by Ellyn, Court
Carah scrambled to her feet. “I didn’t have time to consider. He was dying! I told you, I was meant to come to Bramoran, and keeping that man alive is the reason, I’m sure of it. He still has some purpose to serve. If you think I’m wrong, then you must believe you were wrong to blast a hole in the wall of that slaughterhouse, but you can’t believe that … and you were just testing me.”
Thorn stood. “That’s my job, love.”
She clenched her fists, wanting nothing so much as to pelt him. “Don’t ‘love’ me, you flaming pile of ogre shit! Go rot and fester!”
Her uncle’s laughter echoed across the quiet waters and silenced the crying of the wolves. It only made her angrier. She stomped off, but he hauled her back, held her firmly by the shoulders. “I am proud of you, Kharah.” The difference in pronunciation won him her attention. He tenderly swept a curl from her eyes and cupped her face. “Our fierce healer. I envy you your gift.”
She forgave him after that, and they started back to the clearing arm in arm. The highborns were settling themselves for the night. Roots and musty leaves made for uncomfortable pillows under highborns’ heads. Paired with the fear of wolves and swords striking from the dark, Carah doubted any of them would sleep well. Two of the White Mantles curled up under their cloaks while two more guarded the wagon. Lieutenant Rance nodded heavily but roused with a start when the blue light whisked past him. Drona laid at her king’s feet, eyes blinking up at the canopy.
“How do I get water to him?” she asked her uncle.
“There’s a flask on my saddle. We’ll have to boil lake water.”
“But we can’t risk a fire.”
“My dear, you’re not thinking like an avedra.”
Rhian had unsaddled both of the Elaran horses; they stood bare-backed under the trees, sleek black shadows. Thorn untied the flask from his saddle while Záradel lowered her muzzle and sniffed at his hands in the dark. “Nosy,” he accused her, and she blew hot air into his face. He gave the flask a shake and took a swig, then handed it off to Carah. “Mead. Give the rest to the White Falcon. The spices and honey will do him good. Then we’ll see if you can boil water.”
Of course, she couldn’t. She thought she managed a puff of flame for a fraction of an instant, but finally gave up and let her uncle take care of it. He set the copper flask on a stone and directed a small jet of blue flame from each palm until the water inside bubbled happily.
“Hnh, I envy you your gift,” Carah tossed at him.
He chuckled and handed her the flask by the leather strap. “Wait till it’s cool enough to drink. Goddess help us if we burn an invalid, and a king at that.”
In the wagon, Carah found Arryk as feverish as ever. Oh, please, Ana, let him live. While helping him drink she thought it strange that she should pray for the life of a man who might consider himself her enemy when he woke.
Whispers floated across the clearing. Someone making plans, likely. Or promises, perhaps. Maeret was huddled in a tight ball with her knees drawn up inside her dress, shivering with quiet sobs. Aisley slept in the crook of her grandfather’s arm. Drys laid on his back with his hands laced across his belly, snoring. Nearby, Da slept with the sword close at hand, and standing under an andyr tree Uncle Thorn leaned heavily on his staff, chin drifting lower and lower toward his chest. Where was Rhian? Veil Sight helped Carah find him. His azeth glowed brightly farther along the bank.
She tip-toed across the clearing and through the trees, expecting her uncle’s voice to call her back any moment. But why shouldn’t she seek the company of a fellow apprentice? Emerging from the trees, she saw Rhian rear back and fling a stone. It skipped silently across the water, three-four-five-six times. The ruddy moonlight turned the ripples pink. He must’ve gone for a swim. Wet hair swung heavily down his back. Stooping for another stone, he said, “You know, I’m starting to believe in the bad-omen theory of the feuding moons.”
Was Carah’s step so loud in the underbrush? Rhian tossed the stone. Two-three-four skips. “You should be asleep,” he said.
“Is that so?” Why did he treat her like a child? Maybe he just dreaded her company. “I’m not here to argue, you know. I thought you might … ach, never mind.” She shouldn’t have come. Why should he talk freely with her? She was nothing but a bother.
Rhian reared back another stone but hesitated. “I’m used to killing ogres, not men. What we saw….” He hurled the stone. It made a hollow plunk. He watched the widening circle of ripples, staring into the same nightmare Carah did, all over again. “And when I saw the soldiers shooting at you … all of you … I didn’t think we’d find any of you alive.”
Any and all, was it? But it was her hand he’d sought in the dark. Carah’s heart rose into her throat, delicious and dangerous and suffocating.
“Sandy Cape is as dull and safe as ever, it’s sure I am of that. I miss the sea. This stagnant water is nothing like it.”
“Weren’t you ever afraid of those big waters?”
“Afraid?” He glanced around at her at last, as if surprised. Then he shrugged. “Sure. Only the greatest eejit doesn’t fear the sea. It can break you to pieces or steal you away into the dark forever if it has a mind to. But there’s no end to the wonder of it. It’s another world down there. A world upside down. The dance of the kelp and swirl of the fish. The taste of the salt, the thunder of the breakers, and an oyster filling your palm.”
Carah remembered the dream she’d had of swimming deep into the sun-bright water, seeking the treasure trove of blue moons, and was sure now he had placed it in her head to put a stop to her nightmare.
“No, I don’t fear it half as much as I should, even though it drowned my own da.”
“Drowned?” The way he blurted it caught her off guard. “I … I’m sorry.”
“I was ten. ‘Twas a lifetime ago.” He started back for the cover of the trees, gestured for Carah to come along, but she didn’t want to go back yet. She wanted to hear his voice in the dark.
“You’ve been to the sea?” he asked as they ducked under the branches.
“To Windhaven, aye, several times. When Da’s duties were light, we would ride to Windhaven to visit Mum and Kethlyn. From the watchtowers I used to watch the seals on the rocks. But they were far away. I saw the dolphins better, jumping around the incoming ships.”
Rhian paused in a patch of coppery moonlight. The branches of the trees hemmed them in like arms. “Aye, dolphins. But it’s seals we’re kin to. Sailors say that long ago seals were elves. There’s legends that tell of them stealing fair maidens and handsome youths away to their underwater kingdom. But seals have forgotten that air dwellers can’t live in the sea.”
“Is that so?” Grinning, Carah sank back against the trunk of an andyr.
“Maybe that’s what happened to my da.”
Carah could think of someone’s da who could offer this pearl fisher a lesson in charm. Hadn’t there been enough people dying lately? And here was Rhian adding another body to the count. Was he purposefully trying to keep her off balance? Aye, for a certainty.
“Did you get your eyes from him?”
When he leveled them on her she realized how close he was standing, even though the patch of moonlight was large.
“I did. And where did you get this pearl?” His hand rose out of the dark and lifted the silver fairy from her chest. The back of his fingers brushed her collarbone as he inspected it.
“Uncle Thorn gave it to me,” she said, though she found it ridiculously hard to find her voice. “For my sixth birthday.”
“Sixth? My da mighta fished that pearl.”
“Thorn said it was a charm to protect me. Maybe it worked after all.”
Rhian laid down the pendant, frowning. “Are you … are you all right?”
Carah shrugged. “I feel hollow inside. Confused. Is there something wrong with me?”
His thumb caressed her cheek. “No.” His hand fell away into the dark again. “We’d best go back.”
&nb
sp; Carah caught him by the arm, just a touch, but it was enough to stop him. She wanted to order him to get it over with, kiss her, damn it, so this great fire in her bones would be quenched. He didn’t wait for the order. His hands burrowed deep in her hair, caught her round the nape, and he was kissing her, hungry and desperate, a lover’s kiss like the ones she had read about and dreamed about, and she discovered she didn’t know what to do, so she closed her eyes and opened her mouth and sank into him. The most exquisite weakness overtook her knees, her arms, as if she had drunk a bottle of wine. She couldn’t breathe unless it was to breathe him in. The scent of salt was on his cheek as if the sea were in his flesh. Her fingers rose to touch his face, but Rhian seized her wrist and broke away.
“That wasn’t my place,” he whispered hoarsely.
Carah was too intoxicated to feel angry or hurt. “Wasn’t it? We’re both avedrin.”
“A lady and a pearl fisher.”
Her forehead dropped onto his shoulder and she insisted, “No.” Couldn’t things be simple for once? It was Rhian who had called himself her equal in all things avedra. If blood made them equal, how could it separate them, too?
“No one else will agree,” he said, “not even Dathiel.”
“We could be found and killed tomorrow, I don’t care.” How warm he was. Warm and dry inside the blood-brown robe. Carah tucked herself inside it, arms tight around him, hands delighting in the slide of his shoulder blades. She waited for him to push her aside, tell her she had no right to hold onto him like this, but he didn’t. The chill in her skin was plain enough. He closed the robe snugly around her shoulders, and good sense lost the argument warring in his head.
His mouth left tongues of cool fire on her jaw, her lips, her eyelids. A tear raced down her cheek, and he kissed that too. When Carah opened her eyes, she saw their lifelights beating back the bloody moonlight, and she couldn’t tell one azeth from the other.
A voice called in the distance. They froze, listening, trembling, hoping they were mistaken, hoping the voice called someone else. A dance of white light whisked through the trees. Zephyr.
“Well?” the fairy squeaked at them. “Saffron can delay Dathiel only so long.”
Carah backed out of the robe, straightened her shirt, smoothed her hair, let out a bubble of embarrassed laughter. “Let me go first. Come back a different way.”
Rhian grinned and watched her go.
In the clearing, Thorn paced, eyes wild with fear. Every one of the highborns turned her direction when she emerged from the trees. Da’s arm relaxed and the sword lowered toward the ground. “You roused the entire camp on my account?” she snapped, glaring at her uncle. “I didn’t go far, only playing sentry.”
“Don’t leave like that again,” Thorn said, hands gripping her shoulders. “I had a nightmare you were taken. Where’s Rhian?”
She shrugged. “I saw him by the lake.” She glanced back for him; he hadn’t followed. “Really, Uncle Thorn, some nightmares are just nightmares. Mind if I borrow your robe? I’m freezing.”
~~~~
Carah woke suddenly. A bird, a scream? She was sure it was a sound that had disturbed her, but after blinking the sleep from her eyes she didn’t hear it again. She felt as if she had slept only moments, but the gray light of dawn seeped through the branches of the trees. She lay curled against her uncle, his robe warm over them. Stretching and yawning, she turned and found him already awake. His ear was pressed to the ground, and a deep frown creased his brow.
“What—?” she began, but he laid a finger to her mouth.
With barely a rustle he picked himself off the ground and shook his brother’s shoulder. Kelyn roused at once. “Trouble. Wake the camp. Keep them silent. Harness the drays immediately.”
Da scrambled to his feet. “Soldiers?”
“Aye, the eight-foot-tall kind. Rhian and I will hold them off while you escape with the rest. Hurry, or they’ll block your escape.”
Carah whirled, looking for Rhian, found him across the clearing tying on his robe. Cool and collected, he didn’t so much as glance her direction as he strode past. Following Thorn’s hand gestures, the two of them disappeared among the trees.
Kelyn lifted his daughter by the elbow. “Into the wagon, now.”
Carah snatched her damp robe from an overhanging branch, then clambered up the wheel and over the side. The fairy sleep lay heavily upon the White Falcon. For that she was grateful. His guards gathered close.
“What’s going on?” Rance demanded.
“We’ve been tracked,” Kelyn said, laying out the traces. Lords Daxon and Drys led the four drays into position.
“By whom? I don’t see anything,” Lord Rorin said, gazing past the trees. Sunlight lay long across heather-purple hills. Nothing larger than a bird moved there.
“You won’t,” Carah told him.
“There!” Maeret pointed. Thorn and Rhian emerged from the trees. A barricade of flame, ten feet high and fifty feet long, sprang up across the wagon’s tracks.
“Ai, Goddess, bloody avedrin,” Drona swore. “Can’t they fight fair? Get us out of here.”
“You could be useful,” Kelyn snapped. Drona bailed out of the wagon and helped him buckle the drays into place. “Carah, report!” he shouted while his fingers raced. The drays sensed the fear and shifted uneasily, which didn’t help matters.
She stuttered in response. Her da bellowing at her like she was one of his soldiers? Aye, so she was. “Er, n-nothing yet,” she said, turning to watch the crackling wall of flames. A sword gleamed bright silver in Uncle Thorn’s hand, and Rhian spread his arms. Shimmering streams of dew lifted from the hillsides and gathered to his hands. The two of them ducked through the wall of fire as if it were drapes made of velvet.
A mule-like bray raked at the still morning air.
“What the hell was that?” demanded Daxon.
“Done! Drys, back them up,” Da ordered, springing onto the bench. One of the Mantles helped Drona into the bed, and slowly the drays backed the wagon out of the trees. They felt the heat of the flames and balked, but Drys cursed them for cowardly asses and pressed them harder.
“I hate all this running,” muttered Rance.
“I’d prefer a fair fight myself,” Drona said.
Rich, thought Carah, coming from the sheep-raiding queen of Fiera. She suspected that Lady Athmar more truly hated feeling beholden to the avedrin for covering her arse.
Lightning sparked on the hillside. Thunder cracked like boulders breaking. One of the drays tried to rear, but Da pulled hard on the traces and turned the horses out into the open. Drys climbed onto the bench beside him, and the wagon raced up a hill, jolting so hard that Carah felt her eyes would be shaken from the sockets. She could see over the wall of flames now. Twelve giants with gray-green skin and gray lifelights ran across the moor in tight formation. A bright azeth led them.
“I had no idea,” Carah said through vibrating teeth. “The green men are enormous.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Drona demanded. “You avedrin are crazy, that’s what.”
Carah ignored her.
The ogres divided, sweeping left and right toward the trees. Whips of lightning lashed. An ogre tumbled. The others descended upon Thorn and Rhian. Carah whispered a prayer.
One of the ogres barreled through the fire. Long muscled legs seemed hardly to strain as he gained on the wagon. “Da! Faster!” The drays topped the hill, entered the road, and their stride opened up. Undaunted, the ogre ran a little harder.
A spear of lightning tore through his chest. It danced along his tusks and axe blades, convulsed in his limbs. The creature rolled into the hedgerow. The veil concealing it unraveled, and Lords Rhogan and Rorin, seated in the rear of the wagon, swore at the sight of it.
The wall of fire disappeared below the brow of the hill. So did Thorn and Rhian. Carah kept watch. She couldn’t stand it. What was happening back there? Peals of thunder were soon barely louder than the rumble of th
e wagon wheels, then they stopped. That meant one of two things. The ogres were beaten, or the avedrin were dead. To keep herself from thinking about it, Carah busied herself tucking her robe around Arryk’s shoulders and fruitlessly trying to give him the last of the water from the flask.
After a few bone-jarring miles, Da hauled back on the reins. Once the wagon came to a standstill, Carah climbed to her knees and peered between Drys and her father. A column of black smoke filled the sky. An entire town appeared to be burning. Men, women, and children poured from the gates and stood on the hillsides watching everything go up in flames. Bodies lay strewn outside the wooden palisade. A woman wailed over a corpse. Clusters of people trudged up the road toward the wagon, covered in soot or blood.
“Da, what is it?”
“Longmead.” He turned on the bench. “Are the ogres still here?” He was sure, then, who the attackers had been.
“Ogres?” cried Lieutenant Rance. “Is that what that thing was back there?”
Carah shook her head in despair. “Only people.”
Kelyn stood and beckoned to the nearing crowd. “Where is Morach?”
“His Lordship, sir?” asked a man broad enough to be a smith. “He’s dead. Died defending the gate. Weren’t nothing he could do. We never saw a thing. Just people and blood. Half the town died with him. We’re on our way to Bramoran to tell the king.”
“No! Avoid Bramoran. It’s fallen, too.”
The smith and his companions traded horrified outbursts. “Where are we to go?”
“Lunélion’s closer,” someone proposed.
Kelyn pointed at another plume of smoke far away on the horizon. “That’s Lunélion. You can’t go there either.”
“What about Ilswythe?” asked another.
Da’s hesitation spoke volumes to Carah. “I don’t think so,” he said at last.
Carah lowered her forehead onto the back of the bench and bit her lower lip to stifle a sob. Mum. Esmi. Etivva. Jaedren. Goddess, no. Where could any of them go? They would keep running and running, and if Carah didn’t keep her eyes open, ignoring the pain ripping at her skull, she might lead the wagon straight into an army of enemies. The nightmare never indicated the horrors would continue outside Bramoran. Only a half-truth then, and curse the Mother-Father for it.