Memweck staggered back twenty feet. “Krak hump it with your father’s willy! Damn it! Damn, that hurts! Shit!”
I waited for him to fall over, or explode, or anything that was like death.
Memweck scowled. “You must think you did something awfully special here, stabbing me and everything. Well, you didn’t! I’ve been hurt worse than this by unicorn ponies.” He looked back at Smif. “We’re not going to put this part in the song, right?”
I pulled two blue bands and whipped them over to the bow. I twisted, spent an obscene amount of power, and slammed pressure down on the enchanted, hexed wood. It exploded into hundreds of big splinters.
Memweck made a sound like a seal gagging on a boot, fell on his face, and didn’t move.
I rolled onto my back, closed my eyes, and thought I might pass out. Then a shadow fell across my face.
Smif was staring down at me, Memweck’s sword in his hand.
I panted, “Unless you want to hold still for an hour while I chew through your throat, go ahead and kill me.”
“Huh. Damned Memweck and his gods-be-damned songs,” Smif said. “If I had to write another song about his courage and might, I would’ve eaten glass.”
THIRTY-FIVE
I decided that I’d heal myself first so I could then heal everybody else who was still alive. It was an easy decision, since my leg hurt like a cactus shoved in a bad place. I pulled a green band to investigate the damage, but I couldn’t sense a thing wrong. My leg was lying there bent in a way legs ought not to bend, so I felt mighty sure something was wrong.
My crushed, numb shoulder also seemed fine when I explored it with magic, but with my hand I could feel it was deformed. Well, when I had first examined the numbness crawling up my arm, it had also seemed healthy.
Smif squatted beside me. “Don’t bother ganking around with sorcery on those wounds. ‘That which is harmed by Memweck’s hand shall not mend.’ I know, because he made me write that down. It’s true of any part of him, though, not just his hand. Foot, elbow, tongue, anything. I’m sorry to see that the curse remains, even when Memweck doesn’t.”
“That’s a hell of a note. Shit!” I lifted my spirit and called for Harik, but he chose not to answer. He was probably punishing me for doing some niggling thing he didn’t like, never mind that I’d been ignorant of it.
“Smif, I can’t leave my leg like this. Will you help me?”
The man patted my good shoulder. “You freed me. I’ll buy you three drinks and two whores.”
I lay back, cursed Memweck with fine creativity, and had Smif pull my leg straight. I sweated, screamed, and called him a flat-assed, slat-tongued whale chaser, but I didn’t pass out. Smif then helped me up on my good leg and supported me as I hobbled toward Pil. That lasted ten seconds before I couldn’t stand it when the toes on my broken leg banged on the ground. Smif, a tall and broad man, just picked me up and carried me over to her.
The bench had broken Pil’s arms and done her chest no good at all, but she wasn’t as grievously hurt as I had expected. She had benefited from the hardiness of sorcerers. I repaired her enough to wake her and get her upright with working arms. Then I sent her off to bring down Whistler and Leddie, or their bodies.
Smif carried me, my newly throbbing arm, and my aching chest to Halla, but she was already hobbling toward us. When Memweck had pushed the statue onto her, he had cracked one knee and broken her jaw, knocking out most of her teeth. Blood lay thick on the left side of her head and her left shoulder, and she had a flat spot on her skull that would kill her soon. I felt obliged to heal most of her hurts just to help her move around and be of use.
Leddie and Whistler lived, but they had been beaten, torn up, and dehydrated. For both of them, the weights had pulled some joints out of socket. I healed them just enough to prevent death in the next day or so, and then I blacked out.
I woke up lying on a couch or bed in a room lit by lanterns. The only detail I noticed was the ceiling, which was covered with a single painting of a distant valley seen from a height. My leg throbbed, but all the other pains had faded to whispery aches. Pil sat next to me, holding my hand.
I said, “By Gorlana’s shapely ass, I hope we’re not connected again.”
She shook her head. “Sleep.”
“Sleep? One word? Did you sprain your tongue? Where are Whistler and Leddie?” I sat up and shook her hand off.
Pil chuckled. “They’re all right. Rest a little, and we’ll bring them.” She pushed me back down, and I only pretended to resist.
I scanned what I could see of the room. Two couches lined the other walls, along with three tables. Each table held a vase with a single flower. Something moved around them, and when I peered, I saw several butterflies flapping in the vicinity. “So, we’re in Memweck’s palace, or castle. Maze. Smokehouse.”
“Yes. Smif says there are a hundred and eighty-seven rooms. That doesn’t include the barracks, training rooms, and nurseries.”
I sat up again. “Did you find the children?”
“We found them, or most of them, I suppose, which is good but also a shame, if you know what I mean. One hundred and sixty-one children live in the barracks and twenty in the nurseries. Yes, Bea’s son is here, and he’s healthy. I don’t think she’s stopped singing to him. Memweck had forty slaves too, people to keep this edifice clean and fetch him puppies to eat. I just made up that last part.”
“What about
