“It looks almost like a squirrel,” Iome mused, “a flying squirrel.”
“It doesn’t have any ears,” Fallion said.
It was not like a squirrel at all, Iome knew. It was more like the egg of a fly, planted into the womb of its victim, then left to eat its way out and dine on the girl’s dead remains. Apparently the egg didn’t need the blood supply of a mature woman to hatch-perhaps only warmth and wet and darkness.
Sir Borenson cleared his throat. “We got all of the creatures out. Only one had hatched, and it only moments before.”
Iome had already heard some of the news of their adventure. Fallion and Jaz had given a wild account, nearly witless with terror. Daymorra and Hearthmaster Waggit had been more cogent.
And in the midst of the questioning, Fallion had gone to give the girl comfort as others cut her open. He’d seen the eggs torn from her stomach, and now he looked very wise and sad for a nine-year-old. Iome felt proud of him.
“Do you even have any idea what these creatures are?” Iome asked.
Borenson shook his head. “Rhianna told me that they were summoned from the netherworld. The summoner called them strengi-saats. But I’ve never heard of them.”
He went over to the hearth, hurled the bowl and its contents into the flames. The young monsters made mewling noises as they died, like kittens.
Rhianna, Iome thought. So the girl has a name. And so do the monsters that she held within her.
“I wish that Binnesman were here,” Fallion said. The Earth Warden Binnesman had made detailed studies of flora and fauna in the hills and mountains of Rofehavan, in the caverns of the Underworld, and had even collected lore from the netherworld. He would know what these creatures were, if anyone would. But he had gone back to Heredon, home to his gardens at the edge of the Dunnwood.
“Will the girl survive?” Iome asked.
“I think so,” Borenson said. “We found her womb easily enough, and I got all of the… eggs out.” Iome didn’t imagine that anyone had ever said the word eggs with more loathing. “The healers sewed her back up…but there was a lot of blood. And I worry about rot.”
“I’ll see that she’s well tended,” Iome said.
Borenson said. “I was hoping that you could spare a forcible…”
“An endowment of stamina?” Iome asked. “What do we know of her? Is she of royal blood?”
There was a time in her life when Iome would have allowed such a boon out of pity alone. But the blood- metal mines were barren. Without blood metal, her people could not make forcibles, and without forcibles they could not transfer attributes. So the forcibles had to be saved for warriors who could put them to good use.
“She has no parents,” Borenson said. “I’d like to take her as my daughter.”
Iome smiled sadly. “You were ever the one for picking up strays.”
“There’s something about her,” Borenson said. “She knows some rune casting. At least, she put a blessing on the knife before she would let it touch her. Not many children her age would know how to do that. And she didn’t do it out of hope. She did it with confidence.”
“Indeed,” Iome said. “Too few even of our surgeons know such lore. Did she say where she learned it?”
Borenson shook his head. “Fell asleep too soon.”
“We’ll have the healers watch her,” Iome said in a tone of finality.
Borenson bit his lip as if he wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it.
Fallion cut in. “Mother? Won’t you give her one forcible?”
Iome softened. “If her situation begins to worsen, I will permit her a forcible.” She turned to Borenson. “Until then, perhaps you should ask your wife to wash the child. Myrrima has a healing touch.”
Borenson nodded in acquiescence.
Iome changed the subject. “Daymorra told me of bodies in the hills,” Iome said. “I’ve sent her to lead twenty men to burn the corpses. We can’t let these monsters continue to breed.”
“I agree,” Borenson said. “But there is something else. Rhianna did not see the face of the man who summoned the creatures. She only saw his ring: black iron, with a crow.”
Iome stared hard at Sir Borenson, unsure whether she should believe it. She looked at Fallion, hesitant to continue speaking in front of her son.
Fallion must have sensed something amiss, for he said, “An iron ring, with a crow. For Crowthen?”
“King Anders, you think?” Iome asked. “Back from the dead?” That drew Fallion’s attention. Fallion peered up at her with eyes gone wide, riveted.
“It couldn’t be. I saw his body myself,” Borenson said. “He was cold when they took him from the battlefield at Carris. No matter how much of a wizard he was, I doubt that he could have come back.”
Yet Iome gave him a hard look.
Fallion asked, “How can a man come back from the dead?”
“Anders was mad,” Iome answered, “wind-driven. He gave himself to the Powers of the Air. As such, he could let his breath leave him, feign death.”
Fallion looked to Borenson. “Can he really do that?”
“I’ve seen it,” Borenson said. “Such men are hard to kill.”
Iome dared not reveal more of what she suspected about Anders. Borenson put in, “Whoever he is, he isn’t working alone. He mentioned a superior: someone named Shadoath. Have you heard the name?”
Iome shook her head no. “It sounds… Inkarran?” she mused. It didn’t sound like any name that she had ever heard. “If Anders is back, that could explain much,” Iome said. She turned to Fallion. “You were attacked only moments after your father… passed. I doubt that anyone could have known that he was going to die-unless they had a hand in it.”
Fallion shook his head and objected, “No one could have killed him! His Earth Powers would have warned him.”
That was the kind of thing that the cooks and guards would have told Fallion. Gaborn was invincible. Iome half believed it herself. But she also knew that Anders was both more powerful and more evil than her son could know.
“I’m with the boy,” Borenson said. “It seems more likely that his enemies just waited for him to die. His endowments were aging him prematurely. He was old, even for a wizard.”
Fallion had to wonder. His father should have known that he was going to die. His Earth Powers would have warned him weeks, perhaps months, in advance. And thus if he had foreseen his own death, why had he not avoided it?
Perhaps he could not avoid it, Fallion thought. But at least, he could have come home to say good-bye.
He said good-bye in his own way, Fallion realized. But it seemed a small thing.
And for that matter, why had Gaborn sent Fallion into the mountains toward danger as his last act? Had his father meant for him to find Rhianna, to help save her?
That didn’t make any sense. Rhianna wasn’t one of the Chosen. His father couldn’t have known of her distress. The Earth King’s powers were limited. He didn’t know everything.
Fallion was in a muddle.
“Why would anyone want to kill me?” Fallion wondered aloud. He saw his mother stiffen, exchange a look with Borenson.
She knelt, bit her lower lip, and seemed to search for the right words. “There are many men who might want you dead. I haven’t wanted to alarm you, but you need to know: your father traveled through many realms, seeking out the good people of the world. He Chose those that he liked best, and with his blessing, he helped them to prosper, and protected them from harm.”
She held her breath a moment, letting this sink in. “Now those people venerate him. They love your father like no king before him. And you are his heir. There will be many who will want to serve you more than their own kings. Who would want to serve an old warlord in Internook, for example, when he could have the son of the Earth King as his lord?”
“No one,” Fallion said.
“Exactly,” Iome said. “Which is why, when the last Earth King died over two thousand years ago, other lords banded together and slew his offspring, in order to protect their thrones.”
“But I don’t want anyone’s throne,” Fallion objected.
