Harik’s mouth fell open, and he stared at me for several seconds. “You may read it thrice more. I shouldn’t allow you that much, but Memweck is going to kill you anyway.”
“Done!”
“Very well, you mewling wretch. I shall tell you about Memweck.”
I held up a hand. “Wait! Since you’re telling me three things about him, let me ask three questions.”
Harik grinned. “Is that truly what you want?”
I closed my eyes and imagined Harik answering every question with evasions and double meanings. Or he might leave out one or two facts to change the whole intention of his answer. “I guess not. Go ahead and tell me what you think I should know.”
“Good. You are not bright, Murderer, but you can occasionally learn from your many embarrassing failures. I could speak regarding who, what, why, or where. Any three of those four. Let us begin with who. Memweck is the son of Lutigan.”
I waited for more, or to hear him say it was a joke. Then like a drooling moron, I said, “The God of War?”
Harik went on, “There is only one Lutigan, thank the Void. Memweck is one of his many sons. The voracious bastard has despoiled a nearly incomprehensible number of human women. Memweck was favored, one of his father’s fourteen demigod shield men. Do you understand?”
I nodded. A demigod was now stomping around in the world of man, staining everything with its inexplicable magic, divine hubris, and bad taste.
Harik held up two fingers. “Second, what is Memweck doing here? The jovial twit misbehaved at Lutigan’s birthday celebration. He portrayed his father in a comic, indeed prurient, manner during an homage to Lutigan’s recent victory.”
Harik scooted forward to the edge of his bench and lowered his voice. “Lutigan was incensed, and I believe he would have destroyed Memweck utterly. However, Krak found the whole thing hilarious. He congratulated Lutigan and actually smiled at Memweck. Lutigan couldn’t very well obliterate Memweck after that, so he banished his son to the world of man. Memweck’s person must remain within the environs that Lutigan selected for him, an area which must feel quite cramped.”
I said, “What does he . . .”
Harik lifted his eyebrows, waiting for me finish the question.
“Never mind. Go on.”
Harik raised his head, literally looking down his perfect nose at me. “That brings us to the question of either why or where. I think I’ll choose . . . why.” He waggled a finger. “Why does Memweck do things? He wishes to go home. He wants his father’s forgiveness so he can go home. That, and no more.”
I turned my back on the gloating toad and examined the papery, golden leaves in the forest. I’d never seen those particular leaves on any of my visits to trade. Maybe they only sprouted on certain occasions, such as a sorcerer finding out that a divine being wants to destroy him. “All right, Harik. I can’t tell you the where, or even the when, but I can take a good stab at the how. Lutigan despises me, so Memweck figures that killing me would make his father happy enough to forgive him. Shit! A demigod, eh?”
“Oh, yes, a demigod, although inhabiting an unfamiliar realm.”
I whipped around to face Harik, hopeful. “Is that a weakness?”
“An inconvenience, perhaps. I wouldn’t speak of it as a weakness.”
I nodded and scratched my forehead, trying to imitate those scholarly fellows I’d gone to school with. “That’s just damn fascinating. Memweck must be like a shark among tadpoles here, but he’s not a god. What kinds of things would he bumble around trying to do, Mighty Harik? Things that you could do a thousand times better, right?”
Harik waved away my question, or maybe he was waving away my visit, or even my whole existence. “Do not be obvious. I will say one thing more to you, Murderer. Since you have thus far survived Memweck’s toadies, he now believes he must kill you with his own hands, otherwise his father will not think he exerted himself. Also, Memweck cannot leave his sad domain. That means . . .” He looked at me like I was the student with the most snot on his face.
“I should bring a gift?”
Harik hissed and stared at the ceiling of the gazebo. “Go to the northern kingdoms, deliver the book as I instruct, and then ride away, Murderer. Just ride away. Let Memweck alone.”
Harik flung me back into my body without his normal ferocity, and it didn’t even drive me to my knees. I scrambled over to Bea inside the short earthen walls. She was still breathing, but Whistler lay on his side next to her covered in so much blood I thought he must be dead. He wasn’t quite gone, but any one of his three stab wounds could already have killed him.
I needed a healing strategy. If I started with some horrible wound and got crippled by the pain, I’d be useless to the others. I helped Bea and Whistler just enough to prevent them from dying right away, hoping all the time that I wasn’t creating connections with them. If they both connected with me, that would be awkward as hell. I healed Halla’s arm and sent her to catch stray horses with Pil, who wasn’t badly wounded. Then I dealt with my own wounds before going back to Whistler and Bea. By the time I finished with them, I felt as stabbed and beaten as everybody else put together, just with shorter blades and lighter clubs.
I lay on my back and hoped I might pass out, but that didn’t happen. After a minute, I realized that Manon was standing six feet away, glaring at me with her arms crossed. After struggling to sit up, I managed to draw my sword and point it at her.
Manon walked toward me until the sword’s point touched her chest.
