Free Drawn Blades by Kelly McCullough Page A

was very surprised to wake suddenly in the cold hours before dawn with the distinct feeling of being watched.
    Triss?
I sent.
    You sound worried. What is it?
    I don’t know. I just have a feeling we’re no longer alone. Have you sensed anything moving in the night?
    A fox, two skunks, more bugs than you’d care to count.
    But nothing big?
    No. Let me consult with Ssithra.
A brief mental silence followed. Then,
No, nothing.
    That was when I saw the face in the stone. The little cliff we’d built our fire against was a mottled gray green, taller than a man on horseback, and roughly flat on the side facing us. I hadn’t paid much attention to it beyond that, but I was quite sure it hadn’t possessed a face when I had gone to sleep. I’d have noticed. Especially this face.
    The features were human in number and order, but genderless, and utterly inhuman in their perfection. Even the most beautiful of mortals has flaws, one ear a fraction higher than the other, a faint scar under the eye, eyebrows that come too close to meeting. Something. This face looked like something out of a dream . . . or a nightmare. The eyes were blank spheres the exact same color as the rest of the face and the stone around them, and the expression was equally blank. Again, inhuman.
    “Durkoth.” I flipped my blankets back and sat up, crossing my legs as I faced the Other in the stone. “What do you want?”
    The face’s expression retained the same blank stare but it moved now, sliding slowly upward until the eyes were on a level with my own. It also pushed forward a few inches, so that most of the ears were exposed. As the face moved, the rock flowed around it like water passing smoothly around a stone. It was a profoundly unnatural effect, and I knew that I would never find it anything but discomforting.
    “Your kind usually prefers to start a conversation with inanities,” said the face, in a voice as genderless as its features. “Yet you have chosen to speak directly to the point. May I ask why this is?” Though the Durkoth was asking a question, neither tone nor expression betrayed any sense of curiosity.
    I glanced over at Faran’s bedroll and saw that she was no longer in it. “Certainly,” I said to the face. “Though, I’m surprised you care. I didn’t think the Durkoth found us ephemerals all that interesting.”
    “Most of us do not. As for me? Of yourselves, no. But I am a speaker. It is my role to hold converse with the lesser races. I have performed this task for some thousands of years, and it is my experience that behavior that does not fit the normal pattern sometimes points to a shift in societal patterns, and sometimes is merely an individual peculiarity. In the former case it is important for me to take it into account in future conversations. In the latter, I needn’t concern myself with it. So?”
    “Individual peculiarity.”
    “Noted. Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome. I note that your features remain the color of the surrounding stone. The Durkoth I have met before have generally reverted to a pure marble white at some point. I had taken that to be your natural color, but you have not shifted. Am I incorrect?” I tried to keep my voice as neutral as the Other’s.
    The Durkoth actually smiled then, a small enigmatic gesture, quite possibly assumed solely for my benefit. “That is something of a philosophical question among our kind, at least when phrased as you have put it. Generally, we live in stone and reflect the color of the stone around us. It is only when we venture into the outer air that the colors of the earth leach out of us. Since spending time above the earth is unnatural for us, can the color we assume in that circumstance be said to be anything other than unnatural itself?”
    “Interesting. And now, for indulging my curiosity, it is my turn to thank you.”
    “You are welcome.”
    “Which puts us back where we started. What do you want?”
    “To continue the conversation we have