by Ann Marston
“Liam said he’d be about twenty-six or twenty-seven.”
I spread my hands. “I’m twenty-three, at least three years younger,” I said, proving my point. “No, sheyala. I’m no Celae princeling. Get that out of your head.”
“That Blade tells me different.”
I got abruptly to my feet. “It’s time to meet Cullin,” I said. “And it’s time to find someone else to help you. If Cullin wants to do it, I’ll go with Thom.”
She stood up and glared at me. “You don’t get shut of me that easily,” she said. “If you aren’t the prince’s grandson, then you and that sword will lead me to him. Where you go, I go. Like it or not.” She planted her fists on her hip and thrust out her jaw. Stubborn, she was. Like a rock. “If I don’t go with you, I go after you. You’re stuck with me, my friend.”
XII
Cullin was late. Nearly four hours had passed since we parted and still no sign of him. It was unlike him not to be where he said he would be, when he said he’d be there. He had not even sent a messenger with word to say he’d be late.
I paced restlessly in front of the rope paddock, unwilling to admit I was worried. The encounter with Drakon had unsettled me, and I didn’t like the way Mouse’s memories kept crowding into my mind, and one memory in particular. A small child screaming in helpless terror and pain, savaged by the dogs Drakon had set on her because the child’s mother had accidentally spilled dirty wash water on Drakon’s new boots. If I closed my eyes, I could still hear the child shrieking, and see the bloody foam around the mouths of the dogs. I clenched my fist angrily and tried to shake off the memories.
Could Cullin have run into Drakon? Drakon was never what even the most shameless sycophant would call a brilliant thinker. But even he was capable of connecting two Tyran clansmen. We are not all that common in southern Isgard. Drakon might realize Cullin was with me and realize that he could get at me through him.
Kerri had been keeping herself busy packing the provisions we had purchased. She had them all neatly stowed in three sets of saddle packs by our saddles. Although she said nothing, I could tell that she, too, was worried. Finally, she came to stand beside me as I paused in my pacing to scan the raucous crowd again. But there was still no sign of Cullin’s bright hair among the milling sea of people.
“He’s perfectly capable of looking after himself, you know,” she said quietly.
I didn’t reply. In that massed throng, even Cullin might not notice a dagger in the hand of a passer-by who jostled him. Not until it was too late and the point of the blade had found his heart.
“Kian...”
“Stay here,” I told her. “I’m going to look for him.”
“You’ll never find him in that,” she said. “It will be dark in another hour, and you don’t even know where he went.”
All the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck suddenly prickled erect. Even as I turned, I caught the first whiff of the stench of magic. Behind us, a mounted troop of Maeduni mercenaries filed down from the road toward the Fair. There were at least forty of them, all wearing the blazon of an Isgardian Lord’s House on the left breast of their black tunics. I didn’t recognize the crest. At the head of the column, next to the officer, rode a tall man in a grey, enveloping cloak. He sat his horse rigidly erect, looking neither right nor left, an expression of disdainful scorn on his sharp-featured face. The stench clearly emanated from him. It was so marked, I could almost see it hanging like tendrils of fog around him.
The officer rode more easily, casually glancing around, his mouth curled down arrogantly and contemptuously. As he passed the place where Kerri and I stood, the prickling sensation on the back of my neck intensified sharply. The officer looked straight at me, and our eyes met. I stiffened as I looked into those eyes, so dark they appeared all black. Startled recognition flashed through me, a brief impression of a sword spilling darkness all around the man. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the officer’s gaze slid indifferently past me, and the column moved away from us.
The encounter left me shaken. Surely I knew the officer from somewhere. But where? All my life, I had assiduously avoided even the most casual contact with Maeduni. As the column disappeared, I shook off the odd feeling, and turned back to scan the crowd around the tents and stalls.
“There are entirely too many of those arrogant lice around these days,” Kerri muttered. Her mouth was drawn into a thin, grim line, and I remembered she had good reason to take an active dislike to Maeduni mercenaries, too. “They were crawling thick as maggots on a week old carcass through Honandun, and now here.” She wiped her hands against the thighs of her breeks as if she had touched something foul and shuddered. “They had a warlock with them, too. Blood magic.”
“Blood magic?” I repeated. “I didn’t know there were different kinds. It all feels the same to me.
“Blood magic is the worst kind,” she said. “The power comes from the shedding of blood. The more blood, the more pain, the more powerful the magic. Wielded by an adept, it can kill.”
I shuddered. Thinking about it gave me a blinding headache.
“Tyadda magic is air and earth magic,” she continued, almost as if she were speaking to herself. She looked up at me. “You’d know the difference if you felt it.”
I shook my head. “All magic gives me the shivers,” I said. “I hate it. It sets my teeth on edge.”
“Kian!”
The sudden shout snapped my attention instantly away from Kerri and the troop of Maeduni mercenaries. Cullin wove his way deftly and adroitly through the crowd, nearly running in his hurry. He had changed out of his kilt and plaid into snug fitting leather trews and jacket of dark coloured leather, a dark green cloak flung about his shoulders. He carried two bundles, one of which he flung to me as he came within range.
“Put those on while I get the horses,” he said, his expression grim. I knew better to argue with that tone in his voice, or that look in his eyes. I took the bundle and ducked into the shadow of a thatch of currant bushes. The bundle contained leather trews and jacket and a dark blue cloak. As I got quickly into them, I heard Cullin say to Kerri, “You can come with us, my lady, but if you do, I think you owe us a few words of explanation.” He did not sound pleased.
“I go with you and Kian,” she said. “If you wouldn’t mind.” For the first time since I met her, there was an overtone of entreaty in her voice.
He had finished saddling the horses when I came running out from behind the tent. He tossed me the reins of the sorrel and vaulted up into his saddle. Kerri was already mounted and ready.
“Who did you kill?” I asked, mounting quickly.
“No one,” he said. “Yet.” He shot a significant glance at Kerri, then kicked the bay into a canter. “We’ve been too long out of touch,” he shouted back at me over his shoulder as he guided the horse out onto the road. “All Hellas has broken loose around here.”
The last of the light was fading from the sky when Cullin turned off the road onto a narrow, nearly invisible track leading down to a small stream meandering its way toward the River Shena. Thick clumps of tall aspen and alder lined the banks of the tiny burn, and bracken grew belly high to the horses, burgeoning green and fresh. The narrow track stopped in front of an abandoned stone cottage, the thatch of its roof falling away in places.
We took care of the horses, then Cullin and I set about gathering more wood while Kerri went into the derelict cottage to attend to preparing a meal. She was sitting quietly, legs folded under her, when we came in.
“What happened back there in Trevellin?” I asked, stretching to wring the knots out of my muscles.
Cullin wasn’t looking at me. He leaned back against the moss-covered stone of the wall, arms folded across his chest, watching Kerri. She watched the fire, her face held coolly expressionless.
“I went to see Horak,” Cullin said. “He was simply bubbling over with information.”
I nodded. There was no mouse that crept or s
parrow that cheeped between Saesnes in the north or Laringras in the south that did not come to Horak’s attention. His network of informers was the envy of any royal house on the continent.
“What did he have to say?” I asked.
“It would seem that while we were in Laringras, there was a revolution of sorts in Falinor,” Cullin said. “Several disgruntled lords—your friend Mendor among them, Kian—rose up against the king, backed by their armies of Maeduni mercenaries. The king is dead, and a Maeduni sorcerer sits on the throne. He calls himself the Lord Protector of Falinor. For all intents and purposes, Falinor is now a Maeduni province.”
I bit my lip thoughtfully. “And now Isgard is crawling with Maeduni,” I said. “It would appear that they want Isgard, too.”
“And Laringras, and the rest of the continent,” Cullin said.
“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” Kerri said primly, still watching the fire. “Anyone who was aware of the political situation on the continent knew Maedun has been plotting for nearly a century to create its own empire. As the Borlani did before they fell.”
“Aye, that’s true,” Cullin said. “But they’ve never had the leaders. It would appear now they’ve found one. But aside from that, my lady, Horak had more interesting information. He tells me the Maeduni are searching every crack and cranny on the continent for a young Celae princeling.”
Kerri looked at him for the first time. “Would you have agreed to help me if you knew the Maeduni were also looking for Kyffen’s grandson?”
Cullin said nothing. He merely met her gaze impassively. A slight flush crept up from her throat and suffused her cheeks.
“I didn’t lie to you,” she muttered.
Cullin inclined his head in acknowledgment. “No,” he agreed. “But neither did you tell us the whole truth. Why is it so urgent to find this lost princeling?”
Kerri’s jaw firmed. “I told you. Kyffen knows he’s aging—”
Cullin raised one eyebrow. “My lady Kerridwen,” he said softly. “The whole truth, please, or you go back to Trevellin or Honandun right now, and we go to Tyra.”
Kerri clenched one fist and thumped her knee gently. “Very well,” she said stiffly. “You know the Saesnesi are in Celi?”
Cullin nodded.
“They’ve established a firm foothold on the eastern coast of Celi,” she said. “They use it for a base to raid the rest of the island. Every year the raids get worse. The Celae are a stubborn people.” She slanted a glance up at him. “Much like the Tyr.” That got a quick smile from him in acknowledgment. “They’ve spent centuries quarrelling among themselves. None of them can get together long enough to meet the Saesnesi in force and drive them back into the sea. We need a strong leader, someone who can unite all the Celae.”
“And this princeling is supposed to do that?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, but his son will.”
“This information comes from the same Seer who told Kyffen about his grandson?” Cullin asked.
“Yes,” she said. “You have to understand. Celi must be strong to meet her enemies, and we can’t be strong unless we’re united.”
“The Maeduni want Celi, too,” I said.
She turned to look at me, then nodded. “Yes, they do. The Maeduni have their Seers, too.”
Cullin waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he said, “All of it, my lady.”
She made an irritated sound. “There are stories about an enchanter coming out of Celi who will destroy Maedun,” she said. “The Maeduni apparently think he’ll come from Kyffen’s line.”
“And, incidentally, from this missing princeling,” Cullin said.
“Exactly. Yes.” She looked at me, then to him. “That’s why it’s so important we find Kyffen’s grandson. Otherwise, Celi will go down like Falinor.”
“And we’re going to run into opposition from every Maeduni we meet once it’s known we’re looking for this princeling,” I said.
“Essentially, yes,” she said. “I think so.”
I shook my head in disgust. “How nice of you to let us know we might need to go around with drawn swords,” I said sarcastically. “I would hate to die and not know the reason why the Maeduni decided they wanted to collect my head.”
A hint of a smile curled at the corner of Cullin’s mouth. “Being prepared can go a long way in helping to preserve a head,” he said. “Horak told me that there were a couple of Falian lords out after your head, too, Kian. But I think I know why they’re anxious to add it to their collection.”
I looked up at him, then laughed softly. “Mendor and Drakon,” I said.
He nodded. “You, ah, left your mark on Drakon, I understand,” he said. “And he heartily resents it. I take it you had a wee dust up with him at the Fair.”
“We ran across each other and had words,” I said. “Yes.”
Cullin grinned. “Aye, well,” he said. “That certainly explains why there’s suddenly a price in Falian gold on your head.” He looked at Kerri again. “But why is there also Maeduni gold posted on his head, my lady?” he asked mildly.
“Maeduni gold?” I repeated blankly. “On my head?”
“I assume it’s you,” Cullin said. “Ten Maeduni gold pieces for a young Tyr who carries a Celae Rune Blade.”
Kerri’s shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes, her face bleak. “Oh gods,” she whispered. She looked up at me. “Kian, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t realize they knew.”
“Would you care to explain that?” I asked.
“They want you for the same reason I do,” she said. “That sword. Kian, I’ve watched you use that sword. There are only two reasons why you use it so well. One is that you’ll take it to the man it belongs to.”
“The princeling,” Cullin said.
“Yes,” she said. “And the other reason is that you, yourself, might be Ytwydda’s son.”
I bit my lip. That would certainly explain the strange reaction of the bandit in the pass. He had recognized my sword, and therefore me. I was perhaps fortunate Thom’s arrow had taken him before he could get away to pass along the information.
Cullin nodded thoughtfully. “So they want to either kill him, or follow him,” he said slowly. “And in either case, by taking Kian, the Maeduni will find the princeling.”
Kerri nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I exploded. “My mother was Saesnesi—”
Those golden brown eyes of hers stayed fixed on my face. “You need either royal Celae blood or Tyadda magic to use a Rune Blade as well as you do,” she said quietly.
A shiver crawled down my back. “What do you have, Kerridwen al Jorddyn?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“What do you have?”
She sighed. “Both,” she said. “You know my father is cousin to Prince Kyffen. And I have some Tyadda magic.”
“You don’t use it,” Cullin said.
“No, I don’t,” she said. “Not very often, anyway, and certainly not here where a Maeduni might pick it up and track it.”
I frowned as something suddenly occurred to me. “Wait a minute,” I said. “If the Maeduni are looking for me, why didn’t that officer stop? He looked straight at me.”
Kerri bit her lip. “He didn’t stop because he didn’t see a Tyr and a Celae woman,” she said.
I stared at her. “What?”
She made an effort not to smile, but couldn’t quite bring it off. “He saw an Isgardian farm woman and a dog,” she said, and blushed.
Cullin burst into startled laughter. “A dog,” he chortled. “A dog. That’s magnificent! Superb!”
I boggled at her. “What?”
She held up her hands in a resigned gesture, and the smile twitched at the corners of her mouth again. “It was all I could think of on short notice,” she said helplessly. “Forgive me, Kian. I used a small masking spell as they rode past. You probably didn’t notice because the warlock’s magic was so strong.”
&
nbsp; I remembered the sudden intensifying of the itch on the back of my neck. “I noticed,” I said. “But you’re right, I thought it was the warlock.” I shivered, then became angry. “You used magic on me without asking me first?”
“There was no time—”
“And you called the Maeduni arrogant,” I said indignantly.
“So we’ve established that you do have magic,” Cullin said quietly, giving me a look that shut me up quickly. “Tyadda magic and royal Celae blood.”
“And I carry a Rune Blade,” she said. “I was trained to use it starting at the age of five.”
“What about me?” I demanded. “What do you think I have?”
She looked at me again. “Both, Kian,” she said quietly. “I think you have both, too.”
XIII
I was sitting guard duty, wrapped in my cloak for warmth. Within the ruins of the cottage, Cullin and Kerri slept. The fire on the hearth had burned down to embers and very little light glowed through the door which hung askew on its hinges. Only part of my mind was alert and watchful as I sat huddled on a moss-covered stone, my back to the cottage wall which still retained some small residual warmth from the sun. Kerri had given me a lot to think about, and I was not having an easy time sorting it out.
The door opened behind me and Cullin stepped out into the wash of moonlight. He crouched down to sit on his heels, placing his back against the wall beside me.
“Could she have the right of it?” he asked, his voice troubled in the dark. “Could you be this lost prince of hers?”
I shook my head. “How could I be?” I asked. “She said the princeling would be twenty-six or twenty-seven. By your own reckoning, I’m twenty-three, almost twenty-four.”
He smiled. “Being a long-lost prince could be troubling, I suppose,” he said.
I gave a harsh grunt of laughter. “Being a long-lost nephew was hard enough to get used to,” I said. “But it was enough for me. I’ve no ambition to be a prince.”