she
wanted to live long enough to deliver her news to Neacal Griogan. When the
sentries at the opening pointed their spears and shouted at her in the calai tongue, she raised her hands and said, “Neacal Griogan expects me.” They
relaxed and took her to their lord without another word.
Morning was coming on, the light-star peeking red and gold
through a haze of low mountain clouds. Lizneth yawned. She’d been running
around all night and hadn’t slept, apart from whatever period of trance or
hypnosis Sniverlik had brought upon her with his Zithstone Scepter. From the
top of the ridge she could see the nomads’ cooking fires dotting the hills, a
view of their numbers she hadn’t beheld while she was among them. There were
more calaihn than she’d thought, a far greater army than Sniverlik could
boast without the aid of the burrow-kin and his other allies.
Lizneth was starting to remember the harshness of the light-star.
The day was growing too hot for her, and without Mama Jak’s potions she was
left with only Zhigdain’s goggles as protection. The sentries dropped her off
at the edge of the camp, where other calaihn escorted her the rest of
the way past niches and firepits where warriors were gathering up their things
and sharpening their steel. At one of the crossings, several calaihn were pulling strings of chain from a wide wooden box and laying them out on the
ground, side by side.
“You came back, little one,” Neacal said when her escorts
brought her before him. He was wearing a necklace of polished beads and white
feathers, and Lizneth could see that the warlock had been painting him for
battle. Colored smudges decorated his face and arms and chest, giving him the
resemblance of some garish bird in full plumage.
He still calls me little one, as though I’m less of a zhe than he is .
“What news from Sniverlik? Has he surrendered?”
Neacal spoke with tenderness in his voice, but all Lizneth
could think about were the chains she’d seen a few moments before. All she
could hear were the words Neacal had spoken to her days ago. Because I need
you . That was why he hadn’t taken her captive yet. He was using her. He
didn’t care about her family or her village. He was here to kill Sniverlik,
their guardian, and enslave them. The thought of it made her regret her
decision to come back. She should’ve gone home. She should’ve returned to her
family. “Are you here to take slaves?” she asked.
Neacal was irritated. “What do you mean?”
“Are you here to take slaves?” she repeated. “Is that why
your master-king sent you?”
“I told you, little one. We are here for Sniverlik.” Neacal
knelt, the beads on his necklace tinkling. “What did he say to you?”
Lizneth looked into the calai ’s deep brown eyes, which
were searching hers in much the same way. Eyes in such a peculiar face, with
its tiny pointed snout and sharp cheeks. Eyes that seemed so honest and kind,
despite their strangeness. She wanted to tell him Sniverlik’s plan; to warn him.
She wanted the calaihn to win and set her village free. Yet something
made her hesitate. Those chains .
Neacal grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Tell me,
little one. What did he say?” He was gripping her hard enough to pinch the fur
on her arms, clamping his fingers around her like vices. “Tell me. Tell me.
What did he say? Tell me.”
Lizneth shook free of him. When he stumbled forward and tried
to grab at her leg, she shifted away. Then she was running again, but she
didn’t get far. A line of calai warriors hemmed her in and wrestled her
to the ground. She chittered and struggled against them, but they were much too
strong. Neacal came to stand over her, brushing himself off and grimacing as
though she’d injured him somehow.
“Did you even deliver my message at all?” he asked, his tone
raw and bitter. “I hope you did, or you have ruined everything. You little rat .”
Lizneth had never felt a pain in her chest
wanted to live long enough to deliver her news to Neacal Griogan. When the
sentries at the opening pointed their spears and shouted at her in the calai tongue, she raised her hands and said, “Neacal Griogan expects me.” They
relaxed and took her to their lord without another word.
Morning was coming on, the light-star peeking red and gold
through a haze of low mountain clouds. Lizneth yawned. She’d been running
around all night and hadn’t slept, apart from whatever period of trance or
hypnosis Sniverlik had brought upon her with his Zithstone Scepter. From the
top of the ridge she could see the nomads’ cooking fires dotting the hills, a
view of their numbers she hadn’t beheld while she was among them. There were
more calaihn than she’d thought, a far greater army than Sniverlik could
boast without the aid of the burrow-kin and his other allies.
Lizneth was starting to remember the harshness of the light-star.
The day was growing too hot for her, and without Mama Jak’s potions she was
left with only Zhigdain’s goggles as protection. The sentries dropped her off
at the edge of the camp, where other calaihn escorted her the rest of
the way past niches and firepits where warriors were gathering up their things
and sharpening their steel. At one of the crossings, several calaihn were pulling strings of chain from a wide wooden box and laying them out on the
ground, side by side.
“You came back, little one,” Neacal said when her escorts
brought her before him. He was wearing a necklace of polished beads and white
feathers, and Lizneth could see that the warlock had been painting him for
battle. Colored smudges decorated his face and arms and chest, giving him the
resemblance of some garish bird in full plumage.
He still calls me little one, as though I’m less of a zhe than he is .
“What news from Sniverlik? Has he surrendered?”
Neacal spoke with tenderness in his voice, but all Lizneth
could think about were the chains she’d seen a few moments before. All she
could hear were the words Neacal had spoken to her days ago. Because I need
you . That was why he hadn’t taken her captive yet. He was using her. He
didn’t care about her family or her village. He was here to kill Sniverlik,
their guardian, and enslave them. The thought of it made her regret her
decision to come back. She should’ve gone home. She should’ve returned to her
family. “Are you here to take slaves?” she asked.
Neacal was irritated. “What do you mean?”
“Are you here to take slaves?” she repeated. “Is that why
your master-king sent you?”
“I told you, little one. We are here for Sniverlik.” Neacal
knelt, the beads on his necklace tinkling. “What did he say to you?”
Lizneth looked into the calai ’s deep brown eyes, which
were searching hers in much the same way. Eyes in such a peculiar face, with
its tiny pointed snout and sharp cheeks. Eyes that seemed so honest and kind,
despite their strangeness. She wanted to tell him Sniverlik’s plan; to warn him.
She wanted the calaihn to win and set her village free. Yet something
made her hesitate. Those chains .
Neacal grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Tell me,
little one. What did he say?” He was gripping her hard enough to pinch the fur
on her arms, clamping his fingers around her like vices. “Tell me. Tell me.
What did he say? Tell me.”
Lizneth shook free of him. When he stumbled forward and tried
to grab at her leg, she shifted away. Then she was running again, but she
didn’t get far. A line of calai warriors hemmed her in and wrestled her
to the ground. She chittered and struggled against them, but they were much too
strong. Neacal came to stand over her, brushing himself off and grimacing as
though she’d injured him somehow.
“Did you even deliver my message at all?” he asked, his tone
raw and bitter. “I hope you did, or you have ruined everything. You little rat .”
Lizneth had never felt a pain in her chest
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