Banewreaker(173)

Unexpectedly, the passage widened.

Vorax stumbled into open space, catching himself. It was a rough-hewn chamber, a natural space vastened by the efforts of a hundred generations chipping at the stone walls. Everywhere, butt-ends of tallow candles burned, wedged into every available niche and crevice. Scraps and oddments of carpet covered the floor, and the walls were covered with scratched messages; some legible, most a garble of words. There must have been a dozen madlings gathered, light glimmering from their eyes. All of them whispered, hissing and muttering to one another.

One was kneeling before the figure who stood in the center of the chamber, grimy fingers plucking at the hem of her blue robe as he raised a face filled with hope. "Me?" he said. "Me? Lady see me?"

The Lady Cerelinde bent her head, cupping the madling's face with both hands. Her hair spilled forward, shimmering in the candlelight, veiling her features. "Ludo," she said softly, her silvery voice ringing. "You were a wheelwright's son. I see you, Ludo. I see what might have been. I see you with a plump wife, smiling, and laughing children chasing one another in your father's yard."

"Lady!" He gasped the word, face shining and distorted with tears, and rocked back and forth, wringing the hem of her robe. "Lady, Lady, yes!"

Cerelinde released him with a gentle smile, lifted her head—and froze.

The madlings wailed in chorus.

"Lady." Vorax took a further step into the chamber, his sword rasping free of its scabbard. He met her oddly fearless gaze, and the blood seemed to sing in his veins, a high-pitched tone ringing in his head. He raised the blade, angling it for a solid blow, watching her expose the vulnerable column of her throat as her gaze followed the sword. His voice, when he spoke, sounded strange to his ears. "What is it you do in this place?"

"I might ask you the same," she said calmly. "Do you desire a glimpse of what might have been, Lord Vorax? It is a small magic, one of the few which the Rivenlost are afforded, but I am willing to share it. All you must do is consent in your heart to know."

He gritted his teeth. "That, I do not."

"So." She watched the candlelight reflecting on the edge of his sword. "I do not blame you, given what you have chosen. They do. It gives them comfort to know, poor broken creatures that they are. Is there harm in it, my Lord? Have I trespassed? I was brought to this place."

"Who—?"

"Get out!" From the shadows a figure flung itself at him, wild-eyed, arms windmilling. Astonished, Vorax put up his sword, taking a step backward. He had a brief impression of sallow features beneath a mat of tangled hair. "Get out!" the madling shrilled, flailing at him. "You brought her here, but this is our place! Ours! Get out!"

Catching her thin wrists in one gauntleted hand, he held her at bay. It took a moment to put a name to her, but he had seen her before; one of Tanaros' favorites, or one who favored him. There was no telling, with madlings. "Meara," he said. "What do you do here? Why?"

She sagged in his grasp, then twisted to scowl at him through her dark, matted hair. "We batter our hearts, my lord, against the specter of what might have been. Don't you see?" There were tears in her eyes, at odds with her expression. "I warned him, my lord," she said. "I did. I tried to tell him. But he didn't want to know, so he left, and Ushahin left, and we were left alone. Isn't it clear?"

"No." Vorax released his grasp, letting her crumple on the chamber floor. "No," he said again, "it's not." He eyed them; Meara, her face averted, the lad Ludo, weeping. Others wept, too. Only the Lady Cerelinde stood, dry-eyed. "Listen," he said to the madlings. "This place, all places, belong to Lord Satoris. What might have been… is not. Do you understand?"

Wails of assent arose in answer. One of the madlings was banging his head against an outcropping of rock, bloodying his forehead. "His blood!" he moaned. "His Lordship's blood!"

"Aye." Vorax gave them a hard look. "That which he shed to defend us all, and sheds every minute of every day in suffering. Do you disdain it?" They wailed denial. "Good," he said. "Because Ushahin Dreamspinner, who is your master, returns anon. And, too, there will come Tanaros Blacksword, who makes his way home even now. Do you wish them to find you weeping over what might have been?"

Perhaps it was the right thing to say: who could tell, with madlings? They dispersed, wailing, into the passageways of Darkhaven. Only Meara and the Ellyl woman were left, the one still huddled, the other still standing.

Vorax exhaled hard, dragging his arm across his brow, and sheathed his sword. "Meara," he said conversationally, "I suggest you return the Lady to her chambers, and do not allow her to venture out again unless his Lordship summons her. If I find you here again, I will not hesitate to strike. And if you think my mercy is cruel, remember what Ushahin Dreamspinner might do to her. He has no love for her kind."