Dawnbringer

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.

Chapter Five

SANCTUARY OF SHADRUN-OF-THE-SNOWS

1584 DR-THE YEAR OF THE SKIRLING PIPES

Atall figure stood on the flat-topped Watcher’s Rock. Below, the crook of the road led to the hollow where the Sanctuary of Shadrun-of-the-Snows provided shelter. The figure, her form obviously that of a woman, set her feet shoulder-width apart and crossed her arms, her stance relaxed but watchful. A sword was strapped diagonally across her back, the hilt just behind her left ear where she could draw it either one- or two- handed at need. Thrust crosswise through her belt was a dagger in its sheath, larger than average with a simple but well-wrought hilt. The pommel of the hilt had a single, smooth, rounded ruby. The dark leather of the sheath was decorated with an elaborate pattern of intertwined snakes. Smaller stones, wine-dark like the pommel, made their eyes.

From a distance it looked as if she wore a mask: a wide strip of pale fabric across her eyes. Closer, it was clear the stripe was part of her natural coloring. Her hair was braided in rows away from her face, and the braids that touched her mask were the same pale color.

She stood still, surveying the view of the road that switched back and forth down the mountain and met the main road in the valley below. Occasionally a plume of road dust betrayed where travelers passed, some with trade goods strapped onto animals or in wagons, and some on foot, looking for adventure or simply a place to stay. Sometimes a lone figure was silhouetted in the distance, and only then did the woman stiffen slightly and narrow