The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 24
Near an hour passed before Flir spoke again. “Notch, can I ask you something?”
“Can I stop you?”
“No.” She grinned, but it didn’t last. Through the eye-holes of his mask her expression was apprehensive. “Have you have forgotten about clearing your name? You’ve taken a new name before, and it wasn’t easy as I recall.”
“No. I... don’t want to be driven away again. By the King or anyone.” Strange. It didn’t gnaw at him as it had before, the need to prove himself to the city. It took him a moment to continue. Flir was being oddly gentle in her manner. “The city thinks I’m dead. Most of the posters have come down, replaced by those with Sofia’s face. I still think I can live here, as Notch.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s well and good. But I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“In Seto or Sofia?”
“Sofia. You don’t know her. She’s from the First Tier. They don’t care about us. You know that, Notch. After what the King did to you, to Raff. How he repaid your loyalty. How do we know she’s any different?”
He steered his horse around a hole in the road, refusing to follow her words to the memories lurking at the edge of his awareness. Threatening to break the surface. “Sofia is different.”
“Just be on guard. If she weren’t a young woman, you might not feel so protective of her. That’s what it is, isn’t it?”
He reached over and caught her reins, bringing both mounts to a halt. “Stop. What do you mean by that?”
“It means don’t let your regrets cloud your judgement.” Her voice softened. “She’s not your daughter, Notch. You and Amina didn’t take that path.”
Amina.
No. Years, it had taken years to forget! He’d pushed her into a place of forgetfulness, but still he’d been a fool to think she’d stay there. He spoke through a clenched jaw. “It has nothing to do with Amina.” Notch threw Flir’s reins back before kicking his horse into a trot. She had no right to dredge up the past.
His knuckles were white around the reins.
Amina, pulling her hair behind her ears in the wind, the mountain’s breeze gentle on the back of his neck as he leant in to kiss her, Amina planting seeds as he ploughed, her hands dirty and her smile bright, Amina and whatever dreams they’d shared before the war... dashed.
Enough. No use dwelling on it. Besides, all he was trying to do –
“Notch, look.”
A giant tumble of broken stone and gravel blocked the road.
He swore. Just as Seto warned. Too jagged for the horses to climb. What better time for the Mountain God to fall prey to such a colossal hiccup. “What now?”
“I could probably clear a path, but it would take hours. If it’s unstable, longer.”
“We could continue on foot. Send the horses back up the trail. The guards will hear them.”
“We’d lose too much time once the path was cleared.”
“Right.” Notch dismounted, removing the mask and placing it in a saddlebag. He didn’t look at Flir. “Then I’d better help you.”
They worked until nightfall, managing to make a path the horses could navigate. Notch’s hands were scraped and swollen and he’d not done half the work Flir had. It was a process. Much testing and prodding had to be done, to make sure the rockslide wouldn’t continue if they shifted the wrong piece. Impressive as it was to see Flir toss large rocks and slabs over her shoulder, Notch groaned when they collapsed on the other side, moving some distance from the slide. Muscles in his legs trembled and his back ached.
“I never want to see another unconnected piece of stone again.” He’d worked off his anger. It was enough to simply sit a moment.
Flir chuckled. “I agree.”
“We should rest here.” Cut for wagons to pass, the road widened enough for them to set up a small camp. Too dangerous to push on in the dark, with potential rock slides everywhere, he needed at least a short rest. He’d already been awake for hours, roaming the underground and battling strange sea-creatures, and now this. He pulled himself back up, legs weak, and removed his tent from a pack as the exhaustion of days hit him. Placing the tent aside, he affixed a feedbag to his mount’s head, using his mount to support himself a moment. “Eat up, girl.”
His own meal was cold, neither he nor Flir could find the strength to make a fire, let alone cook, and so when he crawled into his tent it was with another sigh. The urgency of the search slipped from his limbs the moment he touched his bedroll.
Tomorrow he would find Sofia.
Black sand.
A Medah fell beneath his blade, the man’s scream cut short. The King was shouting, his voice hoarse. “Kill them!” An arrow protruded from the royal’s leg. Medoro flung a knife across the space between archer and King, allowing his brother to step into the fray. Raff’s sword was a blur. He cut through limbs and leather armour alike, scattering the enemy.
Medoro followed, deflecting a blow and backhanding a desert-dweller before whipping his blade around to drive it into the fallen man’s chest. Two more steps, two more of the Medah down, and Raff had reached the king.
No more Medah stood.
“Your Majesty, we’re here.” Raff’s face was set as he surveyed the dunes. More of the enemy would come soon, they had to get the king to safety. How had King Otonos and his Honour Guard been separated from the army?
“You do your nation proud. Both of you.” The man breathed hard, sunken eyes blazing. His sword did not waver.
Medoro straightened. “It is our honour, Your Majesty.”
A crashing, muffled.
Chaos woke him, a cracking of rock on rock, the very ground rattling his spine. Shaking off the dream – where it went next was not worth recalling – he stumbled from the tent into the night, calling to Flir.
Both horses pulled on their tethers, snorting. His head was heavy as he knuckled gunk from his eyes and ran to calm them. He stroked his mare’s neck, speaking low. Flir joined him and he left the horse tied to the picket line, dragging himself up the road. A fresh slide covered the path, just beyond the original blockage. Dust settled in the moonlight, darkness cloaking most of the mountain, but the sharp edges of the new fall caught the moon.
“Lucky we weren’t too close.” Flir’s hair was a mess and her eyes were wide.
Notch exhaled. The occasional stone still trickled down, clinking into the gorge. “Are we safe here?”
“I hope so.”
He turned back to his tent but Flir caught his arm, fingers digging into flesh. “Torches.”
He spun. Bobbing yellow lights converged on the slide. Voices hissed commands. A small group of men, faces indistinguishable blurs, worked at the slide a few moments before turning back. Were some of them carrying something away? Notch barely had time to snatch his sword and follow Flir when she leapt after them. They reached the slide in time to see the torches make a turn in the path and then their tread echoed and faded with the light.
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know,” Flir said. “It was too dark, even with the moon. We should follow them.”
“The path’s half-blocked again.”
“It looked like they collected something.”
“It did. Does that mater?”
Flir swore. “I don’t know. How likely is it that a group of people with torches would appear near a rock slide, collect a stone and walk off with it?”
“True enough, but Sofia is at the mansion.”
“We split up until I discover what they’re up to. I can catch up to you, especially if you’re planning to sleep until light. It’s not that far away.”
He hesitated. Flir could look after herself. But sleeping alone on a mountain trail? He was the one in danger, and yet... something was wrong. Whoever appeared in the night had conveniently arrived near the second landslide, which just as conveniently provided them with something they were seeking. Or had they simply examined the rock and turned back? Their journey foiled? No, they collected something.
He smacked his head. “Gods.”
“What is it?”
“The Mountain Gate is supposed to be sealed after dark. How did the men with torches get through unless they left when we did?”
“Following us on official business then?”
If the palace had managed to set someone on their trail, it would pay to learn more. The same was true if it were Vinezi’s men pursuing them. “Can you catch them?”
She grinned in the moonlight, almost bouncing on the spot. “Just you watch.”
Notch ran for their lamp, lit and arranged it on a stable-looking part of the slide. Gentler than the first slide perhaps, it was mostly gravel crunching beneath his feet. The light cast more shadows, but it was better than nothing. “Can you see?”
Flir climbed the wreckage. “It’ll have to do.”
Twice she slipped, rocks clattering into the gorge but with her slight frame, she was able to leap to the road without any trouble. “Sleep well,” she called, and slipped into the shadows beyond the lamplight.
Notch snorted.
Chapter 28
Sofia groaned. Every inch of her body was both on fire and aching, especially her chest, as if tiny demons hammered her bones and organs from the inside. Her eyes fluttered open to darkness around a bright moon. Moving her arm, something cracked. Heat seared through the joint and she froze. Something heavy lay on her legs and a sharp object dug into her side. Moving her other arm to her face, her fingertips came back slick with blood gone black in the night.
Was this the bottom of the gorge? Unlikely. But she’d survived the fall. More strapping pain shot through her limbs. By the Gods, was it even worth surviving?
Light blossomed at the edges of her vision. Slowly, she tilted her head, a rasp escaping her throat. Torches closed in and her pulse skipped a beat. Rescue! Someone from Anaskar was looking for her. Notch? Sofia blinked through tears, salt biting into her lips when the torches reached her. It had to be him, no-one else would be searching. Sofia squinted. Only dark shapes moved above her, one bending to lift her as another removed the weight from her legs.
“I still hear it.” Someone muttered. It took a moment for the words to register. The Renovar language – but what were they hearing? They lifted her and began walking. The jostle of each step sent waves of pain through her body. She nearly bit through her tongue but clung to awareness.
The slight echo of speech from behind a mask.
White faces looked down on her and she croaked a single word.
“No.”
They had her. Didn’t matter who, palace or imposter. Escape, snatched from her grasp. She squeezed her eyes shut. All for nothing. Her injuries, all the trekking through the mountains, for naught.
She drifted in and out of consciousness then; the light never changed and the bumping continued for hours. Nothing else made sense. She was stuck in an endless, bright night, carried on invisible arms with white faces looming above. They never changed though sometimes they spoke.
“Can’t you shut her up?”
“We aren’t that far away. Won’t be our problem soon.”
“Look, just do something. I can’t listen to her bitching no more.”
A moment passed. Or even an hour. “You’re paying for this.”
“Whatever it takes.”
Something was pushed between her teeth. In Anaskari, “Chew. It will make you feel better.”
Sofia pushed her tongue out, trying to stop whoever held her jaw. Her tongue was ungainly, as if a dead fish replaced it in her mouth.
The voice sighed. “Just chew.” Someone squeezed her nose shut, another hand covering her mouth, and only let go when she started to move her jaw. Cool juice flowed over her tongue and down her throat, soothing as it went. She kept chewing, the husk of whatever she ate sliding between her teeth as she ground it down. The longer she chewed the further her pain slid, until she actually smiled. The tiny bone-demons were gone and the air no longer tore at her skin. Her head cleared. Summer flowers filled her nose and she sucked on the last of whatever she’d been given.
Someone laughed. “She liked that.”
The light had slowed, as if moving through water. “It was really good.” Her voice was nearly as far away as the pain, and she lost any reply.
When she woke, it was to a twisting pain in her stomach, one echoed at various points around her body, but a pain somewhat distant. Turning her head wasn’t too bad and her surroundings had lost their blurriness. A fire burned in a hearth, glowing on the tiled floor. Her bed was large where she lay propped on pillows, the canopy a thin white, and close by was a bedside table with steaming broth.
A closed door stood flanked by stands and vases.
Not the palace.
Tapestries hung on the wall that made her blush. In the corner was a large chest carven with lizards and Renovar runes. Her eyes skirted the tapestries. Even an envoy or ambassador would not bring such items with them.
“You’re awake,” a voice observed.
She flinched, crying out as the movement jarred her limbs. It set a throbbing in her head and a fire in her chest. Opposite her bed, furthest from the fire, a large figure detached itself from shadow and came to stand before her, taking up the broth and spoon. The man was heavyset but no sluggard, handling the spoon deftly. “You must be hungry.”
“Where am I? And who are you?” If only she had a weapon. Or the strength to use it. She still wore her sweat-damped clothing beneath the blankets, but Lupo had her chisels.
“I am Vinezi and you are in my home.” His smile was broad, rounding out his cheeks.
In the firelight it was hard to tell, but his skin appeared tan. Anaskari? What kind of traitor blew apart his own people? “Then you’re Lupo’s counterpart.”
His smile held but his brows dipped. “We have common goals, certainly.”
“So you mean to use me also.”
“Most definitely, Sofia. You’re extraordinarily valuable to our cause.”
“I won’t help you.”
He replaced the broth. “You already have.”
“Never.”
“Lupo had a question for you, before he left earlier. You answered. Second Tier I believe.”
Her mind struggled to catch up with his words. “That doesn’t make any...” she trailed off, the pain in her stomach returning. Only now it was joined by a wave of horror. “No. I never chose that.”
Vinezi almost purred. “Well, you had taken quite a large dose of lenasi, I suspect you might have said anything. In fact, I believe the deed has already been done. A building near a market as I recall. The blast was... impressive.”
Tears stung her eyes as struggled with the sheets, but her muscles were watery. She hadn’t chosen. Lupo did it. And would have done it without her. She collapsed, gasping. “Monsters... you’re both monsters.”
“And you have lied to us.” He tapped the spoon on the bowl, as if chiding her for a minor infraction. “Lupo tore your manor apart and found no list.”
“The list is gone,” she spat.
He leaned in. “Where?”
“No-where you’ll find it. It’s the first thing the Protector takes in an attack or crisis.” She breathed deeply before finishing, “And Father will never give it up.”
Vinezi raised an eyebrow. “Debatable.”
“Then you’ve found him?”
“We weren’t looking.”
Sofia sneered. “He would evade you anyway.”
Vinezi shrugged as he moved to the door. “That has yet to be decided. Do be more agreeable when Lupo returns, won’t you? He conceals a temper beneath that lovely voice of his, you know.”
He slipped through the door, pausing to speak a word to someone, no doubt a guard, and then she was alone again. The scent of chicken broth was strong. She raised a hand to dash it to the tiles but stopped. Part of the ache in her stomach must have been from hunger, and she needed her strength. Sofia took bowl and spoon, her fingers just strong enough to hold them, and rested it on her chest, the warmth spreading beneath her skin.
She dipped the spoon but paused. If it were drugged, she was playing into their hands.
But they wanted her able to speak. Otherwise Vinezi would have ordered her taken care of the moment she lied about her father having the tabella. They wanted her for something else. Unless the broth were not drugged, but poisoned. She frowned. Equally unlikely. No point wasting poison on someone so helpless. On someone they had saved bare hours before.
Sofia inhaled deeply. The only scent she caught was one of deliciousness. Many poisons carried little scent, but she hadn’t practised enough to detect them. She wasn’t trained like her father or Tantos. Her stomach rumbled and she let her tongue touch the hot liquid.
She waited.
Nothing. A sip this time. Only the returning aches from her body. No symptoms, only a mouth-watering taste. Still she waited, and the broth had started to cool before she took another spoon. And then another, until she was suddenly scraping the bowl and looking for more. Placing it on the table, Sofia lay back, eyes heavy.
When she again woke, it was to light pouring in through a window opposite the fireplace. In daylight the tapestries were more vivid, and she had to keep her eyes averted.
Another bowl of broth sat on her bedside table, and she’d already wolfed half of it down before the bandage on her hands registered. Someone had changed her clothing and tended her wounds. Her left leg was in a splint, and her shoulder was strapped tight. A poultice was stuck to her temple and both her forearms and hands were bandaged. Her fingers had been left free but they were hard to move.
How many more times would she have to wake up in unfamiliar rooms, her wounds tended to by strangers? Pathetic. She was Casa Falco. And yet time and time again she’d been proven to be weak. Helpless.
The door swung open. A tall Braonn woman walked to the bed, taking the bowl and giving Sofia a hesitant smile. “I hope you sleep well.” The woman’s accent was strong, and she kept her eyes on the floor. What was a Braonn woman, doubtless a runaway, doing working with the Renovar?
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