Flight of the Nighthawks (10 page)

“I'm Margaret, from McGrudder's,” she answered.

Zane heard the reply in a cross tone: “I know who you are, you stupid girl. Why do you trouble my sleep?”

“McGrudder says you have to come. There's a man in need of aid at the tavern.”

“In need of aid,” said the voice from within. “And why should I give aid to any who pass through this village?”

“McGrudder says it's time to repay a debt.”

There was a moment of silence, then the leather curtain was pushed away as the old woman stepped through. Zane had never seen a smaller person in his life. She looked barely more than four and a half feet tall. He had met a dwarf once, who was traveling through Stardock on his way to the dwarven stronghold near Dorgin, and even he had been a good four or five inches taller than this old woman.

Her hair was white and her skin so sun-browned, like ancient leather, he couldn't tell if she had once been fair or dark as a girl. Her stoop made her even shorter.

But even in the dark Zane could see her eyes, alight as if glowing from within. In the dim moonlight he could see they were a startling and vivid blue.

Toothless, she slurred her words slightly as she spoke. “Then come to McGrudder's I shall, for I let no man hold debt over me.”

She didn't wait for either Margaret or Zane, but marched past them purposefully, muttering to herself.

Zane and the girl easily kept pace, and when they reached the inn and went inside, Zane was amazed that the little woman looked even more frail and tiny than before.

She marched up to McGrudder and said, “So, what debt do I owe you, McGrudder, that you'd call it in?”

“Not me, old woman,” said the innkeeper. “Him.”

The woman looked at the prone figure on the table and said, “Caleb!” She hurried to his side and said, “Get this tunic off so I may look at his wounds.”

McGrudder began to pull Caleb upright to attempt to pull his jacket and tunic off, and the woman nearly screeched as she said, “Cut them off, you fool. Do you want to kill him?”

Tad had been keeping Caleb's hunting knife; he pulled it out and reversed it, handing the hilt first to the innkeeper. McGrudder set to with practiced efficiency and cut away the jacket, then the tunic.

The old woman looked at the wounds and said, “He's near to death. Boil bandages, and fetch me a cup of wine. Hurry.”

The woman carried a small leather pouch on a strap she wore over one shoulder. She moved to stand next to the table and rummaged around in the pouch, finding what she sought. She removed a folded parchment and, when the wine was produced, she unfolded it, letting a fine powder fall into the wine. To Zane, she said, “You, boy, hold his head up and don't let him choke as I give him the wine to drink.”

Zane did as she instructed and Caleb's lips moved slightly as she administered the potion. Then she went to the fire to check the cauldron. When the water began to roil, she put the bandages that had been cut from some spare bedding into it, and said, “You, girl, fetch me soap and cold water.”

Margaret brought a bucket of cold water and the soap. The tiny woman ladled some hot water out of the cauldron into the bucket to warm the water then told Tad to put the bandages into the water.

She set to with surprising vigor and washed Caleb's wounds. She instructed McGrudder to use the metal ladle to fish out the bandages and let them drip on the floor, holding them before the fire so they would dry. When she was satisfied they were dry enough, she bound Caleb's wounds and said, “Now, carry him up to a room and let him sleep.”

McGrudder picked up Caleb as a man might a child and lugged him up the stairs. Zane asked, “Will he live?”

The old woman fixed him with a skeptical eye and said, “Probably not. But he'll linger, and that's important.”

“Why?” asked Tad.

The old woman gave him a faint smile and said, “Wait.”

McGrudder returned and asked, “What more can we do?”

“You know what you must do,” and she turned to leave.

“Wait?” said Zane. “That's all? A cup of wine and bandages?”

“My potion is more than a cup of wine, boy. It'll keep him alive long enough for McGrudder to fetch more help, and that help will save Caleb, son of Pug.”

“What help?” asked McGrudder.

“Don't dissemble with me, you old fraud,” said the woman. “I know who your true master is, and I know if an emergency warrants you can send word in haste.” She hiked a thumb toward the stairs and said, “His son lies dying, and if that's not an emergency, I don't know what is.”

McGrudder looked hard at the old woman and said, “For a simple woman who claims to practice only herbs and root lore, you know a great deal more.”

“Live a long time and you learn things,” she said as she reached the door. “But Caleb did me a favor, and his father did one years ago, and there was another, a friend of his father's who did me a great service, as well, so that in the end, there is a great debt still. But to you and your masters I owe nothing; let us not be confused on that matter, McGrudder. The next time you disturb my sleep, you do so at risk.”

Saying nothing more, she left the inn, and Tad and Zane exchanged glances. McGrudder saw the look and said, “You boys can sleep in the room with Caleb, the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. He's in the only bed, but there's a large mat rolled up under the bed you can share.” He glanced at the girl and said, “Get yourself back to bed, girl, we have a long day tomorrow.” He then motioned to his wife, who had been quietly washing the blood off the table and floors, and said, “I'll help you in a moment, Elizabeth.”

She nodded. “I know. You need to send that message.”

He returned the nod and left the common room through the door in the rear. The innkeeper's wife looked at the boys and said, “Go up and get what rest you may. It is only three hours until sunrise, and there will be work for all tomorrow.” She indicated a candle on the bar.

Zane picked up the candleholder and the boys mounted the stairs
without a word and paused a moment before the door, then entered. Caleb lay in his bed, a heavy down comforter pulled up to his chin, his face pale and drawn.

Tad knelt and pulled out the rolled-up mat, and the boys lay on it.

“What do we do now?” whispered Zane after a while.

T
ad came awake suddenly.

Someone was opening the door and he nudged Zane awake as it swung aside. It was near sunrise; the sky outside the window displayed a slightly rose-tinged gray light, but it was still too dark in the room to make out the features of the man who stood there.

“Huh?” said the half-asleep Zane as Tad fumbled to where he had put the candle.

“You won't need that,” said the figure in the doorway as he held up his hand. Suddenly light filled the room, an unnatural white glow that held a hint of blue. Zane blinked and Tad stood up as the figure entered the room.

He matched Caleb in height and resembled the hunter, but his skin was fair and his hair was white. He had eyes of the palest blue, but their set and expression were exactly
like Caleb's. As he entered the room, another figure, McGrudder, stepped into the doorway.

Zane scrambled to get out of the way as the stranger knelt to examine Caleb. After only a moment, the man said, “You did well to contact me. His breathing is shallow, his heartbeat is weak, and he burns with fever. If nothing is done, he'll be dead by noon.”

The man looked at Tad and said, “Who are you?”

“Tad,” he answered. “That's Zane. We were traveling with Caleb.”

“What are you to my brother?”

Zane exchanged glances with Tad, then he said, “I suppose you would say Caleb was taking us to be apprentices.”

The pale man frowned and said, “I wouldn't say. What you are to him will be sorted out later, now I must take him with me to save him. You stay here.”

“Wait a minute, Magnus,” said McGrudder, coming into the room. “You know they can't stay here.”

“Why not?” asked Magnus, standing up. “You know I can't take them with me.”

“But you must,” said McGrudder. “They've seen you, and even a chance remark to the wrong person…” He inclined his head toward the boys. “You know.”

“Put them to work,” suggested Magnus.

“I can't. You know your father will move all of us out of here in a day or two. Those men might have been bandits, as the boys told me, or they may have been more than that. Either way, Pug will move us, just in case, and there will be another innkeeper and his family. They'll say that they're distant relatives, or that this place was purchased, or some story.” He glanced around, as if already regretting the need to leave this cozy little inn. “The villagers know better than to say anything to strangers, but the old witch already knows too much and no one can keep her from doing whatever she wishes to; these boys just add two more potential problems if you leave them here. If they were followed, and if they were known to have traveled with Caleb…it's best if all of us were gone from here as soon as possible.

“Besides, if Caleb was apprenticing them, as they say, you know what that means.”

Magnus glanced at the two boys and said, “He sees something in them. Very well.” To the boys he said, “Stand close to me after I pick up my brother.”

He reached down, and even though Caleb was equal in size and weight, Magnus picked him up as effortlessly as if he were a child. “Now, stay very close,” he said.

Tad and Zane did as instructed and were suddenly swept into darkness for an instant. The next second, they stood in a hall.

Zane almost fell over, so sudden was the change and following disorientation. Tad looked around, blinking like a barn owl blinded by a lantern.

The man McGrudder had called Magnus started walking down the hall, leaving the boys standing alone. They glanced at one another, each seeing a reflection of his own shocked, pale expression. Then Zane nodded and they were off, following after the man, for they had no desire to be left alone in this alien place.

Even carrying his brother, Magnus moved rapidly, and the boys had to hurry to catch up. Their surroundings were lost on them until they realized that they were in some sort of massive building, for all the hallways they passed through had granite or marble walls and floors illuminated by torches bolted by iron fittings to the walls on either side of a series of heavy wooden doors. Each door had a small covered window, barely more than a peephole, in its center.

“This looks like a dungeon,” muttered Zane.

“And how would you know?” asked Tad in a whisper. “You ever see one?”

“No, but you know what I mean. This is what dungeons are supposed to look like—from stories.”

“I know what you mean,” said Zane as they turned a corner around which Magnus had just vanished.

The boys came to an abrupt halt. Before them a large corridor emptied into a vast hall. The vaulted ceiling could barely be seen, its surface darkened by the rising soot from at least a hundred torches ringing the expanse. Against the far wall rose a heroic statue of a
woman, her arms outstretched as if bidding those standing below to come into her embrace. Behind her, on either side, smaller bas-relief figures had been carved into the wall.

“Is that who I think it is?” whispered Tad.

“Must be, look at the net over her right arm,” said Zane.

Both boys made every ward of protection sign they had ever seen a gambler, teamster, or porter make and then slowly followed the rapidly hurrying Magnus. They were in the temple of Lims-Kragma: the Drawer of Nets, the Death Goddess.

Several black-robed figures were emerging from a couple of doors to the left of the statue, and suddenly two men appeared behind the boys. One hurried past them, but the other paused and asked quietly, “What is your business here, boys?”

Tad pointed to Magnus, who was now laying his brother at the feet of the statue, and said, “We're with him.”

“Then come along,” said the man.

They nodded and hurried after him.

Zane studied the man out of the corner of his eye, afraid to look directly at him. He had plain features and was almost bald, save for stubble around the back of his head to his ears. He was otherwise unremarkable. Except for one thing; he wore the robe of a priest of the Goddess of Death.

An elderly man entered the hall from a door to the right, walking slowly with the aid of a white staff taller than himself. His white hair flowed to his shoulders and it wasn't until he was almost at Magnus's side before the boys saw that his eyes were filmed over; he was blind.

“Why do you disturb our slumber, Magnus?”

“My brother lies dying,” Magnus replied, standing to face the old man as the boys reached them. “You know my father, and you know what we do. We need my brother's life spared.”

The old man stared into space, looking frail, but his voice was deep and strong. “Our mistress gathers us all to her when it is our time. I may do nothing to alter that.”

“You can heal him!” said Magnus. “I know what arts you are capable of, Bethanial.”

“Why didn't you take him to the temple of Killian or Sung? Healing is their domain.”

“Because my family made a pact with your mistress years ago, and she can choose not to take my brother. He is needed. It is not time yet.”

“When is it ever the time for those left behind?” asked the old High Priest.

Magnus stepped closer to him and said, “It is not his time
yet
!”

“When is his time?”
echoed a voice through the hall, and the boys instinctively clung to one another, for there was a cold note of hopelessness in it. Yet it also held a faint echo of reassurance, which left a feeling of certainty that all would be well in the end.

Magnus turned to look at the gigantic statute. “When this world is safe,” he answered.

For a moment, all the torches flickered and dimmed.

 

Magnus found himself within a vast hall, with a ceiling so high it was lost in darkness above, while the walls were so distant he could only see the one to his right; the other boundaries had vanished in the distance.

He stood amidst a chessboard of stone biers. Men, women, and children rested upon them, though many were empty. As he watched, he saw a woman sit up and dismount the bier in the distance, and then start to weave her way through the maze of stone.

An empty bier next to Magnus was suddenly occupied by a baby, no more than a few hours old. Magnus paused to wonder how this infant, who obviously had not survived for long after its birth, would manage the feat of climbing down and walking to meet the goddess. Then he reminded himself that none of this was real. Magnus knew that he was seeing an illusion of the gods—an image made so he could apply some reference and logic when dealing with a power far beyond his own. Magnus's patience was thin at the best of times, now it was slighter than parchment. He waved his hand and said, “Enough!”

The hall vanished and he stood on top of a mountain, in another vast hall. It appeared to be fashioned from ivory and white marble.
Columns supported a vast ceiling high above, but now Magnus could see the walls.

The hall opened on a vista of the distant mountain peaks, and the air was bitterly cold and thin. Magnus adjusted the air around his body so that he felt warm and could breathe easily. Outside, a sea of white clouds lingered just below the lower edge of the floor and he knew he stood in the Pavilion of the Gods, a place his parents had told him of. He smiled, for it was here they had first spoken together, and it seemed a reasonable choice for his meeting with the goddess.

A figure in black robes sat alone on a simple marble bench. It was a young woman, and as Magnus approached, she pulled back her hood. Her skin was as white as the finest porcelain, yet her hair and eyes were black as onyx. Her lips were the color of blood, and her voice like an icy wind as she said, “Your powers are prodigious for a mortal's, Magnus. You may someday eclipse your father and mother in your mastery of magic. You also have far more arrogance than either of them.”

“I lack my father's gift for patience and my mother's acceptance of expediency,” said Magnus, with a defiant note in his voice. “My brother is needed. You know that.”

“I know no such thing,” answered the woman. “Your father once came to me with his friend, the human who became Valheru,” she said, standing.

Magnus was surprised to discover that she was taller than him. For some reason that annoyed him. With one thought, he stood taller than the goddess.

The woman laughed. “Vanity, too?” She nodded. “Your father then came to me a second time.”

“I know,” said Magnus. “He told us of your bargain.”

“Did he?” She turned her back and walked away, as if studying the mountain peaks below. “I remember no bargain. I do, however, remember giving him a choice.”

“I don't understand,” said Magnus.

“I know you don't. I do not know what your father has told you about what is coming, but I have no debt to you or your family,
just an understanding that I struck with Pug years ago. Your brother stands with no exemption from fate; he lies at the entrance to my realm and I am under no obligation to refuse him. It is his time.”

“No,” said a voice from behind Magnus.

He turned and saw a thin, frail old woman with skin like translucent bleached parchment stretched over ancient bones. Her hair was white and she wore a robe the color of the snow on the distant peaks. Her robe and hair were arranged with ivory clasps and rings, and her feet were hidden by the hem of her robes. “You may do as you wish, daughter, for you are ruler of your domain, but that is just the point: you may do as you wish.”

“I have an obligation to keep order, and don't call me ‘daughter,' old woman. You do not belong here.”

“I belong nowhere, it seems.” She glanced at Magnus and smiled.

Magnus studied the old woman and said, “You're the witch from the village.”

“No,” said the old woman. “But I know her, as I know many others.”

Magnus revealed confusion, for the two women were identical, save that the witch had iron-gray hair and her skin was like leather. “Then who are you?”

“I am one who once was and one who will be, but now…”

“She is no one,” said Lims-Kragma.

“Yes,” said the old woman, and suddenly she was gone. But her next words hung in the air. “You may do as you wish.”

For a moment, neither Magnus nor the goddess spoke, then the Goddess of Death said, “Very well. I refuse your brother entrance to my realm. His judgment shall await another time; take him to your island.”

“Who was that?” asked Magnus.

“One who was,” said the goddess, then with a flicker of expression that suggested turbulent emotions, she added, “and perhaps, as she says, one who will be again one day,” and with a wave of her hand she took the two of them back to the temple. Everyone stood frozen in time, likes flies caught in amber, and the goddess said, “Ask Nakor
or your father about echoes.” Then suddenly she was gone, and everyone around Magnus began moving.

With a groan, Caleb opened his eyes. He blinked, then said weakly, “Brother?”

“The goddess answered your prayer,” said the High Priest, bowing his head. The other priests followed his example and also bowed.

“Come,” said Magnus to the boys as he picked his brother up from the floor. Caleb's eyes closed and he fell unconscious again, his head resting against his brother's shoulder. The boys stood close to Magnus and again felt a sensation of darkness followed by a moment of disorientation.

They stood near the ocean. Tad and Zane could smell the tang of sea salt in the night air. Tad pointed to the two moons in the sky and the boys knew that they were miles northwest of McGrudder's inn. Magnus said nothing as he walked toward a large, square building.

The structure ran in a straight line across a grassy field. Paving stone marred its lush texture and led to a large open door, lit by torches set in sconces on either side. To the left of the path, by the house another building rested, from which smoke and the smell of baking bread issued. Magnus stepped inside the building and turned left. The boys followed, pausing a moment to stare through the opposite door, which revealed a large inner courtyard that had been turned into a garden.