Sands of Aggar: Amazons of Aggar Book 3 (3 page)

The room’s silence was deafening save for that last gurgle of breath, and then his head rolled to the side. Only then did Adrian step back, letting his carcass fold down into a heap. She wiped the slender length of her sword clean on the silk of his blouse sleeve. Her blade returned to its sheath upon her right hip. Then she stood, shrugging as she did to resettle the heavier weight of the larger weapon strapped to her back. Most in the tavern had not even noticed she carried another sword before now; they’d all been too intent on the conflict itself. Adrian bent once more, snatching a leather tag from Gryert’s neck and snapping its thong with a deft twist.

She looked around the hushed crowd slowly. “Who travels west?”

An uncomfortable murmur ran through her audience, but quiet fell again as a dwarf stood and stepped away from his table. Another of his kind followed, placing himself at his friend’s elbow. Their unruly long beards were tucked into wide belts, and both were armed with short, fat knives and heavy, two-bladed axes.

“We do, Warmage,” the first one rumbled, thumbs tucking into his belt as his chin thrust forward. “We go all the way to your capital city.”

He surprised her. This far from her country’s borders, Adrian had not expected to find any that knew of the Grey Exiles from the Core. She lifted the leather bit. “Will you take this with a message to the Tribunal?”

Her gentle tone was utterly surprising to the folks; she spoke clearly with question and gave no hint of command. The dwarf stalked forward, halting a pace from her outstretched hand to eye the tag cautiously. There was nothing more than the family seal embossed on it. He grunted and nodded. It made sense; she had cried for kin blood.

Adrian gave it to him and gestured at Gryert’s body. “He’ll carry gold stick in his purse. Whatever he has, it’s payment for the favor.”

A rumble assent of sorts accepted her terms. Then he faced her more squarely and prompted, “You said a message too.”

“Tell them, it has begun.” Their gazes met, and the dwarf understood. It would be the last thing her people ever heard from her; but it was a testimony more than a message. It meant at least some price had been extracted for the crimes, and her folk would not be forced to hire mercenaries to pursue the matter more.

He honored her with a waist deep bow, a thing almost unheard of with a dwarf’s pride. She returned it in full.

He went to retrieve Gryert’s purse as she rounded towards the bar and the tavern’s tender. She flipped a gold stick through the air before he could protest the dueling. He sized it in his palm, then her in her grey leathers. His fist closed about the money, and he turned towards the patrons.

“House pays for the ale! Set yourselves down’n we’ll bring it right to you!”

The tender sent a pair to clear away the body, and Adrian retrieved her things near the stairs. She took Gryert’s sword, too, careful to keep her cloak draped about it. But she wasn’t concerned that someone might accuse her of theft. She was wary of the talisman gem. It was still a thing to be dealt with.

In the dim passage above she found her room quickly. It wasn’t surprising that it was empty; the hour was still early. Although, given her display downstairs, the one who’d paid for the bed next to hers might think twice about claiming it. That, and it wasn’t the sort of room that one would generally spend a lot of time in. The place was clean, but stark. A pair of cots with worn but thick woven blankets and a small table with a single chair were its complete furnishings. There was also cut wood in a heavy ceramic pot next to the fireplace and a matching set of oil lamps suspended in sconces above the mantel. It was not a particularly comfortable place for entertaining. But it would serve Adrian’s needs.

She dumped her gear on the bed, carefully laying the cloaked sword beside it and lit one of the wall lamps. Turning to the plank table next, she shoved its shorter end up against the wall. She took a step back, decided there was too much light and dimmed the wick some. There was no reason to tell the Twins where she was, if they should notice her use of their talisman. She wasn’t certain they’d ward it against a stranger’s use; she suspected arrogance might have made them too sure of Gryert’s skills to bother with such charms.

From her rolled pack, she extracted a bundle of thin but sturdy hide tubes and chose one. The parchment map shook out and spread easily; she kept them well oiled so they’d be malleable and fairly waterproof. She hung the sheet over the table, tacking it into the wall with two small knives that had made a false buckle on her back sword’s harness. Then she retrieved Gryert’s weapon from the bed and beneath the cloak, unsheathed the blade. She drove the end into the table top with a thud and then cautiously moved away, holding her cloak up like a curtain behind the bespelled thing.

The red gem glittered atop the sword’s hilt, bound by a little wire cage. With an unnatural splay of sparks, it spat and hissed for a moment. She waited patiently for it to settle into a steady, pink glow and then drew nearer again, still keeping the grey cloth high. A beacon-like stream of ruby-blood light began sweeping — rotating — in a full circle. Adrian watched from over the edge of her cloak with a growing satisfaction; there had been no warding.

“Questions for thee,” she rasped in a low, low voice that mimicked an elderly sage or a hoarse demon tone. The jewel responded, drawing its auras back into its center in readiness. “Two masters thou have, aside from the fool bearer. Fashioned were thee as the eye for the Twins. Now comes the time, these Two must thee find. The First is Eldest, Laik by name...”

The red light flashed out, singeing a brown smote on the map’s line of the East Trader’s route.

“... and the Second, the younger. Foxsen by name.”

Again the light burned the map. This time it lit a fainter mark on the Southeast Road. Adrian smiled grimly. “Now Fire Eye, another query of thee. Show the place they will meet, to join again as Two.”

Beyond the denser forests, the red glow shadowed a village-small town labeled Cont. It was less than she had hoped, the light left no singed flecking; their plans were tentative, at best. She tried a last question, knowing those distant masters were probably already sensing something wrong.

“There are targets to be struck, precious goods to reap — all will come before the Two meet. Point to these places thy masters ride for, point to the rape and the war.”

Lightening struck out in scarlet bolts and left smoke curling about a ragged, charred hole. It pointed deep into the deserts of the southern continents, a place unmarked on her maps. There wasn’t even a nearby road’s turn or a caravan’s trail indicated in that sandy landscape. But there was something on that Southeastern route...something so vitally important to the Twins that their ambitions were completely united for it.

“Sleep now, thy rest is earned.” Adrian was almost haphazard in remembering to cover the talisman again.

It was a puzzle that remained, even as she bound the gemmed hilt with shredded blanket cloth and laid it in the hearth. With her uttered spell, fires engulfed both sword and talisman in cold, white flames of magic. She stood, watching that steel and ruby weapon evaporate into harmless nothingness, and then when it was gone, she struck a match to the other candle sconce, carefully packed the map away, and drew a small bowl from her things. She settled on the hard wood floor, ignoring the cold drafts and emptied a bit of powdered incense into the blue-black swirls of the ceramic piece; the center depths looked like the starry sky on a clear night. She sat herself down solemnly, feet flat against the floor on either side of the bowl and elbows on knees. She drew a breath and clasped her hands, head bowing, and a tiny blue-white flame leapt into life in the shrine bowl.

And she prayed, for the soul of the boy Gryert had once been, for the waste of the man that had turned from gentler ways... for the potential of the life she had taken. Silent tears fell to sputter the flame, but it did not go out. She sent what she could of his soul to the Star Strider, what little good was left in the depths of his blackened heart, but she did it without reservations and the faint essence of what could-have-been crossed back into Her mercy at the plea.

Then the flame finally died. Adrian blinked the scorched, salty tears from her vision and steadied her breathing. She rose to find her bed.

She never thought to pray for herself. She had been through Hellthorns and returned whole; the Star Strider must have seen some use in unsheathing Her Weapon. Adrian had accepted the role without question, trusting that Her Need was great enough... even knowing that this was only the beginning and that she might very well lose her way — and her soul – before the end.

Rox crept through the underbrush, her steps as silent as owl’s wings. She scanned the trees as she moved, looking for the tell-tale footprints or crushed brush that would indicate the presence of other humans -- anyone who might be tracking her party. A scuffle nearby caught her attention and she spotted the fluffy tail of a tree rodent leaping up a willowy sapling. The forests had been growing thinner the further she and the Circle traveled south, the massive silverpines of the north dwindling to the spindly trees she wove through now. If they traveled further south the land would open up into dense, hilly brushlands and then to the deserts that consumed most of the southern continent.

Rox’s leather cloak was heavy and wet, the rainwater still clinging to the trees from the storms earlier in the day soaking her to the skin. Her rough, wool clothing rubbed uncomfortably against her skin, the scratchy fabric pressed tight against her by the heavy cloak. Her cropped, damp dark golden curls clung to her nape and forehead, sending tiny riverlets trickling down her narrow cheeks and chin. Still, she would rather be wet cold here in the forest than back with the Circle. There were worse things than skin burns from cheap clothing.

She paused in a small clearing of particularly tall trees and glanced up through the branches. Raccoons and other tree rodents slept in the branches, birds dozing in their nests. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. No bowmen. No warriors. Rox had always been able to see in the dark. Her green eyes glinted like a wolf’s as she moved expertly through the night. If it was a form of magic, it was the only one she had. Still, she thanked the Mother for it as she easily scouted a perimeter around the Circle’s camp. If there was anyone hiding in the forest, she’d find them. More than one assailant had been caught by assuming she couldn’t see them and becoming careless.

She made her way back to camp, shrugging her bow off her shoulders to relieve some of the weight off her back. She traveled almost five hundred paces when the forest split open into a large clearing. The contrast between the forest and the camp was jarring, like stepping off the edge of the world.

The Circle’s camp was sparse: a couple dozen bed mats laid under waxed canvas tarps to ward off the storms. She stepped around the massive marauders, sleeping with their swords and daggers in their arms. A few held treasure they didn’t trust a courier to take home, gold and jewels they’d gained through murder and destruction. Trinkets and tokens of their depravity. Their snores and muttered curses as they dreamed of raids and murder cast a heavy fog around the clearing that made it hard to breathe. Still, it would soon be worse: another dozen members would be arriving before dawn with messages from the Twins on where to reposition. Until then, they waited, and Rox ensured their safety.

She felt a tremble and silken sweep across the back of her neck as Fisk woke. He crept out of his safe haven between her nape and the folds of her hood to rest on her shoulder, his long, pointed nose sniffing at the air, his tiny claws digging into her sleeve for balance. As a waterferret, Fisk’s sleek fur repelled the rain but he still hid in her cloak and jackets to avoid the storms.

Rox grinned wryly, the expression crooked, good-natured and rarely seen. “It stopped raining.”

Fisk grunted deep in his chest and skittered down Rox’s arm, dropping into the deep pocket at her hip with practiced ease. Rox patted her dear friend through her pocket and he emitted a rumbling sound not unlike an eitteh’s purr. “You’re lucky you found me. You never would have survived as a fishing ferret.” Fisk nipped at her finger through the cloth of her pocket in response.

Rox laid out her thin, woven bedmat along the edge of camp, where she could see every member of her traveling party. Her scouting hadn’t turned up any threats, but she was still cautious. She would have to keep consistent watch over the camp as new segments of their party rejoined the camp and do another perimeter sweep before dawn. There was always a chance an angry villager or assassin bent on vengeance would try tailing the raiding parties back to camp. Rox didn’t blame them. She’d hunt them down, too if she’d lived in one of the villages the Circle targeted. Part of her wished she could let a few angry villagers pass, give them a chance at vengeance, but if even one member of the Circle died due to her negligence, she wouldn’t get paid. And at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered.

She scowled, the expression etched so deeply in her face the lines were becoming permanent. The scent of the camp was overwhelming: The odor of dozens of long-term travelers would be bad enough, but there was such a universal rejection of all forms of hygiene among the Circle’s men that the smell made Rox’s head spin. Rox thanked the Mother once more for her decision to spend some of her last coin on a charm that warded against lice and other parasites. She could see the tiny bugs in the moonlight, leaping into the air off the men’s hair and beards. She shuddered and turned away.

Rox turned and started tying down her canvas rain-guard. As she reached the last knot, she was shoved from behind. Rox fell with a hard crash, slamming into the ground with a grunt. Pine needles and gravel dug into her arms and scattered beneath her, clacking against nearby trees and bed mats. Fisk raced out of her pocket and into the bushes, confused by the fall and wary of an oncoming fight. She instantly leapt back to her feet, charging forward to meet the marauder who’d shoved her. Her small, lithe frame barely reached the man’s shoulder, but the ferocity in Rox’s sage green eyes made any difference in their size negligible.

In an instant, every member of the Circle was awake and on their feet, knives and swords at the ready, searching the darkness for the source of the crash.

Rox glared up at the man above her, his sharp, square jaw clenched in rage, his long, mud-brown hair streaked with grey tied at his nape. He wasn’t much older than Rox, maybe 80 tenmoons, but he hadn’t aged well. Rox’s lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral growl. When had he gotten back? “Push me again, Calder.”

“Gryert’s dead. I found his body dumped outside Pinewood. Stripped of everything. Even his charms.”

A tense silence fell over the clearing, every eye on Rox.

Rox’s voice was cold and even. “Gryert left the party.”

“You were hired to keep us safe.”

Rox hissed between her teeth, the heat of rage and determination resting just under her skin, waiting to be unleashed at the slightest slip of control. “Only on the road. What you do at rest stops is your issue.”

“It’s your issue if we’re being followed.”

“We’re not being followed. It was probably highwaymen.” Rox snorted at the irony.

One of the younger marauders, Tyrius, shifted uncomfortably, making his blonde beard sway in time with his anxieties. He clenched his sword with a white-knuckled hand. “No highwayman could kill Gryert. He was a mage.”

Calder glared down at Rox, his grey eyes slits of anger. “His sword was taken.”

“Then the Twins will find whoever robbed him.”

Tyrius fidgeted, his eyes growing wider as he muttered to a nearby companion. “Or he called up something. Something magical from his sword. A demon from the Fates’ Cellar.”

“The sword was a way to spy on us, not cast spells,” Rox groused, trying to stop Tyrius’ line of thought before it spread through the party. Gryert had been using small tricks and flashy spells since they’d left the Core to keep the Circle nervous of his abilities. Rox had never taken him seriously. A good magician didn’t need to show off. Still, the Circle was comprised of bullies and raiders; vicious fighters but often lacking in common sense. She could defend the party from physical attackers, but she was powerless against fears of the supernatural.

Calder wasn’t as easily swayed by as his companions. He wasn’t a member of the Circle because he was a brute with no other path in life. He was a genuine psychopath. Rox had heard once he had been picked up by the Twins before he was to be executed for torturing and murdering his neighbor. Rox wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was true. “That doesn’t change the fact that it would take more than a highway robber to take down Gryert. You should have known we were being watched before he circled back.”

More eyes on Rox. She crossed her arms over her chest, deadly from head to toe. “I wouldn’t have been hired if I didn’t know how to protect my perimeter. Whatever followed Gryert wasn’t with us before he left and isn’t with us now.”

Calder stepped forward, keeping his voice low enough to hiss in Rox’s ear unheard by others. “You’re only safe here because you hold a contract with the Twins. If one of us dies, that contract is broken. And what good are you to us if you can’t do your job? You may be fierce, but no one could take all of us. Least of all a woman.” Calder ran his fingers through Rox’s hair and Rox’s stomach turned.

In a single motion, Rox drew a knife from her sleeve and leveled it at Calder’s stomach, the blade pressing firmly against his leather tunic, piercing the top layer. It would only take two motions: the plunge, and then a twist. Two motions and his threat would be eradicated. But in those motions she would give up everything she’d been working for. “Touch me and you offend the Twins.”

Calder sneered, his curved, hawk-like nose flaring. “Kill me and you won’t get paid.”

They stood in a lethal stalemate, eyes locked with warring motives and desires. Rox forced her breath to remain steady, her muscles taut, her eyes narrowed. If there was any doubt that the Twins would honor their contract, death would be the least of her worries. Especially at Calder’s hand. But more than their respect of the Twins, many of the Circle respected her ferocity, her cunning. If the party attacked, she would take many of them down with her, and the dissolution of the party for any reason would enrage the tyrannical mage Twins of the Core. She couldn’t appear weak. Couldn’t slip. Couldn’t give them any reason to doubt her value to their masters.

The clatter of horses’ hooves, riding fast, echoed through the forest. Another fraction of their party was returning. The sound broke the tension between Rox and Calder, drawing the Circle’s attention. A dozen men, weary from riding hard to meet the rest of the Circle, rode into sight. Rox recognized Kasin, Calder’s second in command, leading the group, his beard wild and tangled across his face, his eyes weary. Calder would need to check in with him quickly if either man hoped to rest before leaving again in a few hours.

Calder took a step back and Rox sheathed her dagger. “We leave at dawn,” Rox called to be heard over the sounds of the new party dismounting. “Better sleep now if you want to sleep at all.” She met Calder’s eyes again. “I’m sure you and Kasin have plenty to talk about.”

Calder glanced her over, evaluating her. Rox saw in Calder’s eyes what she already knew: she was still too much of a threat to attack. Too dangerous. Too well connected. But he’d be watching.

He spun on his heel, turning to Kasin. “With me! We’ll chart our next course.”

Rox watched him leave, turning her back on him only when he greeted Kasin. No matter how tired she was, she needed to get out of the camp. She stomped into the forest after Fisk, searching for him in the brush, her gloved hands catching on thorns and briars. She wasn’t trying to be silent. Twigs and dead plants crunched under her boots. She accidentally kicked a rock, sending it soaring into a nearby tree, then rebounding into a bramble bush where a bird exploded into the air in shock. She watched its wings, sparkling white in the darkness as it flew to safety.

She let out a heavy breath as she escaped the Circle’s hearing range. Calder wanted her dead. She could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. He would enjoy making her suffer first, but his main motive was to leave her corpse behind on the roadside. No one would recognize her. She didn’t have family to look for her. Even if she was discovered by a nearby town, she’d just end up in an unmarked grave. If the Circle attacked her, Calder was the first she’d take down, and he knew it. Only fear kept her safe.

Her boots sank deep into the mud with a graceless
schloop
as she continued further into the forest. She could tell from the consistency of the soil and the musty, earthy scent that clung to her nose and mouth that there was a swamp nearby. She paused as she stepped again and sank to the middle of her calves. Fisk wouldn’t have traveled much farther. He hated mud.

Rox stopped, resting her fists on her hips, her face twisted in a crooked, dark grimace. Fisk should have heard her coming. He was sulking. “Stop messing around, Fisk. Get out here, it’s safe now.”

Fisk scuttled toward her from beneath a nearby tree and raced up her arm to her neck, complaining loudly about his forced foray into the wet underbrush. She grunted as his wet, dirty paws clambered across her nape. “It wasn’t my fault.”

Fisk huffed in response.

Rox contemplated searching the perimeter once again, but decided against it. After the look in Calder’s eyes, she wouldn’t put it past him to try to find her away from the Circle. For once, there was safety in the ranks of the Circle.

She marched slowly back to camp, her jaw clenched tighter than her gloved fists. She didn’t allow herself to feel bad about her position, to dwell on how disgusted she was by her charges. There were more important things to focus on: payment. No matter what she did, no matter where she led these marauders, it would all be worth it. She just had to do her job and survive. Still, she treasured her alone time, the hours she spent scouting and creating a perimeter. The longer she could be away from the Circle and their foul stench, fouler mouths and murderous impulses the better.

Most of the Circle were sleeping again when she returned. She spotted Calder, Kasin and a handful of other party leaders meeting on the far edge of camp. They’d lit two torches, the light glowing across a series of letters and maps laid out across a fallen tree. Calder held his chin in his hand, deep in thought.

Rox paused in the shadowy depths of the forest, watching with a single arched eyebrow. It would be wise for her to stay a step ahead of Calder.