Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

the worms chewing,” she heard him say. Even better. Drowning in wet dirt, no light anywhere, and a crazy, drugged-up murder machine that could turn me inside out a few feet away. She hoped he didn’t touch her again – her head still hurt fiercely. She scurried faster, hoping to get closer to Kest, who was ahead of her, and put a little distance between herself and Guy.

It felt like she crawled through that damp hell for years, her only company the disjointed whimpering that drifted up from behind her. Despite the drugs, Guyrin was struggling, and the snatches of talk that she caught from him were more and more frantic as time went on. She heard him counting feverishly. No, not counting – calculating. What’s he doing? Well, if crazy boy feels better doing math, who am I to argue? She thought that she might start spouting off pretty soon too if they didn’t get out of this worm tunnel.

Finally, the floor began to slope up under her hands. Feeling her way forward, she found herself crawling more up than forward until she was standing in a vertical shaft, a dim halo of light shining above. Her questing fingers encountered warm flesh, and strong, grit-covered hands enveloped hers. “I’ve got you,” Kest whispered. Her weary, dread-filled heart kindled within her, sending bursts of campfire sparks coursing through her limbs. He lifted her effortlessly out of the hole, and she clung to him, breathing in his scent.

He let go of her far too quickly, and within moments Kest lifted both Guyrin and Renna into the cramped space they all now occupied. “Welcome to my crying closet,” whispered Tychus with obvious glee. The damned serpent thought this was a lark. “Not that I cry in here, really – well, not often. Mostly I read. We males supposedly need space to vent our emotions, and I for one have not wasted the opportunity. Half of the books on the shelf behind you are histories that not even the High Matron or the First Spear have read. And I’ll eat my tail if a single male besides me has managed to dig a tunnel out of the First Home in the last millennium.” He was bragging like a child with a new toy. The toy is us, realized Nira, and she wondered if they had been unwise to trust this fey, silly creature.

“Let me make sure it’s safe,” Tychus whispered as he slid a wide board over the mouth of the tunnel and covered it with a thick, soft carpet. “Baren and Cenerus will shriek like harpies if they see you, and our guards are never far off.”

He disappeared through a thick hanging curtain that partitioned the crying closet from the rest of the room, and the humans huddled in the dim blue light of the unnaturally-glowing wood. Nira tried to wipe her grimy hands on her shirt and found it was dirtier than her hands. Crouching, she wiped the filth onto the thick carpet covering Tychus’s tunnel. It was a remarkably soft weave, and she could see complex patterns picked out in a variety of colors. It was the kind of thing you’d find in a lord’s bedroom. She saw Kest looking scandalized at her use of the rug as a hand-rag and shrugged at him with a roguish grin. He laughed silently, shaking his head. Gamarron and Renna conferred quietly, and Guyrin stared at the wood, trembling in his filthy Hand’s outfit. His bare belly was streaked with drying mud.

A loud argument flared in the room beyond the curtain. One of the voices sounded like Tychus, though it was difficult to tell with both of the parties speaking Naga-tongue. The spitting, hissing sounds crested into shouts, and Nira heard the distinctive sound of flesh striking flesh. More unintelligible words assailed them, now punctuated by sobs. Now one voice sneered and taunted as the other cried and shook. The cries decreased in volume and disappeared, and Nira wondered who had chased off who.

The curtain yanked back suddenly, revealing a proud, flush-faced Tychus. The grinning Naga’s face bore the unmistakable mark of a handprint. “Let it never be said that I can’t stand up to those wormtails,” he announced proudly.

“Looks like you got as good as you gave,” Renna said.

“Oh, that’s just Quint,” the Naga scoffed. “I told him that Century Leader Miranea had called me for mating, and he flew into tears. He’s been trying to convince her to take him as tisfana, so he got a tad worked up about it.” He smirked, proud of his subterfuge.

“Where are your guards?” asked Gamarron, peering about the spacious den. The living wood of the ceiling had been carved into points that shone brighter than the rest, giving a steady light nearly as bright as a vidrin lamp. Tapestries draped the walls and gauzy curtains made cozy, semi-private nooks on all sides. Either the rest of the males were in their own crying closets or the returning army was putting the studs to use, because there were no other Naga in the room.

“There’s a pair just outside the door,” Tychus reported, “but I may be able to distract them.” He made a pretty little moue of distaste. “I hope Flotasi isn’t on duty – she never washes.” He shuddered. “I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you, humans.”

“That may not be necessary,” replied Gamarron. “Are they likely to be very alert?”

The Naga snorted. “Not a chance. Stud watch is a chance to catch a nap. And that bit of shouting just now was nothing compared to some of the rows we get into. They hardly notice us unless we start drawing blood – and even then they’re as likely to place bets as to step in.”

“Give me just a moment, then,” said the old monk calmly, walking toward the door.

“Wait,” said Tychus, nonplussed. “You can’t just stroll out there.”

“Gamarron, let him do it,” pleaded Kest. Nira looked to him, surprised at the interjection.