Beyond the Pool of Stars Page 20

  Alderra Galanor always had a plan, but it hadn’t saved her this time. Somewhat dully, Ivrian realized he was the head of the family now. Someday, perhaps soon, he would have to find some woman with whom to produce an heir. Gods. He couldn’t even adopt, for fear the inheritance might be contested and the property handed on to some remote cousin.

  He realized, too, that he was now effectively an agent of the Sargavan government, and that all of the others were his employees. Probably, then, the best action would have been to back Heltan. The success of the mission was his responsibility. They had what they needed, and to venture deeper into the jungle toward an enemy stronghold was probably a little mad.

  Yet he didn’t want Gombe’s smiling face planted forever on the end of a boggard stake, and he didn’t want grumpy Tokello tortured and eaten.

  And so he followed along in a fog, wiping both sweat and tears from his face.

  A half hour into the jungle, Kalina found the first of the boggard snares, a tripwire that would have swung a limb stuck with spines into their chests. She guided them past that and two others before motioning them quiet. She and Jekka then split up to survey the terrain. Mirian had the rest of them ready their weapons, urging them to remain silent.

  Jekka was the first back, returning to crouch beside the spade-leafed olanga bush that shielded them.

  He pitched his voice so low Ivrian had to strain to hear him. “The village is close. Your healer and Salvager Gombe are being tied to stakes, and the boggard chieftain is walking back and forth before them. We haven’t much time.”

  “He’ll boast a little before he gets to the torture,” Mirian said.

  A moment later Kalina materialized out of the brush. She whispered her report. “There are many more scouts posted than I’d usually see.” She showed her teeth in pride. “I think they fear us. They are on high alert.”

  “Are any of the scouts close?” Mirian asked.

  “One is very near.

  “I want him alive,” Mirian said.

  “Alive?” Jekka hissed. He seemed to find the idea abhorrent.

  “I want to know numbers. And I want them fast. Unless you don’t think you can capture him.”

  “There is no need for insult.” Jekka drifted soundlessly away. Kalina let out a gentle coughing laugh and followed.

  Ivrian listened intently, but apart from the swish of something moving through a nearby bush, nothing disturbed the omnipresent trilling of jungle creatures. It seemed only moments later that Jekka and Kalina returned dragging one of the hideous frog-people. They tossed the boggard roughly to the ground, and Jekka leveled the spear end of his staff at its throat.

  “Shelyn guard me,” Ivrian said, surprised at how strained his voice sounded. “It reeks.”

  The boggard goggled at them with huge eyes. Its mottled gray flesh was slick, completely naked save for a filthy loincloth.

  “Rendak,” Mirian said, “stand watch. Kalina, scout the perimeter.”

  Both stepped away, and Mirian turned to the boggard. “What are your numbers?”

  Jekka translated for her.

  The boggard’s pointed teeth gleamed as it jabbered, then Jekka spoke calmly. “Hundreds are hunting you. Soon they will creep up from behind and we will feast.”

  “Your people are food for vermin,” Mirian replied. “We killed them. How many are left?”

  The boggard’s eyes shifted up to Jekka while he relayed her words. Then he looked at Mirian and gabbled some more. Ivrian thought his voice had taken on a wheedling quality, and Jekka’s response bore that out.

  “I did not realize you were so powerful. Do you seek to conquer our lands? Surely such mighty warriors need guides. Servants.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then you will not kill me?”

  “Not if you give us truth.”

  “Oh, you can trust Uthla.” It showed its teeth in what might have been an attempt at a reassuring smile. “I will give you truths! What would you know? How may I serve?” Jekka paused in his translation. “He is lying.”

  “I’m sure,” Mirian said. “Ask him what is being done with my people.”

  Jekka asked, listened, then answered: “The chief is asking them of their numbers and their plans before they’re cooked. He says they wouldn’t do that since you our friends now.”

  “Since we’re allies now, ask him how many of our new friends await in the village?”

  “Two dozen. He isn’t sure,” Jekka said. “And I think he may be telling the truth this time.”

  Mirian looked to Jekka. “Very well. Knock him out.”

  Jekka promptly dove his spear through the boggard’s throat. The boggard thrashed like a fish on a line as it bled out.

  Ivrian gasped in surprise.

  “I said to knock him out!” Mirian snapped.

  Jekka’s head turned, though the rest of his posture remained rigid. “I did.”

  “I meant to render him unconscious!”

  “Oh.” Jekka withdrew his spear and stared at the still twitching body. Its absurdly long tongue lolled out of its hideous mouth. “Why?”

  “I gave my word not to kill him if he spoke the truth!”

  “You said you would not kill him,” Jekka said. “I made no such promise.”

  Mirian scowled. “You might have a future as a lawyer.”

  The lizard man looked confused by Mirian’s anger. Ivrian sought quickly for a means of explanation. “If she speaks for the group, her word binds us all.”

  Jekka considered this, then bobbed his head toward Mirian. “I have dishonored you. I apologize.”

  Mirian nodded slowly as Kalina returned. She took in the dead boggard, then cleared away brush and insects on the jungle floor and quickly sketched out a map of the village with one long finger. She pointed to where the primary huts lay, where most of the boggards were clustered, and where Gombe and Tokello were staked—near the village center, naturally.

  Ivrian was all for getting the people out, but he didn’t have an inkling of how they could pull it off until Mirian removed, with infinite care, the ruby lizardfolk heads she’d taken from the hall of treasure.

  “You activate these by pressing their frills. Or by roughly jostling them. Kalina, take Ivrian to a tree overlooking the village to the south. Jekka, take your brother to a tree overlooking a village to the north. Kill any scouts you spot along the way.”

  “Yes,” Kalina said. Jekka nodded.

  “Give Jekka a slow fifty count because his position’s further out, then throw these heads to the jungle floor.”

  Jekka hissed. “I begin to like this plan. The boggards will run to investigate, but their numbers will be split.”

  “That’s my hope.”

  “And we will slice them down as they come.”

  “Right. Rendak and I will reach the center and cut our friends free. If we don’t survive this, it’s been an honor. If it goes wrong, no more rescue attempts. Get back to the shore with your lives and the treasure, which must be returned to the baron himself. Is that clear?”

  “Too damned clear,” Rendak agreed.

  The lizardfolk bobbed their heads, birdlike.

  “All right.” Mirian handed over a cloth-wrapped packet to Ivrian, who accepted the carvings gingerly, then passed on another to Heltan. “Let’s do this.”

  23

  The River Run

  Mirian

  As plans went, it wasn’t one of her best. Apart from having smaller numbers, they were on enemy ground that might be littered with traps her scouts hadn’t detected.

  In their favor was surprise, the natural cowardice of the boggards, and the sheer audacity of the attack. At least Mirian hoped it was audacity. She supposed that’s what Ivrian would call it if she succeeded.

  Rendak waited with her, sword ready, still as death no matter the sweat trickling down his face. Both stared past the single bush that separated them from the west end of the village and a half-dozen mud-daub huts. Leaning to the left, Mirian could
just see the backs of a crowd of boggards listening to their chieftain harangue Tokello and Gombe. She would have liked to have known what they were saying, although she couldn’t imagine any circumstance when she would have occasion to learn their language. She wondered if some Pathfinder, somewhere, had done so.

  Mirian’s fingers tightened on the wand in her right hand. It wasn’t the fighting she hated so much, but the waiting beforehand.

  All at once the sound of lizardfolk laughter rolled out from the south side of the camp. Mirian saw the boggards rise up and search the brush, and then an even larger burst of lizardfolk laughter erupted into laughter from the north.

  The chieftain roared. Boggards grabbed spears and charged away.

  “Now,” she said, and she and Rendak were running as one down the lane of huts.

  In no time at all they’d arrived at the central clearing. Tokello and Gombe were knotted by neck and wrists to blackened poles. Gombe, facing her, lit up with more amazement than delight.

  Five boggards remained, including the chieftain. Two were poking fingers at Tokello’s robed stomach, almost like butchers evaluating a steer to find the best cut of meat.

  Mirian’s luck held with the wand this time. Acid streamed forth and blew one boggard’s eye into glowing emerald ruin. The creature fell, gobbling even as Mirian pivoted and aimed at the chieftain.

  He stood a head taller than the others, and was nearly twice as wide. She caught him as one of his bodyguards frantically grabbed his shoulder.

  He howled and clutched the bubbling mark in his chest, then howled all the more as the fingers touching the injury began to burn.

  Mirian tried to fire a third time, but it didn’t work, so she thrust the wand into its holster and charged the chieftain’s guards.

  Boggards were inveterate cowards, and these two had seen her work magics that burned their leader. They turned and bounded toward the greenery. Their chieftain screeched plaintively after them.

  Mirian slashed through his head.

  He dropped, spewing blackish-red blood. Mirian scanned their surroundings, found no boggards watching. She whirled to see how Rendak fared.

  She needn’t have worried: her first mate was more than a match for two boggards. Both of the amphibians were down and twitching, and Tokello was already free, somewhat dazedly rubbing her wrists.

  “Glad you showed up,” Gombe said. “This ceremonial necklace was a little tight.” He made a good show at sounding casual, but his voice shook a little.

  Rendak cut his friend’s rope free as Mirian heard the boggards calling to one another. Their heavy bodies crashed through the brush.

  “Are you good to run?” Mirian asked.

  “I think so.” Tokello shook her head in wonder, deep voice thick with gratitude. “May Gozreh bless you, Mirian. I should have known you’d come back for me.”

  “Well, unless we get moving, we may still be on the menu,” Rendak said. “Come on!”

  They ran, Rendak leading. Mirian drifted a little to the rear, wand at the ready.

  Within half a league they were joined by Heltan and Jekka, who reported that the boggards were still scattered. There was no sign of Ivrian or Kalina until they reached the tower, where they found the two already waiting.

  Mirian, Gombe, Rendak, and Tokello slipped on the haversacks while the others grabbed what little remained intact among their survival gear. Seeing Heltan struggle with the bag that held his books, Ivrian shouldered it.

  And then they were off, for Mirian assured them the boggards wouldn’t remain disorganized forever.

  She was right.

  They had their first sign of them as Rendak and the lizardfolk wrestled their raft out of the weed bank. A spear arched out of the woods and stood quivering along the rail. The tip glistened—no doubt dipped in some form of poison.

  Mirian whipped around and leveled the wand. Hoping to cow their pursuers, she blasted an innocent bush into melting ruin.

  It bought them enough time to slip the raft into the river and board it, but it didn’t deter the boggards from their next rush. The expedition had poled almost to the middle when boggards erupted from the forest. Some hurled spears. Others leapt into the water.

  Most of the weapons fell short. One struck the raft near Ivrian’s foot.

  Gombe turned to call back at them. “Nothing but your own meat for your pots tonight!”

  But his gloating proved premature. The boggards proved faster in the water than they were on land, closing until they were only a few body lengths from the raft.

  More spears rained down, one taking Tokello in the side and sending her stumbling into the rail.

  Mirian grabbed for the healer. Her fingers brushed Tokello’s robe but failed to grasp it as the older woman plunged over the side into the murky water. Even as Mirian cried out Tokello’s name and stretched down for her, pain exploded through her shoulder. She gasped, back arching, and twisted her neck to find a boggard spear lodged beside her shoulder blade. Blood welled as she pulled it out.

  Tokello shouted. The healer had managed to grab hold of the raft to keep from being swept away.

  Around her, the water began to churn.

  Poor Tokello didn’t even have time to scream as the piranha closed in.

  Behind the raft, boggards broke off their pursuit, swimming frantically for shore lest they fall prey to the ravenous school. Of Tokello, there was no sign, other than the furiously boiling water.

  Sobbing in pain and remorse, Mirian rolled from the edge. “Tokello,” she mouthed, though she couldn’t hear. The world was growing shaky.

  Ivrian snatched up her wand and shouted the activation word again and again. As Rendak dragged her from the raft’s edge. She saw Ivrian loosing deadly acid blasts at the boggards lining the receding shore.

  She had the sense that they grounded on the far side, heard Rendak reassuring her that she’d be all right. And then everything whirled away into velvety blackness, free of stars, pain, and fallen friends.

  24

  Blood Ties

  Mirian

  Mostly she slept deeply, without dreams. Sometimes she woke to find scaled faces leering over her, jabbering and flashing teeth. Other times she found herself floating past dancing trees. Once her mother walked at her side and sang a mournful Bas’o lullaby.

  She was too tired to care that her name was called until it grew more and more insistent. Mirian opened her eyes to discover Kellic leaning toward her. That couldn’t be. Kellic hadn’t gone into the jungle.

  Yet as her consciousness shambled in the direction of lucidity, she understood that he, at least, was real. She lay on a ship’s bed built near a bulkhead, the air laced with salt and a faint reek from a distant bilge.

  She tried sitting up. Immediately stars bloomed in her field of vision.

  A green hand settled on her arm, steadying her. She followed it up the scaled arm flecked with orange to a bare shoulder, then shifted to take in a reptilian snout and two unwinking amber eyes. “Jekka. Where’s Kellic?”

  Her voice was the faintest whisper. Why was she so weak?

  “I’m right here.” Kellic shifted back into view. He sounded petulant. “You need medicine and Jekka won’t let you take any.”

  “I don’t trust him or his mate,” Jekka said.

  Kellic’s mate? Mirian maneuvered the fluffy scarlet pillows piled on the narrow mattress and managed to prop herself upright against them. Kellic rattled on about his frustrations: how he didn’t want to hurt Jekka, but that he’d have to order sailors to march him out if the lizard man wouldn’t let Mirian be treated. None of it quite made sense, and didn’t seem particularly important.

  “Where am I?” she asked hoarsely. “Where’s the rest of my team?”

  “This is the Wayfarer, Sylena’s father’s ship.” The deck planks creaked as Kellic knelt beside her. “She came looking for us, praise be to Desna, and anchored off the coast until your men stumbled out of the jungle with you.”

  It too
k Mirian a moment to understand he meant Sylena had come looking, not the ship. Her comprehension was slowed, but she didn’t like the sound of Sylena’s involvement. And Kellic still hadn’t answered the most important question. “What about my team?”

  “The humans are in quarantine, under the orlop deck,” Kellic said, then hurried on: “Sylena says they’ve been exposed to sensun fever and are still suffering the effects. You’re lucky you don’t have it, too. You’re very weak from some injuries.” He pointed at the lizard man. “And Jekka here won’t let you drink any of Sylena’s broth.”

  It took a great deal of concentration to draw conclusions from that information, and she saw Kellic fidgeting under her stare. “What about the rest of the lizardfolk?”

  “We do not have this fever,” Jekka said. “I do not think the humans have this fever, either. And we are only hours out from Crown’s End. We will have a proper healer look over you there.”

  Sensible, she thought, and while Kellic protested she forced her tired brain to sift through the information she’d heard. She ached abominably, especially her shoulder, and her face felt flushed.

  “Kellic.” He didn’t stop talking, so she was forced to raise her voice. “Kellic!”

  Finally he closed his mouth and looked at her.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that Sylena happened to turn up looking for you? How did she know where you were?”

  “She felt like taking the ship out,” Kellic said. “It was pure chance—lucky chance.”

  “Or she’s a Chelish spy,” Mirian said.

  Kellic scoffed.

  “Where’s the treasure, then?”

  “In the chests in her cabin,” Kellic said. “For safekeeping.”

  Mirian stared at him.

  “She’s not a spy!”

  Mirian massaged her temples. “Ancestors, grant him sight.”

  “Ancestors.” He snorted derisively.

  “Kellic, Sylena could scarcely be in a better position. She’s locked up my team and taken the treasure.”

  “They’re not locked up!”

  “They are,” Jekka said.