Chapter 20
The Dervish materialized somewhere with trees, a fact he learned when he staggered and nearly fell into one. He leaned against it for support. His heart rate was slow and even, as it always was when he came out of the sword, but the memory of the dragon made it pick up speed again.
What just happened?
… Oh. A gnole happened.
Dog Violet held the hilt of the sword in one hand, with the sheath tucked under her arm. She held up a finger of the other hand across her lips in a clear gesture for silence.
The Dervish could feel wild laughter lurking just under his breastbone, but fought it down. He nodded.
A sound like a confused bagpipe came from somewhere behind him. The Dervish didn’t need to be told what made that sound. He twisted around and saw the road through gaps in the trees, and the distant shape of the dragon pawing at the ground where he had been.
Dog Violet handed him the sword, and the Dervish realized with a start that he was no longer bound. The ropes were probably lying on the road in front of the dragon. The gnole began to sneak away through the woods and the Dervish followed.
At least we don’t have a mule this time.
“You cut that awfully close,” he whispered, once they were far enough away that the dragon wouldn’t hear them.
Dog Violet lifted her shoulder and flattened one ear in a shrug. “Had to give book-man and Francis-bug time to get away.”
“It nearly ate me.”
“Nearly doesn’t fill the stewpot,” she said, which was so indisputably a proverb that the Dervish was still thinking of a response when they caught up to the others.
He saw the gleam of Large Francis’s carapace first and felt an intense, unexpected relief. Even though he knew that the pillbug had gotten away, even though Dog Violet had said as much, he’d been sure on some level that he’d condemned Francis to a life as a beast of burden for Otto’s people.
And when did I start to care, anyway?
He didn’t get a chance to answer that question, because Edmund caught sight of him and cried “Dervish!” and came barreling toward him. The scholar flung his arms around the Dervish, who caught him almost by instinct.
“I thought you were going to die,” Edmund said, his voice somewhat muffled by the fact that his face was buried in the Dervish’s shoulder.
“Surprise?” The Dervish felt a reflexive twitch at the tightness of the arms around him, but compared to having his hands bound, it was faint and far away. “Dog Violet got there just in time.”
Edmund nodded, then seemed to come to himself and took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping a hand across his face. “I didn’t mean to … I was just so relieved.”
“I’m sorry too,” said the Dervish. “I’m sorry you had to kiss me.”
The scholar seemed to shrink. “It was the only way I could think of—”
The Dervish reached out and caught Edmund’s chin in his hand. He leaned forward until his lips nearly grazed the other man’s ear and whispered, “Clearly I should have kissed you first.”
Edmund’s eyes were still as wide as saucers when the Dervish covered the scholar’s mouth with his.
Now this is more like it …
Edmund’s jaw was still sandpaper-stubble, though the Dervish’s brief time in the sword had rendered his skin smooth.
His lips were still warm. But he was almost timid now that he wasn’t trying to shove a pocketknife into the Dervish’s mouth, which was a shame.
Still, the Dervish had great faith in his powers of persuasion and set about coaxing Edmund’s mouth open, flicking his tongue lightly across the other man’s lips, until Edmund surprised him with a surrender as passionate as any he’d experienced in his too-long immortal life.
It’s a good thing he isn’t my type. Otherwise this might be dangerous.
It started to feel dangerous anyway, the longer it went on. It was the sort of kiss where you expected birds to appear and begin singing arias, although in the Dervish’s case, the birds would probably be vultures.
“A gnole doesn’t mean to interrupt human mating, but a dragon is still very close, and nasty farmer-humans could be anywhere.”
“Mmmph!” Edmund pulled away, flushed and clearly a little dazed. “Oh—yes—of course—I mean, we weren’t actually—”
“No,” said the Dervish regretfully, “we were a long way from actually.” He winked at Edmund, who turned even redder. “All right, my dear lady gnole, lead the way.”
Large Francis filled in most of the story as they walked. She had managed to keep hold of the music box, tucking it up under her shell, although apparently that had been more than a little uncomfortable.
“There-is-not-much-space-that-is-not-full-of-legs-or-lungs-or-vital-organs. I-have-bruised-my—tak-tak-click—rather-painfully.”
“I’m sorry we said you were a draft animal,” Edmund said.
“Why-would-you-be-sorry? That-likely-saved-my-life.”
“Yes, but … you’re not an animal.”
“What-else-would-I-be? Or-you-or-any-of-us? I-am-neither-a-vegetable-nor-a-mineral.”
“Well, yes, but…” Edmund floundered. He couldn’t seem to think clearly. He must still be flustered from that incredible, soul-shattering kiss. “That is, it implied you weren’t intelligent.”
“But-I-am-intelligent, friend-Edmund. I-know-this.” Large Francis’s antennae turned toward him, the tips moving as if seeking understanding. “Were-you-afraid-that-I-would-believe-the-lie-you-told-and-forget?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that with humans … uh…” He looked helplessly at the Dervish.
“With some humans,” the Dervish said, “it would be a reminder of all the other times that they have been treated as less than intelligent.”
“Yes. That.” Edmund flushed, although he wasn’t sure whether it was gratitude or that looking at the Dervish reminded him of kissing and being kissed. Reminded, ha. As if I was going to forget. He was fairly certain that he would go to his deathbed remembering that kiss.
“Does-this-happen-often?”
“Yes,” said Dog Violet, before either of the two humans could speak.
“How-very-peculiar.”
“Not to interrupt the philosophy lesson,” the Dervish said, “but you hadn’t finished telling us how you got away.”
“Oh-yes-of-course. They-placed-me-in-a-structure-with-several-horses. Once-they-left-I-simply-opened-the-door.”
“A gnole saw Francis-bug sneaking out,” Dog Violet said, taking up the thread.
“A gnole had followed nasty farmer-humans to human buildings, managed to grab sword off wagon when humans weren’t looking.
Searched buildings, found one with knife-man and book-man, but too many guards.
Thought about using sword to call knife-man, but couldn’t see in, thought humans might panic.
Waited.” She shrugged. “A gnole was going to set fire to a building, but then Francis-bug comes out, and a gnole takes her to woods. After that, all humans come out, go to wagon, going somewhere, so a gnole follows.” Her ears went briefly flat at the memory.
“A gnole would have come and untied friends, but then a dragon woke up.”
“It’s all right,” Edmund assured her. “You couldn’t have done anything against the dragon.”
“Friend-Sweetness-was-taken-elsewhere,” Large Francis said sadly. “I-am-afraid-we-were-unable-to-free-her.”
“A mule was inside a paddock,” Dog Violet said, sounding disgusted. “A mule could have jumped the fence but wouldn’t. Then other horses make noise, farmer-human comes, a gnole goes away.”
Edmund sighed. His heart ached at the thought of losing Sweetness, but there were many kinds of learning, and foremost among them was learning from one’s mistakes.
“I’m not going to risk everyone’s lives going after her again,” he said.
“But we’ve got no food, no gear, no blankets, and no money, and we’re a long way from Archon’s Glory. What are we going to do now?”
The Dervish looked around at the other three and thought, with sudden panic, I am responsible for these people.
He tried to argue with himself. Edmund was the one who saved our lives, while I was moping and fretting in the back of the wagon. And Dog Violet was the one who stole the sword and got me out in time. And Large Francis got away on her own. Sort of on her own.
All of it rang hollow. They were in trouble and none of them—except maybe Dog Violet—could survive on their own.
And no one was looking at him, but that only made it worse.
If they’d expected him to save them, he could have gotten indignant.
As it was, all he felt was duty and terror in equal measures.
When had this happened? Was it when Edmund had adopted them, or when Dog Violet had saved their lives? What strange alchemy was it that changed I am forced to guard this one person to these people are mine and I must protect them?
He knew that panic from long ago, not long after Angharad had joined up with the troop.
Sarkis had promoted him because he was quick and clever and thought well on his feet.
He had been delighted until the first mission, when he looked at the people who served under him and realized that they were following his orders and whatever happened to them was his fault.
It was a routine scouting mission without a single problem, and it nearly destroyed him.
He’d gone to Sarkis and said, “I can’t do this,” and broken down and sobbed on the map table.
“Hmm,” the commander had said, after patting the Dervish’s back a few times and handing him a handkerchief. “Honestly, the fact that you’re so worried tells me you’re probably command material.”
“I’m not. I’m really not. And even if I am, I don’t want to be.”
Sarkis considered this for a moment, then went to the tent flap and called for Angharad. She came in, a big, muscular woman with shoulders broad enough to hold up the world. “Commander?”
“You’re being promoted,” Sarkis said.
“All right. Thank you. May I ask why?”
“He”—the commander pointed to the Dervish—“thinks fast. You think it through. Being responsible terrifies him, and you don’t have an irresponsible bone in your body. Between the two of you, you make one competent officer. Figure out how to make it work.”