PULL ME UNDER - Gung-Ho - Thirty-One
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Thirty-One
Irynna was quick and silent with her bow, no proof she fired but the fall of the soldier against the door ahead, propping it open. They pulled the body aside and closed the door, lowered the bar, and began descending the stairs to find Meired. The noises of the soldiers from the keep like rain on a pond to their ears, the echoes confusing their numbers.
A shot at nothing, Irynna’s arrow clattering against stone and tumbling down the steps. “I swear I saw a man there,” she whispered.
“It’s alright. Expect more trick-sight. I’ll give you a sign to shoot, right? Two fingers up, you shoot.”
“What if it’s too dark to see you?”
“Don’t go far from me. I’ll tap you twice.”
Down the stairs, the voices became louder, she picked up the stray arrow and returned it to the quiver. His head began to ache from the center out, that tearing sensation again. “Magic is getting thicker.”
They stopped near the last opening before the keep, a loosely closed door. He pushed with his toe, the creak making them pause with breath held, backs against the stone. No one came, and so he went ahead, pushing it just enough to fit through, going out to a hallway that split into two directions. One direction was warmly lit and full of voices, a familiar-looking corridor of tapestries on one side and doorways on the other, just like the castle in Kaddusk. If they went that way, it would likely lead to the main feast-hall, and that would be the end of them. Instead, they took the darker corridor, an unknown destination, but a less populated one.
Dead end. Another door. Locked. He tried the key from his boot, and the old lock gave in. A storage room, very simple, full of preserved food and amphoras and barrels and chests. Salt, spices, dried meat, cloth, skins, tools. He hoped for the people’s sake there was more stored away, because this wasn’t enough. He closed the door behind them and locked it, a chance to let themselves sit and breathe, tucking behind stacks of crates, total darkness.
“Why haven’t they found the bodies?” Irynna asked. “There should be a stir by now.”
“Maybe they went the other way, haven’t come down yet.” He could hear little rodents squeaking, bruxing and chewing. Getting fat off the stores.
“Makes me uneasy.”
He reached out blind, feeling for her hand on the stone floor, squeezed it in his, still sore from the climb. “Get used to that feeling.”
“I just want to kill her.”
“I know.”
***
Ddun paced the tent, Lauren’s maids silently undressing Lauren as she was too weak to do it on her own, her hands useless in their wrappings. Her battle-clothes were left in a heap. Ddun’s thoughts were in two places at once.
His men kept out of range from their stones and arrows and not a soul went in or out of the castle. He stayed dressed, waiting for anything Meired might throw at them. Likely, he would be sleeping in his armour. He was the first Dvarri to commit to a siege in generations, and everything he could tell anyone to do, was learned from the oral histories the elders passed down to him, and from Luvan. Whether he won or lost, it was a humbling, overwhelming feeling weighing his head. And with Lauren ill…
He had to focus. The gatehouse. With what little wood they had, his men scouting further upriver for more, to build a ram, workers were tirelessly putting it together.
Soldiers collected the stones that had been flung from the walls, scuttling off with them like thieves, amassed with the heads.
A rattle at the door to the tent. He was beckoned out. The day was bright in his eyes compared to the dimness of the fire, and his head cracked in pain from it. Two men stood stooped in a bow at him, and he gestured for them to rise. “There’s a body at the wall of the castle. Someone has been hung.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know. They won’t let us approach, even with a peace banner raised.”
He walked with them to the edge of the camp, looking out in the distance at the castle. “Have they allowed us to collect our dead?”
“No, and they don’t care to collect theirs either, despite our offer of truce to do so. Fling the heads we’ve lopped, it’s like charity.”
Ddun rubbed his eyes with rough knuckles. Any other time, he might have laughed at the joke. “If they want no quarter they will have none. I’ll consult with the elders and make a plan for daybreak. Those walls are as dust.”
***
“Tell me where to find Meired,” a servant had entered the store room, and Tanner had the unfortunate man in a chokehold, knife at his back. “How do we get up to her quarters from here?”
“M-Meired?”
The man arched his back with a soft cry as the tip of the blade threatened harder.
“Yes, the one and only. And keep quiet.”
Tanner felt a struggle to swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing against his arm. “Please d-don’t kill me.” Another swallow. “The hall—on the right—first door. Leads down to the cells. It’ll take you underneath where we are—”
“Is Grandfather with her?”
“G-Grandfather is headed to Dol Daruk—You’re hurting me!”
The man was close to tears, he had only come in to fetch beer. Tanner lightened the pressure on his neck, but only slightly. “Dol Daruk?”
“Five hundred years ago was the last time any Dvarri was crowned King, at the Stone Thrones, Dol Daruk,” Irynna supplied the history lesson. “He must have fled days ago.”
“So, he’s really determined to make a statement, isn’t he? Don’t answer that. Thank you for your help. I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to fetch what you need to fetch, and you won’t light that lamp until we’re gone.” He felt an attempt to nod, and let the servant go.
They doubled back to the split in the hall, heading down the way well-lit, first door on the right. He was quick with the key and they dove in, coming to another stairwell. The baneful smells were already familiar to him, and he knew there would be guards down there somewhere. They went down the twisting stairs two at a time, the air getting damper and more fetid. At the base of the stairs was a small alcove before the cells, where two guards sat at dice. “Is there really anyone worth guarding down here with a siege on, boys?” He recognized their stink. “You should give me your wine again.”
“You—You bastard!” Both of them jumped up, faltering drunk against chairs and table legs, blades out, and one was down in a blink with an arrow to the eye—the second guard attempted a grapple with Tanner, got a slammed knee up into his stomach, and while the guard was doubled, wheezing, Tanner’s blade went in smoothly under the ear, holding it there until the guard fell twitching, the stink of piss adding to the multitude of aromas. He took the skin from the guard’s hip, thirsty as hell, and took a good draught. Irynna declined. Probably smarter. The heat of the wine on his empty stomach helped the ache in his muscles as he made his way through, passing his old holding cell, and knowing the route the rest of the way.
He also knew he would have to use his magic soon. He could almost feel the itch on his palms, the claw-like pressure down his scalp, that it was inevitable. If Meired stayed behind, she knew he was coming. Shadows began running alongside them, and he had to pause, to concentrate. He couldn’t let the trick-sight get the better of him. He was doing it to himself. “Tanner? Are you alright?”
“I’ll be fine. Are you?” The shadows were gone for him, but for Irynna…
“I’m… Starting to see things.”
“They aren’t there.”
“I know.”
He took a lit lamp from its hanger and they went through the castle cellar, the smell lessening the further from the holding cells they went. Soon it would be the servant’s quarters, and their stairs went right up to where they needed to go.
***
Lauren’s maids shook her awake, stammering in Stenyan there was someone in the tent.
Across the hearth was a bright shadow, as illogical as it seemed; there was something dark there, but it clawed out in sharp and piercing beams of light and it made her gag to try and focus her eyes on it. Her skin was crawling, and her head burned. “Where’s Ddun?” she asked, her mouth and throat still parched and pained. The fact they could see it meant it was more than trick-sight. There was someone there, if she could only make out who it was… She felt no ill-intent, no discomfort at the presence, only the pain in her head to try and look at it.
“We don’t know, m’lady.”
“Find him, please, try the elder’s tents.” They ran past the figure, opening the door to the bright daylight, closing it just as fast.
There was a familiar scent in the air as the shadow approached Lauren. Musk and dirty denim, the grease at the cuffs of Tanner’s jacket sleeves. Her heart fluttered, and she forced herself to look, to clear the light that blinded her, but the scent was too familiar, too warming, too frightening to think anything else could replicate that smell.
The shadow cleared. Tanner’s worn engineer boots, his faded bluejeans, his Slayer t-shirt with all the holes in the right places under his denim jacket, his long hair tumbled loose over one shoulder—and that crooked grin. She flinched in surprise as he knelt near her bedding, looked her over, watched her as if she were a television set and there was something funny on, gaunt as he had been when they were in the tunnel. She trembled to see him there, so calm, eyes vibrant. The only scar on his face was the cigarette burn their father left there. It was as if all these months hadn’t passed, and they just looked at each other in silence. She wanted to hear his voice, but couldn’t move her own mouth to speak, she could barely breathe.
The door flew open, and Ddun stopped in his tracks, the sight of Tanner interrupting his rage that anyone dared be in the tent—jaw slack, his hand flexed, that thing he always did when he wasn’t sure if violence was the answer. “Tanner?” Ddun asked. A valid question.
The figure didn’t stir, didn’t look up.
“Is it really you?” Lauren finally spoke, all air.
Tanner laughed, with a little shake of his head, as if to say “what a stupid thing to ask.” It was so real, the laugh, the smell, the confused look in a squint, the firelight played off his skin in proper flickers and shadows. She was sweating, but also stuck in place, the strange fear of looking away and him disappearing.
Ddun stepped carefully to them, his hand still flexing in and out of a fist. “Speak,” he said. “Please, say something to prove it’s you.”
Please?
Tanner looked up at Ddun, a waver over him in the air. “Dol Daruk,” he said with a chuckle. “Dol Daruk.”
Ddun’s fingers stopped, his face went pale.
“What does that mean?” Lauren asked.
“It’s a… Place.”
She sat straighter, curling her legs underneath. Despite her bandages, she needed to know if the figure there was real, if it was warm. She held out a hand to Tanner’s knee, he kept his gaze on her like she was a fascinating thing, a curiosity. She felt the denim through the cloth, felt the two fabrics catch, felt the firmness of a kneecap, terrible pain up her fingers to put pressure down. He was really there, even if his mind didn’t seem to be. She felt the cry in her chest creeping upwards, forming a lump under her collarbone. She touched Tanner’s face.
Ddun stopped her, pushing her arm down. “We still don’t know if it’s a trick,” he said. She nodded and reclined back against her cushions. Tanner backed away as well, sat with his knees up and facing the fire, quiet, eyes watching the flames as if he had never seen them before.
“Get my sketchbook.”
Ddun did as he was told, and helped her flip to the drawing of Tanner she had done a few nights before. She turned the book to Tanner. “Do you recognize this?”
Tanner turned his head, eyeing the book, but it was as if he looked through it. The grin dropped from his lips, a crease in his brow. It seemed to upset him, so she closed the book, tucking it under a cushion. He turned back to the fire, another waver in the air, a more powerful shimmer. She didn’t know what to do. What sort of magic was this? And where was the real Tanner? What had he done? The lump couldn’t be held back anymore, creeping up her throat, she began to cry.
Ddun went to her and held her, his cold armour digging into her cheek. “If he’s in the castle, we’ll get him soon.”
“I don’t think he is. I think he’s here.”
***
There wasn’t a soul on the upper floor, where Meired and Grandfather’s quarters were kept. The air was almost as stale as the cellar, the must of old rugs and tapestries, dry dust filling Tanner’s nose. It was as if no one had been there for a hundred years, just as he remembered. He led the way, creeping silently against the wall of the hallway that would take him to Meired’s favourite room, where he had been so many times before with tied wrists, half-stupefied on that strange milk-water. Now, upright and untethered, with a woman who was a harder killer than he was. He knew if they could best the witch, there would be no reason for anyone else to die, even if Grandfather had fucked off somewhere else. He was easy prey with Meired out of the picture, just an old man with too much ambition.
There was commotion up from the lower floors, other stairwells echoing the news that the watchtowers had been lit. Ddun’s army was approaching, the sun was about to come up. Hours more and the army would be at their doorstep. Meired would be dead by then.
His feet were silent over the stones, his head tingling as they crept.
They came to the wide doorway, and he held Irynna tight against the ancient plaster as he craned his neck to listen. He could hear the hem of Meired’s skirts as she paced, soft footfalls on stone and then silent on carpet and then a pat or two on stone again. She was alone in the room, or if there was anyone else, they were silent. Bewitched guards could keep that still. They waited a bit longer, before he allowed his hands to go hot, to trick-sight them invisible, and that’s when he heard Meired’s breath hitch in a gasp. He and Irynna made their way behind a pillar, and he used his magic to disturb the nauseating light that stopped him from seeing the witch.
“You’re there, I can smell you,” Meired’s voice was acid as usual. She walked behind Grandfather’s desk, papers strewn, candles burned down to nubs. “Two of you? Come to try and kill me, no doubt. Good luck.”
Along every wall bewitched soldiers walked out from dark portals, weapons in hand, as if seeping out from the very stone. His stomach dropped, knowing they couldn’t fight them all off if they were to attack at once.
“I’ve come to avenge my mother, you witch,” Irynna spoke loud and steady. Tanner wanted to keep her still, but she was already stepping out from behind the pillar with an arrow nocked. Irynna was ready to die, and it made his knees feel weak and guts pained.
Meired laughed. “Show yourself, I need to know which mother it is you’re talking about.”
“Your brother’s wife. And you tried to kill me, too. I want to know why before we’re both dead.”
“Ah, I know who you are now. So long ago and you still hold a grudge?”
Irynna loosed the arrow and it sliced Meired’s cheek. Irynna wouldn’t miss if she didn’t mean to. “Why did you kill my mother?”
“I’m not answering a ghost, show yourself. It’s only polite that I ask, I can remove the curtain if I wanted.”
With his knife in hand, Tanner walked from behind the pillar, concentrating hard on keeping himself unseen. At the desk, close enough he could smell her saccharine perfume, he pinned her back against him, held his blade to her throat. “Tell her,” he hissed in her ear. “Or you’re dead where you stand.”
“Same reason I’m going to kill your sister,” Meired said to Tanner. “I tried with her, I really did. I would have liked to take her under my wing, but she was too headstrong. Far more than you were,” she chuckled, the knife pinching her skin, her face unchanged. “There’s still a chance for you, I hope.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I took her magic, it was an accident, really. Did you know your mother was from their world, too?” Irynna didn’t answer. “My brother fell in love with her, sired a bunch of brats. When I returned from the north and discovered my brother had been seduced by a witch, well… Rather poetic then, that I be burdened with it. But I’ve learned a lot more since then, about a great many things.”
The charmed guards took steps forward. Tanner’s palms went hot to stop them, to put his own charm over them. Irynna loosed an arrow at Meired, piercing her over her heart, a perfect shot. Sand poured from the wound, pushing the arrow out with a click on the desk, the sand hissing down onto the carpet in a stream. The guards moved again, and Tanner dropped Meired like a sack, watched the sand pool where she fell. It was a dummy, false, her real body must be somewhere else, and he needed to find out where. He stopped the guards again, head spinning.
“One mistake I made,” her voice came from the doorway, above them, and behind them. “Was to get stuck with the spirits…” The statement seemed to drop, unfinished.
Tanner’s heart thudded, Irynna shot another arrow and it clacked against the wall. She was seeing things. “Irynna!” He called to her. She panicked—dropped her bow.
He ran to her, turning her and holding her tight, stepping backwards to the doorway, try to make a break for it. She was trembling, eyes wide and darting. Not all the guards stayed charmed to him, and his hands were fiercely burning, Irynna flinching under his touch. He couldn’t focus on two things at once, trying to clear the trick-sight from Irynna and keeping the guards away. His head was aching, his skin itched.
“Let me go,” Irynna gasped, “you’re burning me!”
“Kill each other, would you?” he commanded his guards to action, licking sweat from his lip. There was fighting all around, skulls cracked and guts torn, the stink of blood and spilled bowels, but no cries of pain from any of them. He shivered to think Ddun’s men would be fighting these golems soon. He couldn’t let go of Irynna, he couldn’t risk her getting hurt in the fray.
She began to struggle, and it wasn’t her normal strength—an elbow hard in his gut jolted him through. He pulled back from her, and as she turned he could see the white smoke eyes. Meired had charmed her. His blood went cold. The witch was still there, somewhere. He focused on Irynna to correct the spell, his palms the only part of him with heat left. “Keep doing that,” Meired’s voice said after a short battle of wills, a back and forth between his magic and Meired’s, Irynna stumbling backwards and laying limp, “and you’ll break her permanently. I promise, I won’t kill her if you cooperate.”
The voice came from behind the desk, where Meired’s body was pulling itself up. There was a tear in her dress where the arrow had struck, but nothing more than that. No wound, no blood. More men seeped from the walls, and they all went right for Tanner with speed he didn’t expect, his heart in his throat—whacked across the shins with a spear shaft, pain that jolted the breath out of him before he could pull the axe from his belt—same swing followed through, a hit under his jaw as he doubled, bit tongue in a flash of red pain and the salt of blood. The room spun as he stumbled, lights flashing—on his back. Before he could think, there was a dozen hands on him, a dozen claws; she had conjured up yet more devils to grab him and hold him down. Despite his struggling and spitting he was pinned, hair gripped, head yanked back, clothes torn.
Meired came with a mickey-sized bottle, glass from his world, pale liquid through the green. He knew exactly what it was, with a burn in his veins to run—a hand came up under his jaw, into his mouth as he screamed, he wanted to bite at the filthy digits but it was too strong of a force. She pinched his nose, tight enough the cartilage cracked, and the bottle went upended into his mouth while he struggled and sputtered, the other hand forcing his mouth shut around the glass, choking on the bitter, thick liquid, burning up into his sinuses, feeling a tooth crack against the glass as he tried to turn his head. He couldn’t stop the flow to try and breathe, the bottle bruising his palate as he felt his arms go numb, his attempt at gurgled screams to plead with her to stop went unheeded. His body sank into the floor, feeling as if he were drowning and unable to stop it, even as it poured from the corners of his mouth, coughing, his face going purple as he tried desperately not to swallow, but bit by bit it filled his stomach, threatening to come back up, roiling and tinged with blood, but he was gone, floating in dull pleasantness.