Chapter 35

“I wish you’d stop messing with that thing.”

Shavala looked up from where she was sitting cross-legged with the staff laid across her lap. “It’s not saying anything now,” she told Katrin.

“It’s a hunk of wood—it shouldn’t have said anything at all! It’s creepy.”

Shavala stood and leaned the staff against the wall, then went to sit next to the other woman. “It was more like it was thinking than talking. It just didn’t like what I was doing.”

“What if it happens again?”

She didn’t have an answer.

Corec peered through the open doorway, then came in when he saw them there. “Are you all right?” he asked Shavala. “Marco said you were injured, and Boktar said he didn’t see you cast any spells during the fight. He was worried something had happened to you.”

“I’m fine now. It was nothing, but I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Katrin said. “Tell him what happened.”

Shavala sighed and looked down. “It was the staff.”

“What do you mean?” Corec asked. “What sta— ... the staff you found in the ruins?”

“It didn’t want me to cast any spells.”

“It hurt her!” Katrin said.

Corec furrowed his brow. “Wait. Why? How? It isn’t magic; I checked it myself.”

“It must be some sort of magic!” Katrin exclaimed. “It’s been talking to her!”

“Not talking, exactly,” Shavala said. “When I first took it, it was showing me visions of things it’s seen in the past. I think it’s druid magic. Elven druid magic.”

“Then why would it hurt you?” Corec asked.

“I think it just didn’t want me to kill anyone. I’m not sure it understood what was going on.”

Corec’s eyes narrowed. “It didn’t want you to kill anyone? Or you didn’t want to kill anyone? I know you weren’t happy about the last time we fought them.”

Shavala hadn’t realized he’d known. Or had Katrin told him?

“They had to be stopped,” she said. “I hate that they didn’t give us a choice, but we couldn’t let them hurt us or anyone else. I understood. The staff didn’t, but I think I can talk to it, teach it.”

“Teach it?” Katrin said. “You should get rid of it!”

“It’s not hurting me now, and it’s also helped me.”

“Helped how?” Corec asked.

“The room it was in, with the mushrooms and the moths—they were all dying. The staff helped me save them.”

“The moths?” He exchanged a confused glance with Katrin. “What do they matter?”

“I think they might be unique. I’m not sure anything like them exists anywhere else. Not just the moths but everything else growing in that room.”

Shavala had known he wouldn’t understand, and from his expression, it was clear she’d been right. But he tried. “Why were they dying?” he asked.

“It was the staff that let them live the way they had been. It created an environment to support them.”

“Then shouldn’t you leave it here?”

She considered that. Was she being selfish by removing the staff from where it had rested for thousands of years? But she’d seen the visions of what it had done in the past. It felt wrong to let it languish underground rather than serving its purpose, whatever that purpose might be.

“It’s important,” she said. “It has to be. Why else would it have been locked in there?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” Katrin exclaimed.

Shavala shrugged. “Maybe, but so is Corec’s sword,” she said. Katrin threw her hands up in frustration, so she added, “And your voice. But I don’t just mean it’s important; it’s also important to me. The things it’s shown me—I think the staff was used by the early elven druids. We always say elder magic was the first to be discovered, and the dorvasta believe the druids were the first of the elder mages. I think the staff knew those druids.”

“But if it hurt you...” Corec started.

“Then maybe it will again. At least until I can get it to understand me. Didn’t you ever get hurt when you were learning to fight?”

“Sometimes, but that’s not the same thing. And a staff that talks? That’s like something out of a story. Some of those stories don’t have nice endings.”

“It thinks; it doesn’t talk. Didn’t your sword have to think to choose you over everyone else?”

“I’m pretty sure that was due to a warding spell.”

“This is just a different kind of magic. My magic.”

He sighed. “I just worry about you.”

She gave him a small smile. He and Katrin worried too much, but sometimes it was nice to have them around to worry about her. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on between the three of them. She’d only intended to join Corec’s bed for a short fling before he married Katrin, but somehow that fling was still going. Shavala wasn’t looking forward to ending things when it was time for her to return home.

“I know you do,” she said, “but I need to at least try to learn more about it before I give up. Sometimes you two treat me like a child, but I’m not; I’m older than either of you, and I’m responsible for my own decisions. But I’m sorry about today. I know I messed up. I could have gotten everyone killed.”

“No, I messed up,” Corec said. “I’d never try to defend a position with a single archer or a single infantryman, but then I put together a plan that placed all the heavy work on you and Ellerie, with no fallback plan if something happened to either of you. I need to get better at this, but none of my training covered it. The knights told me a few things about how to fight mages, but never about how to work with them. I misjudged things, thinking our enemies couldn’t stand up to magic, and the Travelers had to come in and save us.”

“Are they still here?” Katrin asked.

“They’re gone now, but they caught the Seeker. He says the men with the knives are part of some cult that worships a snake, claiming it’s one of the old gods. He insists they wouldn’t tell him why they’re hunting Leena and the other Travelers.”

“What are we going to do with him?”

“Leena’s uncle and another fellow already took him back to Sanvar to lock him up. Their people are the ones who were killed, so I wasn’t going to interfere. It doesn’t sound like there’s another group heading our way right this moment, but that could change. Losing their Seeker might stop them for a moment, but they already know where we are. Oh, that reminds me, have either of you seen Razai?”

“Sarette saw her through the spyglass when she was up on the slope. She says she was following the mercenaries who ran away.”

“What? On her own? What’s she thinking?”

Katrin shrugged. “I don’t know. Sarette figured you’d sent her after them.”

Corec frowned. “It’ll be dark soon. I’m not going to be able to find her after the sun goes down, even with a mage light. If she’s not back by morning, I’ll go look for her.” He paused, then said, “I suppose it’s good she’s tracking them, though—she can make sure they don’t sneak back here.”

“I can go after her,” Shavala offered. “I can make my way in the dark well enough.”

Corec hesitated, seeming to consider the idea, but then shook his head. “After what happened today? I think you should stay here and rest. Razai knows how to take care of herself. If she wanted our help, she’d have told someone she was leaving. I’m sure she’ll be careful.”

Razai crept closer to the men she’d been following, mercenaries who’d fled from the battle. There’d been three when she first caught sight of them back at the ruins, but they’d met up with others as they’d traveled east. She’d stayed a mile behind the group while the sun was still up, following their trail, but as the evening turned dark, she’d gradually closed the distance.

It was late now, well past sundown, and the mercenaries had stopped to make camp—if it could be called that. There was no moon, and the stars only provided a small bit of light, mostly blocked by a light covering of clouds. There was no wizard this time, and no mage lights. The men had scrounged up two torches before leaving, using them as they’d made their way in the dark, but they’d extinguished them once they’d stopped for the night.

Razai, though, could see just fine.

The mercenaries were gathered in a rough semblance of a circle. They’d eaten a meal of cold trail rations, and now their eyes darted back and forth at every little sound their companions made. They spoke quietly, quickly, occasionally glancing back in the direction of the mountain.

She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was obvious they were frightened. What right did they have to be frightened? They were the ones who’d chosen to wage a battle against a much smaller group. Now, they had to face the consequences of their actions.

She waited until they began bedding down for the night, then inched closer, invisibly, until she was only a few feet away from the nearest man.

There were eleven of them, but most had taken off their armor and were trying to get some sleep. It appeared that only three were staying up to keep watch. She could handle eleven under those circumstances.

She gripped the hilts of her curved knives as she waited for the best moment. She would stab the nearest mercenary through the heart as he lay atop his bedroll, then grab the next closest—who was standing watch, still wearing a mail shirt—and slit his throat. She’d have two of them down before the rest even realized they were under attack, and the others would hardly be able to see her in the dark. If she got lucky, they might even start killing each other by accident.

Slowly, she unsheathed her knives, taking care not to break the invisibility spell.

Then she hesitated. Corec’s words came back to her. He’d wanted to let the mercenaries go free if they weren’t complicit. It was idealistic foolishness—they were the prey and she was the hunter. They’d crossed the line, taking money to kill Leena and the rest of the group.

But was Razai really any better than them? She’d been a mercenary on occasion. She’d done the same as them, and she’d done worse. She’d killed people in cold blood if she felt they deserved it. Or, sometimes, if her father had ordered her to.

What would the others think if she killed these men? Corec’s opinion didn’t matter, but what would Leena think of her? What about Boktar? Would Treya tell Renny?

Razai slid her knives back into their sheaths. She wanted to scream at herself for growing soft, but she kept quiet. If she made any noise, it would give away her position. She forced herself to calm down, pushing the rage back deep inside where it belonged.

Fine. She wouldn’t kill them, but that didn’t mean she could let them go free, with no punishment for their actions. They’d tried to kill Leena.

Summoning her demon disguise, Razai let loose with a wild howl, then leapt forward, stomping on the stomach of the man who’d been trying to sleep nearby. She snarled, then howled again, this time with a different tone. In the dark, the humans would see nothing but a huge black shadow with glowing red eyes, but if she made enough noise, she might convince them that more than one demon had come for them.

They screamed and shouted, scrambling up out of their bedding in a panicked frenzy. One man kept his nerve enough to try to face her, but she snatched the spear out of his hands and snapped it in two, then grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground.

They all ran after that, fleeing into the night in different directions. When one of the mercenaries tried to grab his pack on the way out, Razai stomped on the strap, catching the man’s fingers under her heel. He screamed in pain and she lifted her foot to let him scurry away without his supplies.

Moments later, she was alone in the remains of the camp, surrounded by bedrolls and packs, and discarded armor. About half the men had escaped with their weapons, she estimated, but the only ones who’d managed to take their armor were the three who’d still been wearing it. None of them had taken the time to grab their bedding. There were only ten packs, but Razai was pretty sure one of the eleven men hadn’t brought one with him, which meant the mercenaries were now all stranded in the middle of the barrens without any food or supplies.

It would take them at least three to four days to reach any sort of civilization, and that was only if they knew where to find the nearest village. Still, there was water in the barrens, and it wouldn’t hurt them to go without food for a while. They were trained mercenaries—they would probably live through the ordeal. If they didn’t, Razai wouldn’t shed any tears, but at least she could say truthfully that she hadn’t killed them.

She remained in her demon disguise in case any of the men tried to return, but she picked through their belongings to look for anything interesting. After transferring all the food into two of the packs, she stacked the other packs together with the bedding and spare clothing, then lit the pile on fire with a tinderbox she’d found.

While it burned, she dug through the four coin pouches she’d discovered, finding quite a bit of silver and even a few gold pieces. Those four men would learn a valuable lesson, she figured, and would keep their coin pouches closer to their person the next time they slept in the wilderness.

She left the weapons and armor where they were, not wanting to haul them away. If the mercenaries came back for them, so be it. Cold steel would offer little comfort when what they really wanted was something to eat.

Slinging the two packs of food over her shoulders, she headed back in the direction of the mountain. It would be her second all-night journey in a row. Good thing she’d caught a nap before the fight.

Bobo was still unconscious, but Treya couldn’t find any injuries other than a few small abrasions. She didn’t bother to heal those—she was exhausted, having used the last of her strength to patch up a few of the enemy mercenaries just enough that they might survive for another day.

Before disappearing, Razai had claimed Bobo was suffering from drain shock—she and Boktar had both seen him wielding magic. Razai insisted it was divine magic, as if he was a priest, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t any other sort of mage either, as far as Treya knew. Was he godborn, like her? Bishop Lastal had been able to identify mages just by looking at them, but Treya hadn’t figured out the trick yet.

Of course, if someone was going to suddenly start using magic out of nowhere, being a priest was the most likely answer—it would just require being blessed by one of the gods. The gods usually chose their blessed priests from among the ranks of the unblessed priests and their students, but that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes they chose an outsider. But which had chosen Bobo? In the past, he’d masqueraded as a priest of Fox, but Fox didn’t have priests. None of the old gods did. For Bobo, Allosur seemed a likely choice—the God of Knowledge. It was Allosur’s priests who’d tried to teach Treya what they could about her abilities.

“What to happen us?” a voice asked in badly accented trade tongue, interrupting her musings. The question came from the only injured mercenary who was currently awake—a man who’d lost his right hand during the battle. Based on his descriptions, he’d been fighting Sarette. His compatriots had helped him away from the fight and tied a strip of cloth tightly around his lower arm, keeping him from bleeding out, but he’d lost consciousness anyway. His friends had either left him behind or died in the fighting. Treya and Boktar hadn’t allowed him to check the bodies to find out for sure.