Soulcatcher
glanced back before entering the wood. “So where are they
all?” And in a firm male voice she demanded, “What
happened to all the suck-ups?”
Another voice, “Somebody should’ve wanted to kiss
up.”
A puzzled voice asked, “They always do, don’t
they?”
“Are we losing it here?”
“I don’t like it.”
“This isn’t fun anymore.” Petulant, spoiled
child voice.
“Most of the time we’re just going through the
motions. There aren’t any challenges here.”
“Even when there are it’s almost impossible to get
impassioned enough to care.”
Most of those voices were businesslike but jaded.
“It’s hard to keep going on fuel like hunger for
revenge alone.”
“It’s hard to be alone, period.”
That remark brought on an extended silence. Soulcatcher did not
have a voice for expressing the emotional costs of being who she
was. Not out loud. Ferocious mad-killer sorcerers do not whine
because nobody likes them.
The growth along the creek had a sharp boundary. In another time
the land must have been groomed by human occupation. Soulcatcher
listened. The wood, which was a little more than a mile wide,
seemed remarkably silent. There should have been a racket from work
parties harvesting firewood and timber for use around the camp. But
there was nothing. And she did not recall authorizing a holiday.
Something had frightened the soldiers away.
Yet she sensed no danger.
After a moment, though, she did detect a supernatural
presence.
She glanced upward. Those vultures continued to circle. They
were lower now. They seemed to be wheeling above the presence she
sensed.
Warily, she probed farther and deeper. She had remarkably
well-honed senses when she cared to concentrate.
This presence was like nothing in her experience. Something like
a powerful shadow, yet with a strong implication of working
intelligence. Not a demon or some such otherworldly entity, though.
Something that felt like it was a part of nature but still having
about it a hint of not belonging to this world. But how? Not of
this world but not
otherworldly? . . . Something very powerful but
not driven by malice. At the moment. Something timeless, accustomed
to patience, mildly impatient right now, again a smart-shadow thing
like those stalkers down south had been.
Soulcatcher extended her senses to their maximum. This thing was
waiting for her. For her alone. It had repulsed everything but
those vultures. She had to be careful. Despite her ennui she did
not want to trigger a fatal ambush.
There was nothing.
She stepped forward.
She did so while assembling a quiver of sudden and deadly
spells. She squinted behind her mask, looking for this thing that
wanted to see her.
It grew stronger but less focused as she moved toward it. For a
moment it seemed that it was all around her—even while being in one
place somewhere ahead of her. When she did arrive where her senses
told her it ought to be, she saw nothing.
That place was a small clearing just off the Rock Road, across
the shallow stream. She saw several Vehdna grave markers and a few
Gunni memorial posts with time-gnawed prayer wheels on top. This
must be where her sister fought the Shadowlander cavalry during her
flight from Dejagore. In a time so long ago that she still had
believed Narayan Singh to be her friend and champion.
Sunlight tumbled through the leaves overhead. It dappled the
clearing. Soulcatcher settled on a rotten log that protruded from
what might once must have been an earthwork. “I’m here.
I’m waiting.”
Something large moved at the edge of her vision. She got the
impression of a black feline. But when she turned she saw
nothing.
“So that’s the way it’s going to be,
eh?”
“Thus it must be. Ever.” The response seemed to come
from nowhere in particular and it was not clear whether she heard
it with her ears or inside her head.
“What do you want from me?” Soulcatcher used a deep
masculine voice heavy with menace.
The presence was amused, not intimidated. “I bring a
message from your old friend Croaker.”
Croaker was no friend. In fact, she was distinctly piqued with
that man. He had not been entirely cooperative when she had tried
to seduce him and now he had refused to stay buried after she had
tried to kill him. Still, he was the reason she had a head on her
shoulders these days. And that tiny edge would be why this
communication was arriving in his name.
“Go ahead.”
The whatever-it-was did as she bid. As she listened she poked
around in an effort to fathom its true nature. While searching for
some handle she could grasp to make it over into an agent of her
own.
It sensed what she was doing. It was amused. Not troubled. Not
frightened. Not inclined to react. Just amused.
Soulcatcher reviewed the story carefully once the spook had
finished relating it. It sounded plausible. If incomplete. But why
expect those people to be entirely forthcoming in such a
situation?
Try as she might she could discover no obvious trap. They
sounded worried down there. This news could explain their sudden
shift of strategy.
Goblin possessed by Kina. Narayan Singh dead. The Daughter of
Night running loose . . . Not running loose at
all! In the hands of her troops, on the Rock Road somewhere south
of Dejagore, very probably looking for an opportunity to get
loose.
Goblin might arrange that.
She bounced up off the rotten log, ennui gone. “Tell
Croaker he can consider communications opened. I’ll take
steps to deal with the situation. Go! Go!”
A flicker. Like a shadow passing through and deserting at the
same time. It left a deeply felt chill and one more uncertain
glimpse of an impossibly large, catlike form moving away at an
impossible pace.
From the nearby Rock Road came the rattle and clop of a large
party headed south. Camels seemed to be involved. That meant
civilians. There were no camels in her armies. She hated camels.
They were filthy animals with nasty tempers even on their best
days.
She leapt across the creek and hurried to the edge of the woods,
emerging not a hundred feet from where a caravan was doing the
same. Civilian it was, but most of the wagons and camels and mules
would discharge their cargo in her camp.
The caravaners spied her. They were startled. And
frightened.
Her blood was moving again. She always enjoyed the impact she
made when she appeared unexpectedly.
As she turned and raised her gaze to the circling vultures she
thought she glimpsed a familiar face among the merchants and
teamsters. Aridatha Singh? Here? How? Why? But when she looked more
closely she saw no Aridatha. Maybe it was just someone who looked
like Singh. Maybe it was her reawakened zest reminding her that it
had been a long time since she had enjoyed a man. Aridatha Singh
had a definite masculine allure. Few women failed to notice that,
though he seemed entirely unaware of the effect he had.
Time enough to think about that after she alerted Dejagore and
got troops of cavalry out to round up her niece, that willful,
difficult child.
There must be some way to gain control of her and add her
talents to the arsenal of the Protectorate. Possibly she might even
take Goblin—despite the fact of his possession.
Goblin never had been much of a wizard.
How sweet revenge was when it arrived after a long delay.
Then let that bitch Ardath and all her dogs come on! A lot of
ancient debts would get paid off.
As she approached the encampment ditch she glanced back to
consider the vultures again.
The carrion birds had broken their circle. Only a few remained
in sight, cruising the sky in search of something rank and tasty
again.
Soulcatcher found a voice she had not used since she was young.
With it she began to sing a song of springtime and young love, in a
language recalled from the springtime of life, when love still
lived in the world.
The sentries were extremely frightened.
Soulcatcher
glanced back before entering the wood. “So where are they
all?” And in a firm male voice she demanded, “What
happened to all the suck-ups?”
Another voice, “Somebody should’ve wanted to kiss
up.”
A puzzled voice asked, “They always do, don’t
they?”
“Are we losing it here?”
“I don’t like it.”
“This isn’t fun anymore.” Petulant, spoiled
child voice.
“Most of the time we’re just going through the
motions. There aren’t any challenges here.”
“Even when there are it’s almost impossible to get
impassioned enough to care.”
Most of those voices were businesslike but jaded.
“It’s hard to keep going on fuel like hunger for
revenge alone.”
“It’s hard to be alone, period.”
That remark brought on an extended silence. Soulcatcher did not
have a voice for expressing the emotional costs of being who she
was. Not out loud. Ferocious mad-killer sorcerers do not whine
because nobody likes them.
The growth along the creek had a sharp boundary. In another time
the land must have been groomed by human occupation. Soulcatcher
listened. The wood, which was a little more than a mile wide,
seemed remarkably silent. There should have been a racket from work
parties harvesting firewood and timber for use around the camp. But
there was nothing. And she did not recall authorizing a holiday.
Something had frightened the soldiers away.
Yet she sensed no danger.
After a moment, though, she did detect a supernatural
presence.
She glanced upward. Those vultures continued to circle. They
were lower now. They seemed to be wheeling above the presence she
sensed.
Warily, she probed farther and deeper. She had remarkably
well-honed senses when she cared to concentrate.
This presence was like nothing in her experience. Something like
a powerful shadow, yet with a strong implication of working
intelligence. Not a demon or some such otherworldly entity, though.
Something that felt like it was a part of nature but still having
about it a hint of not belonging to this world. But how? Not of
this world but not
otherworldly? . . . Something very powerful but
not driven by malice. At the moment. Something timeless, accustomed
to patience, mildly impatient right now, again a smart-shadow thing
like those stalkers down south had been.
Soulcatcher extended her senses to their maximum. This thing was
waiting for her. For her alone. It had repulsed everything but
those vultures. She had to be careful. Despite her ennui she did
not want to trigger a fatal ambush.
There was nothing.
She stepped forward.
She did so while assembling a quiver of sudden and deadly
spells. She squinted behind her mask, looking for this thing that
wanted to see her.
It grew stronger but less focused as she moved toward it. For a
moment it seemed that it was all around her—even while being in one
place somewhere ahead of her. When she did arrive where her senses
told her it ought to be, she saw nothing.
That place was a small clearing just off the Rock Road, across
the shallow stream. She saw several Vehdna grave markers and a few
Gunni memorial posts with time-gnawed prayer wheels on top. This
must be where her sister fought the Shadowlander cavalry during her
flight from Dejagore. In a time so long ago that she still had
believed Narayan Singh to be her friend and champion.
Sunlight tumbled through the leaves overhead. It dappled the
clearing. Soulcatcher settled on a rotten log that protruded from
what might once must have been an earthwork. “I’m here.
I’m waiting.”
Something large moved at the edge of her vision. She got the
impression of a black feline. But when she turned she saw
nothing.
“So that’s the way it’s going to be,
eh?”
“Thus it must be. Ever.” The response seemed to come
from nowhere in particular and it was not clear whether she heard
it with her ears or inside her head.
“What do you want from me?” Soulcatcher used a deep
masculine voice heavy with menace.
The presence was amused, not intimidated. “I bring a
message from your old friend Croaker.”
Croaker was no friend. In fact, she was distinctly piqued with
that man. He had not been entirely cooperative when she had tried
to seduce him and now he had refused to stay buried after she had
tried to kill him. Still, he was the reason she had a head on her
shoulders these days. And that tiny edge would be why this
communication was arriving in his name.
“Go ahead.”
The whatever-it-was did as she bid. As she listened she poked
around in an effort to fathom its true nature. While searching for
some handle she could grasp to make it over into an agent of her
own.
It sensed what she was doing. It was amused. Not troubled. Not
frightened. Not inclined to react. Just amused.
Soulcatcher reviewed the story carefully once the spook had
finished relating it. It sounded plausible. If incomplete. But why
expect those people to be entirely forthcoming in such a
situation?
Try as she might she could discover no obvious trap. They
sounded worried down there. This news could explain their sudden
shift of strategy.
Goblin possessed by Kina. Narayan Singh dead. The Daughter of
Night running loose . . . Not running loose at
all! In the hands of her troops, on the Rock Road somewhere south
of Dejagore, very probably looking for an opportunity to get
loose.
Goblin might arrange that.
She bounced up off the rotten log, ennui gone. “Tell
Croaker he can consider communications opened. I’ll take
steps to deal with the situation. Go! Go!”
A flicker. Like a shadow passing through and deserting at the
same time. It left a deeply felt chill and one more uncertain
glimpse of an impossibly large, catlike form moving away at an
impossible pace.
From the nearby Rock Road came the rattle and clop of a large
party headed south. Camels seemed to be involved. That meant
civilians. There were no camels in her armies. She hated camels.
They were filthy animals with nasty tempers even on their best
days.
She leapt across the creek and hurried to the edge of the woods,
emerging not a hundred feet from where a caravan was doing the
same. Civilian it was, but most of the wagons and camels and mules
would discharge their cargo in her camp.
The caravaners spied her. They were startled. And
frightened.
Her blood was moving again. She always enjoyed the impact she
made when she appeared unexpectedly.
As she turned and raised her gaze to the circling vultures she
thought she glimpsed a familiar face among the merchants and
teamsters. Aridatha Singh? Here? How? Why? But when she looked more
closely she saw no Aridatha. Maybe it was just someone who looked
like Singh. Maybe it was her reawakened zest reminding her that it
had been a long time since she had enjoyed a man. Aridatha Singh
had a definite masculine allure. Few women failed to notice that,
though he seemed entirely unaware of the effect he had.
Time enough to think about that after she alerted Dejagore and
got troops of cavalry out to round up her niece, that willful,
difficult child.
There must be some way to gain control of her and add her
talents to the arsenal of the Protectorate. Possibly she might even
take Goblin—despite the fact of his possession.
Goblin never had been much of a wizard.
How sweet revenge was when it arrived after a long delay.
Then let that bitch Ardath and all her dogs come on! A lot of
ancient debts would get paid off.
As she approached the encampment ditch she glanced back to
consider the vultures again.
The carrion birds had broken their circle. Only a few remained
in sight, cruising the sky in search of something rank and tasty
again.
Soulcatcher found a voice she had not used since she was young.
With it she began to sing a song of springtime and young love, in a
language recalled from the springtime of life, when love still
lived in the world.
The sentries were extremely frightened.