Lady of Poison_ The Priests - Bruce R. Cordell [68]
Damanda took a deep breath. "As you will, Lord. Allow me to take my leave, so that I can make preparations. I should depart immediately."
The Rotting Man waved her away, saying, "I expect to see you again soon, Damanda, with the child by your side."
"You shall."
***
Fallon's head pounded, as if someone had driven a spike through his skull. He couldn't quite recall where he was…
The elf studied his surroundings-broken cobbles, through which sickly grass protruded, and nearby, hooves. His gaze climbed higher, and he saw the pony and the child seated quietly in her saddle. A silent expanse of gray forest enclosed them to either side, though they were within a partially clear lane. He remembered his conversation with the Rotting Man, then, and groaned.
In fact, the pounding in his head was an image of the lane, brutally imprinted on his consciousness. In his mind's eye, a spectral map revealed that the lane completely petered out at the foot of an overgrown mound not far from where he lay. Knowledge on how to open the mound, no, the barrow, rose like gorge in his throat. He groaned again, louder-not good.
The elf was in pain, but he rose to his feet in a fluid motion, a testament to his race. The square of a cobble had pressed a red mark into his face.
Fallon considered, rubbing his jaw. Anammelech had assured him that Fallon's pursuers were as good as dead, but it was Anammelech who had departed the flesh. The blightlord's killers were probably right behind him. While being caught by those who thought him a betrayer was an unsettling thought, he was more afraid of his apparent new status in Rawlinswood. He answered directly to the Rotting Man.
As Anammelech's secret ear in the court of the Nentyarch, he was well rewarded. Other than his last act, the kidnapping of a child, he'd never taken any outright action that made him feel as if he was actively betraying the Nentyarch. With Anammelech's death, his service had apparently passed directly into the Talontyr's keeping. He wasn't foolish enough to regard that status shift as a good thing. He didn't know what would be asked of him next. More worrisome, he was pretty sure the Rotting Man cared not at all for Fallon's safety.
Looking through the growth of the forest, he knew that his options were limited. He was in too deep. If he fled his commitment to the Rotting Man, he did not doubt that he'd turn up dead quick enough. Even if he did escape, the Nentyarch and his hunters would dispense their own justice, if they should find him. The only thing to do was soldier on. The pain in his head seemed to promise worse should he fail in that decision.
Fallon took the pony's reins. The small horse's eyes rolled in its sockets, but the child on its back had a calming influence on the beast. The little girl, about five years old, judged the elf, sat her saddle quietly, oblivious to her state and surroundings.
Fallon said, "You've brought me a lot of trouble, girl.'' No response. He'd expected none. He wondered if he could get some sort of reaction out of his captive.
"Lucky I don't have your skin for a cloak. That's probably what the Rotting Man has in store for you."
The calm blink she treated him with belied any discomfiture the child might be feeling. He shrugged. The girl was damaged, despite everyone's interest in her. He hoped her state was known to the Talontyr-he didn't want to be blamed for her shortcomings. Still, he couldn't help feeling the slightest bit sorry for the little tyke…
He hastily put that thought from his mind. Down that road lay a quantity of self-recrimination that Fallon was not prepared to accept. Considering the consequences of his actions on others was something for which he knew he didn't have the moral fortitude.
Fallon led the pony and its rider along the evaporating lane. He hadn't seen a stone arch for the last several hundred feet, and cobblestones were few and