overrated, I remind myself. They’ll be plenty of time for that when this is over, however it works out. (Though I could really use a good bowl of noodles, a shot of decent Solingi bourbon, and some leaf right about now.)
At several points the trail disappears or passes through clefts in the rock too narrow for the ship, and with a flurry of frantic effort the Buhr swarm up, over, or around whatever is in the way, each individual scrabbling for the best footing for each of its three feet, each working to carry as much of the great weight of the ship as possible.
We lose some of them, off the edge of a steep cliff, or crushed beneath shifting rocks. Some are even trampled underfoot by the Buhr themselves, after they stumble. I shout up to the Buhr at the bow, which might or might not be the one I negotiated with. But it waves its feeding tube at me. THE LOSS OF ONE MEANS LITTLE , it shouts back. I gather this is something like a mantra for them. THEIR EXPIRATIONS ENRICH US.
As we ride, the tides cycle rapidly through rising and falling as the moons pass overhead. When all the moons set, briefly, the stars emerge, dense and white and fiery in the temporary darkness. We pass down into the tree line, down through the snow, and out across rolling hills that bring us closer to the sea. The path takes us through a valley blanketed in a kinetic, phosphorescent grass that’s hunting insects. Sharp, carnivorous blades swat and glow in the moonlight. We move carefully through a clearing filled with a hundred pale, stone statues, each nearly twelve feet high. I don’t recognize the race—a stocky insect-like creature, each of them dressed for some ancient war, with elaborate armor and long swords they held before them. All of the statues’ heads have been severed and are nowhere to be seen. Their bodies are cracked and covered in moss.
“You were surprising back there,” I tell Kjat. She’s been quiet this whole time, and I feel the need to break the silence.
I see her tense up. “Surprising good? Or surprising bad?”
“Surprising good. You have a lot of strength in you. To be honest I didn’t expect it.”
“Thanks,” Kjat grinned. “I guess.” She relaxes, like she’s been holding her breath for most of the ride so far.
“Where did you train?”
She looks away. “Here and there,” she says. “A friend of the family showed me some things when I was younger.” She absently rubs the inside of her wrist, where a small black glyph lies on her skin.
I nod. I don’t want to pry. We all have our secrets.
We pass the mouth of an old mine, now abandoned, and we move toward a patch of deep forest where great flowering blossoms arch high above us. As we approach, the flowers swivel toward us and take on a predatory stance, heads low and forward, petals outstretched, and they shake themselves vigorously. The petals and fibrous stems are edged with spines.
Kjat draws her knife. “Wait,” I say. “They’re not things that you want to make enemies of. Watch.”
She nods and sheathes her knife reluctantly. The flowers study us, and we study them back. They are pale blue and white, stripes spiraling in from the petals toward the stamen like a whirlpool. Their fragrance is thick and fruity. They retreat slowly as the ship passes them by, most of them stretching skyward again to catch the next moonslight, but a few blooms still watch us until we pass out of the forest and on down the path, out of site.
“How did you know about them?” Kjat asks.
“There’s a great garden in the Chancellor’s Residence in Tamaranth. I had a chance to walk through it once, and there are a lot of plants like them. Some of them are almost sentient.”
“You worked for the Chancellor?”
“Sort of. We worked for someone who worked for someone. Just guard work, really.”
“But you fought at the ford, at Amontar. With Josik.”
I nod. And Pirrosh. “It was our first real fight. We nearly died, to be honest. There were so
At several points the trail disappears or passes through clefts in the rock too narrow for the ship, and with a flurry of frantic effort the Buhr swarm up, over, or around whatever is in the way, each individual scrabbling for the best footing for each of its three feet, each working to carry as much of the great weight of the ship as possible.
We lose some of them, off the edge of a steep cliff, or crushed beneath shifting rocks. Some are even trampled underfoot by the Buhr themselves, after they stumble. I shout up to the Buhr at the bow, which might or might not be the one I negotiated with. But it waves its feeding tube at me. THE LOSS OF ONE MEANS LITTLE , it shouts back. I gather this is something like a mantra for them. THEIR EXPIRATIONS ENRICH US.
As we ride, the tides cycle rapidly through rising and falling as the moons pass overhead. When all the moons set, briefly, the stars emerge, dense and white and fiery in the temporary darkness. We pass down into the tree line, down through the snow, and out across rolling hills that bring us closer to the sea. The path takes us through a valley blanketed in a kinetic, phosphorescent grass that’s hunting insects. Sharp, carnivorous blades swat and glow in the moonlight. We move carefully through a clearing filled with a hundred pale, stone statues, each nearly twelve feet high. I don’t recognize the race—a stocky insect-like creature, each of them dressed for some ancient war, with elaborate armor and long swords they held before them. All of the statues’ heads have been severed and are nowhere to be seen. Their bodies are cracked and covered in moss.
“You were surprising back there,” I tell Kjat. She’s been quiet this whole time, and I feel the need to break the silence.
I see her tense up. “Surprising good? Or surprising bad?”
“Surprising good. You have a lot of strength in you. To be honest I didn’t expect it.”
“Thanks,” Kjat grinned. “I guess.” She relaxes, like she’s been holding her breath for most of the ride so far.
“Where did you train?”
She looks away. “Here and there,” she says. “A friend of the family showed me some things when I was younger.” She absently rubs the inside of her wrist, where a small black glyph lies on her skin.
I nod. I don’t want to pry. We all have our secrets.
We pass the mouth of an old mine, now abandoned, and we move toward a patch of deep forest where great flowering blossoms arch high above us. As we approach, the flowers swivel toward us and take on a predatory stance, heads low and forward, petals outstretched, and they shake themselves vigorously. The petals and fibrous stems are edged with spines.
Kjat draws her knife. “Wait,” I say. “They’re not things that you want to make enemies of. Watch.”
She nods and sheathes her knife reluctantly. The flowers study us, and we study them back. They are pale blue and white, stripes spiraling in from the petals toward the stamen like a whirlpool. Their fragrance is thick and fruity. They retreat slowly as the ship passes them by, most of them stretching skyward again to catch the next moonslight, but a few blooms still watch us until we pass out of the forest and on down the path, out of site.
“How did you know about them?” Kjat asks.
“There’s a great garden in the Chancellor’s Residence in Tamaranth. I had a chance to walk through it once, and there are a lot of plants like them. Some of them are almost sentient.”
“You worked for the Chancellor?”
“Sort of. We worked for someone who worked for someone. Just guard work, really.”
“But you fought at the ford, at Amontar. With Josik.”
I nod. And Pirrosh. “It was our first real fight. We nearly died, to be honest. There were so
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