The Sharing Knife - Beguilement Part 4

Two more of the animal-men rose as if to greet her three escorts. She wondered if they were all about to fall on her and tear her up like a pack of dogs devouring a rabbit. Although she wasn"t entirely sure but what that shorter one on the end might have been been a rabbit, once. a rabbit, once.

The Voice said, "Bring her here."

The words were more clearly spoken than the mud-men"s mumblings, but the undertones made her bones feel as though they were melting. She suddenly could not force her trembling face to turn toward the source of that appalling sound. It seemed to flay the wits right out of her mind. Please let me go please let me go let me go letmego Please let me go please let me go let me go letmego...

The bear-man clutched her shoulders and half dragged, half lifted her to the back of the cave, a long shallow gouge in the hillside. And turned her face-to-face with the source of the Voice.

It might have been a mud-man, if bigger, taller, broader. Its shape was human enough, a head with two eyes, nose, mouth, ears-broad torso, two arms, two legs. But its skin was not even like an animal"s, let alone a human"s. It made her think of lizards and insects and rock dust plastered together with bird lime. It was hairless. The naked skull was faintly crested. It was quite unclothed, and seemingly unconscious of the fact; the strange lumps at its crotch didn"t look like a man"s genitals, or a woman"s either. It didn"t move move right, as though it were a child"s bad clay sculpture given motion and not a breathing creature of bone and sinew and muscle. right, as though it were a child"s bad clay sculpture given motion and not a breathing creature of bone and sinew and muscle.

The mud-men had animal eyes in human faces, and seemed unspeakably dangerous. This...

had human eyes in the face of a nightmare. No, no nightmare she she had ever dreamed or imagined-one of Dag"s, maybe. Trapped. Tormented. And yet, for all its pain, as devoid of mercy as a stone. Or a rockslide. had ever dreamed or imagined-one of Dag"s, maybe. Trapped. Tormented. And yet, for all its pain, as devoid of mercy as a stone. Or a rockslide.

It clutched her s.h.i.+rt, lifted her up to its face, and stared at her for a long, long moment. She was crying now, in fear beyond shame. She would deal with Dag"s rescue, yes, or anybody"s at all. She would trade back for her bandit-ravisher. She would deal with any G.o.d listening, make any promise... letmegoletmego letmegoletmego...

With a slow, deliberate motion, the malice lifted her skirt with its other hand, twitched her drawers down to her hips, and drew its claws up her belly.

The pain was so intense, Fawn thought for a moment that she had been gutted. Her knees came up in an involuntary spasm, and she screamed. The sound came so tightly out of her raw throat that it turned into near silence, a rasping hiss. She lowered her face, expecting to see blood spewing, her insides coming out. Only four faint red lines marked the pale unbroken skin of her belly.

"Drop her!" a hoa.r.s.e voice roared from her right. her!" a hoa.r.s.e voice roared from her right.

The malice"s face turned, its eyes blinking slowly; Fawn turned too. The sudden release of pressure from her s.h.i.+rt took her utterly by surprise, and she fell to the cave floor, dirt and stones sc.r.a.ping her palms, then scrambled up.

Dag was in the shadows, struggling with three, no, all five of the mud-men. One reeled backward with a slashed throat, and another closed in. Dag nearly disappeared under the grunting pile of creatures. A shuffle, a rip, Dag"s yell, and a mess of straps and wood and a flash of metal thudded violently against the cave wall. A mud-man had just torn off his arm contraption. The mud-man twisted the arm around behind Dag"s back as though trying to rip it off too.

He met her eyes. Shoved his big steel knife into the nearest mud-man as though wedging it into a tree for safekeeping, and ripped a leather pouch from around his neck, its strap snapping. "Spark! Watch Watch this!" this!"

She kept her eyes on it as it sailed toward her and, to her own immense surprise, caught it out of the air. She had never in her life caught-. Another mud-man jumped on Dag.

"Stick it in!" he bellowed, going down again. "Stick it in the malice!"

Knives. The pouch had two knives. She pulled one out. It was made of bone. Magic knives?

"Which?" she cried frantically.

"Sharp end first! Anywhere!"

The malice was starting to move toward Dag. Feeling as though her head was floating three feet above her body, Fawn thrust the bone knife deeply into the thing"s thigh.

The malice turned back toward her, howling in surprise. The sound split her skull. The malice caught her by the neck, this time, and lifted her up, its hideous face contorting.

"No! No!" screamed Dag. "The other other one!" one!"

Her one hand still clutched the pouch; the other was free. She had maybe one second before the malice shook her till her neck snapped, like a kitchen boy killing a chicken. She yanked the spare bone blade out of its sheath and jammed it forward. It skittered over something, maybe a rib, then caught and went in, but only a couple of inches. The blade shattered. Oh Oh no no-!

She was falling, falling as if from a great height. The ground struck her a stunning blow. She shoved herself up once more, everything spinning around her.

Before her eyes, the malice was slumping slumping. Bits and pieces sloughed off it like ice blowing from a roof. Its awful, keening voice went up and up and higher still, fading out yet leaving shooting pains in her ears.

And gone. In front of her feet was a pile of sour-smelling yellow dirt. The first knife, the one with the blue haft that hadn"t worked, lay before it. In her ears was silence, unless she"d just gone deaf.

No, for a scuffle began again to her right. She whirled, thinking to s.n.a.t.c.h up the knife and try to help. Its magic might have failed, but it still had an edge and a point. But the three mud-men still on their feet had stopped trying to tear the patroller apart, and instead were scrambling away, yowling. One bowled her over in its frantic flight, apparently without any destructive intent. This time, she stayed on her hands and knees. Gasping. She had thought her body must run out of shakes in sheer exhaustion, but the supply seemed endless. She had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering, like someone freezing to death. Her belly cramped.

Dag was sitting on the ground ten feet away with a staggered look on his face, legs every which way, mouth open, gasping for air just as hard as she was. His left sleeve was ripped off, and his handless arm was bleeding from long scratches. He must have taken a blow to his face, for one eye was already tearing and swelling.

Fawn scrabbled around till her hand encountered the other knife hilt, the green one that had splintered in the malice. Where was the malice? "I"m sorry. I"m sorry. I broke it." She was sniveling now, tears and snot running down her lip from her nose. "I"m sorry..."

"What?" Dag looked up dazedly, and began to crawl toward her one-handed in strange slow hops, his left arm curled up protectively to his chest.

Fawn pointed a trembling finger. "I broke your magic knife."

Dag stared down at the green-wrapped hilt with a disoriented look on his face, as if he was seeing it for the first time. "No... it"s all right... they"re supposed to do that. They break like that when they work. When they teach the malice how to die."

"What?"

"Malices are immortal. They cannot die. If you tore that body into a hundred bits, the malice"s... self, would just flee away to another hole and rea.s.semble itself. Still knowing everything it had learned in this incarnation, and so twice as dangerous. They cannot die on their own, so you have to share a death with them."

"I don"t understand."

"I"ll explain more," he wheezed, "later..." He rolled over on his back, hair sweaty and wild; dilated eyes, the color of sa.s.safras tea in the shadows, looking blankly upwards. "Absent G.o.ds. We did it. It"s done. You You did it! What a mess. Mari will kill me. Kiss me first, though, I bet. Kiss us both." did it! What a mess. Mari will kill me. Kiss me first, though, I bet. Kiss us both."

Fawn sat on her knees, bent over her cramps. "Why didn"t the first knife work? What was wrong with it?"

"It wasn"t primed. I"m sorry, I didn"t think. In a hurry. A patroller would have known which was which by touch. Of course you couldn"t tell." He rolled over on his left side and reached for the blue-hiked knife. "That one"s mine, for me someday."

His hand touched it and jerked back. "What the... ?" His lips parted, eyes going suddenly intent, and he reached again, gingerly. He drew his hand back more slowly this time, the lunatic exhilaration draining from his face. "That"s strange. That"s very strange." the... ?" His lips parted, eyes going suddenly intent, and he reached again, gingerly. He drew his hand back more slowly this time, the lunatic exhilaration draining from his face. "That"s strange. That"s very strange."

"What?" snapped Fawn, pain and bewilderment making her sharp. Her body was beaten, her neck felt half-twisted-off, and her belly kept on knotting in aching waves. "You don"t tell me anything that makes sense, and then I go and do stupid things, and it"s not my fault." not my fault."

"Oh, I think this one is. That"s the rule. Credit goes to the one who does, however scrambled the method. Congratulations, Little Spark. You have just saved the world. My patrol will be so pleased."

She would have thought him ragging her mercilessly, but while his words seemed wild, his level tone was perfectly serious. And his eyes were warm on her, without a hint of... malice.

"Maybe you"re just crazy," she said gruffly, "and that"s why nothing you say makes sense."

"No surprise by now if I am," he said agreeably. With a grunting effort, he rolled over and up onto his knees, hand propping him upright. He opened his jaw as if to stretch his face, as though it had gone numb, and blinked owlishly. "I have to get off this dead dirt. It"s fouling up my groundsense something fierce."

"Your what?"

"I"ll explain that later"-he sighed-"too. I"ll explain anything you want. You"re owed, Little Spark. You"re owed the world." He added after a reflective moment, "Many people are.

Doesn"t change the matter."

He started to reach for the unbroken knife again, then paused, his expression growing inward.

"Would you do me a favor? Pick that up and carry it along for me. The hilt and the bits of the other, too. It needs proper burying, later on."

Fawn tried not to look at his stump, which was pink and lumpy and appeared sore. "Of course. Of course. Did they break your hand thing?" She spotted the pouch a few feet away and crawled to get it. She wasn"t sure she could stand up yet either. She collected the broken bits in his torn-off sleeve and slid the intact knife back into its sheath.

He rubbed his left arm. "Afraid so. It isn"t meant to come off that way, by a long shot. Dirla will fix it, she"s good with leather. It won"t be the first time."

"Is your arm all right?"

He grinned briefly. "It isn"t meant to come off that way either, though that bear-fellow sure tried. Nothing"s broken. It"ll get better with rest."

He shoved to his feet and stood with legs braced apart, swaying, until he seemed sure he wouldn"t just fall down again. He limped slowly around the cave collecting first his ruined arm contraption, which he wrapped over his shoulder by its leather straps, then, fallen farther away, his big knife. He swiped it on his filthy s.h.i.+rt and resheathed it. He rolled his shoulders and squinted around for a moment, apparently saw nothing else he wanted, and walked back to Fawn.

Her sharpening cramps almost doubled her over when she tried to rise; he gave her a hand up.

She stuffed the pouch and rolled sleeve in her s.h.i.+rt. Leaning on each other, they staggered for the light.

"What about the mud-men? Won"t they jump us again?" asked Fawn fearfully as they came out on the path overlooking the dead ravine.

"No. It"s all over for them when their malice dies. They go back to their animal minds- trapped in those made-up human bodies. They usually panic and run. They don"t do too well, after. We kill them for mercy when we can. Otherwise, they die on their own pretty quick.

Horrible, really."

"Oh."

"The men whose minds the malice has seized, its fog lifts from them, too. They revert."

"A malice enslaves men, too?"

"When its powers grow more advanced. I think this one might have, for all it was still in its first molt."

"And they"ll... be freed? Wherever they may be?"

"Sometimes freed. Sometimes go mad. Depends."

"On what?"

"On what they"ve been doing betimes. They remember, d"you see."

Fawn wasn"t entirely sure she did. Or wished to.

The air was warm, but the sun was setting through bare branches, as though winter had become untimely mixed with summer. "This day has been ten years long," Dag sighed. "Got to get me off this bad ground. My horse is too far away to summon. Think we"ll take those." to get me off this bad ground. My horse is too far away to summon. Think we"ll take those."

He pointed to two horses tied to trees near the creek and led her down the zigzag path toward them. "I don"t see any gear. Can you ride bareback?"

"Usually, but right now I feel pretty sick," Fawn admitted. She was still shaking, and she felt cold and clammy. Her breath drew in as another violent cramp pa.s.sed through her. That is not That is not good. That is something very wrong good. That is something very wrong. She had thought herself fresh out of fear, a year"s supply used up, but now she was not so sure.

"Huh. Think you"d be all right if I held you in front of me?"

The unpleasant memory of her ride with the bandit this morning-had it only been this morning? Dag was right, this day was a decade-flashed through her mind. Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid.

Dag is different. Dag, on the whole, was different from any other person she"d ever met in her life. She gulped. "Yeah. I... yeah, probably."

They arrived at the horses, Fawn stumbling a little. Dag ran his hand over them, humming to himself in a tuneless way, and turned one loose after first filching its rope, shooing it off. It trotted away as if glad to be gone. The other was a neat bay mare with black socks and a white star; he fastened the rope to her halter to make reins and led her to a fallen log. He kept trying to use his left limb to a.s.sist, wincing, then remembering, which, among all Fawn"s other hurts, made her heart ache strangely.

"Can you get yourself up, or do you need a boost?"

Fawn stood whitely. "Dag?" she said in a small, scared voice.

His head snapped around at her tone, and tilted attentively. "What?"

"I"m bleeding."

He walked back to her. "Where? Did they cut you? I didn"t see..."

Fawn swallowed hard, thinking that her face would be scarlet if only it had not been green. In an even smaller voice, she choked out, "Between... between my legs."

The loopy glee that had underlain his expression ever since the killing of the malice was wiped away as if with a rag. "Oh." And he did not seem to require a single further word of explanation, which was a good thing, as well as being amazing in a man, because Fawn was out of everything. Words. Courage. Ideas.

He took a deep breath. "We still have to get off this ground. Deathly place. I have to get you, get you someplace else. Away from here. We"ll just go a little faster, is all. You"re going to have to help me with this. Help each other."

It took two tries and considerable awkwardness, but they both managed to get aboard the bay mare at last, thankfully a placid beast. Fawn sat not astride but sideways across Dag"s lap, legs pressed together, head to his left shoulder, arm around his neck, leaving his right hand free for the reins. He chirped to the horse and started them off at a brisk walk.

"Stay with me, now," he murmured into her hair. "Do not let go, you hear?"

The world was spinning, but under her ear she could hear a steady heartbeat. She nodded dolefully.

Chapter 5.

By the time they arrived at the deserted valley farm, both the back of Fawn"s skirt and the front of Dag"s trousers were soaked in too-bright blood.

"Oh," said Fawn in a mortified voice, when he"d swung her down from the horse and slid after her. "Oh, I"m sorry."

Dag raised what he hoped was an admirably calm eyebrow. "What? It"s just blood, Little Spark. I"ve dealt with more blood in my time than you have in your whole bitty body."

Which was where this red tide should be be, blast and blight it. I will not panic I will not panic. He wanted to swing her up in his arms and carry her inside, but he did not trust his strength. He had to keep moving, or his own battered body would start to stiffen. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders instead, and, leaving the horse to fend for itself, aimed her up the porch steps.

"Why is this happening?" she said, so low and breathy and plaintive he wasn"t sure if it was to him or herself.

He hesitated. Yes, she was young, but surely-"Don"t you know?"

She glanced up at him. The bruise masking the left side of her face was darkening to purple, the gouges scabbing over. "Yes," she whispered. She steadied her voice by sheer force of will, he thought. "But you seem to know so much. I was hoping you might... have a different answer. Stupid of me."

"The malice did something to you. Tried to." Courage failing, he looked away from her gaze to say, "It stole your baby"s ground. It would have used it in its next molt, but we killed it first." And I was too late to stop it And I was too late to stop it. Five blighted minutes, if he had only been five blighted minutes quicker... Yes, and if he"d only been five blighted seconds quicker, once, he"d still have a left hand, and he"d been down that road and back up it enough times to be thoroughly tired of the scenery. Peace. If he had arrived at the lair very much sooner, he might have missed her entirely.

But what had happened to his spare sharing knife, in that terrible scramble? It had been empty, but now he would swear it was primed, and that should not have happened. Take on Take on your disasters one at a time, old patroller, or you'll lose your trail your disasters one at a time, old patroller, or you'll lose your trail. The knife could wait.

Fawn could not.