Descent into the Depths of the Earth (13 page)

If it moved a hell hound nearly to tears, then the reek was
bad indeed. Rising into a half-crouch, Jus sped forward from cover to cover and
followed the source of the breeze.

A towering hill of manure steamed in the chill. It marked the
edge of Sour Patch, a town that now stood beneath a haze of smoke made from
burning homes. Jus slithered on his belly though a patch of leaves, raised his
head, and looked at the ruined village in silence.

The tumbledown refugee cottages were all gone. Here and
there, flames leaped high, but most had already slumped into a sullen smolder.
The fires had burned for at least two hours—time enough to sink into ashes.

Every roof had gone. Most of the shacks were burned, though
damp and rain had kept the fires miserably small. Doors in the crowded
shantytown lay smashed where something had battered its way into every hiding
place.

Nearby, a body lay face down in the mold with a feathered
javelin jutting from its back. Jus took careful stock of the silent village,
then slithered forward and inspected the corpse.

It was one of the half-orc guards. Jus rolled the body over,
looked at the obsidian javelin head that stood out from the corpse’s chest, and
then let the body lie.

From here, he could see other bodies. These had been
physically torn apart, their heads and organs splayed in shocking patterns all
over the mud. Jus moved silently from cover to cover, then squatted down to
stare into a dead face.

It was an old woman. Beside her lay an old man. The other
corpses all seemed to be the aged, the crippled and infirm—here, a boy on
crutches, there a veteran warrior missing a leg. Someone had culled the
villagers with an obscene, callous brutality, discarding those that failed to
meet their needs. The hundreds of survivors had been taken… where?

There were tracks in the mud—human and… something else.
Jus knelt and inspected his find. The non-human tracks were long, clawed, and
smeared occasionally by what looked like a heavy tail.

Lizards.

The bestial stink filled the air. Jus approached a broken
door and carefully inspected a smear of oil that smudged the wood. The oil gave
off a strong whiff of the stench. It gleamed slightly, showing where a large
oily creature had shouldered open the door.

Inside the burned house lay the charred skeletons of babies.
The Justicar breathed deep and slow, feeling the old, cold fire spreading into
his soul, filling his very essence. Cinders growled, deep and feral. Jus
narrowed his eyes and lay a hand upon his sword hilt, looking back across his
shoulder as he backed into the street.

There were no tracks leading into the village from the woods.
Jus walked slowly around the village, finding nothing but the body of another
man who had tried to run. The woods were free of the lizard stink. Frowning, Jus
returned to the village and stared at it in thought.

Prisoners had been herded together in the street, culled,
then marched toward an ancient apple orchard. Jus followed the river of
tracks—perhaps two hundred prisoners with half as many captors—and then the
tracks suddenly seemed to stop.

The tracks simply shut off as though a line had been drawn
across them. Jus looked carefully at the tracks and then stared upward at the
crooked apple trees.

Something seemed strange about the bend of two trees up
above. The boughs leaned inward to form a perfect arch, almost as if
deliberately tied in place.

The arch rested directly above the tracks. Jus circled it,
passing a hand carefully into the empty space defined by the archway. His hand
tingled as if expecting to find a door, but his fingers met no resistance. He
touched only empty air.

Something flickered in midair. Before Cinders could shout a
warning, Jus had already turned, his sword a blurring arc of black steel. A
javelin split in two as Jus sliced it from the air. He ran roaring at an apple
tree that suddenly tried to blunder to one side.

Jus jammed his black sword through the bark and heard a
scream. Blood jetted as he ripped the steel free, parried a claw, and hacked a
savage blow straight down. His sword cleaved into a reptilian skull, and a
reeking creature fell writhing on the dirt.

Colors shifted. What had once looked like the trunk of an
apple tree now lay sprawled over the leaves. It was reptilian, a huge bipedal
lizard with a chameleons skin. Colors faded as the creature died, its thick
skull split open. Oil oozed from its hide, filling the air with its foul stench.
Jus kept away from the creature’s reach as it died and wiped his sword on a
handful of wet leaves.

“Troglodyte.”

The secret of survival was knowledge. Jus had made it his
business to study every creature in, on, or under the Flanaess. Troglodytes were
a carnivorous lizard species—savage, cunning, subterranean dwellers. Hating
sunlight, they would scarcely be likely to venture far away from their caves.

Caves beneath this sort of soil seemed unlikely. Jus looked
at the apple tree arch, knowing it was a faerie gate, and wondered just how far
away it led.

Intensely stupid, troglodytes would normally have killed and
eaten their prey. Were they intelligent enough to herd their meat on the hoof?
Perhaps, but no troglodyte could ever puzzle out a magic gate. Jus cast about
the orchard carefully then began inspecting every tree.

A flicker of motion caught his eye on a bough high above. Jus
scowled, sheathed his sword, and climbed into the lower boughs.

Motion flickered again, and he found it. A single black silk
thread had snagged upon the bark. Jus inspected without touching, then brought
Cinders’ snout close to the treasure.

“Can you smell it through the stink?”

Little bit.
Cinders snuffled unhappily.
Is faerie
smell.

Jus sat in the tree for a long moment of silent thought. He
carefully retrieved the fallen thread and stored it in a folded paper inside his
pouch.

It seemed he had work to do.

* * *

Half an hour saw him home again. He passed a giant’s
crumbling bones and then walked into weed-strewn streets. Outside the old
tavern, Polk’s cart stood hitched to his rather nervous mule. Enid stood amongst
her saddlebags and scrolls, awkwardly trying to fit them across her own back.
Jus appeared silently, hitched the sphinx’s bags into place, and tied the
straps. She beat her huge, heavy wings to test the load and then looked back at
him in alarm.

“Heavens, what’s that smell?”

“Troglodyte.” Jus went to a rain barrel and took a handful of
ash to scrub his sword and his hands. “Polk! We’re leaving! Move it or we’ll be
late!”

Bustling out of the tavern and looking as though he had been
seeking the solace of his magic faerie bottle, Polk winced as he walked into the
light.

“What is it, son? What’s happening?” Polk’s bluster was
weighed down by misery. “We ain’t late. There’s nowhere we have to be, nothing
we have to do.”

“We have to get to the ruined castle.” Jus tightened his
sword belt, settled Cinders properly in place, and then fastened a hand into
Polk’s tunic and lifted the small man onto the driving seat of the cart.

“Why the castle?”

“The day’s wasting.” The Justicar began leading the way down
the road. He could feel his two companions staring at his back. “We have to get
back to where I killed the hydra. If we’re not there by midnight, we’ll be
late.”

Enid hurried along, drawing anxiously level with the
Justicar. “Late? Whatever for?”

“To meet Escalla.” Jus felt a nasty inward glow of
satisfaction at a secret well kept. “When she comes, she’ll be coming fast. Have
you got her gear?”

Polk and Enid both sat in place. The cart stopped. The two
travelers stared at Jus as he looked at them with an artfully raised brow.

Polk blinked like a stunned owl. “B-but she said she was
staying with the faeries!”

“It was all a pack of lies! It’s what she does, Polk. Escalla
says she owes it to future generations.” The big man pulled a coal from his
pouch and popped it into Cinders’ mouth. He breathed deeply, filled with new
energy. Suddenly it seemed to be a brighter day.

“She’ll be escaping in a couple of hours. Come on! Looks like
we’ll be on the run from the whole Seelie Court.”

Cinders grinned like a mad piranha and energetically thumped
his tail against Jus’ backside.
Faerie coming back! Faerie coming back!

The Justicar marched down the road with a new energy in his
step. Polk and Enid exchanged one brief glance of joy and then hastened after
him.

“Son! Hey, son! But her father’s wishes! Ain’t you breaking a
law or something?”

“Law?” The Justicar walked onward, his face wreathed in a
smile. “Polk, forced marriages are unjust.” The big man hitched his sword.
“Don’t you remember? No one touches the faerie.”

Polk suddenly grinned, flicked out his reins, and drove
happily off along the road.

“Hurry up, son! Quit yer dawdlin’, or we’ll be late!”

The morning dawned bright. It always did. Illusion spells saw
to it, and if winter shadows seemed at odds with a summer sun, then a flick of
the imagination whisked all one’s troubles away.

Escalla rose from her bed and felt the air flicker with spy
spells as her mother’s agents kept a tight watch on their prey. The girl washed
and dressed nicely in gray silk. The slowglass necklace had been thoughtfully
placed to record her every movement in her sleep. Escalla looked levelly at the
thing, then dropped it over her neck before turning to the business of the day.

She spent her first hour of the morning painting upon a
papyrus—a painting rich with colors, if a little scant on skill. She propped it
up to dry, paced agitatedly about the room, and then fluttered into the morning
sun.

Mother awaited her on the lawns. They looked at one another—one lean and sculpted, the other lithe and sharp. Escalla’s mother finally
turned and signaled for her daughter to walk with her.

“You have been very curt with your betrothed. I expect you to
treat him with more cordiality.”

“He wanted to sip something, but it wasn’t cordial.” Escalla
proudly held up her hems as she stepped over the lawn. “Are you pimping me now,
mother?”

The woman glared coldly at her daughter. “This clan has plans
that reach far beyond mere woods and fields and streams. Tielle realizes it, but
the gods have cursed us with having to seal our deal through you.”

“Thank you, Mother. I love you, too.”

“Lord Ushan is still fighting the bargain. He wants none of
his power lost to Clan Nightshade.” Escalla’s mother could have been talking to
the wind. “We need the nephew’s interest. Go to him tonight.”

“I will not.”

“You
will
You father may have forgotten the way you
left us, but I have not.” Escalla’s mother turned a bitter glance upon the girl.
“If this alliance fails, if you deny me the Court, then I shall seal you to keep
the Queen of Wind and Woe
permanent
company.”

“I’m sure you know the route.”

Escalla’s mother had given her birth—but merely to bind Clan
Nightshade’s lord to her in marriage. There was no love lost between mother and
daughter. In Escalla’s view, detonating her mother might be the best favor that
she could ever do for her father.

The walk led about the house to the stables. A peculiar reek
escaped the attention of faerie spellcasters, making Escalla frown. With her
mind fixed upon her plans, Escalla’s mother scarcely seemed to care.

“Go to your old rooms tonight,” her mother said, “but mind
you don’t give him the whole cake! Enough of a nibble to prevent him wriggling
out of the marriage tomorrow. Men are always fools enough to be caught by the
glands.”

Escalla gave a scornful sniff at her mother. “As I’m certain
Father could tell me.”

At the stables, Tarquil stood admiring a prime young faerie
dragon. Tarquil sketched a bow toward Escalla. Watched by her mother, Escalla
gave the man an interested appraisal and a smile.

Mother approved. She retired from the field, leaving Escalla
to turn away… and give a secret little smile.

* * *

By evening, Escalla’s preparations had been made. Her mother
had kept her well away from any spellbooks. Any attempt at magic would bring the
spies running, and all the main gateways to the Flanaess were set with alarms.
But to a creature who had grown up here, who had played here and languished
through a frustrated adolescence right here in the palace, there were countless
other secret doors.

As night fell, Escalla walked to a particular patch of
orchids beside a pond filed with swans. She waved the illusions away and found a
little patch of dandelions closing their petals to the slowly sinking sun. She
plucked a flower and tucked it carefully into her cleavage.