Any doubts she may have harbored about his ability to keep up with the horse were quickly put to rest as he ran ahead of her. His stride was effortless, and watching him, she had no doubt that he could go much faster if he chose. Except for a brief stop to water the animal, they kept going until mid-afternoon, when the Drameara came to a stop near a stream.
“We will stay the night here,” he announced. “Rub down the horse and set him grazing. We’ll continue your training when you’re done.”
Frowning in annoyance at his orders, she did as commanded. As soon as she finished, he pointed out a small pile of rocks.
“Pick them up and carry them over to that tree over there.”
She looked at him dubiously. “You want me to carry rocks?”
“There is more to fighting than knowing how to hold a knife. You also need to build your strength.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“That’s up to you, princess. But what will you do next time you’re accosted by some Guardsmen?”
“Fine,” she grumbled, picking up the smallest rock in the pile and carrying it over to the tree. By the time she had moved half of the stack, her arms were trembling, and her heart felt like it would burst. She glared at the Drameara, who watched her impassively.
“I can’t carry anymore,” she panted.
“No, you can’t.” His voice carried a tone of derision.
“What does that mean?”
“You are limiting yourself, princess. You can only do what you decide you’re capable of. Set the bar low, and your results will likewise be low.”
“You think my bar is too low?” She glanced at the half dozen rocks she had carried. “You’ve forgotten what it is to be normal.”
“I was carrying rocks far heavier long before I started drinking the Ancient’s blood.”
“When was that?”
“Pick up that rock and I’ll tell you.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course not.” He turned away as she looked at the boulder. He was baiting her, and the wisest course of action would be to refuse the challenge, but his words had struck a nerve, and she wanted to prove him wrong. Squatting close to the ground, she maneuvered her fingers beneath the rock and rose to her feet, stumbling as she all but threw the stone at the tree. She glanced at the Drameara, who was watching her with his arms crossed.
“I was ten.”
“Why did you do it?”
“That’s more than I agreed to tell you.”
“Very well. I’m not that interested, anyway.”
“For a Cambrian princess, you’re very easily ruffled.”
“And as you are well aware, I am not a princess,” she snapped.
“Getting under your skin, am I?”
“Like a plague sore that must be expunged!”
He snorted, although she could not tell if it was in amusement or annoyance. He gestured to his weapons, laid out on the ground. “Tonight, you’ll find us our meal.”
She frowned. “How am I to do that?”
“The same way I do. You hunt.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then you’ll go hungry.”
“Why?”
“Learning to defend yourself also means learning to fend for yourself. If you manage to kill me, as you are so eager to do, how will you survive?”
“You know that you will go hungry, as well?”
“I can survive for days without food, princess. Weeks, even.”
“You eat every night,” she pointed out.
“Only because you need to eat. Only a fool would not eat when a meal is available. Now choose a tool and go and find your dinner.”
With a scowl of annoyance, she snatched up the bow and a few arrows and stalked away. It was all very well for him, she thought – he drank blood to keep himself alive. She paused in her striding, one foot still in the air, then slowly resumed her steps. The Drameara had said he would die without blood. It was not necessary to kill him; all she had to do was dispose of the blood in the jar. She smiled as she stepped through the trees.
Lark did not eat that night. The next night she foraged for some berries, but they did not fill her belly. By the third night, she was faint with hunger. She slipped off the horse and stumbled to the ground. “Please,” she said, “I need to eat.”
“Have you caught something?”
She had not, although it was not from a lack of trying. Her numerous attempts to shoot one of the many ground birds with the bow and arrow had not met with success.
“You know perfectly well that I haven’t,” she snapped.
“Come.” He hauled her to her feet by the arm. “Hunting is not just about your aim. You need to use your brain, as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a much simpler way for you to catch your supper.”
She frowned. “Are you going to make me guess?”
He sighed. “Set a trap, princess.”
She stared at him. “You couldn’t have told me this sooner?”
“You should have figured it out sooner.” She looked away. Of course she should have; how could she have been so dull?
That night she had roasted partridge for supper, and it tasted better than anything she ever remembered eating. Her attempts to find food had put a stop to her other training, but it resumed that night. The Drameara had her use a tree trunk as target practice for a quarterstaff – a long, thick staff that she hit against the tree, spinning on the ball of her foot to hit from one side, then the other – before practicing her aim with a bow and arrow.
The next few days passed in much the same way. She rode for the first part of the day, following the Drameara as he ran ahead, while the later afternoons and evenings were spent in training – at least, what he considered training. He showed her ways to bring a man to the ground with her legs, and various ways to maim and kill her enemy. He taught her how to watch and evaluate a person’s weaknesses. When they passed through a town, he took her to fights and made her watch and learn, then repeat the moves when they stopped in the evenings. When they weren’t training, she went to great lengths to keep the distance between them, even as she knew that each mile brought her closer to the dragon’s lair. Even so, there were moments in training when he stepped too close, and the air around them thickened until one of them broke the tension by stepping away. She was prepared to kill him to gain her own freedom, but she could not deny the attraction she felt for him – attraction she had never felt for the prince who had claimed her for marriage.
Four days after the run-in with the Guard, they crossed a wide but shallow stream. She looked at it in amazement when the Drameara informed her that it was the Cambria River. By the time it reached Lenora, it was a mighty waterway, wide and deep enough for ships to sail upstream from the coast, but now it hardly seemed deep enough for anything bigger than a child’s toy.
There had been no opportunity to steal the jar of blood – she was seldom left alone, and when she was, it was for no longer than a minute or two. When almost a week had passed, as they made camp one evening, he declared that he would do the hunting that night. The tension had been thick between them the whole day, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he disappeared between the trees.
He’d handed her his tinder box, but as she began to search for some kindling, her gaze landed on his bag. Her heart racing, she quickly opened it and took out the clay jar. Removing the stopper, she brought it to her nose, grimacing at the smell, before pouring the contents on the ground and replacing the jar in the bag. The smell of blood lingered in the air, and she hurriedly continued her search for kindling, placing it over the blood which had seeped into the ground. Her hands trembled as she struggled to create a spark, until finally she was able to set the small pile smoldering. Dropping to her knees, she blew the flame into life, then fell back in fright when the fire crackled violently and a flame rose high into the air. It was bright o
range, and she watched as it took the shape of a dragon then dissipated into nothing. Her heart was pounding as she searched for some more sticks to place on the fire, and she turned with a start as the sound of crackling leaves announced the return of the Drameara. He looked at her closely, his gaze narrowing slightly, then held up a rabbit as she smiled weakly.
Her nerves were taut all evening as she waited for the Drameara to discover what she had done, but he made no move for his bag. Her chest was tight when she lay down to sleep, and it was only after the Drameara lay down that she was able to relax enough to get some rest.
She awoke with a start the following morning; she was alone, but this did nothing to relieve the anxiety that clenched her stomach. She rose and went to saddle the horse, whom she had named Blackie, on account of his black coat. She was as tightly wound as a coil when she heard the Drameara return.
“Let’s get going,” he said, not waiting as he set off at an easy run.
She pulled herself into the saddle and, taking the reins, started after him. It was still early morning, and in the distance, the mountains glowed orange and pink. Each day they grew closer, no longer shadows in the distance but well-defined peaks and summits. Somewhere in those mountains lurked the Ancient, waiting for her. It was a meeting Lark hoped desperately to avoid. She dug her heels into Blackie’s side, urging him to a canter as the Drameara increased the distance between them.
Chapter 25
They arrived at Clearview around mid-afternoon, and the Drameara led the way to an inn, where a stable boy hurried forward to tend to Blackie. In the distance, the mountains loomed on the horizon, towering heights of rocks.
“Go inside and have a drink,” he said, flipping her a coin. “I’ll return shortly.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have some business here. You can order a drink for yourself, can you not?”
The question did not deserve an answer, and she spun on her heel and stalked inside. The room was low and dark, and a fire against the wall made it hot and stuffy. The weather had been growing cooler as they approached the mountains, and at night Lark wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders to keep in the warmth, but still, a roaring blaze was hardly necessary. She picked out a table as far away from the fire as she could and sat down, waiting for the waitress to notice her presence. The woman glanced in her direction but seemed in no hurry to serve the new arrival, and Lark was tapping her fingers on the table in annoyance by the time she finally sauntered up.
“What can I get you, luv?”
“A glass of wine.”
“Wine, eh? I’ll see what I can do.”
She walked off, stopping at a table to laugh at some man’s joke before disappearing into the kitchen. After what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, she returned to the room, but did not come near Lark’s table. Lark waved in her direction, then frowned in frustration when the woman ignored her.
“How in the world will you manage when I’m dead if you can’t even get a drink for yourself?” said a voice in her ear before the Drameara slipped into the seat across from her. He nodded at the woman, who had turned at his entrance, and she hurried back to the table, her eyes on him.
“What can I get for you, luv?” she asked, a sultry purr in her voice.
“A plate of the dinner on offer, and a tankard of ale.”
“Coming right up,” she said before walking away.
“Hey,” Lark called out after her, “and my wine!” The woman waved her hand without turning around and disappeared back into the kitchen.
From the corner of her eye Lark saw the Drameara smirk, and she clenched her hands beneath the table. The woman returned a few minutes later with a large tankard and a plate of food that she slid across the table to the Drameara. Leaning forward, Lark quickly pulled it over to her side and dug in her fork, meeting the woman’s outraged expression with raised eyebrows.
“I really couldn’t care what you do with him,” Lark said, waving a fork in the Drameara’s direction. “In fact, if you stick a knife through his heart you will be doing me a favor. But there’s no reason to be rude to me because I happen to be forced into his company.” She smiled sweetly. “Now, please bring me that glass of wine, and you can go back to thinking about how to get him into your bed.”
She put a forkful of food in her mouth and gave a contented sigh. “If I were you, I’d choose this over him, because he really is a bastard!”
The woman turned to the Drameara, who gave her a deprecating look.
She smiled. “I think I’d choose you, handsome. I know what the food here is like.”
“Indeed?” He ran his finger over her hand. “Perhaps you can see if there’s a room available?”
Lark frowned in disgust but remained silent as the woman smiled. “Of course, luv.”
“And maybe another plate of food?”
“Of course.”
“A bastard, princess?” he said as the woman sauntered away. “Such foul language for one so highly born as yourself.”
“What should I say? You seem to have a woman in every town, so the name seems to suit.”
“You think I want to sleep with her?”
“Am I wrong?”
“You are.” He watched her as she ate a mouthful of food.
“Then why did you ask for a room?”
“We have to sleep somewhere tonight. Do you prefer to be under the stars? It looks like it might rain.”
She paused in her chewing, before swallowing the mouthful. “Was your business successful?”
“Partly. I was able to secure more blood, since it appears that I used more than I realized. The other item I sought was not available.”
“You got more blood?”
He leaned forward, his eyes holding hers. “There are stocks in every Rhymer town. It wouldn’t do for a Drameara to run out far from the mountains, now would it?”
She quickly looked away. “Er, no.”
“So even if this one disappears just as fast, I can get more.”
“That’s, er, good.” She quickly rose to her feet. “I need to use the privy,” she said, hurrying from the room. She could feel despair and desperation churning in her stomach and she struggled to hold back the tears of frustration. It was only when she was alone that she allowed them to spill out as she hit her hands against the wall. Was there no way to be rid of the fate that loomed over her? She slumped down the wall and covered her face with her hands as the tears ran between her fingers.
She was still there when the Drameara thumped on the door ten minutes later. “Did you drown, princess? We have some training to do.”
She rubbed her face, and rising to her feet, snatched open the door. All she wanted to learn was how to kill the Drameara.
She was exhausted when they returned to the inn a few hours after dark. The Drameara had made her run around the town, and while he had run beside her, his stride was easy and effortless, while she was hot and panting. She could have refused, of course, but thinking of his sneer if she did was enough to keep her going.
She ignored the glares she received from the waitress as she crossed the main room of the inn, the Drameara a pace behind her, and fell down on the bed as soon as they entered the chamber. She tensed a moment later when he lay down beside her, staring up at the ceiling.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Do you think you’re the only one who should sleep on the bed?”
“Urgh!” She rolled over, turning away from him, and eventually fell into a restless sleep.
They left the inn early the following morning. Mist hung low on the ground, while up ahead the mountains loomed, growing ever nearer.
The next few days passed in a blur of riding and training as Lark grew more desperate to find a way to escape her fate. As the mountains grew closer, though, she came more and more to the realization that there was no escaping what lay in store for her. The only other option wa
s death, and her mind rebelled at the very idea. Where there was life, there was hope, however faint it might be.
The road after the last town had petered into little more than a foot track, and each village they passed was no more than a cluster of buildings, gathered around a central hall. Lark knew from her school days that there were Cambrian towns that lay to the east of the mountains, but she saw no sign of them.
It was late one afternoon when the Drameara came to a stop, and as she rode up beside him, she saw that they were at the edge of an escarpment. A steep cliff fell away before them, while beyond lay a wide stretch of bleak wilderness, the Ysrand Desert. At the far edge of the desert rose the Obsidian Mountains, and Lark felt her fate tightening like a noose around her neck.
“Odell’s Lookout,” he said. “We’ll sleep here tonight and make our descent in the morning. You need to say goodbye to Blackie. It’s too steep for him to make it down.”
She gazed out across the desert to the mountains beyond. Across the barren flatness rose small hills, a single mound in an otherwise flat landscape. Low bushes clung to their sides and stunted trees stood around each base.
She slipped from the saddle and led the horse to a patch of grass, where she slid off the reins and removed the saddle.
“You’ve been a good horse,” she said, rubbing his neck. He tossed his head and gave a little nicker, and she smiled. “I’ll miss you, too.”
The Drameara disappeared a short while later in search of their supper, while Lark wandered to the edge of the cliff and sat down, dangling her legs over the sheer face. She leaned over and looked down between her legs; she could not see the ground, it was so far away. Instead, the cliff and the ground blurred together into an endless stretch of brown. The fact that the Drameara had brought her this way instead of taking an easier route across the desert spoke of his eagerness to reach their destination. The end that she had been dreading for so long was now just around the corner.
She had no idea how she was to get down the next day, but she trusted that the Drameara had a plan. Either that, or she would fall to her death, which had the benefit of saving her from the dragon. She lifted her gaze to the distant mountain range. A few small clouds hung over them, and she imagined that one was the dragon, circling above the cliffs. She knew very little about the Obsidian Mountains, apart from the fact that they had once been inhabited by the Ancients. Citadel had lain to the east of the range, in a fertile valley where, it was said, anything could be grown. In the center of the city a tall monolith had risen, built of white marble and reaching to the heavens. It could be seen from miles away, a gleaming monument to Citadel’s great power. There was nothing left of the monolith, of course. The ruins created by the Ancients had been ransacked and the smallest pieces of rock carried away to be used to build houses and pave roads.
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