The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 48
Sofia squinted, holding a breath and releasing it slowly. The room grew steady, though her arms were still damp with sweat.
“And this fugitive?”
“A rogue Mask. Others were sent after him, they would have been here before us. We think he’s passed through or beyond Avaon.”
“That I do not believe.”
“It’s the truth. Surely someone saw other searchers?”
Efran drove his foot into Notch’s ribs. Sofia cried out and the tall man glanced at her, but Efran bent by the gasping Notch. “You are in Avaon to cause discord. No Mask has been seen in or near Avaon. Try again.”
Notch pulled himself back upright, but said nothing, only glaring up at Efran.
“Answer me.”
“I have no answer to satisfy you. You’ve already made up your mind.”
Efran nodded to the tall man, who gripped Notch by the shoulders, holding him down. Then the tattooed man approached Sofia. A knife appeared in his hand and she blinked – was there a yellow glow in his veins? Sofia shrank back. The glow faded. Perhaps she’d imagined it? “So, young lady. Let’s see if you will be more forthcoming?”
“No,” Notch shouted, struggling.
“Mor, hold him.” Efran turned back to lift her chin with the point of his blade. “Now, tell me your purpose. On whose orders do you and your cana come?”
Cana. Braonn for ‘Mask.’ She swallowed, throat dry. Speaking was an effort. “The man we chase is powerful.”
“So powerful that you require two special cana? Unlikely.” He dug the point in deep enough to free a trickle of blood. “Tis you two here as Mascare, are you not?”
She tried again but only croaked. Efran shouted for water, and a guard brought a cup. She drank and breathed easier. “No. We seek a fugitive. We tracked him to the Autumn Grove, where we lost the trail.”
He stared into her eyes. “As I suspected.” He withdrew the knife and straightened. “Very well, until tomorrow, when we will talk again. With company.”
“Company?”
Mor joined Efran, who paused on the stair. “Your reticence means I must resort to other measures to learn the truth. And I don’t want to dirty my hands.” He opened the trapdoor and the two left, slamming the lid as they went.
Notch hobbled over. “You’re sweating too much.”
“There isn’t much pain right now at least. How are you?”
“It’s nothing. But you’ll need more water.”
“I won’t hold my breath waiting for them to bring us any.”
“They want us alive long enough to talk at least.”
“But we can’t tell them anything.”
“Then we’d better think of something good,” he said. “Efran will have someone torture us, where he’ll pit us against one another. Using my pain to make you talk and the other way around.”
Sofia closed her eyes. “Even though we know nothing.”
“Yes.” Notch sat back and swore. “This is my fault. I thought it would be safer here – it always was before.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It feels like the beginning of an attack. They’re closing down the wood, pushing foreigners out and barring access. Weaning off trade. I’d be surprised if the amount of indentured servants hasn’t dropped too.”
Could it be true? Father would know. And here she was, stuck in a hole in the forest, with no way to be certain, no way to warn anyone of anything. Facing torture and death at the hands of furious Braonn. “They risk everything. It would mean war, outright war.”
“Not something Anaskar can afford, with Renovar on the seas. But I don’t think the Braonn would launch a large-scale attack. It would be something quieter.” Notch smiled, and Sofia smiled back at his attempt at reassurance. The expression was more one of sadness, but he was dear to try. Like Father would have.
“An assassination?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Not that they wouldn’t feel they have cause.”
“I still don’t want them killing Seto.”
“Me either.”
“So what now?”
“Now I get to work, scraping these ropes against the stone.”
“Good idea.” Sofia dragged her bindings across the floor, the quiet rasp seeming so ineffectual. Sweat dripped to the stone as she worked and the night wore on.
Chapter 17
As much as escape loomed in his dreams, there was the Egg too. Large, gold, beautiful, clamouring for attention. Beating like a heart, or a persistent wind. Over Schan’s worries and an echo from the strange offer from the King of the Devils, Ain stared at the dungeon’s stronghold.
Within waited the Egg. Its song was muted, but it slipped between the bars nonetheless. The strange creature, whose skin changed, had not appeared again. But it was out there too, somewhere. Waiting.
“Ain, are you listening, lad?”
Schan stood before him, face expectant. Ain shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
The warrior held a bowl of water. “I asked if you were thirsty.”
Ain accepted it and drank deeply. “Yes, I was. Thank you.”
“You were thinking about it again, weren’t you.”
He nodded. “Who else will protect it? It needs help.”
“So do we,” Schan said, controlling his voice. “Ask to see the King again. We can use his offer to escape. Or better, to strike him while we do so.”
A door clanged open and two guards marched a prisoner down the cells. The man was snarling and muttering meaningless words. Upon catching sight of Ain and Schan, the fellow screeched, pointing a dirty finger at them. One of the guards thumped him and he fell silent.
Before tossing the prisoner into a nearby cell, the guard snatched a pack from the man and marched it to the storeroom. He’d barely opened the door when he stumbled back, throwing his hands up.
A fiery yellow shape streaked from the room and angled for Ain’s cell. He fell back as it slipped through the bars, feathers fluttering, coming to rest on his shoulder. A bird? He froze, but it only adjusted its heavy claws and clicked its beak. Ain turned his head, a tiny movement, coming eye-to-eye with the bright bird.
The pupil expanded, ringed white. Its beak was a milky brown, hooked at an orange tip. Close up, it looked to have a big wingspan but he could hardly measure it.
The guards shouted and pointed, but Ain paid them no heed. A slender hand, a bare mottling of light, slipped into the cell near the floor, dragging a fallen feather through the bars. The creature tucked it away somewhere, because the feather disappeared as a rippling of light receded into the shadows. Biding its time. The creature wanted the bird.
Was it some manner of egg-snatcher? The fell-lizard in the desert was the same.
But the bird was safe now. Ain smiled at the magnificent creature. Warmth spread through his chest. Nothing could come between them. “I’ll protect you.”
The bird clapped its beak.
Schan crept closer. “Beautiful.”
Ain held up his hand, but the bird didn’t hop on. It flexed its claws and remained in place. One of the guards had already left, the other staying back to watch. Ain straightened. His limbs tingled, muscles bunching as his pulse jumped. The cell grew lighter. Or could he see clearer in the dark all of a sudden?
“Something’s changing,” he said.
“What?”
“I feel different. Like in the passage, when I held the egg. It refreshed me.” Ain flexed his fingers. If only a rock was in reach; he’d try crushing it. “I see more clearly, for one. Both with my eyes and to the shape of the paths.” They remained a mess, but they extended so much further now – out into a strange, slithering darkness that swallowed each path. Was that the limits of his new vision or something else?
“So the bird’s doing it?”
“Have you heard of anything like that before?”
“None of our legends speak of such a thing.”
“Hmmm.” Ain shifted. There was no fear, it lay muffled beneath a wondrous golden blanket, and yet...“The beak is quite close to my face.”
“Yes, it is.” Was Schan grinning?
“It’s not funny. It could be dangerous.”
“She looks calm to me.”
“She? How can you tell?”
“I just can. And she likes you anyway.”
“Thank the Sands,” he said. “But I think I agree.” He gazed at her. How beautiful her beak, the fierce eyes and magical feathers. All he had to do was keep her safe, even if it cost him his life...his life? Ain frowned. Too far. Sands, how difficult it was to keep control of his thoughts.
New footfalls echoed down the block. A familiar guard, Giovan, marched up to the cell. His eyes widened at the bird, then he cast a look of suspicion over Ain and Schan. The Warrior glared back and Ain took a step forward. Giovan raised an eyebrow but only conferred with his fellow soldier, one of which pointed to the guard room, then back to Ain.
“What are they up to then?” Schan said.
“They want her too, no doubt. I won’t let them take her.”
“Careful. You might not have a choice.”
He turned to face Schan and the bird adjusted its grip. “I can’t.”
Schan said nothing.
The door to the cell block opened again and a man in red robes and white mask of bone appeared. His step slowed when he saw the bird, and he moved forward to grip the bars, ignoring the guards.
“You. Where did you find the bird?” The man’s Medah was fair, though it sounded as though he’d not spoken the language for a long time. His voice was flat, almost toneless.
“An egg. And she is staying with me.”
The Mask tilted. “And where did you find the egg?”
Ain moved a step closer. The Mask wasn’t simply demanding the bird, as he might well have. Was he afraid? “What does it matter?”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“It has you.” The mask turned and left without another word.
Ain turned to Schan. “What does he mean?”
“The egg had a hold on you, Ain. Why not the bird?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I think we’ll find out soon enough. That Mask will return.”
And return the mask did.
Only now King Oseto walked beside the Mascare. Enough time had passed between visits, the bright bird only occasionally shifting its weight, that Schan had been able to try convince him to take the King’s offer once again. His friend knew where to press. Silaj. His unborn child. He might see them again. Still Ain hesitated. Going home as a failure. How differently they’d see him. Those Pathfinders that returned were ruined, treated as useless.
But if he stayed in Anaskari, and waited for a chance to strike...
Maybe.
The King stopped before the cell. His eyes were all-knowing. “So, Pathfinder. Solave. Bird of the Sun. I am impressed with your resolve, misplaced though it seems to be.”
“How so?”
“You don’t seem ready for her power.” The King raised an arm, pursing his lips. A musical whistle followed, something that gave Ain pause. The bird leapt from his arm and flew directly to the King’s wrist, whistling in response. The same tune. The bird kept whistling and the King smiled at it. “Hello, little one.”
Ain gaped. His heart had flown across the cell and he staggered as the warmth left his body. The cell was darker, dirtier. Beauty was gone. He caught the bars. “She’s mine.”
The Guard and Mask flanked the King, who stepped back smoothly. “She belongs to no-one. But you belong to her.”
Cold steel bit into his shoulder as he pressed himself into the bars. “Return her to me.”
Giovan snickered.
Ain growled but Schan took his arm. “Steady, lad.”
King Oseto stroked the bird, which nuzzled his hand. “And now, once again I will make a generous offer. Help me find what I seek and you and your Warrior will be set free.”
Ain snarled. “Give her to me.”
The King held his gaze a moment, then shook his head. “Very well.” He turned to drift from the cell, whispering to the bird as he left, accompanied by the Mask.
“Sands bury you!” Ain slammed his body into the bars, grasping after the bird, shouting, screaming, curses mixed in with his gasps. Blood thundered in his ears and he shrugged off hands that tugged at him from every corner, throat hoarse when something knocked him to the cold stone.
A haze of rage cleared.
He blinked up at Schan’s worried face.
“Here.” Schan helped him into a sitting position. Ain spat blood, but the strength flowed from his body with each new tear. How could she leave him? And to go with the King of the devils, Sands why? Did she truly possess him? A terrible emptiness filled his chest.
Giovan had turned back to the other guards, who spoke a moment, then as one, reached for the torches. One at a time, each torch was snuffed, until only a single point of light remained, bobbing toward the door.
Groans and curses came from other cells but Ain only stared into the dark, Schan’s words as tiny, useless things.
She was gone.
Chapter 18
Seto paced before the open window while he waited for Wayrn. A welcome chill kept him alert where wind swept up from the black rooftops below, blending into evening shadow. Sooner or later, he needed an unbroken night’s sleep. But some conversations could not wait.
He turned at a faint sound from the corner of the room.
The Solave. Magnificent Bird of the Sun. Not seen in perhaps two decades by his best guess. He knew of a Solave’s love of music and the fact that they’d been revered since the time of the Landing, but little else. She had a power, that much was clear. The Solave stirred in her cage, hidden beneath a large, dark drop cloth. Best that she remain hidden. And he could feed her later. He took a step forward. Although, if he did so now he could concentrate on –
Stone slid across stone and a tapestry picturing the Great Landing billowed.
Wayrn stepped from the hidden passage. “Seto.” His eyes were weary and while his black clothing appeared to have been brushed, traces of webbing remained on his shoulders and his boots were damp.
“How was your trip?” Seto took up a glass of fire-lemon and handed it over.
Wayrn accepted the drink and sipped, giving a small sigh when he moved to stand in front of the fire. “Fruitless, for the most part. I did find Kael and his band of children but they’ve seen nothing of Vinezi.”
Seto frowned. “As expected. You said, ‘for the most part’?”
“Well, they mentioned another beast.”
“As the one you and Notch dispatched some time ago?”
“Yes. Only, this one wasn’t as large to hear them tell it. They thought it walked upright.”
“Hmmm. This bears investigating, though it is not your first concern of course.”
“I’ll tell the Shield we’re going back down there,” he said, a sigh implicit if not present in his voice.
“I know you feel your talents are not being...utilised to their fullest, Wayrn, but you have contacts beneath the city now.”
“I understand.”
“Well, do not rush away. Take the remainder of tonight to rest and renew your search tomorrow.” He paused. “The children truly had no information of use?” He’d been relying on them more than he’d like to admit.
“There’s a new ‘watcher’ they thought I should speak to but I couldn’t locate him. He’s supposed to forage near one of the harbour mouths.”
“He’s a Scrapper?”
“Yes, though he calls himself a Watcher. He appears to be proud of it too,” Wayrn said, and this time the sigh escaped. “Kael seems to think this Bodol fellow would know if anyone tried to enter the city via the underground.”
“I’ve not heard of him.” That in itself was unusual. Seto took another sip. “Take care when you return.”
“I’ll take some steel with me too, Seto.”
“As you should. Enjoy your respite, Wayrn. I expect another report the moment Bodol is found.”
Wayrn bowed and returned to the ways.
Seto tapped a finger on his own glass of Fire-Lemon a moment, then left his chambers. Time for his next meeting. Easier if he made everyone come to him but there was something to be said for the charm of surprise. He waved off his guards and strode down the corridors, slowing as he approached Abrensi’s quarters.
Had he forgotten something? The memory of claws gripping his wrist hit, strong enough that he turned half a step. Was the Bird of the Sun truly safe, hidden in his rooms? The cage, was it shut? Had he opened it before Wayrn arrived? Perhaps if he checked on it just before he spoke to the Storm Singer...Seto shook his head. “No, little one, your charms are strong but not strong enough,” he whispered.
His two kingdoms needed him, one powerful bird atop was too much. It had already ensnared Ain, it would have no more thralls.
“How exciting it is to have more problems than answers,” he muttered.
“Sire?” One of the Shields on the door looked to him.
“Nothing, my good man. Is Abrensi in?”
“He is, Your Majesty.” Both guards reached to open the Storm Singer’s doors.
Seto swept inside. Of all his problems, the Solave was one which would wait. The corpse of the Sea Beast was a bigger fish, in every sense of the word, and Abrensi was about to earn his keep once more. Besides which, the visit was overdue – for his own reasons – even if Abrensi had been requesting to speak with him for days now. Of course, a King’s tardiness might be expected.
The Storm Singer’s room overflowed with musical instruments. Flutes and pipes, hand drums and sets of polished stones with tiny mallets in silver settings. Seto paused at a magnificent harp that dominated an entire corner of the room. Its strings gleamed in the lamplight, the gold foil worked into the huge bones. Much finer than his own instrument, locked away in the Harper. His fingers itched, but he did not touch it. Even had playing been a choice, one never touched another musician’s instruments uninvited.
The rest of the furniture stood crammed into corners and had been set aside, or more often, become resting places for more instruments, including several he did not recognise.
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