Galius had nodded stiffly, giving no indication that the delegate and his schemes made him ill. The delegate’s only concern was receiving his due credit.
Galius’ only concern was Adora.
He ached just thinking about her. She had woven a spell around him, and Galius had fallen hard. She was brazen, unashamed, and unrepentant in a land filled with women who stewed behind their petty desires and lacked the courage to show their true faces. Adora had lit a fire in his soul that he had never known before. If she was blameless in this strange business, he would see her freed. But if she had played him for a fool, he would see justice.
The last few days had been a whirlwind of action, secret agendas and half-truths, pieces of a puzzle Galius didn’t fully understand. The Ringblade Selicia had arrived in Fairmist the night the delegate had sent them all searching for the Whisper Prince. The delegate seemed cowed by Selicia, and she immediately enlisted all of his local Highblades and put them under the command of her imperial Highblades.
Except who had ever heard of a Ringblade leading Highblades? Ringblades were a different order. They served stealth and deception. They fought as cowards, throwing their namesakes from a distance, attacking from the shadows. Ringblades kept secrets and withheld information, and Selicia was arrogant in her superiority, demanding obedience but giving no benefit to the loyal.
Still, the arrogant were prone to mistakes, and she had made one. Galius had his own secret now, a piece of the puzzle she wanted.
He felt the reassuring press of the sheath against his back, which held Blevins’ magnificent sword. Galius had known its value from the moment he’d faced the fat man in Adora’s room. When Selicia had ordered Galius to disarm Blevins, that is exactly what he’d done, but in her arrogance, she had overlooked the weapon. Only later did she call for it, but by then, Galius had made sure she would never have it.
It had taken Selicia most of the day to organize her rolling cage and finish her argument with the delegate, and Galius had used the time wisely. Instead of sleeping, he carefully painted Blevins’ blade black, a nuance he’d used on all his swords over the last few years. With splints, a short cylinder of wood, and worn leather strips he had recently pulled from his favorite sword, Galius extended the grip another two inches and wrapped it tight. When the jeweled hilt disappeared beneath the sweat-stained leather, it looked like just another of Galius’ swords.
And sure enough, the moment he returned to the palace to argue his way onto Adora’s escort, Selicia demanded the sword.
Galius had made a good show for her, acting reluctant to obey the order. Resentful. The delegate had finally made him procure the weapon, and Galius handed her the richest sword he owned, his signature black paint cleaned away and the steel shining, all the while carrying Blevins’ blade on his back.
She had barely glanced at the sword he offered, told him he could keep it, which meant she had been looking for Blevins’ blade specifically. And that added more questions to the pile. What was so special about it? It was a wealthy man’s weapon, no doubt, but also old, the style wider and shorter-handled than the standard Highblade longsword. It was the kind of heirloom you would expect to see on the wall at a lord’s castle, some remembrance of a grandfather’s exploits.
It begged to be in the hand, though. There was something about it that made Galius want to practice with it, to rush into battle with it. He itched to draw it even now.
Instead, he turned his gaze on the swaying rump of Vallyn’s horse. Vallyn was his “partner” today, though they both knew he was actually Galius’ guard. Yesterday it had been Highblade Bef.
Galius drew a patient breath and let it out. He could continue waiting. A swordsman parried, deflected, waited for his opening. He could see that Adora was unhurt, and that was enough for now. He had even seen Blevins’ fat arm pointing an hour ago, so the big man was alive as well, which was a something of a miracle. Selicia had bounced her ringblade off his head. By all rights, he should be dead. He was a tough son of a bitch, that one.
As for the shoemaker’s son, they were drugging him. Galius didn’t know why. By his estimation, Blevins was the most dangerous of the three by far. What had Grei done at the palace? Surely a silver-tongued seducer wouldn’t warrant such caution.
He let out a quiet sigh and looked over his shoulder, hoping that the flying hare had decided to follow after all, but the little beast was gone.
He blinked, focusing on remaining alert, waiting for the next bout of ill-treatment. He had been ordered to serve as rear guard every day. When they had camped last night, he had been ordered to search for firewood, and then take the long night watches until he was so exhausted he had had to sleep during the few hours they allowed him.
That, at least, was a battle Galius could understand. Let them try to grind him down. He was a Highblade. He was trained to overcome hardship and lived to serve the right. To protect the weak. To die for love.
He looked up from his thoughts to see Captain Delenne riding toward him. Galius straightened in his saddle.
Captain Delenne was a lesser legend among Highblades. The layman in Fairmist wouldn’t know him, but he had made a name for himself in the northern wars against the pale-skinned Benascan savages. He was no Zed Hack or Jorun Magnus, but Nilus Delenne was a swordsman to be respected. Under different circumstances, Galius felt he could have liked the captain.
“Come on, Fairmist,” Delenne said, using the nickname the other Highblades had given him. He reached up and smoothed his long mustache on one side, then the other. “Time to make our first sweep for sand bandits.”
Galius noted two other Highblades riding off in front of the procession. Vallyn moved closer to the rolling cages as the sixth Highblade dropped back to do the same. Selicia, who had ridden at the edge of the road to the north, closed in as well.
Galius wheeled his horse about and followed the captain. Patience, he thought. Wait for your opening.
Chapter 24
Grei
Grei blinked, groggy, and tried to remember where he was. He was in something moving, bouncing and jostling. A wagon with bars. He was bound at the elbows, just above the burned ruin of his right arm, which had been freshly bandaged, and his legs were bound at the ankles. Adora held his head in her lap, gently stroking his forehead.
The wagon had steel bars, and it trundled over cracked brown earth. A forest of burnt trunks stabbed upward like tusks all around them. Less than half a mile to the south, there was a living pine forest, dark and foreboding.
The front and rear of the wagon were solid wooden walls. There was the outline of a door in the back, and an iron clasp that was no doubt locked from the outside. Blevins sat with his back against the bars, half his face dark with dried blood.
The poem of the Whisper Prince had gone from Grei’s mind, replaced by dark, indecipherable whispers. They sounded like murderers plotting a kill.
“You’re okay,” Adora murmured quietly. He could barely hear her over the creaking of the wagon. “Thank the Faia. I was worried.”
“Where are we?” he asked, trying to lick his lips, but his mouth was dry.
“Captured,” she said.
“The Ringblade,” he said, remembering the two fierce strikes with which Selicia had driven him into unconscious.
“Yes.”
“It feels like a dozen hammers are tapping on my head,” Grei said. “And my tongue feels huge.”
“You’ve been drugged,” Adora said.
He moved his tongue around, trying to get the metallic taste off, but it was no use.
His burnt arm was wrapped in bandages. He couldn’t feel it. There was only the vague sense of weight at the end of his elbow. It made him sick to think about it.
“Where are they taking us?” he asked.
“Thiara,” she said. “That’s my guess. Selicia is the Ringblade champion. She’ll bring you to the emperor.”
The pain in his head was receding. Now it only felt like six hammers tapping. “
We’re in the Badlands,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied.
He started to sit up, but she kept a firm hand on his chest, kept him flat. “If you move, she’ll see, and they’ll drug you again,” she said quietly. “Lie still.”
He eased back onto her lap. It wasn’t a bad place to be. “Okay.”
“We’ve been on the road for three days. In the Badlands for half a day,” she said.
“And now that the prince is awake, it is time to escape,” Blevins said.
“If you’re a crazy fat man,” she said curtly.
Blevins grunted.
“There is nowhere to go,” she continued, as though they’d been arguing about this for some time. “We wait until the Felesh plantations.”
“Every second you wait is a second you don’t have,” Blevins said. “We killed a slink. The last time we did that, they chased us all the way to Fairmist. They are hunting us, and they will find us. Do you think these Highblades will stand for five seconds against them?” He shook his head. “It’s the luck of the Faia that they haven’t found us already.”
“Charging into the Dead Woods is no escape,” Adora said. “It’s suicide.”
“Then we take their horses,” Blevins said. “Four of the complement are away. If we face them by twos, we have a chance. Now is the time.”
Grei turned his gaze to the trees. Deadly whispers slithered through his mind. Instead of whispering of growth, sunlight and deep roots, those trees whispered violence.
He had heard of the Dead Woods, of course. The legends grew larger every year. When he was a boy, this entire area, Badlands and Dead Woods alike, was the Vheysin Forest. But after a terrible fire, all that remained were charred trunks and that stand of frightening pine trees, now called the Dead Woods.
The fire had been five years ago, and not a single blade of grass had grown back. Every year that passed without growth on that cracked earth was one more year of superstitious whispers. Farmers and travelers became ever more fearful. Traders were paid more and more to ferry goods across.
The Vheysin Forest had once been a popular place to hunt for game. It had been full of deer, flying hares and pheasant, but no one dared hunt in the Dead Woods now. They seethed fury. Travelers who passed through the Badlands tried to avert their eyes. The pines, with their cracked bark and hungry needles, looked ready to impale anyone who dared come close. No one who went into the Dead Woods ever came out again.
“We can’t let the emperor have him,” Blevins was saying. Grei blinked, trying to ignore the ugly whispers and focus on the argument again. “Making an escape in Felesh is a fool’s gambit. Once you reach the plantations, two dozen Highblades will join this escort. Better to face the unknown than certain capture.”
“It’s not unknown,” she said. “Those who enter the Dead Woods die. No one has ever emerged.”
“You won’t get a better chance,” Blevins pressed.
“You don’t care if he dies!” she hissed. “He’s not going into the Dead Woods.”
Blevins snorted and gave up, turned his head away. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Nothing matters.”
“What if he’s right?” Grei asked. Despite their malice, the forbidding pines drew him. There was power there, and...sentience.
She frowned down at him. “He's not right. He’s an idiot—” She looked suddenly to the side. “Close your eyes!” she hissed.
Grei closed his eyes. Selicia whistled loudly and rode her horse up alongside them. The other two Highblades closed in, dismounted and drew their short swords.
“You are awake,” the Ringblade said quietly, as though she was talking to herself and not to them. She signaled something to the driver. The wagon creaked to a stop. Selicia kicked a leg over and dropped from her horse.
Grei opened his eyes and sat up, pushing past Adora’s protective hands. The charade was over.
“You’re an interesting one,” Selicia said. “That should not have worn off until tonight.”
One of the Highblades poked his sword through the bars and leveled it at Adora’s neck. She glared at him, but kept still. The other put his sword at Blevins’ neck. With a frown, Blevins closed his eyes as though taking a nap.
“Take this and no one gets cut,” Selicia said, pulling a water skin from inside her cloak. She held it out to him.
“Why drug me?” he asked.
Her thin mouth turned up at the edges. Grei supposed it was a smile, but her scar twisted it into a grimace. “Because I felt you inside my head, ‘Prince’. Play the proper prisoner, and your friends don’t have to die. Drink it.”
He took the water skin, twisted the cork, and closed his eyes. The whispers of the Dead Woods were loud and insistent, calling to him, but he tried to listen past them. He tried to hear the quieter voices.
Like the swords the Highblades held.
“Bend,” Grei whispered.
There was a wrench inside him and a heaviness on his head as though a stone had been laid there. The Highblades shouted. Sharp steel twisted around the bars, safely pointing away from Blevins and Adora.
Grei blinked his eyes open. His mind was cloudy, and for a moment, his vision blurred. The whispers faded.
Selicia drew her short sword and lunged forward. He squeezed the water skin through the bars right into her face. The drug splashed into her eyes and nose. With a grunt, she spun. Her blade rang on the steel bars.
“The lock, my prince,” Blevins said. “Quickly.”
Grei could barely think. His head felt too heavy for his shoulders. What had happened to him?
“Lock,” he murmured. It took him a second to realize what Blevins was saying. Steel rang on scabbards as the shocked Highblades drew their longswords.
“Grei!”
He fought to hear the whispers, but they were distant. “Water,” he said, reaching out to the to the lock on the other side of the door. It dripped down the wood and Blevins rammed his shoulder against it. The door burst open.
“Run!” he roared, leaping to the ground. A sword sliced past him, somehow missing him and thudding into the wood. Blevins grabbed the man’s fist and wrenched. Bones snapped. The Highblade gagged and released his weapon. Now Blevins had a sword.
“Blevins!” Grei shouted. The big man pulled the sword from the wood and swung. The arc was tight and powerful. It sliced completely through the Highblade’s thigh. The man screamed and fell over. Blood sprayed the cage and the ground.
Grei gasped, feeling the man’s agony like a hammer on his chest. The Highblade’s screams filled the air as his life poured onto the ground.
“Don’t kill them!” he shouted at Blevins.
“Go, Grei!” Adora said, shoving him.
Hobbled, he hopped awkwardly out of the wagon and fell to his knees. He forgot what he had been doing. His head was filled with mud. But then he remembered. They were escaping.
“I can’t think,” he said thickly.
Adora leapt down beside him and hauled on his arm, pulling him upright. Steel rang as Blevins deflected the second Highblade’s strike. The third shouted, running toward the battle.
“He can’t kill them!” Grei said to her. “Please—”
“Onto the horse,” Adora said, grabbing the reins of the dying Highblade’s mount. The horse raised its head and whinnied, snapping at her hand. She jumped back.
Grei moved to help her when she suddenly cried out and fell to her knees. Chains and steel balls wrapped tight around her legs. It was the same weapon Selicia had used on Grei at the falls. He spun around to see the Ringblade moving sluggishly toward them. Her shoulders slumped as though she could barely stand upright, but she held a short sword tightly in her fist. She put two fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle.
Grei dropped to his knees. His elbows were still bound, his bandaged arm tight together with his healthy one. Selicia rose over him.
“Water,” he whispered, not even hearing the ground’s whispers, but kno
wing the change he wanted. He forced his will upon it.
A ripple went out from his hand like the cracked earth was a lake. Selicia dropped straight down. She threw her sword as she fell, and it stuck point first an inch from his hands.
For a moment, he couldn’t even remember his own name. It was as though his intelligence had leaked away. He stared at the vibrating sword next to him. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard shouting.
“Grei! Get up! Ride!” the voice screamed. He turned and saw her, the lovely woman. Adora. Her name was Adora. Her knees were bound, and she pulled herself toward him.
“I can’t think,” he murmured. “I...I’ve lost...”
Grei felt another thudding strike inside his chest, and a man’s scream split the air. He looked up, saw the last Highblade slide off the long, bloody sword held by a giant man whose name he couldn’t remember.
“Stop,” he murmured, bowing his head.
“Get to the horse!” Adora commanded, rolling toward him. “The others are coming. There are four more. We can’t fight them all.” She grabbed the blade Selicia had thrown and sliced through the ropes that bound his arms, then his ankles.
“Leave you?” he said.
She sawed at her own bindings, but they were chains, and the sword wouldn’t cut them. Grei’s ears felt like they were filled with cotton. There were no whispers. He tried to hear them, but he couldn’t.
“I’m not leaving you,” he said. Selicia spluttered to the surface of the dirt lake. Her face was covered with mud, and her hands slapped at the top, trying to find purchase. She went under again.
Adora grabbed Grei’s tunic and twisted it in her fist. “You are going to leave me,” she said in a quiet voice. “They won’t hurt me. They’ll keep us to bait you back. Run and you have choices. Stay and you have none. Trust me.”
His mind was still so cloudy. He just shook his head. “Adora—”
The giant killer man appeared around the corner of the wagon, spattered with blood. Blevins. His name was Blevins. He grabbed the reins of the skittish horse and spoke a sharp command in Venishan. It quieted instantly.
Fairmist Page 17