”

  Sirrom patted Ashre’s inky gray head. “That’s okay, Ash. I think I have a good idea.”

  “What’s up?” Falon said, stumbling over sleepily.

  “Company,” Sirrom said.

  Falon grinned at Ashre. “Good work. Can we start getting out of here?”

  Then Anarra was there, standing next to Taline, listening to Sirrom.

  As though he was some kind of general, thought Ash. So calm, so at ease.

  “I’ll take a look from the top of the temple. Meanwhile, you start gathering our gear together.”

  Then, he was off, inside the temple. And Ashre followed him, eager to stay near him.

  “Coming?” Sirrom asked, calling over his shoulder. Ashre trotted next to him as they reached the stairs.

  “Stay close, then.” .

  The stairs twisted around to the left to the second floor of the temple. “Sure wish I’d brought a torch. I can’t make out any way to go up.”

  “I’ll run back and—”

  “No,” Sirrom ordered. “Stay close.”

  He waited a second, and Ashre felt his eyes begin to make out shapes in the gloom.