Pirate and King, chapter sixteen

16

‘I trusted you, Liar. Once.’

The drow had a saying: Even a hilt has edges. There was no one who wouldn’t turn on you, given a fat enough bribe, and you had to be ready to fight. Weakness was death.

Kaazin grew up in the Under-Realm, looked after by Bonesetter, his mother’s bed slave and healer. That the captured high-elf had sired him on Daazra, he learned the hard way, through kitchen gossip. He’d been repelled by the thought, for Bonesetter didn’t look like the powerful warrior he’d imagined his father to be. Handsome, yes, in an overdone day-walker fashion, but soft. Overly concerned with the other slaves, whose hurts he tended, wasting resources and time.

Bonesetter was also mute. Mostly. Though he could not speak, sign or write, the dark-haired elf could draw. He made hundreds of pictures and maps over the years to entertain his small son. The elf did not have a name or seemed not to know it. Worse, he was completely unable to perform magic, except for a spell that allowed him to speak through another, three times a watch cycle. Very strange. As for Kaazin’s mother…

The boy saw very little of Daazra. He was alive because his exotic appearance pleased her. At first, she would often hold him when hosting guests at the House of Shadow. Rarely while visiting others, though, and not at all when he grew into a surly and graceless stripling. Kaazin did not blame his mother. He didn’t like his own company, so why should Daazra?

As a male in dark-elf society, he was in constant danger, better kept from the gaze of her predatory relations. For that reason (also from choice) Kaazin spent much of his time hidden away in the mansion. There were diversions. He could sense the Shadow and played at luring it forth with blood and spells. Sometimes he accompanied Bonesetter, when the healer went out to scavenge supplies. There were numbing red roots to cut, binding gold ants to collect, and rock snail tinctures to crush from a thousand harvested shells. The Sunless Sea yielded incredible bounty if you knew what to look for, and Bonesetter did.

Kaazin learned mostly be watching and doing, for his father reserved ‘speaking’ for the Plan. Their shot at escape. There were several layers to the Plan. At first, they focused on mapping the tunnels. Then on stashing supplies beyond the Grand Cavern. That took time, and a great deal of strategy.

So long as they carried no more than small knives and collecting bags, provided they wore the badge of the House of Shadow, Bonesetter and Kaazin could pass through all sentry posts. From respect for the priestess, no one checked under their cloaks. In this manner, bit by slow bit, the pair accumulated enough gear and food to see them out of the Under-Realm and safely away from its cavemouth. That was part two of the Plan.

Part three was going to be trickier, for they needed cover; a way to keep Daazra from noticing that they were gone. By Bonesetter’s reckoning, they were going to require at least two watch cycles and plenty of luck, if they wanted to get clean away.

“If she pegs that we’re gone,” he said (through Kaazin’s mouth) “Your mother will alert the scouts, and we’ll be arrested trying to flee. She’ll have me killed outright, or else neutered and sold. You? I don’t know… but probably nothing good. A rebellious male is a dead one, in this place. On the other hand, she had five fingers.”

They had tucked up their breeches and waded into the dark, stinging water to chisel snails from the seawall. The only sentries were up on the Spiraling Bridge or riding great bats even higher. Kaazin waited a moment to see if his father had anything else to add, then he shrugged.

“What is so much better about this story-time world of yours, bed slave?” he scoffed, more to offend than because he wanted to know.

(Privately, Kaazin did not believe in a sky that wasn’t domed, jewel-studded rock, or air that moved in something called “wind”. As for that mythical “sun” … this great fire that somehow floated around through the void… Impossible on the face of it.)

Except, Bonesetter was every bit as stubborn as his skinny, glowering son. The healer took a lump of chalk from his supply bag and then, in a few swift strokes, drew curving lines that were “hills” not just ore tailings. A winding strand that was “river”, not a tunnel. Bonesetter stocked the image here and there with funny, upside-down roots with feathery tops that somehow projected over the ground. Then came that preposterous circle up high, with rays shooting forth and a comically sketched-in smile.

His father tapped the picture with his chalk lump, then pointed at himself as if to say: My world. I know it exists because that’s where I came from. Kaazin snorted, then went back to chipping loose mussels and snails.

“How can a sky just not end?” he demanded. “How can there not be a cave roof to hold it all in? Your herbs and smoke are confusing you, bed slave.”

(But he did hope. A little.)

Bonesetter glared at his son, then drew a circle around the image, enclosing it. He meant what he’d drawn, and he wasn’t crazy. Next, the healer added two small figures racing away from a hole in that outside “surface”.

Kaazin scooped snails into the bucket he’d tied at his waist. They rattled in to join their fellows, soon to be steeped for the dream-bringing slime they produced. He and Bonesetter were not at all far from the mansion, which had been carved right into the cavern wall, and had stairs leading down to the sea. Proximity didn’t mean complete safety though. Not in the Under-Realm.

Sudden fast, shrill clicks signaled the approach of a bat rider. Kaazin and Bonesetter reflexively knelt, plunging chest deep in that chilly, dark water. The scout soared and banked on his squeaking mount, probably not even seeing them. Just patrolling the mansions that lined the seashore. Some of the snails floated away when their buckets were flooded, but enough remained to brew a strong potion. Another part of the Plan, if they could work out how to use it.

Kaazin craned his neck, watching the bat rider glide away. He was almost old enough now to fight for a mount of his own and a place in the scouts… or to find work as a sentry. He could do it. Let Bone-setter dream of escape. He had an actual future that didn’t end on the banqueting table one feast night. Only… what if the elf was right?

The albino boy stared up at the cave roof, trying to imagine it clear blue or void black; shining with light, or spattered with tiny, bright stars. He couldn’t.

This was real. This was his world, made of stone and darkness, of glowing fungus and cold, biting water. As usual, Bonesetter guessed what Kaazin was thinking.

“It’s true, son, I promise,” said the healer, once again seizing his voice. “And someday, you’ll get there.”

…which happened, if not in the way that his father intended. Kaazin mostly refused to accept or believe, but he did help with the Plan, smuggling and stashing supplies to aid their escape. Memorizing the pattern of scout flights and every sentry post in the cavern and tunnels. This was important, because the Under-Realm was a giant web, with the cavern and sea at its center. Passages radiated outward, most of them off-limits to exploration. Spider scouts patrolled those tunnels, skittering along the roof or walls on their giant, eight-legged mounts; perfectly silent and deadly-fast.

Some of the passageways were blocked up with webbing, but fire could take care of that. They just needed to choose the right one, finding a tunnel that led to this mythical “surface world”. (No doubt just a shallower cave system, made of blue shale and lit up with spells.) There was a lot to their Plan, which kept getting pushed back in search of the perfect moment.

Then came the day that Daazra was challenged for her position as priestess of Loeth. A council meeting had been called, and all the great houses were required to attend. Such meetings nearly always devolved into chaos, for Loeth enjoyed slaughter and spectacle. Her madness could strike anyone, anywhere, and this time it took hold of Daazra’s young cousin, Elaan.

There was a gathering place in the plaza, directly across from the Spiraling Bridge. Here the nobles assorted themselves by rank, each head of household lining up with their entourage. There were no guards, for no one would ever admit to needing them. (But most of the followers present carried at least a knife.) The House of Shadow was second ranked, so Daazra walked behind Shiila of Blood, and ahead of Laaren of Skull. They had reached the fourth turn of the bridge, high over water, when Elaan turned and flung her dagger in Daazra’s path. In the sight of everyone present, that bone-handled blade spun across the stone floor and struck Daazra’s right boot.

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The priestess wasted no time in shock or denial. She shrugged out of her cloak, instead, leaving herself clad in sparse, scaly armor. Like any drow noble, Daazra was armed with twin swords, jet-black and honed to hair-splitting sharpness. She was also a powerful sorceress, adept in the magic of Loeth.

The Spiraling Bridge was wide enough to fight on, its stones having soaked up more blood than the Spider Queen’s banqueting table. The other nobles drew back to give the combatants room. They would do nothing but watch and place bets for… like Loeth herself… they loved a good slaughter.

Elaan was younger and slimmer than Daazra. Wearing less armor, she'd probably meant to rely on speed and agility. Daazra had helped to foster and raise the girl, who’d spent seven years in the House of Shadow. She was proud of her young cousin’s challenge and would kill or be slain with equal honor and fierce, wild abandon. It made little difference to her.

Kaazin and Bonesetter were there as part of Daazra’s entourage, muffled in dark, hooded cloaks, each with his right hand manacled to a heavy chain at his waist. Males were to be silent, respectful and stay out of fights. Helpless to act, they were pushed aside and forced to crouch by the rail, awaiting a possible change in ownership.

The fight went badly from the first, for Elaan was armed with a long, thin fencing blade and a knife that glittered with poison. The combatants exchanged insults, circling slowly closer together. Daazra was quite beautiful back then, with ornately braided silver-white hair and grey, tattooed skin. Her eyes were deep red and hot for the fight, for the madness of Loeth seethed in her blood, as well.

“Little girl,” she crooned. “You sat on my knee. Now you will twitch your last at the end of my blade.”

Elaan grinned at her foster mother, showing all the warmth of a skull. Her hair was dark and flowed long. Her skin was pale blue, with only a single tattoo.

“Old hag, your words and your strength are dust. I will feast on your heart and lie with your bed slaves, tonight!”

They leapt at each other with thunderclap suddenness; lunging, spinning, slashing, then whirling apart once again. The music of blade on blade… of edge slicing flesh… ceased temporarily, replaced by a new round of insults. Both females were bleeding. Daazra, from a slash to her slender bare waist, Elaan from a slice to her forearm. Neither cut was deep. Both were draining. Poisoned, too, in Daazra’s case.

“I expected better,” sneered the priestess, showing no weakness at all. “You call this thorn scratch a wound? I have done worse to myself with the edge of a scroll!”

Elaan bared her teeth.

“Crone, I would not have known that you struck me, had not your hand stirred my hair. Here,” the girl lowered her blades, allowing both arms to fall at her sides. “Try again, witch!”

This time, their clash was longer, with the screeching of steel against magical steel, and a shower of glittering sparks. Elaan was fast, able to dodge most of Daazra’s sword thrusts, but the priestess had magic, along with the fickle blessing of Loeth.

A flurry of blows filled the cavern with noise like a blacksmith’s forge. Daazra slashed at the girl’s left leg, partly cutting the tendon attaching her kneecap. Elaan staggered but recovered her stance, then sliced into Daazra’s right shoulder. There were no shields. Their fighting style was purely vicious attack. Both were excellent warriors. Only one would survive.

Evading the girl’s next hissing down-slash, Daazra both chopped at the knuckles of Elaan’s sword hand and fired a bolt of black ice. The spell struck the younger drow’s chest, piercing and freezing her heart with a sound like the crunching of frost. Elaan was dead before her buckling knees hit the bridge, but Daazra beheaded her anyhow, meaning to keep and honor her skull. Her sword cut through the younger drow's neck in a single stroke, sending her head bouncing and thumping away down the bridge.

The priestess was bleeding. Sweat mixed with the gore that ran from her gashed side and right shoulder, but Daazra stood perfectly straight, poised to repel any other attacks. Her followers were allowed to move now, but they couldn’t act beyond forming a circle around the priestess. She could not falter, and dared not reveal her exhaustion and pain.

Daazra controlled her breathing, then cleaned her weapons on Bonesetter’s cloak and sheathed them. Snik-thump! Nodding at Elaan’s remains, she snapped,

“See that her head is treated with honor. The body will grace my table tonight.”

Bonesetter bowed, more concerned with Daazra’s condition than Elaan’s staring, up-ended head. The victorious priestess had been poisoned but couldn’t show it. She had to rejoin the procession and survive the entire council before being treated and healed, back home.

Kaazin draped his mother’s cloak over her shoulders as best he could with one hand bound at his waist. Leaning forward, he pressed both her wounds, muttering the charm that stops blood flow. If anyone overheard, they didn’t react, but Daazra’s expression was furious. He’d pay for it later.

Refusing further aid, his mother remained alert and active, joking about the fight as gat-venom burned its way through her body. The procession resumed, winding its way up to a great chamber set in the roof of the cavern. Bat riders swooped through the air around Spiraling Bridge, as Spider scouts clambered across the span’s jagged underside.

Daazra’s box was in the second tier of the council chamber, but even there, she couldn’t relax. Her back did not touch the spiked back of her chair, nor did her hands touch the armrests. She laughed lightly, eating freshly carved meat and drinking pale wine. Voting on matters of conquest (expanding their war with the rock trolls) and breeding (combining the Houses of Fury and Skull).

Near the meeting’s end, a message was received from the screened royal boxes. The herald bowed, then read it aloud for all present to hear.

“The House of Shadow shall receive a consort from the royal line, for a twelve-cycle. His face shall not be seen, nor his name pronounced, but a child is authorized.”

Daazra rose and bowed despite her wounds. This was a tremendous honor. A royal consort would nudge her status still higher, closer to first rank than Shadow had ever been. Clearly, Loeth was pleased with her plaything. Daazra did not look directly at the royal boxes, for their power gave them complete anonymity. Absolute freedom. When she sat down, the buzz of envy that filled that hive-like chamber was most gratifying.

The council concluded its business a candle-mark later, without further bloodshed and only a few minor threats. Kaazin thought that his mother had recovered completely, for Daazra did not rush down the Spiraling Bridge but paraded along with the others. It wasn’t until they reached ground level and were once more behind the gates of their own house that Daazra collapsed, shaking and feverish.

Servants came running from every direction, helping to unbind Kaazin and Bonesetter. The healer caught Daazra before she could fall to the ground, lifting her into his arms. Together, he and Kaazin got her into the banqueting hall, where Bonesetter laid her out on the table, face down. She said nothing at all to him or to Kaazin, only gripping her son’s hand as Bonesetter got to work.

First, the wounds had to be cleansed with well water, then washed out with wine. Bits of crystallized venom were scraped away with a mithral blade. Daazra would allow no pain relief draughts, and Bonesetter had no magic. She was conscious the entire time, half crushing the bones in Kaazin’s hand whenever the pain became fierce.

He didn’t complain, watching as Bonesetter cleaned each of his patient’s wounds, then pulled out a bag of gold ants. These were placed so their jaws clamped the wound edges shut. Next, their bodies were twisted loose, leaving only a line of shiny gold heads stitching Daazra’s cuts. That done, the elf administered a powerful antivenin, dripping it under his owner’s bitten and bloody tongue.

“Leave me,” she ordered, once he’d lowered her head and stepped back. “Stay within call… but get out of my sight. Him, too.”

Kaazin had shamed her with his childish healing spell. Bonesetter had hauled her away from the edge of death. Neither were very much loved, at the moment. The elf bowed and withdrew, taking Kaazin along with him as he quietly shut the doors.

“Will she live?” Kaazin demanded, seizing his father’s arm. Whatever his feelings about Daazra, her death would mean theirs, as well. He needed the truth, while there was something that might be done about it.

Bonesetter shrugged, but Kaazin blocked his path, asking again,

“Will she live, bed slave?”

The young drow’s throat locked, and he found himself speaking his father’s words.

“I did all that I could. Gat-venom is powerful, and by poisoning her before the council meeting, Elaan gave that sludge time to spread all through your mother’s body. She’ll live or she won’t. The rest depends on her strength and her will to survive.” Then, after a short, gusty sigh, “This would be the ideal distraction, except that I have to stay close, if she calls. You might get out…”

And go where? Kaazin knew the inner passages as well as anyone, but for the higher stretches, they’d planned to depend on Bonesetter’s instinct and memory. Kaazin took back his voice.

“Make her well, or I’ll solve all your troubles at once.” He looked away for a moment, then asked, “If she was unconscious, could we carry her off with us?”

Bonesetter’s eyebrows flew halfway up into his hairline. The healer wasted a voice spell, blurting,

“Kidnap a priestess?”

“Well, why not?!” to anyone listening, it would have sounded like Kaazin was arguing with himself. “She’d make a decent hostage, wouldn’t she?”

Bonesetter shook his own head but answered with Kaazin’s voice.

“They would assume that Daazra was part of the plot, or too weak to prevent her own capture, which would be worse for her.” The elven healer lowered himself onto a chair in the shadowy hall outside of his makeshift infirmary. “This is my last speech of the day, son. I’ll keep watch over Daazra. You go out and gather more gill fungus. Check the sentry posts as you go. See if any have shifted. We may have to leave in a hurry.”

Because a royal consort’s arrival meant nothing but trouble, including the death of all previous children. Kaazin shook his head, feeling Bonesetter’s grip fade.

“Better yet, I’ll tie you up and leave you where the scouts can find you, then slip away on my own,” the boy threatened, not knowing how to believe in his father or anyone else. “You’re a traitor and a liar. I just haven’t caught you, yet.”