The Ghost's Crusade

XII: Tiernan

He glared back at her. “I'm not going to shoot the man until he's been given a chance to explain himself.”

The Enkiri turned to face him, and even though her head barely reached his shoulders he found himself rather intimidated by the irritated and impatient glint in her eyes. “There has to be the remains of at least fifty people in those heaps he's going over like he's curating one of your stupid reliquaries. What can you possibly want him to explain to you? The organizational method dictating how he stacked them all up?”

“Why he's doing it.”

Her hanging-jaw stunned expression would have been comical if not for the situation they were in. “Does why even matter? Is finding out why going to bring even a single one of those people back? Is finding out why going to make whatever families they might have had feel better about their being dead? Your holy book says you have to execute him—are you going to stay your sword if he tells you why he's hacked people to bits and stitched them back together?”

“I need to know,” replied Tiernan, holding up a finger to intercept the question he knew she'd fire at him next. “And yes, it does make a difference.”

Akkali let loose a low grumble that was practically a feral growl. “You're as big an idiot as Drys is, you know that? In fact I think your righteous streak trumps that blunted stick of sentimentality he hauls around. No wonder you get on so well.”

At mention of the man's name Tiernan realized that the Inferi was nowhere near them anymore. He had absconded to the edge of the silent river flowing through the cavern and was sticking the toe of his boot in it, then pulling it back out, then sticking it back in as though he were fishing with his laces. Each time he removed his foot from the water it came out as dry as it had been when he placed it in and caused him to grin and repeat the entire process.

“What in the name of Junan are you doing you idiot?”

Drystan turned back and grinned at them. “Come look at this! It's not really water!” He giggled like a child given a novel new toy. “This one is worse than the one Caspar erected around the repository. It still feels like sand.”

“If that man had a brain not extracted from a corpse you'd all be dead now and I'd be free to start a fire that would incinerate Harenholl itself,” muttered the Enkiri bitterly, glaring at the cheerful smile on the other's face. Her pointed look made him recompose himself and grow up rather quickly. “The Inquisitor has need to ask the mad bastard why he's making marionettes out of your dead.”

Tiernan walked to the edge of the river himself and crouched down, keeping an eye on the man across the way. He had his back turned to them and was completely absorbed in his note-taking of body parts. Hovering one hand just above the surface he could feel the air moving beneath his palms, and as he lowered it to touch the water he felt warm grainy pebbles the consistency of beach sand scrape against his fingertips. The Inquisitor had to admit, it was a well-crafted and complex hex to make a river of sand look, flow, and smell like water—whoever the man was, he was certainly neurotic about his personal safety and had considerable skill in concealment spells, more so than any witch Tiernan had yet encountered, unsanctioned or not.

While it wasn't water, it was still going to be a dangerous crossing. He had no idea how deep the sand-river went, and moving as fast as it was if it went any higher than their ankles they had a good chance of being carried off into the darkness wherever it flowed to.

“We need to do this carefully,” he said finally, turning to search for an easier place to cross that was out of the man's line of sight.

Ignoring him completely, Akkali brazenly strode out into the river, her legs encased up to her knees in the same amber-orange shell that he had seen her use to fight with the unnatural brute strength someone of her slight frame could never manage. She waded hip-deep into the illusion without struggling to stay upright once, slogging across to the other side by dragging her feet along the cavern ground. As soon as she reached the opposite bank she became decidedly more taciturn in her movements, slipping across the remainder of the distance between the river and the man in a low, light-footed sprint where she kept her chest and chin as close to the ground as she was able.