Stone of Tears

The little house, wood walls dark with age, and a roof thickly layered with ferns and dry pine needles, was set back into the towering trees, nestled among rough trunks dark in the day’s end. He dismounted to the side of the brown, dead ferns spreading like a garden in front of the house. The horse rolled her eyes toward him as he came around to give her a scratch under her jaw.

“Be a good girl and find yourself something to eat.” He put a finger under the horse’s chin, forcing her head up. “But stay close?” The horse nickered. With a smile, Zedd rubbed her gray nose. “Good girl.”

From inside the house came a low growl interspersed with angry clicks. Something heavy thudded to the floor, accompanied by a thick oath in a foreign tongue.

“Come out from under there, you vile beast!”

Zedd grinned at the sound of the familiar, raspy voice. He watched the horse stroll off a ways to graze on tufts of dry grass, lifting her head, while she chewed, to look back toward the house at each sharp thump.

Zedd sauntered up the curving walk toward the house. He paused, turning full around twice to admire the beauty of the surrounding woods. They truly were a wonder, calm and peaceful in a place that had been a pass through one of the most dangerous spots in the world: the boundary. But the boundary was gone now. Yet, the woods were a serene refuge, imbued with an almost palpable tranquillity that Zedd knew wasn’t natural. They had been infused with those qualities at the skilled hands of the woman who at that very moment was throwing curses bold enough to make a battle-hardened Sandarian lancer blush.

And he had seen one of those curse his own queen into a dead faint. That, of course, had only earned the man the rope. The fellow had had a few things to say to the hangman, too, which in turn didn’t bring him a clean drop, but did offer him the opportunity to get off one last eloquent, if vulgar, oath. The other lancers seemed to think the trade worth the price.

For her part, the queen never seemed to fully recover her delicate air, and thereafter always flushed a fabulous red at the mere sight of one of her lancers, needing to be fanned furiously by her attendants in order to remain conscious. She would probably have had them all hanged had they not saved her throne, to say nothing of her dainty neck, on more than one occasion. But that was a long time ago, in another war.

Clasping his hands together behind himself, Zedd inhaled deeply, relishing the clean, crisp air. Bending over, he plucked a dry, wilted wild rose, and with a wisp of magic brought it to fresh bloom. The yellow petals spread and swelled with new vitality. Closing his eyes, he took a deep whiff of the flower and then idly stuck it in his robes, over his breast. He was in no hurry.

It was not wise to interrupt a sorceress in a snit.

Through the open door came a more serious curse as the object of the sorceress’s ire was at last brought to account. With a whack from the blunt end of an axe, the thing was sent flying through the doorway. The small, armored beast landed on its back at Zedd’s feet. Wobbling, it clicked and growled as it raked the air with its claws, trying to right itself. It appeared no worse for the axe, or for its brief flight and rough landing.

Filthy gripper. It was a gripper that had attached itself to Adie’s ankle before. Once a gripper had you, there was virtually no way to get it off. It held on with those claws and rasped its teeth into you, down to bone, sucking your blood with its puckered, fang-ringed mouth. They never let go as long as there was blood to feed on, and that armor shed any counterattack.

Adie had used an axe to chop off her foot where the gripper had been attached, chopped off her own foot to save her life. Thinking about it turned his stomach. He watched the beast at his feet for a moment, then gave it a casual kick, sending it a goodly distance. Landing right side up, it waddled off into the woods in search of easier prey.

Zedd looked up at the figure standing in the doorway, scowling at him with her completely white eyes, her breast still heaving. She wore robes the same light burlap color as his, but unlike his, hers were decorated at the neck with yellow and red beads sewn in the ancient symbols of her profession. She put her fists on her hips. The scowl held a firm grip on her features, not that it diminished in the least how handsome they were.

She still held the axe in. one hand, though, a worrisome sign. Best not to trouble her too quickly with what he wanted.

Zedd smiled. “You really shouldn’t play with grippers, Adie. That’s how you lost your foot the last time, you know.” He plucked the yellow rose from its place at his chest. His thin lips pushed his wrinkled cheeks back farther as his smile widened. “Got anything to eat? I’m starving.”