The Dog in the Dark, page 15
If she left, Osha could say anything for Sgäilsheilleache, and not a word would be spoken for Hkuan’duv.
“We will speak later,” Father whispered. “Go now.”
And he still held out a hand to only Osha.
It was unthinkable to question a request from Father. Confused, hurt, and shunned, Dänvârfij left the heart-root chamber, passing Juan’yâre without a word as she rushed up the stairs.
She was breathing too hard, her head spinning, as she slapped aside the entryway cloth and stepped out of the great tree. She did not acknowledge the startled glances and tension of the anmaglâhk sentries as she rushed past them.
As yet no one else knew that Hkuan’duv and Sgäilsheilleache were dead, but the sentries must know something of great importance had happened. She would not be the one to tell them more. Even if she would have been, her throat burned too much from her racing breaths.
A shift of shadow near one of the oaks ringing the clearing made her breath stop altogether.
Out of the shadow came Brot’ân’duivé.
“A greimasg’äh . . . here?” she whispered to herself.
Never glancing her way, one of the remaining few shadow-grippers like Hkuan’duv strode toward the great oak. Brot’ân’duivé was the tallest man she had ever seen, but he looked travel worn. His forest gray cloak was dusty and marred, with tree needles clinging here and there.
Dänvârfij was only a dozen paces beyond the oak’s entrance. As the greimasg’äh neared Father’s oak, she saw those well-known scars that skipped over his right eye. But his dark face glistened with sweat that caught in the fine creases around his eyes and mouth. Wherever he had come from, it had been a long, hard, and fast journey.
Brot’ân’duivé might still be the greatest among their caste, but he was old for an anmaglâhk. Most of them were counted fortunate to see more than seventy years. He was beyond that, though she did not know his true age.
His expression appeared fixed, cold, and purposeful. She had seen him only a few times in her life but had never spoken to him. It was well-known that the relationship between this greimasg’äh and Father was deeply strained, and Brot’ân’duivé was rarely seen in Crijheäiche anymore.
Dänvârfij turned back as he approached the three sentries. Two of them closed together, blocking the entrance, and the greimasg’äh halted, not blinking as he faced them.
“Move aside,” he ordered.
“Forgive us, Greimasg’äh,” said the left one with a quick bow of his head. “Father is counseling a recently returned caste member, and no one may interrupt.”
Brot’ân’duivé answered in a half whisper, “I know full well who he is . . . counseling.”
The right sentry visibly stiffened.
Even among the caste, not all was known about the Greimasg’äh—the Shadow-Grippers. They had skills that could be learned but never taught. Some claimed that shadow and silence became their very armor and weapons. And if their chosen target ever lost sight of them—if such ever saw a greimasg’äh coming in the first place—that one was quickly dead.
Dänvârfij had more than once asked Hkuan’duv about this. She received only a sad smile and shake of his head for an answer.
“I told you to move,” Brot’ân’duivé said again.
“Please, Greimasg’äh,” said the sentry on the left. “We cannot allow—”
“It is the right and responsibility of a caste elder to look in on those who return without their team. I will not instruct you a third time.”
Dänvârfij did not approve of Brot’ân’duivé’s using his authority in this manner, but he had earned his place among them long ago. All present knew his great deeds for the sake of the people.
The left sentinel stepped aside with a quick nod of respect, but the one on the right did not. In a snapping motion, his left hand darted toward his other sleeve. It never landed.
The path to the door was suddenly clear before the left sentinel back-stepped into a ready position. The other one lay on the ground, gasping for air as he clutched his throat.
Dänvârfij had not even seen the greimasg’äh’s strike. But no one moved into Brot’ân’duivé’s way as he swept through the curtained opening and vanished into the great oak. She stood there helpless, knowing she could not follow without Father summoning her.
An anmaglâhk had tried to draw a weapon upon a revered elder of their caste. And Tosân’leag’s words reverberated in Dänvârfij’s head.
I see churning waters ahead for your caste . . . that may drown us all.
* * *
“Dänvârfij?”
Eywodan’s voice cut through her memories, and she found herself staring at the river running into the ocean. She turned to see him walking toward her, still looking somewhat unfamiliar in his human clothing.
If only she had known back then all that she knew now. With those sentries, she or one of them might have lived long enough to kill the traitor at Father’s entrance.
She waited quietly until Eywodan closed the distance between them.
“The tavern’s keeper said the Cloud Queen left three days before,” he related, “bound for the port of Berhtburh. No passengers remained behind, and I cannot see our quarry having ventured farther into this small settlement. It should be safe to assume they are all still on the ship. Since we left the isle five days behind them, we are closing the distance.”
At least they had a proper gauge of time and distance and the relative speed of both ships. Should Captain Samara not linger long here or in any port along the way, they might overtake the other vessel before it reached its next port.
And the traitor would die first.
Chapter Eight
Back on the deck of the Cloud Queen, Chap had watched Magiere and Leesil head into Berhtburh for the night. He didn’t begrudge Leesil a night ashore or Magiere time alone with her husband. The suggestion on her part had actually been a relief, for she’d sounded like the Magiere of earlier days.
Brot’an was there as well, watching the pair depart.
“I am going below,” he said in Elvish, a statement that dared Chap to challenge him.
Chap didn’t even growl; someone needed to remain aboard to keep watch on the old assassin. By way of answer, he headed for the aftcastle door in indifference, as if he, too, wanted nothing more than a nap in his own cabin.
Brot’an followed him to the bottom of the steep steps, and as Chap padded to the cabin he shared with Leesil and Magiere, he heard Brot’an move on toward the one he shared with Leanâlhâm.
Chap did not actually enter his cabin. Instead he remained outside the door. Rising briefly on his haunches, he pawed down the cabin door’s handle as if attempting to open it.
The door cracked open with a rattle from the handle. When Chap heard the other cabin door close, he waited for two breaths. Certainly Brot’an was listening for another door to close.
Chap rose on his haunches, gripped the door’s handle in his jaws, pushed on the frame with one paw to jerk the door shut. It closed loudly as if shoved from the inside. He waited until muffled voices rose in the other cabin, and then he slinked back to the stairs. Climbing those steep steps without a scrape of claws on wood was tedious.
The Numan sailors on deck had grown accustomed to the sight of him, enough so that none called to the captain or mate when he appeared. Only a few glanced his way as he crept to the aftcastle’s right side, away from the boarding ramp, and searched for a place to hide.
He wriggled into a small space between and behind two large water barrels until his rear end bumped the ship’s rail wall. With a clear view of the ship’s ramp, he settled to wait.
Evening fell into full darkness, but if need be, he would lie there all night. Now and then he peeked out. More sailors drifted off below deck until only two remained on watch, playing cards near the forecastle. Apparently the captain considered Berhtburh a safe port.
The full moon was large in the sky, and after a while Chap’s eyelids drooped. They snapped open again when the aftcastle doorway creaked open. He quickly narrowed them so that any stray light catching his crystal-blue irises would not betray him. Holding his breath, he peeked around one barrel.
A tall form walked quietly toward the ramp down to the pier.
Brot’an was up and about in the night.
Chap never believed for an instant that Brot’an would remain aboard only to keep watch over Leanâlhâm in their cabin. Both sailors at the forecastle looked up from their cards, but they knew the passengers and likely assumed the tall elf, like Magiere and Leesil, was headed into town.
Chap held his breath until Brot’an was down the ramp. Then he scurried across the deck and watched the shadow-gripper head up the pier. A rumble rose in his throat as he hesitated in following.
Leanâlhâm was still so wary of human strangers. What if she left her cabin during the night to find herself with no one but the sailors aboard? It seemed unlikely, and Chap trusted that Captain Bassett and the first mate could handle any problems that might arise. And he had to find out what Brot’an was doing.
As Brot’an stepped off the pier’s base, Chap slunk down the ramp. He stayed in the ship’s shadow until the anmaglâhk master turned north along the waterfront. Fortunately few people were about at night, and he had little trouble avoiding being seen. Three dockworkers were too drunk in their merriment to even notice him rush by along the warehouses. He hurried to catch up as Brot’an continued straight out of town and disappeared into the trees along the rocky shore.
Chap slowed at the fringe of the woods, listening and sniffing until he picked his quarry’s scent. Curiosity grew even before he tracked the old one to a clearing no larger than a wagon.
What could Brot’an possibly want out here?
The shadow-gripper stopped before a spruce tree, tilted in its growth by years of coastal winds. He dropped to one knee on the damp ground near its trunk and reached inside his tunic to grope for something.
Chap crept as close as he dared, until he stood poised behind trees leaning opposite ways and peered through the wedge of space between them. He tried to see what was in Brot’an’s hand, but the shadow-gripper pressed the object against the spruce’s trunk and held it only with two fingers.
Through the darkness, Chap made out part of a tawny oval shape trapped against the bark by Brot’an’s hand. It appeared to be a smoothly polished piece of wood.
Then Brot’an began to speak. “Are you there? Answer me. I do not have much time.”
Chap tensed at the query, thinking he had been spotted, but Brot’an remained on one knee with his head down; he looked at nothing. Chap glanced about, seeing no one else among the trees. To whom was the old assassin speaking?
Brot’an spoke again, and this time clear relief replaced his normally guarded tone.
“I am glad to hear you and that you are well, but much has happened—”
He stopped, as if interrupted, and then . . .
“Cuirin’nên’a, let me finish! Your son is safe, and I watch over him, but Léshil and his purpose are not our only concern. We are still followed by the team Most Aged Father sent, and I do not know how far behind they are. Do not risk exposing yourself, but if you hear word through our underground—anything passed from Most Aged Father to his loyalists—learn more if you can. Tell me whatever you uncover when I contact you again.”
Chap’s eyes were locked wide and unblinking at what he heard. Brot’an had placed a small oval of wood against a tree and appeared to converse with Leesil’s mother . . . a continent away. But Chap could hear only Brot’an.
How was this possible?
He remembered what Magiere had told him of the story Brot’an had shared with her, of how Brot’an had received a message, though the old assassin had been inside Gleann’s tree dwelling and no messenger had come. And now there was that small bit of polished wood.
Was it the key? Did it have something to do with this particular tree? Did the type of tree matter?
However Brot’an accomplished this feat, he could communicate over great distances. This was difficult to imagine, but Chap had seen stranger things among the an’Cróan, such as their living ships, the Päirv��nean.
“There is more,” Brot’an added and then paused. “Yes, Leanâlhâm is with me, but Osha has separated from us . . . by his choice. I believe he stayed in Calm Seatt with the young sage Wynn Hygeorht.”
He paused even longer, perhaps listening to a reply. When he spoke again, his tone was somewhat harsher.
“No, you are wrong! He is not an unknown variable, though we do not know his true place in what will unfold. But Osha can be trusted, even on his own. He will never give us away.”
Brot’an paused again, and his voice softened. “I am right in this. Now you must stay safe. If possible, use our inside agents to learn what you can of this team that follows me. I have eliminated half of them and know some that remain, but until the rest are delivered to our ancestors, you must try to gain any hints of what they relate to Most Aged Father. You will hear from me again when I can get away from the others.”
Brot’an’s eyes closed briefly, and he slumped as if wincing in pain or some deep sorrow.
It all left Chap wondering what Leesil’s mother had said.
“Yes, still . . . always,” Brot’an whispered, perhaps confirming something, and he finished with, “In silence and in shadow.”
Chap swallowed back a growl at that litany. No matter how Brot’an dressed, no matter whom among his own caste he murdered, he was—and always would be—anmaglâhk.
Brot’an’s hand slid tiredly off the spruce. He tucked the oval of tawny wood back into his tunic before he rose.
Chap belly-crawled in against the base of a tree as Brot’an passed right by where he hid.
* * *
Returning toward the waterfront of Berhtburh, Brot’ân’duivé walked purposefully through the rocky shore’s woods. He could not stop thinking of all that he had left back home, all he had left Cuirin’nên’a and the other dissidents to face without him.
His adamant response to her questioning of Osha’s trustworthiness had surprised him. Even he did not truly know what lay ahead for the young man. Pausing, he put his hand against a tree to give himself a moment to just breathe.
Osha was not a dissident, Anmaglâhk or otherwise. He was also not one of Most Aged Father’s inner circle of loyalists. Osha appeared to fit nowhere in the scheme of things that could be clearly perceived.
Brot’ân’duivé did not like unknown factors or being left in the dark. Perhaps it was best that Osha had disobeyed and remained behind with Wynn Hygeorht. Perhaps this was somehow intended.
Brot’ân’duivé no longer regretted having been forced to take Osha from his people. Not after it was clear that Most Aged Father would turn loyalists against other anmaglâhk in pursuit of his goals. Osha would have been caught in the middle.
Closing his eyes and feeling his age bearing down on him, Brot’ân’duivé leaned harder against the tree. The weight of it was as heavy as his fatigue on that night he had stepped into the heart-root of the ancient oak where Osha was alone and “counseled” by Most Aged Father. . . .
* * *
Brot’ân’duivé never glanced back to see whether any sentries still standing followed him. He rapidly descended the steps into the earth, but he questioned the wisdom of a recent decision.
Upon arriving in Crijheäiche a full day ago, he had considered pressing on via the Hâjh River to Ghoivne Ajhâjhe on the coast. If he had, he might have intercepted Osha before the young one reached Most Aged Father. But he had not known whether Osha would be brought by barge or on foot at a run through the forest. So he had waited, and it had not been as long as he had expected.
By the time one of Brot’ân’duivé’s dissident anmaglâhk came to him out in the trees beyond Crijheäiche, Osha was already approaching the settlement by barge. Brot’ân’duivé had not been quick enough to intercept the barge before it landed, and though exhausted, he now descended into Most Aged Father’s domain in full haste.
Osha had no idea what had happened in his absence, that the caste was divided in more ways. Even among the Anmaglâhk there had been a handful of active dissidents for many years before Brot’ân’duivé had joined them after Léshil’s birth. Now there were others—the loyalists, as he called them—who swung the other way in secret as well.
These fanatics had become more than a counterfaction to the dissidents.
The dissidents among the people—anmaglâhk and not—disapproved of Most Aged Father’s using the caste to start civil wars and seed political discord among the human nations. More than a thousand years ago, it was said—mostly by Most Aged Father—that the Ancient Enemy had used and harnessed humans and then turned them against the allied forces.
Most Aged Father believed that enemy would return—was returning.
Directing the human nations’ suspicions upon each other was no longer about turning their curious eyes away from the people’s territories. It had become something more.
Most Aged Father sought to decrease the humans’ numbers before that enemy rose again.
Brot’ân’duivé harbored no love for humans. Neither did he believe in some subtle attempt at genocide. What would happen should any powerful faction among the humans learn of the new goal of the Anmaglâhk, the loyalists?
Retribution.
Most Aged Father’s paranoia endangered his own people, but the loyalists among the Anmaglâhk followed him in this, even unto turning upon their own caste. Among the few clan elders who sympathized with the dissidents enough to be warned by them, none were yet alarmed enough to openly pull down Most Aged Father.
Yet more of the people at large were beginning to silently, secretly take sides.
Brot’ân’duivé did not know where all of this would lead. He knew only that Most Aged Father was mad and must be removed. But more than this, if the Ancient Enemy did return, it would only drive the people to fear. And they would turn to Most Aged Father for protection.
