“You know what I mean. We bladedance so we don’t have to kill.”
“Listen to me for a moment, Narina. I’ve seen more than you know. By the time the leaves have fallen from the trees and the first winter snows dust the roof of the shrine I’ll be eighty-four years old.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I thought you were seventy-something.”
“Haven’t been for years. And you’re twenty-seven,” Kozmer continued. “You’ve lived your entire life within sight of the temple shrine. Until your father died, you’d only known peace. You don’t know the plains.”
“And you do?”
“I served fifteen years as a crowlord’s retainer and bodyguard.”
“When? Who?”
“His name was Lord Urizen.”
“Is that the father of Lady Urizena?” She gave thought to her limited knowledge of the geography of the plains. “North of Balint, isn’t she?”
“Urizen was her grandfather, actually. He was better than most. Assassins killed him in front of my eyes. While I was supposed to be protecting him.” Kozmer twisted the staff in his hands, and his expression darkened, as if some old pain were returning with full force after decades of dormancy. “What’s worse, I might have intentionally let it happen. All these years later, I’m still not sure.”
Narina was rocked by this news. Baffled. “Please explain.”
“Not now, no. For now it’s enough to say that you’ve been sheltered from certain. . .realities. I don’t mean that you’re naive—I’m sure you’ve heard enough of the goings-on down here—but until you’ve lived through them, you won’t truly understand.”
“I apparently haven’t heard enough. What the devil would have a bladedancer serving as bodyguard to a crowlord? And why would you betray your master?”
“I never said I betrayed him. I only said that. . .well, there are details I’m not sure about. Narina, there’s a war raging, and it’s not going to end in a single, decisive battle. Let me repeat. You have a choice to make, and if you do nothing, that choice will be made for you.”
“I won’t slaughter my way through Zoltan’s lands. That’s out. So if you say there’s no way to pass quietly through, giving a demonstration here and there as needed, then we’ll return to the mountains. We can take the post road up past the firewalker temple, then circle back to the plains and approach Balint’s lands from the north.”
“That’s three, four weeks of travel.”
“You said yourself that there won’t be a single, decisive battle,” Narina said. “Balint is in no rush—not with Damanja invading his principal enemy from the south. We have plenty of time.”
“And you’d still need to cross the lands of several crowlords to approach Balint from the north.”
“None of whom may be at war at this exact moment. It could be a peaceful, easy journey from start to finish.”
“Peaceful, maybe. Easy, not at all.” Kozmer sighed. “All right. If that’s your decision, I’ll shut my mouth and carry on.” He leaned into his staff and hobbled toward the barn. “I’ll wash up later. Going to get some rest while I can.”
Narina watched him go with a sense of unease. How could she condemn the elder to hundreds of miles on the post road, climbing through mountain passes where the snow didn’t fully melt in the summer, where the cold winds blowing off the frozen lakes of demigod dragons would leave even the younger two chilled and aching?
She couldn’t, that was the answer. She’d leave Kozmer in the bladedancer temple when they passed. Find some other companion to complete their party. Someone who was less likely to needle her into violent conflicts.
Three crows flew overhead, cawing angrily. Two smaller ones were pursuing a larger one, trying to strike it and knock it from the sky. It wheeled about, but couldn’t get clear of its more agile foes.
Even the crows were at war, which made Narina feel better about her decision. This was a dangerous, violent land, and she wanted nothing to do with it.
Chapter Fifteen
Andras squatted next to his dead dog and gently eased its body from the end of the spear tip. It was Digger, the poor thing. The spear had gone right up under his rib cage and killed him quickly, which was a mercy, Andras supposed. But still, it didn’t ease the pain.
The smallest of Notch’s most recent brood, Digger was nonetheless the only one of her four pups that Andras had kept, and nothing about his personality had said runt of the litter. He was tenacious in the hunt, and would badger his way into any hole without waiting for the spade to chase out the rats. That left him perpetually bitten up about the muzzle, but he also had the highest kill rate next to Notch herself.
Notch.
Andras’s stomach felt sick. Where was she? A quick glance around showed only the dead bodies of Damanja’s men and churned-up, trampled rice paddies on either side of the path, where Lord Zoltan’s men had milled about while their lord determined his next move. The crowlord was leading a heavily armed company of cavalry through his own lands, but was clearly cautious and worried about running into more of Damanja’s troops. Not to mention a natural fear of the bladedancers.
Andras had held back Ruven and the rest, not wanting his son or the surviving dogs to see Digger’s body, but after wrapping the dead terrier in a cloak stripped from one of the bastards who’d done the killing, he set them into action to search for Notch. One of the other terriers found her a moment later and alerted the rest with a miserable-sounding whine.
“Wait, Ruven, no,” he called to his son, who was closer, and already running toward the sound. The boy, face sick with worry, ignored him.
Andras was afraid that Ruven would come upon Notch to find the poor dog opened up like Digger, or worse. He’d worked with dozens of dogs over the years, and an animal’s life was shorter and more quickly ended than a human’s, which meant that one grew accustomed to seeing them die. He’d had to put a few down himself, after injuries and age-related ailments. If Notch wasn’t dead already, there was a chance Andras would have to do it himself. Killing one’s own dog with a spade was a horrific thing, no matter how merciful the act.
But when he reached Ruven and found the boy cradling Notch’s head, he could tell by the way the terrier was thumping her tail against the muddy ground that there was a chance. He pushed through the dogs, who gathered around her, nudging and whining, to take a closer look. There was blood at her neck, but she was able to lift her head.
“I think she’s all right, Da. I think she can live.”
“Go back and get my satchel,” he said. “I need the ointments.”
Andras said this partly to get Ruven out of the way so he could get a good look at the wound and make a final assessment. He prodded at the wound, and the dog whimpered, but her eyes were clear, and there was no blood at her muzzle, only that little bit at her neck. Blessed demigods, he thought she would live.
Ruven returned, and Andras washed his hands with the waterskin before dabbing at the wound with a cloth and some of the contagion-fighting ointment. The spear tip had punctured the thick skin around Notch’s neck, but it was really the hard throw that had laid her down. She was badly bruised, and he didn’t want her to get up.
“We’ll carry her in a sling,” he said. “Let her rest until she gets squirmy and insists on being let down.”
“What about Digger?”
“He’s dead, son.”
“I know, Da. But what about his body?” Ruven sounded remarkably brave about the dog’s death. “Shouldn’t we bury him?”
“Not here, no. We have to get off this road in case the riders return. Or more of Damanja’s men—we don’t want to run into them, either. Will you carry Digger’s body until we can find a safe place?”
“Aye, I’ll do it.”
They carried the two dogs in slings, one injured, the other dead, with Andras also burdened with his spade and the satchel carrying their clothing and cookware. There were still crows in the sky, but they were now streaming in two different directions,
with the larger ones flowing south after the departing Zoltan, and the smaller, more numerous crows of Damanja moving north. By now Damanja would know that her enemy had left the battlefield, and surely she’d have to respond in some way.
“What about the lady?” Ruven asked a few minutes later.
“Most likely Damanja will send riders after Zoltan. Or she might attack his army while he’s gone, I don’t know. I don’t know much about war, son.”
“Not that lady, Da. The bladedancer. And her friends.”
“We have other things to worry about. Narina can look after herself.”
Ruven was panting under the load of Digger’s body. “But Da, those riders are trying to find her. Didn’t you hear? They’re going to find her and kill her so they can steal the weapons.”
“There’s nothing we can do to stop that.”
“Couldn’t we find them first and warn them?”
“No, we have to get to Balint and warn him. If Zoltan gets his hands on the weapons, our master will need to know. He’ll need to be prepared—maybe he’ll throw in his lot with Damanja, I don’t know. Here,” he added. “This is a good place to bury Digger.”
It was a marshy stretch of land that divided grazing meadows from the patchwork of rice paddies through which they’d been traveling. The body would decompose quickly in the soggy ground, the digging would be easy, and the bones were unlikely to be disturbed by either plow or wild animal. Digger would receive the rest he deserved.
He set Notch on a dry patch, and the other dogs nuzzled around her, whining. She growled and snapped, not in the mood to be fussed over. Andras used the spade to dig a grave, and wondered if Notch realized that one of her pups had been killed.
Ruven lowered the sling carrying Digger’s body and watched in silence for several long moments before he started up again. “Zoltan was being careful, Da. He has to worry about the other army, right? It will take him time. I think we could find the bladedancers first.”
“And be caught up with them when the riders fall on them from all sides? I don’t care how many men they cut down at their own temple—how are they possibly going to survive an attack from two hundred riders on horse?”
“They can survive if we warn them! They can take cover or they can run away.”
“No.” Andras drove the spade into the heap of mud and turf he’d excavated from the hole and went for Digger’s body. “We owe our loyalty to Lord Balint. He took vengeance on the men who killed your mother. He brought you back to me when I thought you were dead.”
“And Narina led us through the fire.”
“Not the same thing.” Andras shoveled mud onto the body. “It’s a hard world, and we have hard decisions to make. We’re not so important that we can split our loyalties.”
Ruven stared, unblinking, and Andras had to look away. Surely the boy could see. They were nothing but a pair of ratters. Ruven had just watched his father cower in front of four soldiers, incapable of doing anything more than beg for his life in the most craven way possible. What shame to be so debased in front of his son.
And his shame hadn’t ended there. Andras had been so small, so unimportant, that he’d been invisible to Lord Zoltan’s eyes. He hadn’t even existed. And a good thing, too. If Zoltan suspected for an instant that the ratter had any connection to one of his enemies, he’d have killed Andras without hesitation. Probably Ruven, too, trampled beneath the hooves of the horses. The dogs, speared as casually as Damanja’s soldiers had dispatched Digger and very nearly Notch, too.
So no. He did not intend to split his loyalty and give warning to Narina, Kozmer, and Gyorgy, though he dearly wished he could. If he’d had wings, like a crow, to fly there and back, of course. Even if he’d been able to—
Andras’s mind spun in a new direction, thrown from its path by a sudden thought. He glanced at Skinny Lad, who was sitting on his haunches several feet away from Notch, who’d given him a nip when the bigger dog got too bold in sniffing about.
Narina had been messing around with the lurcher’s aura. She’d said something about drawing on her—what was it?—sowen, so she could find them if they got in trouble. More specifically, to look after Ruven; she seemed to have a soft spot for the child.
But didn’t that mean the dog had a connection with her, as well? That Skinny Lad could follow Narina’s aura in the other direction? If Andras sent the dog, and the dog were to find her, would she be able to figure out why? He thought she would. She’d read it on the dog somehow.
He eyed Skinny Lad. A good dog, obedient and loyal, if not the smartest of the pack. Prone to excitement, but then again, he was a lurcher, and that was their habit. Essential to the work, of course. Andras was already down a terrier, which would hamper his ratting, but without one of his two lurchers, he’d struggle to catch enough rats to earn his coin. And if Narina were killed anyway, Skinny Lad would be lost to him. Even if the dog survived, there was almost no chance he’d be reunited with the pack anytime soon.
But in spite of that, Ruven was right. They did owe loyalty to the bladedancers. It wasn’t only leading them through the fire, but what the trio from the temple had offered. Narina and her company were bladedancers, who may as well be demigods, as far above the ratters as the dragons of the mountain lakes were above the people who lived below them. Yet she’d given them something. Company and protection. A kind word about Ruven and an assurance of aid.
He had a chance to return that offer, and Skinny Lad was the key. The dog could run faster than Zoltan’s men were riding, and directly, too, if Andras could figure out how to put the dog on the path in the first place. It wasn’t like he had a whistled command for the occasion.
Do you remember that woman who called you over and you were nervous at first, but then she was messing around with your aura, whatever that means? Yeah, I need you to give her a message.
So how would it be done? And then he knew.
“I have an idea how we can help,” he told Ruven. “Hand me the satchel, will you?”
He finished covering Digger’s grave, set down the spade, and cleaned his hands with water from the skin. Then he fished around in the satchel until he found the cloth he’d used to rub ointment on Narina’s feet after she’d blistered them crossing through the forest fire. He’d been meaning to wash up—to wash all their clothes, frankly, which were filthy from the road—but hadn’t yet done so.
A quick trill for Skinny Lad. “No, the rest of you stay put.” He snapped his fingers. “I mean it, back where you were.”
He rubbed the rag under Skinny Lad’s nose.
“What are you doing, Da?” Ruven asked.
Andras explained his hopes and his worries. The dogs were exceptional trackers, able to sniff out rat holes from a distance, but there was a strong scent of ointment on the rag, as well. That would confuse matters. And it wasn’t by Narina’s scent that he’d find her, anyway, not precisely. What’s more, since she hadn’t crossed this way, there was no trail to find.
What he needed was for the dog to understand his wishes, then use the connection between his aura and that of the bladedancer sohn. Once closer, perhaps, he could rely on his sense of smell. Until then, the only trail would be whatever magic the woman had laid down upon him.
Skinny Lad whined and looked up at Andras with a questioning expression.
“You need to find her,” Andras said. “Do you understand?”
Another whine.
“Who’s a good boy?” Ruven said, rubbing the dog’s head. There was more than a little anxiety in his tone, as he must be worrying over the risks that Andras had already considered. “Who’s going to find them and warn them and then come back to us? Is that you, boy?”
“Narina won’t send him back, you know. Too risky. We need to trust her to take care of him until we see her again.”
If we ever do.
“You can do it, can’t you?” Ruven told the dog.
Andras held up the rag for another sniff. Then he pointed northeast, tow
ard the post road, and gave a whistled command:
Go!
Chapter Sixteen
Narina was sitting on a blanket in the middle of the farm compound, meditating, when a dog burst through the open doors with an explosion of barks. She’d washed up with water drawn from the well, cold, but refreshing, then changed her garb while she set Gyorgy to washing her soiled clothing. A bit of sun had come out as the clouds cleared, and Kozmer sat on a wooden stool to one side, turning his face skyward with his eyes closed to soak in its warmth.
He hadn’t yet bathed, waiting for Gyorgy to finish heating a basin of water, and his lined, weathered face was still coated with road grime, but he looked content enough. As she gathered her sowen, she could feel his own nearby. Strong and full of willpower. Wisdom too, and strength.
Thirty or forty years earlier he must have been a force with his blades. She wondered again how he’d been defeated when working as a bodyguard to the crowlord all those years ago. That was almost a bigger question in her mind than how he’d ended up on the plains in the first place.
When meditating, it was impossible to avoid the occasional intrusive thought. The idea was to let the thought pass through, not to dwell on it, so that one could return to feeling the surrounding auras and use them to strengthen one’s sowen. But because Narina had been so distracted, she’d missed out on the greater intrusion of the excited dog’s aura until the animal was already inside the compound, barking furiously.
Narina rose to her feet. She felt for her swords, but they were near the well where she’d left them after washing and changing, and she was unarmed. The dog came tearing up to her, still barking.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “One of Andras’s dogs.”
He barked a response.
“Settle down. No, don’t you dare jump on me with those muddy paws—you can say hello from the ground just as well. Skinny Lad? Isn’t that it? Shh. . .stop barking.” She firmed her tone. “I mean it. Quiet.” At last he obeyed. “Where did you come from, anyway? I thought you’d be miles away by now.”
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