Path of Blood

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “Geran was sure that living at court would turn you into the right sort of man. It may be he was right, though I’m not certain he would agree.”

  With that he left, calling for a servant. Soka followed slowly, feeling at once wrung like a rag and exhilarated. A thrill of pride rippled through him for what had seemed like praise, followed almost instantly by a flood of self-disgust. What did it matter what his father thought of him? Thevul Bro-heyek was nothing better than gutter trash. And once Soka walked away with the metal Honor needed, he never intended to return to Bro-heyek or see his father again.

  Chapter 23

  Just two weeks since his return to Honor, and Juhrnus was itching to leave. His wounds had healed well enough. They ached sometimes, keeping him awake, and there was an uncomfortable tug to his flesh when he twisted or raised his arms above his head. He wasn’t back to normal, but he was good enough to get going.

  Juhrnus pulled on his shirt and laced his jerkin over it, then stamped his feet into his boots. He fastened his hair into a tail at the nape of his neck, and buckled on his sword. Esper was splayed in the middle of the bed. The tip of his tail twitched as he watched his ahalad-kaaslane with somnolent interest. Juhrnus stroked a hand down his back, feeling Esper’s contented croon vibrate down his spine.

  ~Don’t be getting too used to all this pampering. Is there anyone who hasn’t been coddling you?

  ~I must keep up my strength, Esper returned loftily, shifting onto his back so Juhrnus could reach his belly. It was rounded and tight.

  ~I hope you built it up well, because we’re leaving.

  ~Where are we going?

  ~Did you sleep through the entire meeting last night? Lazybones. We’re going back to keep an eye on the Regent. And none too soon. I think I’d rather have the plague than try to keep the peace between Kebonsat and Emelovi. I don’t know how Metyein can stand it.

  Juhrnus had found himself suffering through hours of icy tension between the two, his injuries making it impossible to escape. Though according to Metyein, this was an improvement. Now at least she spoke to Kebonsat, albeit grudgingly, and more important, she listened. But everything about her, from the tightness around her eyes to the way she held her head stiffly to the side and refused to look at him directly, showed her intense repugnance.

  On the other hand, Kebonsat was morose and spoke in short, jerky sentences—to the point and nothing more. He habitually prowled the room like a trapped wolf, keeping as far away from Emelovi as space allowed. As soon as permitted, he escaped, spending the rest of his time schooling the troops in weapons and battle tactics.

  ~They are hurting.

  ~They need each other and they are being stupid about it, Juhrnus retorted.

  ~She feels betrayed.

  Juhrnus scratched his head, relenting slightly. She was entitled. And still . . . He couldn’t blame Kebonsat. At least Emelovi was safe from her brother. For now.

  He thought of the sorceress, Kedisan-Mutira. An ache pulsed through his chest. She was far better prepared to defend herself from the likes of Aare than Emelovi was, he reminded himself. But the Regent wasn’t the reason he worried for her. It was her companions—the two Scallacian sorcerers. They were her mentors, her teachers, her torturers.

  Since her coming to Kodu Riik, he’d felt a connection to her, stronger than friendship, stronger even than love, though he thought he might love her. It was kinship. A soul-deep understanding of each other—it came with a primal urge to protect and defend her. He thought she might feel the same about him. He didn’t know. They were, after all, enemies. The Scallacians were no friends of Kodu Riik. They had come to harvest power, to get ahead in the violent political game back home. And in that political game, Kedisan-Mutira had plans of her own. Plans that made Juhrnus afraid for her. He couldn’t wait to get back to Koduteel and learn how she was.

  A knock on his door made him start. Metyein entered, his expression grim.

  “You’re ready then? Good. I’ve assembled your gear and had your horse brought around. But there’s a change of plans. You’re not going back to Koduteel. You’re going to Patverseme.”

  For a moment Juhrnus could not speak. Kedisan-Mutira’s face rose up against his mind’s eye. The last time he’d spoken to her had been just before escaping Koduteel. Aare had been hunting the ahalad-kaaslane, but Juhrnus had gone to the palace anyway. He couldn’t leave without seeing her. She’d been cold and distant. She’d been wearing almost nothing, her skin smudged with bruises—evidence of what her companions did to her, were doing to her still. Her pale hair had been mussed, her dark eyes troubled. She had been worried for him.

  “Why?” he croaked out at last, turning to put on Esper’s carry-sling.

  “We’re going to ask your friend Edelsat for help. And we’re going to send word to the Karalis and to the Wizard Guild.”

  Juhrnus turned back slowly. “You think they’ll help?”

  Metyein shrugged. “Can’t hurt. They certainly won’t support Aare.”

  “Why now?”

  “It’ll take time for them to get here, if they’re going to come.”

  Juhrnus’s jaw jutted and he shook his head. “That’s the story you’re telling everybody else. But there’s more. Why now?”

  Metyein’s lips pulled into a grimace and he pulled a parchment from a pocket sewn inside his vest. “I found this on my bedstead this morning when I woke up. It’s my father’s seal. There’s no doubt it’s authentic.”

  Juhrnus took the parchment in his fingertips as if it would burn him. He studied Metyein’s face a moment, seeing his pallor, the tightness of his skin and the fear and sorrow lurking deep in his eyes.

  “What’s it say?”

  “Read it.”

  Juhrnus opened it up gingerly. It didn’t say much. Three nonsensical sentences. He read aloud.

  “ ‘The sun rises. Foxes eat the hens when the lace-flies hatch. What duty and honor require.’ ”

  There was no signature, but for the Vare family seal. Not the seal of the Lord Marshal. Juhrnus looked at Metyein.

  “What does it mean?”

  The other man moistened his lips. “It’s a warning. One that he won’t repeat. Aare’s taking the crown—that’s what ‘the sun rises’ means. It also means my father will swear fealty to him. He’ll be leading the army when it comes. And they’ll be coming for us when the lace-flies hatch. They’ll get here in late March, I’d guess.”

  “That’s what that fox business is?”

  Metyein shook his head, an air of hard-suppressed emotion about him. His cheeks were flushed and his fingers shook as he took back the parchment and tucked it back into his vest. When he spoke, he sounded faintly out of breath.

  “I don’t think so. He has to be talking about the Scallacians. They’ve committed to Aare. Before we left Koduteel they hadn’t shown their magic, except for that first night of their arrival when Reisiltark took them down a peg. But if I’m reading this right, then he’s got them. That’s why he’s warning us. He distrusted Reisiltark because of her magic, but at least she was ahalad-kaaslane. The Scallacians are greedy ganyiks and he knows it. Being in bed with them is like being in bed with a pox-ridden whore. Sooner or later she’ll give you the pox or stick you in the stomach and spill your guts on the floor, then step over you to steal your money.”

  “You get all that from those few lines? How can you be sure?”

  Metyein’s face went even grayer. He swallowed hard. But when he spoke, his voice was crisp and businesslike. “The last line. ‘What honor and duty require. ’ It’s the message I wrote to him when I left. It has to do with a conversation we had about Aare’s rule. I as much as told my father that if Aare came to power, I was going to fight him. It is what honor and duty require.” He tapped his fingers against the parchment in his vest. “My father’s loyalties are dreadfully torn, especially with Emelovi here. He loved Iisand Samir like a brother. And he loves Kodu Riik. He knows Aare is going to make a pestilent Iisand. He’ll
destroy Kodu Riik for his own avarice and glory. Inviting the Scallacians here is proof enough of that. But my father is the Lord Marshal, and he’s sworn to fulfill that office. Breaking his oath would kill him. And that means serving the rightful Iisand. Who will very shortly be Aare.

  “But he has a little time before Aare takes the crown. And so he’s sending us this warning. Because duty and honor require it, whether to me as his son or for Emelovi or for Kodu Riik, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

  Juhrnus gripped Metyein’s shoulder. The other man’s muscles were hard as stone. Metyein gave him a little nod of gratitude and stepped away. Juhrnus understood. Metyein and his father had never been close. This note was a declaration of affection. By bending his infamously inflexible honor, the Lord Marshal Vare had told Metyein how much he loved him. But it didn’t change the fact that father and son were about to go head-to-head in war.

  “So I go to Patverseme,” Juhrnus said.

  “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to return to Koduteel and find out about your sorceress, but—”

  Juhrnus held up a silencing hand. “This is more important. There’s nothing I can do for her. Anyhow, she’s in Aare’s pocket. I should be hoping something happens to her, not trying to stop it.”

  It was Metyein’s turn to sympathize. “Doesn’t work that way. You’re besotted, and the heart will choose what it wants, regardless of politics. But she’s strong. And Lady willing, she’ll turn against her fellows. She did hint at it.”

  Juhrnus gave a thin smile. “She’s got to have something to take back to her Kilmet that is better than Aare and better than Mysane Kosk. Something to give her the political edge. Such as we are now, it isn’t us.”

  “Have faith in Reisiltark. She’ll return and she’ll have the answers. That should be enough for the sorceress. She wants to help you. If she can, I think she will.”

  With nothing left to say, Juhrnus loaded Esper into the sling and followed Metyein outside.

  “What’s this?” he said, seeing Reisil’s dun gelding waiting for him.

  “He’s a good mountain horse. Take this.” Metyein handed him a courier’s pouch wrapped in oilskin. “You’ve got food enough. You remember how to get there?”

  “Who could forget?” Juhrnus said dryly. It was on the way to Mekelsek Keep that Upsakes had tried to kill him, Esper, and Reisil. He’d not forget a step of that trail for as long as he lived. Juhrnus checked the cinch and then swung into the saddle. He reached out a hand to Metyein and grasped his arm.

  “Best speed,” Metyein said. “Bright journey.”

  “I’ll be back before the snow flies.”

  “See that you are. And if you happen to find any of those plague-healers wandering about, bring them back too.”

  The corner of Juhrnus’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. They’d been scouring every corner of Kodu Riik looking for plague-healers, but so far, no one had found any. If he didn’t trust Reisil, he’d have doubted they existed. Bringing one back would make this trip worthwhile, even if no other help came of it.

  Juhrnus wheeled Indigo and trotted him toward the gates. He’d gone no more than halfway when shouts sounded from the walls and a rider stumbled in, his horse sobbing with great, gasping rasps. The animal wove a drunken path, and then stopped short. It swayed, then dropped ponderously to the ground. Its rider pushed off, staggering. Men grabbed him to hold him up as his legs buckled. Metyein ran past Juhrnus, who’d pulled up.

  “A message! News from Koduteel!” came a bellowing voice.

  “Let me in,” ordered Metyein. His commanding voice cut through the tumult, and a corridor opened. He strode forward. The rider was scraped and torn and clearly half-starved. Exhaustion made his hands shake as he proferred the courier’s pouch with trembling hands. Metyein took it, putting a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “Good work. Honor recognizes your bravery and is proud,” he said as he took the pouch. He turned to the men supporting the exhausted messenger. “Take him inside and get him some food. Send for a tark.”

  With that he retreated. Juhrnus dismounted and followed after. The messenger was helped away, but the rest of the gathered men did not disperse, waiting in an uneasy knot. Metyein glanced at them. Then he blew out a breath and opened the pouch. The message was lengthy. He read it, his face turning bleak.

  “Chodha,” he muttered.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s from Karina. I was right. Aare’s got the Scallacians. They’ve begun helping him. Karina says they’ve wiped out the Fringes—scorched it to the dirt. And they’ve begun helping him find and question our people. As if he needed it.” He looked away for a moment, his teeth biting white dents into his lower lip. “And they are putting charms on his army’s weaponry and armor. They’re going to be invincible against ordinary swords. Even if Soka brings us the metal to forge our own, it may not help. Who knows how long the wards will hold against their attack.”

  Juhrnus nodded and leaped back up onto Indigo. “I’d best get going then,” he said tersely.

  “Don’t get caught. And hurry.”

  Juhrnus hesitated a moment. “Reisil will be back in time. She won’t fail us.”

  With that he galloped away out the gates, west toward Patverseme.

  Chapter 24

  Yohuac caught Reisil’s arm, pulling her away from the long, dangling frond of an enormous tree.

  He pointed to the handful of large black ants crawling along the underside of the leaves. “Volcano ants. You do not want to get bitten by even one.”

  Reisil nodded, giving the ants a wide berth and continuing on. Her legs ached and she was drenched to the skin. Her boots seemed full of lead and they were beginning to fall apart from the constant wet. Yohuac had sloughed his sometime that first dreadful night and went barefoot. She thought of the volcano ants and all the other spiders and bugs they’d encountered in their trek through the tangled jungle and shivered. She was keeping her boots until there was nothing left.

  Yohuac had pulled a leech off the back of her neck, and she doubted it was the only one she’d find. Her stomach quaked and she firmed it by willpower alone. Reisil glanced upward, trying not to think of a horde of the creatures getting fat on her blood. The light was gray, but at least the rain had stopped. For now. The water dripping from the trees and the dense moisture in the air didn’t allow for their clothes to dry. She would almost welcome another storm to get rid of the itchy, sticky heat that prickled her skin and made everything chafe.

  Misery. Frustration. Agitation.

  Saljane hunched low on Reisil’s shoulder. Periodically she mantled and shook herself, flicking droplets of water across Reisil’s face. It did little good. She was soaked through. A ribbon of fear twisted around her unhappiness. She could not fly. If she could not fly, she could not hunt or help. She was useless.

  Reisil stroked Saljane’s chest, smelling the animal mustiness of wet feathers.

  ~It will be well.

  But it wouldn’t if things kept going this way. Every night, when the rain stopped, Reisil broke her own self-imposed rules on using magic. She set the wards and dried Saljane’s sodden feathers. She worried that if she remained wet, mold or mildew would grow, or that the goshawk would catch a fever. But it wasn’t enough, and her aid was causing other problems. Saljane’s skin was getting scaly, and cracked from the frequent dousings and dryings. It had been eight days since they’d arrived in Cemanahuatl. It would be another eight until they reached Yohuac’s village. And then who knew how long after to learn what they need to know and get back. Saljane couldn’t keep going this way. Reisil had to fix it.

  That night they camped next to the bole of one of the great trees. Brischil, Yohuac called it. It was a tall tree, spreading its leaves far above the rest of the canopy. Its roots gripped the ground with knotty fingers. The jungle floor beneath it was mostly clear of undergrowth, but for the stranglevines twining up the ancient column. It was on slightly higher ground, and so they were out of the puddles and rill
s interlacing the rest of the jungle floor. Silvery-green rodents the size of Reisil’s head came to watch them build their fire. Their blunt noses twitched eagerly until they caught sight of Baku. They scurried away, chittering loudly.

  Baku gave a loud hmph! as he curled up on the ground. Reisil chuckled. Yohuac built a fire while Reisil dried Saljane. Then she began her quest for leeches, removing them with a zap of magic from her finger, pressing herbs against the triangle-shaped bites to stop the bleeding. She found three: one on her ankle, one on her lower back, and one just beneath the collar of her tunic. She examined Yohuac, disgusted when there were none on him.

  “How can you keep them off? Does your blood taste bad? Look at all the yummy flesh you’ve got exposed and still they jump on me and not you.”

  Yohuac shrugged. He’d returned to wearing his native clothing: a short, sleeveless tunic that barely covered his stomach and short, tight trousers. They were a kind of greenish gray. They were made of the skins of one of the great predator eels that hunted the great river, and they shed the rain like duck feathers. He wore a loincloth over his trousers embroidered in brilliant colors with symbols of animals and plants. He carried a blowpipe on a baldric. With it, he could blow tiny poisoned darts farther than fifty yards.

  But even though he wore the same clothes, he didn’t look like he had when he’d come to Kodu Riik. The beads were missing from his hair, kept now in the pouch at his side. His hair, like hers, was twined into a single braid down his back. Neither did he wear his gold armbands, two for his biceps, two at his wrists. One of the first, Reisil had destroyed when combating the wizards during their escape from the stronghold. But the others were with the beads in his waist pouch.

  “How do you keep them off?” Reisil demanded, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

  He looked shamefaced and glanced away.

  “What?”

  “It is . . . my magic.”

  Reisil stared with narrowed eyes. His magic? He’d not done anything with it since they’d left Honor. He’d refused even to talk about the battle against the nokulas.