Karmash had the same idea. He crossed the shore to the reptilian swimmer and dropped a large iron bar next to her. She shook her head. He prodded her with his foot as if she were a lazy dog. She shook her head again and rolled into a ball as Karmash’s foot thudded into her ribs.
Spider broke his leisurely posture and walked over to them. He knelt by the woman and spoke to her. The cross-hairs of William’s lens centered on his eyes, focused . . . Earnest Spider, soft-spoken, persuasive.
The woman nodded finally and took the iron bar into her trembling fingers. Karmash barked orders.
The dense clouds that smothered the sky chose this moment to rupture. Gray, cold rain spilled onto the Mire, pooling on the mud, wetting faces and plastering hair to heads. Spider raised his face to the heavens and swore.
THE muddy hole in which Cerise lay slowly filled with water. Beside her Richard made a tiny movement, flicking a twig that had fallen on his face.
The agents didn’t expect anyone to come from the south. To an outsider’s eyes the labyrinth of sludge, water, and trees probably seemed impassable. Somewhere out there William lay in wait, ready to pounce.
Thirty yards away the Hand’s agents grasped the rope and strained in a muscle-bulging, tendon-ripping heave. A huge white-haired agent—Karmash, William had called him—in the front roared, “Again!” in Gaulish. They heaved again.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they took her parents, that Lark was a monster, that Erian betrayed them. It wasn’t fair that she had to lead her family into the slaughter. It wasn’t fair that she loved William and now he could die.
Cerise squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Get a damn grip.
Where was Hugh with his dogs? Cerise’s gaze strayed to the left. There, sandwiched between Richard and Mikita, Erian lay. Even under the swirls of forest paint, his face was bloodless.
For twelve years he was her brother. They ate at the same table. They went to sleep under the same roof. And then he almost killed Urow, he caused Clara to lose her leg, he let the Hand capture her parents . . . And for what? So he could see Lagar Sheerile die? It just hurt, deep inside, like someone sawed on her chest with a rusty saw.
She went to see him this morning. He stared at her like she was a stranger. She told him the family wanted his head and he had a choice. They could take him out back and shoot him like a rabid dog. Or he could fight the Hand and die with his sword in his hand. He chose the sword. She had known he would.
The surface of the pond boiled. A solid mass emerged, a dark rectangle, spilling clumps of bottom slime into the pond. The thick scent of rotting algae spread through the clearing. They had to move now. Cerise wished the dogs were here. But something had delayed Hugh and they had no choice.
Cerise raised her arm. Behind her a ragged line of Mars broke free from the mud. She chanced a single glance at the grim painted faces. Family . . .
The agents still pulled the ropes, unaware of their presence. Cerise rose on one knee, preparing the first insane charge . . .
Loud sucking noises came from the left, as if someone was trudging his way through the mud and carrying half the Mire worth of it on his boots.
Shlop. Shlop. Shlop.
Cerise dropped back into her hole.
Karmash raised his hand and turned in the direction of the sound.
A tall gangly figure in a crimson robe strode down the hill.
Emel. Dear Gods, why?
Emel stopped, gathered the edge of his crimson vestments, already mud-soaked, and shlopped his way past the bewildered agents to face the mud where the Mars hid. “Cerise,” he called. “I really must talk to you.”
The agents stared at him.
I’m going to kill him. Cerise clenched her teeth. A dead man. He is a dead man.
“The payment still hasn’t been made,” Emel said, fiddling with the hem of his wet robe. “Usually at this point I start killing the relatives of the guilty party, but since you are my relatives, the matter is a bit more complicated.”
Next to her, Richard turned on his back, his hands behind his head. His face assumed a serene expression as he slowly sank into the mud. Apparently it was just too much for him.
Emel tucked his hem in the crook of his elbow and put the fingers of his two hands together. “Now then, I believe we’ve made an agreement for one thousand seven hundred and twenty-five U.S. dollars due yesterday. I really would like to resolve this matter here and now, before you may charge to your probable death. Not that I wish you to perish, by any means, but should you expire, our agreement would become void, and I would hate to go through negotiations again. I do hate to be crude, but I would like the money now. Please.”
Did he think she brought it with her? The Hand wouldn’t let him walk away. He was going to get himself killed. What in the world was he doing, making himself a target?
Karmash was looking past Emel, straight at her. She realized he had seen them.
The Hand would have to go through Emel to get to them.
Oh no.
The Sect didn’t want him involved, but if he was attacked, they would expect him to defend himself. Emel was trying to pick a fight.
“Kill them!” Karmash howled. “Kill the corpse buggerer and his family!”
The agents dashed for the necromancer, leaving their leader struggling to secure the rope. The monstrous muscles on his arms bulged, he gritted his teeth, and began circling the cypress, winding the rope around the bloated stem. Beyond him, Cerise glimpsed a lean blond man shout commands to the group guarding the southwestern path.
Emel turned. “Corpse buggerer?” He dropped the hem of his robe. “Nobody insults the acolyte of Gospo Adir.”
His face trembled. His hands reached out, rigid fingers raking the air like talons. Power accreted around him, compacting into a dense cocoon. The black surface of the pond gasped as a ball of foul-smelling gas erupted from its middle.
Cerise dashed to him. Behind her the Mars charged at the Hand.
Emel grunted like an animal. His hands clawed the air.