Eris' Handmaiden Page 6

The short form crept along the beach, eyes wide. Dim sunlight filtered through the morning, tinting his skin indigo in its forlorn light. A low fog hung over the water, sending tendrils up over the beach sand, absorbing sound and obscuring vision. No gulls flew today, and the only sound heard on the beach was the soft lapping of the waves and the even softer clicking of the claws on the crabs, ever beachcombing.

Even with his senses muted by the cold clouds, the kobold could tell that something had happened to change the beach. He regularly walked here, catching crabs when he and his family had a taste for them, collecting stones and shells that might be of use to the mystics or trinkets to give to others. But today was different.

He skirted a salt-encrusted cloth remnant, pausing to kneel a moment beside it. The tattered sail left its imprint in the sand as he pulled it free. A corner was painted, and the kobold looked at it curiously, but couldn’t determine what the larger design might have been. “Ship,” he murmured to himself. “Sank?”

Rising again, he moved down the beach, pausing now and again to push a bit of debris aside with his foot, or reach to lift a bit of the remnants of the cargo of the ship. Each treasure he found was carefully stowed in a large bag hanging from his shoulder. Though he wouldn’t have room for any crabs today, he would have finer things to bring back to his family.

Another nudge with his toe at a bit of sailcloth brought a soft moan from the sandy lump and gasp from the blue lips. One hand darted to his side, pulling free a sharp blade as quick steps took him back. Several moments passed as his heart hammered in his chest, but no further sound and no motion came from the pile. “Who yus?” he finally said boldly.

Still there was no response. Keeping the blade unsheathed, he walked forward again, nudging the soft lump with his toe then skittering back. This time there was no sound. Emboldened, he bent to reach down to the cloth. As he pulled it back, his eyes widened again.

A dark bruise covered the left side of the woman’s face. Red hair tangled around her head, plastered to her by salt crystals. Her jaw was slack, her eyes closed. A bedraggled tunic of cotton covered her body, but strangely crafted sleeves of metal rings protected her arms. “Who yus?” the kobold repeated.

After a moment with no reply the kobold reached out to tentatively touch the cheek of the woman who lay half-buried in sand. “She dead?” he questioned softly, then shook his head as his fingers gently brushed her skin. “Not dead. Warm.”

“Me gets help,” he said, rising to his feet. “Help quick.” He pulled the sailcloth that had shrouded the woman up over her head again, then turned to run back toward the path that had brought him to the beach.

Korbel looked back at the party he’d been leading to the beach. Why must they walk so slowly? Couldn’t they see he’d found something important? He paused, nearly hopping from foot to foot as he waited impatiently for them to close the gap.

The elder kobold leading the trailing group waved to the younger, grunting under his breath. “No hurry,” he muttered.

“Him upset,” the female walking beside the white-haired patriarch observed.

“Ja. No hurry, though. Just a shipwreck.”

The female nodded, then stroked the fingers of her right hand through faintly golden hair, urging a whisp back behind her ear. She mused silently as she strode beside the elder. Korth could be stubborn in his insistence that things never changed. But all around her, she’d seen signs, whether in the patterns of the clouds, the minerals in the rock, the bending of the pines, or the voices of the dead. Things changed.

“Here! Here!” The young kobold had bent to pull a sandy cloth back from a portion of the beach. “See!”

Korth glanced to Knutha as he waved yet again to the anxious youngster who was pointing down to the sand. The mystic had insisted that she’d accompany the journey to the beach. As strange as young Korbel’s tale of a human body had been, the interest of the tribe’s spiritmistress had been even stranger. She’d been far back away from the fire when Korbel had begun telling of his discovery the previous evening, and by the end of the telling had been standing between the fire and the bench of the Elders. She’d insisted that she must accompany those venturing back to the beach. After a glance to his right, where wizened Danja had nodded her assent, then to his left, where Pontar was nearly snoring with lack of concern, Korth had granted the mystic’s request. He’d had the uncomfortable feeling that it wasn’t so much a request as a demand, but Knutha had been nothing if not respectful. Just as well. Even though Korbel often came to the beach for crabs, there was risk, and all would have to listen and act on the Elder’s words if that risk raised its head.

Knutha managed to maintain a sedate walk beside Korth as the Elder paced slowly toward Korbel. As they drew close, she saw the fiery red hair Korbel had spoken of, as well as the ugly bruise that colored half the woman’s face. She frowned at a vague shadow that seemed to hover over the woman. There was change here, she was certain now. But it would require Workings to find out what the change was.

Korth shook his head, tsking softly between clenched teeth. “Enemy,” he finally said.

Korbel blinked up at the white-haired Elder in surprise. “Enemy? Here? No!”

Korth nodded, prodding one of the woman’s arms with his toe. “Look at chain. Not from our land.”

“Kill her?” asked one of the clan who’d accompanied them. His fingers closed on the hilt of the sharp curved blade that hung at his side.

“Shadowblades only see one thing… death,” Knutha murmured, sinking to her knees beside the body still half-buried in the sand.

A dark eyebrow arched as the warrior looked at the mystic, but he made no comment in return. Thin lips pressed tightly together as he watched Knutha place her hand on the enemy woman’s cheek. He glanced to the side, where another strong clan warrior stood, then shrugged. It would be the Elders and the mystics who decided, but as always, those who wielded the blades would stand guard for the clan.

“Hot,” Knutha murmured to herself. “Too hot for human.”

“Her shade be yours to command?” Korth questioned, looking closely at the spiritmistress. He’d never quite understood those who communed with death in the way of the mystic, viewing them with a mixture of awe and disgust. Now he worked to keep it from his voice as he questioned. “She’s enemy.”

“No,” Knutha answered. “But there is one…,” she shook her head, once again vaguely focusing on the shadow that hovered above this woman. Mysteries upon mysteries. How had the enemy gotten so close to the heart of their land? What ship had foundered? How had this woman managed to live through the wreck when apparently no others of her vessel had? She looked up at Korth. “We take her? We find out.”

Again, the words were more demand than question, Korth thought to himself, but he’d few options other than to agree. If the woman lived, she could be valuable. The armor she wore was value enough to justify what little risk was involved in moving her. “Dig her out,” he said to the strong clan warriors who’d accompanied them. “We take her home.”

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