Dawnbringer

Chapter Four

NEAR THE GIANT’S FIST, LATER JADAREN HOLD

1461 DR-THE YEAR OF THREE GODDESSES BLESSING

Between the lacework of the oak’s branches, Jandi, staring at the sky darkening from lavender to purple, stretched her neck before looking back down at the torque in her lap. The presence she’d felt while warding the Fist-or the Hold, as Gareth decided to call it on the hike back to the campsite-was gone, but the memory lingered of a great intelligence imprisoned, all too aware of its confinement. It gave her the unpleasant feeling of seeing a forgotten pet in a cage, staring at her with dumb, tortured eyes, mired with filth and too big for its shackles.

Ivor had ventured under the forest’s canopy to restock their wood, taking the donkey with him (“I should’ve thought of that yesternight,” Gareth had remarked), and Gareth was down by the stream, trying to trap a dove or some quail as a change from dried meat. Birds twittered in the elms, and if Jandi listened carefully, she could hear the distant chatter of the stream.

She didn’t hear the shadowed figure behind her, nor did she know the danger she was in until the thick leather cord snapped around her neck and was pulled tight. Jandi’s eyes opened wide and her hands flew instinctively to her throat, but her assailant’s fingers were strong. Jandi tried to wrest the garrote from her neck, but the leather bit deep into her flesh. She reached behind her head to try to grasp her attacker’s wrists and pull them away. But exhausted from the day’s work, she only batted weakly at the wiry forearms that twisted the cord ever tighter.

Desperately, Jandi tried to suck in air-to fill her lungs and call for help, speak a spell of protection, to live-but her windpipe was wrenched shut. She moved her lips, but no sound came out. The fire before her turned red as the blood beat behind her eyes, and black splotches floated before her. Her throat was on fire, and she felt as if her chest was going to explode. She could hear only the roar of her own heartbeat, desperate and fast, in her ears.

Finding her last reserve of strength, she bucked against the hard ground, thrusting against the figure behind her. The cruel grip loosened for a second, and she frantically drew in what air she could. She tried to focus, to make her will into a Key and unlock her assailant’s body.

She couldn’t do it. Her assailant recovered and pulled the cord tighter, cutting off her breath for good. Jandi struggled limply a few more seconds, but her vision was blacked out now, with only a few spots of light floating in front of her, and the pressure on her throat hurt like a raw wound. The fire in her breast was fading, and she didn’t even want to fight anymore. The roar in her ears slowed and faded until she could hear each individual thump-bump, slower and slower, weaker and weaker. Her heartbeat faded, faltered, and stopped.

Jandi was lying on the wet grass, her eyes glazed open, although she saw nothing, a black beyond the darkest night before her eyes. Something seemed to stir inside that blackness, something huge and malevolent. She was paralyzed, as in the terror of a waking dream when nightmare forces advance and the dreamer is powerless to move.

The presence, whatever it was, was made of darkness itself and was therefore invisible, but still she knew it shifted its thick, coiled body, raised its immense bulk, and considered her. Despair filled her as she sensed it gloating.

It was Bane or one of his servants. It did no good to flee Mulmaster and the dreadful bargains with the Dark Lord brewing there. He had hunted her down, and in her death he would take her.

Then, in the center of the blackness, came a spot of light-not the bright painful sparks she saw in her death struggle, but a gentle glow like a hearth fire. It strengthened and lengthened, a long thin oval, and she felt the invisible malevolence retreat, sullen and reluctant. The light grew brighter, until it was almost painful to look at. Then it blazed so brightly that she was as blinded by the light as she had been before by the darkness.

Jandi tried to blink, but her eyes remained open. She was faintly aware of her body, stiff and cooling, in the long grass, the campfire falling apart and dying before her.

She was supposed to keep the fire burning, wasn’t she? She tried to remember who had told her that.

The light faded until it no longer pained her eyes, and the shape in the middle shifted and resolved itself into the tall and long-legged figure of a woman. Jandi watched with a detached curiosity as the woman approached and kneeled beside her.

The woman tilted her head and considered her. She wore a garment of some river-green fabric that flowed about her as if a breeze were blowing, and her scarlet hair was cropped close beneath her ears. Her eyes, a slightly darker green than her dress, were almond shaped.

The woman smiled suddenly, and her smile was like sunshine on Jandi’s cold flesh. Reaching out, she stroked Jandi’s hair, and her gentle touch broke the icy grip that kept her limbs frozen.

She blinked rapidly. The woman’s elfin features came into focus, and the blaze of light faded until she could see the grass she lay in, the trees beyond, and the dying, stone-banked fire before her. Everything was imbued with a golden, illuminated quality, as if the light had flowed into the landscape instead of dying away.

Jandi flexed her stiff limbs and found she could sit up effortlessly, although the movement made her dizzy. The woman rose and stood over her, still smiling.

“Who are you?” Jandi whispered, expecting her throat to hurt and surprised that it did not.

The woman reached out a long-fingered hand, and Jandi took it.

“You can call me Mandira for now,” she said in a voice that had the tremble of silver bells in it, pulling Jandi to her feet, and seeming to expend no effort doing it. Indeed, Jandi felt as if she were floating.

“I don’t remember …” she began, then, looking down, saw the crumpled body at her feet. The pale face with the blue lips looked familiar, the eyes slightly protruding and staring at nothing. She had the impression of an insubstantial figure bending over the body.

“I don’t understand,” she concluded.

Mandira still had her hand, a touch so light she could barely feel it.

“You will in time,” she said. “But now you have a choice. You can stay here, tied to the flesh and its memories. Or you can come with me, and dwell a while in Brightwater’s gentle realm.”

The red-headed woman tugged her hand, the slightest of tugs, and Jandi let herself be pulled away one step, then two.

“Wait,” she said. “I’m waiting for someone. I’m waiting for …”

Ivor. The name was a whisper in her mind. The woman smiled sadly at her, and Jandi knew she’d somehow heard it.

“It’s a cruel thing,” she said. “To be struck down when love is fragile and new, uncurling like a butterfly from its cocoon. Flesh is mortal and love is not.”

She tugged her hand again. “The lady grants this mercy, because love had found a home in your heart. You may find a home, for a while, with her. You may refuse. You may stay with this body, and see your lover grieve. You may haunt this place, searching ceaselessly for what you can no longer have while your body rots beneath the ground. It is your choice.”

Jandi glanced once more at the body. It seemed a thing utterly alien, nothing to do with her, and now it was fading like a face in the twilight. She saw a small circlet of dull metal beside the body, with a haze of sickly green about it. She felt she should remember something about it, but the memory slipped away like a scarf in the wind.

The oak tree beyond the body was glowing now, its bark burnished gold. The forest beyond faded from view as well, save for individual trees scattered here and there that glowed with the same golden light as the oak. She could see their roots branching beneath the ground, and their leaves were amber and jade.

Jandi made her decision and looked deep into the woman’s eyes, drowning in emerald. The light from the trees grew more intense, until there was nothing but brightness and the distant sound of water.

A tall woman kneeled over the body of the young mage, not loosening the braided cord around her neck until she was sure she was dead. Finally, the woman released her grip and looped the garrote neatly, tucking it into her belt. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating a lean face with a thick red scar twisting the corner of the left eye and marring the cheek to the jawbone. She pressed two fingers beneath the still girl’s jawline, trying to detect any trace of a pulse.

Satisfied on that point, she plucked a bracelet from the grass. It had tumbled from the girl’s lap in her final struggle. She examined it. It wasn’t silver or gold, and the three red stones embedded in it weren’t rubies or even garnets. She tossed it away like a piece of trash, then rose to her feet.

She didn’t see the bracelet twitch a couple times, elongating and flattening until it became a long chain of links, which crept, snakelike, through the grass and coiled around the dead mage’s limp arm.

Helgre stood, silent, listening intently to the sounds of the dusk. She knew one of her quarry was still down at the stream, and she could hear the other foraging along the verge of the forest, heralded by the heavy tramp of the donkey.

She smiled wolfishly. She had spent months nursing her wounds and hatred in the Mulmaster slums. Many tendays she had spent sniffing out rumors of the deserters in the dockside dives and taverns. She had spent almost a year tracking them and the wench they’d picked up in Mulmaster, north through the unfriendly towns of Turmish, and then following them across borders and back again. By chance she had met one of would-be Baron Berendel’s men in a roadside inn and heard the tale of a mad ex-sailor who wanted possession of a cursed piece of barren rock.

Hard on their trail, she lurked in the cover of the sprawling forest. When she ventured close enough to see their faces, a fierce joy burned in her veins. It was them, after all-Gareth Jadaren and Ivor Beguine, traitors and cowards who had not only abandoned the ship she loved but set those dreadful avengers on her wake.

That had been more than a year ago now. The second she had found Din and Barneb sprawling on the deck in the early morning, still groggy, she knew something was wrong. She knew Gareth and Ivor were on third watch, and their absence was suspicious. A few quick slaps across Din’s face and a knife beneath his jaw elicited the information that the Turmish man and his friend had come last night with wine. She considered knifing the hapless easterner and dropping him over the side.

Instead, she dropped him in disgust and went to tell Ping of the deserters. She’d just reached his chambers when she heard the chaos on deck.

It was too much of a coincidence. Gareth and Ivor had jumped ship and betrayed them in Mulmaster. I never trusted that Gareth, she thought, as she drew her knife. I should’ve cut his throat when he signed on.

She expected to see a fighting ship and a pack of Mulmaster bullies, recruited by what passed for the law in that scabby dock town. Instead, she saw a confused mass of crew, some of them sprawled on the deck, unmoving. Standing on the forecastle deck was a tall figure, armed with a heavy bow. He looked rooted in place, his boots wide-side on the boards. The graceful motion of his upper body as he drew his long black-feathered arrows from the quiver strapped to his back, nocked them to the string, pulled back effortlessly, and loosed into the shambles, finding his mark every time, spoke of long practice and a mastery of the art.

On the deck below, the shifting bodies gave her a glimpse of Krevlak, a burly half-orc they’d picked up near Thay, swinging a mace at another combatant. Krevlak’s opponent ducked, and the mace swung wide, sending the half-orc off balance. As the figure straightened, Helgre saw it was a woman, dusky skinned with a pale mask across her eyes, and hair braided away from her face.

She held a greatsword two-handedly, and, as Krevlak stumbled, she brought it up in a killing stroke across his torso. The half-orc fell in a red spatter, and the woman leaped across his body with insolent ease, engaging another pirate.

The rest of that nightmare day was a blur. She remembered seeing Ping’s head jerk back as an arrow slammed into his throat, and the pain as another ripped into her shoulder as she tried to duck away. She remembered a red-orange ball of fire, like a miniature sun, streaking toward the archer on the deck and the easy movement he made with his hand, as if he were turning away a blow, dispelling it so it sputtered against the rigging. She remembered the sickening impact of the water against her rib cage as she dropped over the side. A man-it was Barneb-had gone the same route and clung to a board floating in the water. With her remaining strength she shoved him away and pushed him under, kicking at him until he sank. She prayed the predatory fish that followed the Orcsblood would feast on him and ignore her. She didn’t know how she finally reached the shore. She knew only that it was night when she did, and the rocks were slippery and cold under the docks.

But she had lived, and now she waited, patiently, until their guard dropped and they separated for the first time. She took the girl first as opportunity offered.

That’s the penalty, my girl, for consorting with traitors.

Now she would track Ivor down as he scavenged for wood. Then she would wait, concealed in the trees, for Gareth to return.

She licked her lips. She must kill Ivor slowly and let him know that his ladylove died first.

A fist knotted into her hair, jerking her head back. She gasped at the suddenness of it, too surprised to scream.

“I intended to take that morsel for myself, until you came and robbed me of my game,” a husky voice whispered in her ear. “But perhaps you’ll prove better sport.”

She tried to twist away from the grip on her hair, but her captor was unnaturally strong and had the advantage of surprise. She managed to get her knife halfway out of its sheath before a powerful hand found hers and wrested the weapon away with almost insolent ease, flicking it away from them both. She heard the metal clang against a stone.

Helgre fumbled for the garrote in her belt, feeling it slip through her fingers. In a desperate effort, she flailed at her assailant, trying to find any weak spot.

But suddenly a warm lassitude flowed through her limbs, as did an odd feeling of well-being. Her attacker still held her firmly but now didn’t seem so threatening.

A hand traced the raised line of her scar, caressingly, from the corner of her eye, down her cheek, and over her jawline.

“How does a lady come by such a thing? You must tell me someday.”

Helgre closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling. The hand brushed the ends of her hair back, tucking it behind her ear and leaving her neck exposed. She felt gentle fingers against her skin, tracing the line of her jugular down to the base of her neck, where her pulse jumped. There the light touch of the fingers paused.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

No. Her eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. She shouldn’t feel like this.

Confused, she tried to shake off the feeling of contentment. Her life was in danger. She must fight for it.

Sharp teeth sank into her neck.

Gareth was within sight of the fire pit, a brace of quail on his belt, when he heard Ivor cry out. He ran. The limp birds, still warm, bounced against his hip.

In the gathering twilight his friend kneeled in front of the old oak, clutching something in his arms. The donkey stood a little way off, a load of firewood bound on its back. It stamped its front hoof and whickered.

Gareth stared at Ivor’s burden in confusion. Ivor was holding Jandi to his breast, and the mage was looking straight back at Gareth, her eyes wide and unblinking.

What was the matter with her? Gareth took a step forward, then another. He saw that Jandi’s eyes were bulging slightly and that her lips were blue.

“No,” he said, and took another step. “She’s not …”

Ivor looked up at him with red, streaming eyes. The horror of the moment flooded him. In an instant he was on his knees beside them.

“She’s gone,” said Ivor, looking into the mage’s dead face. “I came back and thought she was sleeping. I was going to rouse her, tease her about taking a nap all alone, but …”

He turned on Gareth with a snarl. “It was too much for her, all that mucking about with that key or bracelet or whatever that cursed thing is you brought from the Orcsblood. It wore her out, broke her mind. If you hadn’t made her do it …”

“I didn’t make her do anything,” retorted Gareth, stunned. “This is horrible, but don’t look to me for the blame.”

He studied the body, trying to avoid eye contact. It was terrible to look into Jandi’s eyes when there was nothing, no soul or spirit, behind them. There was no blood, no sign of a wound. The he saw a bruise on her throat, under the curve of her jaw.

“See-look at her neck.”

Gently Ivor tilted her head back so she gazed at the sky. To Gareth’s great relief, he passed his hand over her eyes, closing them. With her throat exposed, they could clearly see the mark encircling it, where some sort of cord had bit deep.

Gareth touched her chill skin, hoping against hope to find a pulse. There was nothing. She was as dead as the quail he’d trapped.

“Resurrection,” gasped Ivor. “If we can reach Berendel’s people … If they have a priestess …”

Gareth shook his head. “It’s too late. She’s already cold. Even if they had someone powerful enough, or willing, by the time we got there …”

“I know,” said Ivor.

Gareth sat back on his heels. “Who could have done this, Ivor?” He glanced around them at the silent trees. “Could they still be here?”

“Look no farther than there.” Ivor pointed at Jandi’s arm.

Confused, Gareth looked past Ivor’s shaking finger. The sleeve of the mage’s robe had fallen away, revealing the pale skin of the inner arm, branched with blue veins. Coiled around her arm was a length of dull metal links. A red stone peered out from between the arm and the grass like a tiny bloodshot eye.

“That thing,” sputtered Ivor. “That cursed, unnatural thing. It wrought that creature’s doom on the Starbound, and now it’s taken Jandi. Strangled her.”

“No,” said Gareth, shaking his head. “It’s not possible.”

“It crawled around her neck, like it did to you on the Starbound. You were lucky then, or maybe it realized it could use you. You’ve served its ends ever since.”

Ivor gestured at the Fist.

“Safe haven,” he said, mockingly. “That’s all you’ve talked about for the past year, all you’ve sought. I was along for the adventure and the hope of profit someday, and Jandi-” His voice broke. “She wanted out of Mulmaster. She wanted to test her skills. I didn’t know you’d be willing to destroy her for the sake of your precious security. That dead pile of rock-is it what you wanted? Or what it wanted?”

Gareth was peering intently at the marks on Jandi’s neck. Something about them looked familiar-something that should have been obvious, that he simply didn’t remember.

“Look here, Ivor,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know it’s hard, but look. Whatever it was left a pattern, embedded in the skin. I’ve seen that before, but I can’t think …”

“Idiot,” said Ivor. “It’s the links from the chain.” He laid Jandi’s body carefully on the grass and tore the necklace with its three stones from her arm.

“Ivor, it’s not,” said Gareth, still studying the pattern. “It’s not the same shape.”

“You cold bastard.” Ivor rose and flung the necklace at Gareth’s face. Gareth caught it with one hand. It didn’t move, but it did feel oddly warm. “She’s dead, and you sit there quibbling about the strangle mark. You’re as cold inside as Helgre.”

A piece of the puzzle dropped into place, and Gareth sprang to his feet. “Helgre … she had a garrote, Ivor. Used it sometimes on the prisoners. Very thin and strong, and the cord was braided. It left a mark like that. She’s followed us here.”

“Are you trying to tell me she tracked us all this way, killed Jandi, who never did any harm to her, and decided to have mercy on us? I don’t believe it. I don’t believe she survived the Orcsblood.”

He snorted. “Your associates have more than their share of bad luck, don’t they? Especially when it suits your purposes. I should have known, that day on the dock. I should’ve parted ways with you then.”

“That’s not fair, Ivor.”

Something moved in his hand, and he looked down to see the necklace move and contract, making itself back into the torque-shaped bracelet. It was disconcerting to see the dull metal moving like a centipede on his palm, and he had a sudden urge to drop it on the ground. Instead, he slipped it back into place on his wrist, where it moved no more.

“Fair?” said Ivor. “Talk to Jandi about justice, Gareth, if you can manage it.”

“I swear I’ve seen Helgre leave the same mark. She’s here; I know it. She tracked us down, and she killed Jandi out of spite.”

Ivor flung out his arms and tossed his head back.

“Helgre!” he bellowed. “Come on out, Helgre! Scared of taking both of us on, you murderous bitch?”

“Are you insane?” Gareth put his hand on his sword and scanned the edge of the forest, half expecting the scarred woman to appear from between the trees, bent upon revenge.

“She’s not here. You have no one to blame but yourself. No-that’s a lie. I killed her, too. I killed her by trusting you.”

Ivor grabbed Gareth’s pack from beside the fire pit and flung it at him. “Get away from me-from us. Go and gloat over your fortress, and may you have the joy of it. It’s infected by that thing.”

He looked down at Jandi’s body. “I hope you live a long time, rotting in your sanctuary, all alone.”

Gareth had caught the pack and held it against his chest, uncertain of what to do. He slung it across his back and became aware of the quail still hanging at his belt. He untied them and held the cool bodies, soft in their feathers, one in each hand.

“Ivor-come back to the Fist tonight. Blame me if you must. But it’s not safe out here.”

“I take my chance with whatever’s out here, even if it is Helgre,” spat Ivor. “I prefer the company of beasts to yours.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll bury my dead. Under the oak. She loved it. And then-I have my platinum; you have yours. You can’t say you didn’t do well in the bargain.”

Gareth laid the pair of quail on the grass, near the fire pit.

“I’ll help you,” he said.

“Get away from us.” Ivor’s voice was dangerously soft.

The donkey whickered softly. Automatically Gareth reached out to pat its side. Ivor quickly strode over and struck his arm up.

“I’m keeping the donkey. I don’t trust you with any living creature.”

Gareth backed away, his hands spread wide. “In the morning.”

Ivor turned his back on Gareth and his shoulders slumped. “In the morning I’ll be gone. Go to your folly. Jadaren’s Folly.”

Ivor laughed, a short, humorless bark. “I was righter than I knew.”

Ivor didn’t move until Gareth’s footsteps faded in the distance. When all was silent, he kneeled by Jandi’s body. The trunk of the old oak was in reach. He stretched out a hand and placed a palm on the rough surface.

In a single smooth motion, he pulled his arm back and struck the trunk with a balled fist, splitting the skin across his fingers on the bark.

Feeling nothing, he leaned on the tree as the hot tears came.