“That’s sweet. So what are you still doing in town? How come you didn’t run for it like the rest of your House.”
“I didn’t say everybody ran. I said most. And I’m good at hiding. I spent a lot of time in the ruins. Still do. It’s hilarious: Praximar just can’t seem to think there’s anything of value out there. So that’s where we’ve gone to ground.”
“We?”
“Like I said. Not everybody ran. A few of us are in communication with the higher ranked Basilisks out in Deep Hell. There’s been a lot of politicking going on, apparently, out in Red Keep and beyond. A lot of powerful Great Souls eyeing each other and trying to maneuver for advantage while fighting their own wars. Apparently it’s hard to take what’s happening here seriously when the Blood Ox keeps eating your best fighters and the Viridian Heart is making inroads into the Lustrous Maria. But still.” Nissa tossed another rock. “The Seamstress is, apparently, a genius at politics. Some of the survivors say Eira was ordered to betray Praximar to setup some greater ploy. If that’s the case, it’s a long time coming.”
Scorio tried to process all of that and then shook his head, clearing it. “And you were following me why?”
“Why?” Nissa closed one eye and canted her head to one side. “You’re a miracle maker, Scorio, a reanimator of dead dreams. Look at you, standing hale and hearty before me after all that’s been thrown at you. I don’t know how you do it, but you’re unstoppable. Mostly. When word spread of a black scaled fiend flying into Bastion and hiding in the ruins, my boss put two and two together. It’s what she does. It’s what she’s brilliant at, and she demanded I find you and bring you to her.”
“Your boss.”
“Actually, you might have heard of her. Her escape drove Praximar to distraction, apparently. He’s been worried about her ever since. She used to be an instructor of yours?” Nissa smiled cruelly. “Helminth the Hell Whip.”
Chapter 60
They collected Naomi at the fringes of the ruins. Nissa spread her arms as if welcoming censure or punishment; the Nightmare Lady strode up to them out of the shadowed depths of a decrepit manor, tail lashing, eyes burning extra bright.
“She claims she can lead us to Helminth,” Scorio began, but cut off as the Nightmare Lady’s tail snapped out to crack against the side of Nissa’s head with punishing force with the flat of the blade.
Nissa dropped like a sack of dawn apples, just spilled out across the street.
“By the ten hells, Naomi!” Scorio stared down at Nissa’s body, aghast.
“Oh, be quiet.” The Nightmare Lady prowled around the fallen Great Soul. “She survived incineration. A smack to the head won’t stop her.”
Nissa groaned, her eyelids fluttered, and then she sat up. “Ow.”
The Nightmare Lady cracked her tail against her head again, sending her sprawling.
“Naomi!”
“You’re too rational, Scorio.” Naomi continued circling the fallen woman. “Too calm, too goal oriented. This woman betrayed us. A few smacks is too little for what she did.”
“Trust me. I want my vengeance as badly as you do.” Scorio stepped into the Nightmare Lady’s path. “But beating Nissa isn’t the answer. She’s a means to an end. Not a friend, not an ally, not even an enemy. Just a means.”
Nissa groaned and rolled onto her side. “Are you quite finished?”
The Nightmare Lady hissed and stabbed the point of her blade straight into the loose rock an inch from Nissa’s face, causing the other woman to jerk back. “No. But I’ll pause for now.”
“Good.” Nissa sat up, worked her jaw, then smiled. “Now that that’s out of the way—”
Flicker flash, the Nightmare Lady smacked her tail across Nissa’s head again and sent her tumbling.
“There,” sniffed Naomi, sinking down to her human form. “Now I’m finished.”
Scorio rolled his eyes. Nissa lay still for a few moments then groaned into the crackled street. She pushed herself up and Scorio saw the bulge of her skull push itself back out, the bruising begin to lighten.
He ruthlessly crushed the urge to apologize.
Nissa cracked her neck, blinked, then scanned the skies. “If we’re done playing? We need to get deeper into the ruins. This close isn’t safe.”
They followed her. Nissa moved with confidence, often taking covered routes through networks of ancient buildings, trails that had been carved through walls or which looped down into basement networks. Nothing overtly artificial, but the way forward was too straight for this to be a fortuitous approach.
Deeper they plunged. It felt like coming home. The banks of Coal, the fiendish fauna, the dull, cracked buildings, the dark windows, the ravines, the broken bridges.
Finally they descended into a basement at whose rear a tight crack opened to a broader shaft in whose side handholds had been carved. Nissa insisted they wait a spell, listening intently, then led them down, one by one, just as she had that night long ago when Scorio and his friends had been fleeing the slain Enforcer.
The memory brought back an image of Leonis as he’d offered to go down first. “A true friend,” he’d said, but Scorio could no longer remember the context. A joke, no doubt.
Old pain burned in his heart.
They descended into the dark. Followed Nissa out onto a shelf of raw rock, and from there scrambled over a shoulder into a cramped passageway that meandered back and forth. There were signs of passage here. Scrapes in the luminous moss. A discarded cheroot. A path where dust and dirt had been worn away.
“Hold up,” whispered Nissa as they entered a tall cavern whose far side was a frozen waterfall of caramel rock. Luminous blue moss clung to the ceiling, imparting on everything an ethereal glow. “The wicked fear what the wise man knows.”
“The wise man knows nothing,” said a male voice from above. “That you Nissa?”
“Mission accomplished. We’re coming up.”
A ladder had been carved into the far side of the gleaming waterfall of ribbed rock, and Scorio followed Nissa up to the top where a tunnel led further into the depths. A man stood there, hand resting lightly on the hammer slipped into his belt, his features craggy, his shoulders broad, his head coming no higher than Naomi’s shoulder.
“You got him,” said the skinny man. His black hair was shaved down to stubble, a widow’s peak sharp against his tanned skin, his face expressive, his eyes overly large.
“B’vaari, meet Scorio and Naomi.”
“Not sure if this is an honor or not.” B’vaari grinned widely, nervously, as if hoping they’d laugh. “But it’s a change of pace, you wouldn’t believe how dull it gets guarding an empty cave—”
“Later, B’vaari.” Nissa strode past the skinny man, hand patting his shoulder. “C’mon you two.”
The tunnel cut left, cut right, then opened into a broad cavern filled with rustic warm lighting. But it was the whale ship that caught Scorio’s eye, a great wooden vessel so ancient it was half buried in the warm brown stone which had flowed over its stern and starboard side to encase it.
No, not a whale ship—there was no sign of aerite bones. Just a regular sailing vessel, its ancient mast reduced to a stump, individual boards shrunken and atrophied so that it was riddled with gaps. It filled half the cave, its deck at such an angle that you couldn’t have stood on it if you’d tried.
“What the hell?” whispered Naomi.
“Precisely.” The voice was firm and confident, husky and strong. A familiar figure straightened from a scroll-strewn table to approach. She had a natural air of command, was tall, handsome, and athletic, with skin the color of wheat and dark, chocolate brown hair worn in a thick braid that hung down over one shoulder nearly to her waist. “One of Hell’s many mysteries. But here’s a fresh set. How are you two alive?”