seemed easiest.” His eyes narrowed “My new pawn will be entering through the Barrow of the Queen Abiding. It is the Barrow onto which the Arches of Xenosi connect, after all. He’s nearly on top of the entrance already. From there, he has a fairly straight path to us here at the center.”
“What about the Lurker in the Middle?” asked Damanda. She remembered the name from another of the Rotting Man’s foray’s into the dungeons. That group had found the main passage contested by a creature, perhaps a demon, though that was uncertain, of considerable power. “Won’t Fallon and the child have to pass the Lurker to reach here, not to mention all the rest?”
“That’s why I’m sending you. Intercept him before the reaches the Middle Lurker. Keep the child safe from the Lurker. I do not much care what happens to Fallon, of course. He may serve as a useful distraction, should the Lurker prove too formidable. In fact, when I touched his mind, I implanted a seedling of control that should render him incapable of doing anything other than what I command.”
Damanda took a deep breath. “As you will, Lord. Allow me to take my leave, so that I can make preparations. I should depart immediately.”
The Rotting Man waved her away, saying, “I expect to see you again soon, Damanda, with the child by your side.”
“You shall.”
Fallon’s head pounded, as if someone had driven a spike through his skull. He couldn’t quite recall where he was…
The elf studied his surroundingsbroken cobbles, through which sickly grass protruded, and nearby, hooves. His gaze climbed higher, and he saw the pony and the child seated quietly in her saddle. A silent expanse of gray forest enclosed them to either side, though they were within a partially clear lane. He remembered his conversation with the Rotting Man, then, and groaned.
In fact, the pounding in his head was an image of the lane, brutally imprinted on his consciousness. In his mind’s eye, a spectral map revealed that the lane completely petered out at the foot of an overgrown mound not far from where he lay. Knowledge on how to open the mound, no, the barrow, rose like gorge in his throat. He groaned again, loudernot good.
The elf was in pain, but he rose to his feet in a fluid motion, a testament to his race. The square of a cobble had pressed a red mark into his face.
Fallon considered, rubbing his jaw. Anammelech had assured him that Fallon’s pursuers were as good as dead, but it was Anammelech who had departed the flesh. The blightlord’s killers were probably right behind him. While being caught by those who thought him a betrayer was an unsettling thought, he was more afraid of his apparent new status in Rawlinswood. He answered directly to the Rotting Man.
As Anammelech’s secret ear in the court of the Nentyarch, he was well rewarded. Other than his last act, the kidnapping of a child, he’d never taken any outright action that made him feel as if he was actively betraying the Nentyarch. With Anammelech’s death, his service had apparently passed directly into the Talontyr’s keeping. He wasn’t foolish enough to regard that status shift as a good thing. He didn’t know what would be asked of him next. More worrisome, he was pretty sure the Rotting Man cared not at all for Fallon’s safety.
Looking through the growth of the forest, he knew that his options were limited. He was in too deep. If he fled his commitment to the Rotting Man, he did not doubt that he’d turn up dead quick enough. Even if he did escape, the Nentyarch and his hunters would dispense their own justice, if they should find him. The only thing to do was soldier on. The pain in his head seemed to promise worse should he fail in that decision.
Fallon took the pony’s reins. The small horse’s eyes rolled in its sockets, but the child on its back had a calming influence on the beast. The little girl, about five years old, judged the elf, sat her saddle quietly, oblivious to her state and surroundings.
Fallon said, “You’ve brought me a lot of trouble, girl.” No response. He’d expected none. He wondered if he could get some sort of reaction out of his captive.
“Lucky I don’t have your skin for a cloak. That’s probably what the Rotting Man has in store for you.”
The calm blink she treated him with belied any discomfiture the child might be feeling. He shrugged. The girl was damaged, despite everyone’s interest in her. He hoped her state was known to the Talontyrhe didn’t want to be blamed for her shortcomings. Still, he couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit sorry for the little tyke…
He hastily put that thought from his mind. Down that road lay a quantity of self-recrimination that Fallon was not prepared to accept. Considering the consequences of his actions on others was something for which he knew he didn’t have the moral fortitude.
Fallon led the pony and its rider along the evaporating lane. He hadn’t seen a stone arch for the last several hundred feet, and cobblestones were few and far between. He might as well have been walking through native forest.
The barrow was visible ahead. Brown grass covered it, though bare patches of earth showed through in many places. Only his “gift” of knowledge from the Talontyr alerted him to the mound’s significance.
He moved to the edge of the earthen heap, raised one hand and inscribed a sign on the air, according to his special instructions. By the time he finished tracing the sigil, the lines he’d imagined solidified to visibility in the air.
“Huh,” he commented, surprised.
The sign, a complex figure featuring a star inscribed within the circumference of a circle, pulsed though the color spectrum, beginning then ending in coal black. Without further fanfare, the floating symbol fell on the face of the mound, enlarging in size as it fell, so that the diameter of the figure easily reached ten feet across as it impacted the earth. The figure melted away, but as it did so, the earth framed within the circle did likewise.
An earthen staircase descended downward, the steps small and cramped, the angle steep. A rush of stale, dusty air plumed from the opening, blowing back Fallon’s hair.
He nodded appreciatively at the entrance’s appearance then frowned.
Fallon lifted Ash from her saddle, setting her on her feet. He said to the small horse, “You’ve reached the end of your use, damn the luck.”
Fallon pulled his sword free, deciding to tie up a loose end. The pony continued to stand peacefully without moving.
At the last moment, he held back with his intended thrust. Too much thinking about consequences, damn him. Ash’s mount fixed the former Nentyar hunter with his gaze then dashed away up the lane.
Surprised at his softness, he decided that running down the horse would only cost time that he probably couldn’t afford. Maybe the discovery of the horse without its passenger would worry his pursuers, and give him a little more time. The drumbeat of pain from the image implanted in his head by the Rotting Man seemed to be growing, and he didn’t want complications.
Fallon sighed as he unstowed the hooded lantern he had brought with him out of Yeshelmaar. Its fanciful designs of leaf and bough reminded him again of what was behind him. He carefully filled the reservoir with clear oil all the same.
Taking the girl’s hand, he and the Child of Light descended into the Barrow of the Queen Abiding.
CHAPTER 18
Marrec blinked. Surprised, he blinked again. The pain was gone, the physical pain, anyway. Anguish lay like a canker on his conscience, ready to bite with too thorough an exploration.
Someone spoke. He was too numb to understand what was said, but it sounded like a woman’s voice.
Marrec tried to focus his vision. At his feet was a banked campf ire within a circle of stones. He recognized the stones as cobbles dug up from the lane he’d been traversing when Anammelech had caught them…
He groaned, bringing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He rubbed, too vigorously, and saw stars. He didn’t care. He’d rub his eyes out of their sockets if he could.
Hands, small but strong, grasped his wrists. He let the hands, soft, draw his own hands away from his eyes. It was the mage, pale, ragged, but alive.
“Ususi!” Despite his resolve, his spirits rose a fraction. “I thought the blightlord killed you.”
