Chapter 27

The Emerald Sea, Neron

He awoke.

Eldako hadn't expected to live—at best, he thought he'd find himself among his ancestors in the gods' hunting grounds, as the shamans said happened to the dead. Drawing breath, after what he'd been through, came as a surprise.

It also came as a relief, for it would have been a bad death, a foolish death. The merkitsa believed their spirits returned to the world after a time in the afterlife, and their place in things was determined by how they died. Standing out in the open, daring a dragon to attack him—then misjudging and not getting out of the way before it unleashed its deadly breath—was a stupidity that would make him certain to come back as a cockroach or a goblin. It would mean a downward turn of fortune's great wheel, and Eldako was glad he didn't have to face that.

Not yet, anyway. He could already sense a wrongness to things, even drifting at the edge of consciousness. He was hardly safe. An awful smell, like rotting fish, hung heavy in the air—and there was something even worse. A slimy feeling, sliding through his mind. He was not alone in his own head.

He opened his eyes, or tried to. That was the first inkling he had of how bad his wounds were. He'd felt a brief but incredible flare of pain when the acid struck, in that moment before he'd hurled himself into the sea. Luckily, the water had washed away the dragon's breath, sparing his life. But the vision in his right eye was cloudy, as if someone had covered it with gossamer. He guessed it would never be clear again.

His left eye wouldn't open at all. After a moment, he understood why. It was gone.

Nor did the rest of his face feel right—the flesh on the whole left side, from scalp to jaw, felt taut and ill-fitting. His face stung worse than the harshest sunburn he'd ever had. He knew what he must look like and felt a surge of revulsion: the dragon's acid had seared and melted his skin, leaving it misshapen and hairless, his left eye an empty, staring socket. He realized, with no small amount of regret, that he would never be able to shoot a bow properly again.

His arm felt equally maimed, and the left side of his chest as well. Only his right leg had escaped Gloomwing's spittle. He would be hideous to look upon and probably a poor fighter as well. He was ruined, a broken semblance of what he'd been. A lesser man would have given up and died on the spot, but Eldako was a prince of his people and one of the finest warriors of the Dreaming Green. He thrust aside self-pity and concentrated on surviving whatever was next.

He tried to sit up, but couldn't. Tried to raise his head, but failed at that as well. He didn't have a broken back, for he could twitch his toes and fingers, nor did he feel anything binding him. It felt as if someone lay on top of him, physically holding him down. But there was no one there, not that he could see.

He was alone, staring up at a dark canopy of branches. His hearing was almost as bad as his sight—the acid had taken his left ear as well—but he could make out the sound of movement and a soft, wet noise he didn't recognize. He gritted his teeth, the most he could do with his mouth—the invisible hand was holding his jaw shut as well—and pushed as hard as he could against whatever was restraining him.

It wakes, said a voice inside him.

Eldako startled, then felt the slithering in his mind again, probing at thought and memory. He tried to block it out but didn't know how. It slipped about like an eel, twisting and flopping whenever he tried to grasp it. He understood, then, why he couldn't move. His captors had hold of his mind.

He fought even harder, struggling to wrest back control of his thoughts. There was a white flash, like a star exploding in his head, followed by a wave of pain and nausea. He groaned, nearly blacking out, and forced himself to remain calm. Only when his thoughts were tranquil again did the agony abate, leaving him exhausted and shivering on the jungle floor.

Strong, said a second voice, as toneless as the first. Not like the cha'asii.

Yes, said the first speaker. Strong.

A good catch, agreed a third. Better than any since the woman came.

The Brethren will he pleased, noted the second.

More movement, to his right. Figures slunk into view… four of them, or more. In his near-blindness, it was hard to tell. They were oily creatures, with flesh like something left over in a fisherman's net, tentacles squirming on their faces. And the eyes… the empty, white eyes… .

Crawling Maws. He'd heard Hult mention them, back on the beach. And from what had been said, the Maws were in league with the people they sought, the Faceless. Their minds rooted through his own, as supple as the cilia covering their mouths. They touched every notion that came to him.

It knows of us.

And the woman.

There were others with it. They seek the Hooded One.

It is as the Master said. When the child is horn, our enemies will come.

Yes… .

Eldako swallowed. He knew what he had to do. If they could read his mind, he had to keep them away from… certain things, or the others would be in jeopardy. There was no overcoming them, not this many, but he could build walls. Block off his thoughts. He shut his eyes again, not pushing back, but simply keeping his mind blank, as empty as a summer sky.

It was harder than it seemed. They knew what he was doing before he even started, and used his own mind against him. They dredged up painful memories: the death of his mother, battles he'd lost, his own regret that he would likely never see the Green again. Those moments played out as if they were fresh, happening all over again. He bit his lip, focusing on nothing, and the recollections tore to wisps and faded away.

They tried other things. He'd accidentally given them the simplest visions of his companions, and now he saw them again, hurt, dying—their blood pouring down the steps of a great black pyramid somewhere deep in these woods. But it wasn't his companions, not really; there were obvious differences. Shedara's hair, not quite right. Hult, half a head taller than Forlo. Forlo's face untroubled by thoughts of Essana. It wasn't his friends, but imposters, half-formed creations of his mind and the Maws'. Again he thought of emptiness, and the vision vanished.

The alien minds stilled, and Eldako let himself smile. He had played a game with the other children of his clan, when he was just a boy, trying to be the last of his group to think of a golden dragon. It was a game he usually won—not by actively thinking of other things, but by thinking of nothing at all. He used that discipline now, knowing the Maws had relented only for the moment—another attack would come.

When it did, it didn't matter how prepared he was—they overwhelmed him all the same. The Maws all hit him at the same time, six different minds pounding at his own, their thought-voices as loud as if they were shouting in his ear. He choked, his scarred face twisting as he tried to shut the voices out, but it was no good. Bit by bit, the Maws wore away at the nothingness. It tattered and tore, leaving bare his thoughts. More flashes of white pain followed, and Eldako had to fight back the urge to vomit. Tears slid from his good eye, down into his hair. He bit his tongue, tasted blood… .

The images came. Hult and Chovuk, held captive by his clan. His father, agreeing to send him with the Uigan. The Tiger's horde, sweeping across the Tiderun, only to be consumed by the sudden, voracious wave. Shadow-fiends at Coldhope, and in Armach-nesti. The emperor of the minotaurs, dying. Panak. The Wyrm-namer. The kender. The Teacher's headless corpse. Gloomwing, bearing down on him, his jaws yawning wide… .

"No!" Eldako cried, his back arching as the Crawling Maws ripped his mind wide open.

Without warning, four of the six voices vanished—one suddenly, with a cry of pain, the other three silently pulling out, distracted by something nearby. He heard the thrum of bowstrings, and the ring of steel. Voices, too. Many were strange, speaking a birdlike language he didn't know. Three he recognized, however. Three were his friends.

Stop them! shouted one of the Maws that remained in his brain.

They are everywhere, said another. The cha'asii—

Humans, also. They are too strong. They are protected. I can slow them, but—

Eldako fought the Maws as best he could, pushing back against the invisible hands that held him down. He couldn't shake them off—not entirely—but he got back some control over his own body, enough to roll over and look toward the commotion. As he did, a head spun past, turning end over end, twitching tentacles spreading wide. It trailed ropes of white blood that spattered the ferns. One of the Maws collapsed where it had been standing, falling first to its knees, then sideways onto the ground. Behind the toppling body, he saw Hult, whipping his sword around as he finished the killing stroke. The Uigan's tattooed face was twisted into a look of disgust, spattered with pale ichor. He let out a ferocious battle cry, then staggered back as one of the other monsters pointed at him. One hand flew to his head, his mouth gaping in pain. The Maw twitched his tentacles, and Hult flew backward into a tree.

Then Forlo was there, cursing in the minotaur tongue as he raised his sword above Hult's tormentor. The Maw whirled, extending a bony finger, but Forlo's sword snapped around, taking the creature's arm off at the elbow. A hideous shriek filled Eldako's head, pain seeping from the maimed creature's mind into his own. He grunted, trying to stem the agony.

The prisoner! cried the Maw's mind-voice. They have come for him. Get him out, before—

Forlo brought his sword down again, on top of the Maw's bulbous head. Its skull shattered like an egg, scattering slime in all directions. The monster sat down hard, its legs jerking as the last echoes of life faded from its body.

The Maw's companions had heard its death-cry, and now their bony hands grabbed Eldako and hauled him to his feet. Their thoughts bored into his mind, forming a compulsion he tried to resist. He couldn't, though; together, the two creatures were too strong.

RUN

Eldako had been a fine runner, before. Now, though, he was tired and in pain, and he didn't want to follow the Maws' orders anyway. He moved like a string-puppet, jerking about and lurching away from Forlo and Hult. The Maws fell in beside him, one cold hand on each of his arms, coaxing him, cajoling him, forcing him to obey. When he got his coordination back, he began to gather speed. Behind, Forlo and Hult were yelling, their swords singing against unseen foes. The cha'asii loosed volley after volley at the Maws.

Another cry tore through his mind, and one of the voices left his head. His captors' numbers were dwindling—but he was sprinting faster, the shakiness leaving his stride. Running hurt him, hurt deeply, but he couldn't stop, couldn't disobey the commands. The Maws filled his brain, drove out all thoughts but those aimed at flight. They drove him on, faster, leaving the fight behind. Eldako had the horrible feeling that, no matter how much his body protested, no matter what damage it did, they would keep driving him.

They would break him, if it came to it. He kept trying to fight, but the creatures were too strong. He might tear the soles of his feet to ribbons, snap an ankle, rip muscles and snap tendons, and still he would keep fleeing, driven by their cold, passionless thoughts.

A shadow rose in front of them, a dozen paces away. The Maws flinched in surprise, trying to change Eldako's course, but too late. In a single, fluid motion, the figure drew something from its belt, cocked back its arm, and threw.

The knife whistled as it spun through the air. It struck the Maw to Eldako's right, plunging deep into one of its staring eyes. The creature made a wild, gibbering sound in his brain, then it stumbled and fell, its claws ripping bloody furrows in his arm as it lost its grip. Its mind slipped away from his—

And then there was only one. And Eldako felt stronger.

With a roar of pent-up fury, Eldako shoved the final Maw's thoughts out of his brain. It squealed and struggled, but he got rid of it just the same. He didn't waste a moment, coming to a halt in mid stride, then spinning and hammering the edge of his good hand into the creature's tentacled mouth. The Maw made a wet, pulpy sound, and he grabbed hold of the quivering cilia and slammed the monster into the trunk of a tree. Tiny, awful, needlelike things bit at his hand—the creature's jaws, or teeth, or whatever nightmare lay beneath the tentacles.

He barely noticed. His anger was too great. Still bellowing, he pounded the Maw against the tree, again and again until the back of its head was a white, seeping ruin. The fiend went limp, all save its tentacles, which squirmed in his torn and bloody hand. Finally he let go, and the creature crumpled in a heap and lay still.

Silence returned to the jungle. The battle was over. Eldako turned, his arm slick to the elbow, and stared at the shadow who had saved him. Shedara stepped forward, moonlight softening her face.

It did no such favors for his own, by the way she bit her lip. The horror in her eyes told him all he needed to know. She hesitated. He held out his dripping hand, the one he'd used to slaughter the Maw.

"I am the same person as before," he said. "You needn't fear me."

Shame colored her face. Shaking her head, she stepped forward and cupped her hand to his cheek—the unscarred one, he noticed. At least it was something.

"I thought… I thought you were dead," she whispered.

"So did I."

He tried to smile, but his lips wouldn't obey. There was pain all over, in his face, his missing eye, his blistered arm: the Maws' control over him had been holding back the full agony of his condition. Now, as the frenzy of the fight drained away, he found himself collapsing, the strength going out of his legs. Shedara caught him, helped lower him down. She bent over him, forcing herself to look at him. He could tell it wasn't easy. This was what he loved about her, though—she was brave and had a stubborn streak a Fianawar dwarf would have envied. Trembling, she leaned in close and kissed his swollen, acid-ravaged lips.

"It's all right now," she told him. "I'm here."