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His words fed her innermost desires, and this made them dangerous. She forced silence upon the whispering in her mind, pushed down delicious but forbidden thoughts.
‘I have heard rumours,’ Spinnock went on, sheathing his sword, ‘that there are Azathanai vessels capable of holding Vitr. Made of strange and rare stone, they must be.’
She had heard the same, and it was details like that which convinced her that the Azathanai understood the nature of this terrible poison. ‘If there are such vessels,’ she now said, ‘one wonders what purpose might be served by collecting Vitr.’
She caught his shrug before he strode back to his horse. ‘Which camp is near, Faror?’
‘The one we call the Cup. You’ve not yet seen it. I will lead.’
His answering smile — so impossibly innocent — brushed her awake between the legs and she looked away, taking up the reins and silently cursing her own weakness. She heard him climb into the saddle of his own mount. Drawing her horse round, she guided the animal forward, back on to the trail leading away from the shoreline.
‘Mother Dark is the answer to this,’ Spinnock said behind her.
So we pray. ‘The poet Gallan has written of that,’ she said.
‘Why is that no surprise?’ Spinnock said, clearly amused. ‘Go on then, oh beautiful cousin, let’s hear it.’
She did not reply at once, struggling to slow the sudden leap of her heart. He had joined the Wardens a year past, yet this was the first time he had included her in his easy flirtations. ‘Very well, since you are so eager. Gallan wrote: In unrelieved darkness waits every answer.’
After a moment, as their horses scrabbled over uneven footing, Spinnock grunted. ‘As I thought.’
‘What thought is that, Spinnock?’
He laughed. ‘Even a bare handful of words from a poet, and I lose all sense of meaning. Such arts are not for me.’
‘One learns subtlety,’ she replied.
‘Indeed?’ She could hear his smile in the word. Then he went on, ‘And now, in your grey-haired wisdom, you will, perchance, pat my hand?’
She glanced back at him. ‘Have I offended you, cousin?’
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His words fed her innermost desires, and this made them dangerous. She forced silence upon the whispering in her mind, pushed down delicious but forbidden thoughts.
‘I have heard rumours,’ Spinnock went on, sheathing his sword, ‘that there are Azathanai vessels capable of holding Vitr. Made of strange and rare stone, they must be.’
She had heard the same, and it was details like that which convinced her that the Azathanai understood the nature of this terrible poison. ‘If there are such vessels,’ she now said, ‘one wonders what purpose might be served by collecting Vitr.’
She caught his shrug before he strode back to his horse. ‘Which camp is near, Faror?’
‘The one we call the Cup. You’ve not yet seen it. I will lead.’
His answering smile — so impossibly innocent — brushed her awake between the legs and she looked away, taking up the reins and silently cursing her own weakness. She heard him climb into the saddle of his own mount. Drawing her horse round, she guided the animal forward, back on to the trail leading away from the shoreline.
‘Mother Dark is the answer to this,’ Spinnock said behind her.
So we pray. ‘The poet Gallan has written of that,’ she said.
‘Why is that no surprise?’ Spinnock said, clearly amused. ‘Go on then, oh beautiful cousin, let’s hear it.’
She did not reply at once, struggling to slow the sudden leap of her heart. He had joined the Wardens a year past, yet this was the first time he had included her in his easy flirtations. ‘Very well, since you are so eager. Gallan wrote: In unrelieved darkness waits every answer.’
After a moment, as their horses scrabbled over uneven footing, Spinnock grunted. ‘As I thought.’
‘What thought is that, Spinnock?’
He laughed. ‘Even a bare handful of words from a poet, and I lose all sense of meaning. Such arts are not for me.’
‘One learns subtlety,’ she replied.
‘Indeed?’ She could hear his smile in the word. Then he went on, ‘And now, in your grey-haired wisdom, you will, perchance, pat my hand?’
She glanced back at him. ‘Have I offended you, cousin?’
He gave a careless shake of his head. ‘Never that, Faror Hend. But the years between us are not so vast, are they?’
She searched his eyes for a long moment, and then faced forward once more. ‘It will be dark soon, and Finarra will be most upset if we fail to have a meal awaiting her when she returns. And the tents raised, as well, with all bedding prepared.’
‘Finarra upset? I have yet to see that, cousin.’
‘Nor shall we this night.’
‘Will she find us in the dark?’
‘Of course, by the light of our fire, Spinnock.’
‘In a place called the Cup?’
‘Ah, well, there is that. Still, she well knows the camp, since it was she who first discovered it.’
‘Then she will not wander lost.’
‘No,’ Faror replied.
‘And so,’ Spinnock added, amused once more, ‘this night shall see no revelations. By the fire’s light no answers will be found.’
‘It seems you understood Gallan well enough, Spinnock Durav.’
‘I grow older with every moment.’
She sighed. ‘As do we all.’
Captain Finarra Stone reined in, her eyes fixed upon the carcass thrown up on to the ragged shoreline of the sea. The bitter air had sweetened with the heavy stench of rotting meat. She had spent years patrolling Glimmer Fate, and the Outer Reach that was the verge of the Vitr Sea. Never before had a creature washed ashore, living or dead.
She had ridden far from her companions and it would be dark well before she managed to return to them. This time, however, she regretted her solitude.
The beast was enormous, yet so much of it had been devoured by the acidic Vitr that it was difficult to determine what manner of creature it might be. Here and there, along the back of the massive torso, ragged sheaths of scaled hide remained, bleached of all colour. Lower down, closer to the ground, the thick slabs of muscled flesh gave way to a curved fence-line of red-stained ribs. The pale sack encased by these ribs had ruptured, spilling rotting organs on to the ground, close to where the Vitr slowly lifted and fell on the quartzite sand.
The nearest hind limb, bent like that of a cat, reached up to a jutting hip bone, level with Finarra’s eyes as she sat astride her horse. There were remnants of a thick, tapering tail. The forelimbs seemed to be reaching for the shore, the hand of one stretched out with thick claws buried deep in the sands, as if the beast had been trying to climb free of the Vitr, but this seemed impossible.
