Sweat prickled his skin as the enormity of that responsibility, responsibility for the life of someone else, swept over him. He stared at the ground ahead of him and started plodding forward, scarcely aware of his surroundings his thoughts came to the forefront of his focus.
Then he heard voices. Voices of men, raised in anger.
Tharadis broke into a trot and drew his sword—or tried to, until he remembered he didn’t have it. He cursed himself for a fool as he crashed into a clearing.
His gaze passed over the prone trunks of two madronas, red wood bursting out through its bark. Serena stood much as he had imagined her, though her black hair, skeins of it clinging to her face, had been cut off at her shoulders again. And in her wild eyes was as much anger as fear.
With white knuckles, she adjusted her grip on the long haft of her axe. Her teeth were bared in a snarl as she warily circled around the two men in the clearing with her. She looked as much like a mother boar protecting her young as Tharadis had ever seen a person.
Tharadis recognized the two men with her. Trandsull and Forrigan, two Shoresmen, wearing mail shirts over their tunics, as if they expected there to be danger, though Tharadis couldn’t imagine what they expected. Both wore tired, almost resigned, expressions.
Both had their swords out.
What were they doing there? He couldn’t see any threats that would have the two of them baring steel. And why were they staring at Serena? Their presence here was so shocking that Tharadis almost couldn’t believe it. He didn’t at first, until the reality of the situation settled over him.
“We aren’t going to judge you, woman,” Trandsull was saying. His dark red beard had gone scraggly in recent weeks. His eyes looked dark against his wan skin. “We don’t care what you’ve done. The Astral Sea will deliver you to Farshores or they won’t. It’s not for us to say. But we can’t let the seeds of your crime bear fruit.”
“Child of blood,” Forrigan muttered, almost trance-like. His blue eyes looked glazed, unfocused. “Child of blood.”
Serena didn’t say a word. Her eyes were fixed on the two of them. Though she circled them, they stood in place, turning as she moved. Each step took her slightly farther away from them. Angry as she was, she knew she couldn’t take on two trained swordsmen.
A small part of Tharadis’s mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing. It was impossible that Shoresmen, men sworn to protect the innocent, would threaten Serena for any reason. Another part of him knew that these two men were among the contingent who had fervently opposed Tharadis’s rise to the role of Warden of Naruvieth, at least until their cries of outrage found no ears that would listen. They had been Owan’s men to the bone.
Owan, who had, in their eyes, died because of his slut of a wife and his traitor of a brother. Owan had either told them, or they had figured it out.
They were going to kill Serena
They were going to kill Tharadis’s child.
That small, skeptical part of him that believed there had to be a reason for this died in a firestorm of rage. That small part of him screamed as flesh dripped from its bones until nothing was left, nothing but swirling tornado of blazing, white-hot anger.
Tharadis took a step. A leaf crackled beneath the sole of his sandal.
Without turning from his quarry, Trandsull made a quick gesture with one hand. Forrigan spun to face Tharadis in a two-handed attack stance. It was then that Serena saw him.
She saw what was in his face and staggered back.
In a break from discipline, Trandsull turned his frowning gaze briefly in Tharadis’s direction before quickly snapping back to Serena. “Ah,” he said. “Tharadis. Well, we may not judge the tramp and her get, but you are another story entirely. You are not fit to be Warden. You are precisely the sort that Naruvieth needs protection from. Which is exactly what we’re here to do.”
A fanatical gleam shone in Forrigan’s eye as he held the tip of his broadsword at a level with Tharadis’s chest. “The child of blood must die. Blood-soaked, hate dripping, child of blood must die.”
A cold calm came over Tharadis. The scorching fury didn’t relent, but it became focused … purposeful. The red that had suddenly clouded his vision rolled back, revealing the scene in clarity. In a flash, Tharadis knew what Forrigan would do once Tharadis stepped forward: the man would dip the tip of his blade and swing upward as he lunged, attempting to catch Tharadis off-guard. He doubtless expected Tharadis to attempt to throw his arms in front of his face—typical, for an unarmed man to try to block any blows to his face while leaving his abdomen open to a fatal strike. Failing that, Forrigan would step back, preparing a true thrust, then a feint. Step to the left, attempt to trip Tharadis over the roots of the fallen tree, slash, backslash, thrust, back up a step, feint, thrust.
The realm of all of Forrigan’s possible moves blossomed open for Tharadis like a flower. Everything suddenly looked so simple. How did Forrigan possibly think he could defeat Tharadis?
The path of Forrigan’s attack, the progression of his forms could be seen in the position of his feet, the twitch of his left thigh muscle, barely perceived, in the strength with which he gripped his broadsword, in the rise and fall of his chest and the space between heartbeats. There was something wrong with the way he was breathing, some sort of sickness in his lungs; Tharadis could see that, too. Forrigan would compensate by shortening his movements.
Tharadis would kill this man. He would do so easily. Forrigan wasn’t swordsman enough to defeat him. He wouldn’t surprise Tharadis, even if he should somehow change his mind in his attack. Tharadis could see everything, everything. No matter what Forrigan did, Tharadis would be prepared. Tharadis could predict every single movement Forrigan’s body would make, anticipate it before he made it. Nothing could stop him from killing this man.
Nothing.
Tharadis took another step and sprang forward. He had choreographed this dance in his mind before he made the first move; it was merely a performance. Forrigan wasn’t a dim-witted man, but he was a man obsessed with something … Tharadis didn’t take the time to wonder what. He only used that knowledge to determine the best way to kill him.
The first upward slice was fast, as Tharadis had suspected it would be, grazing the sleeve of his tunic as he leaned to the side. It had been close, but he knew it would be. Going unarmed against a trained swordsman was never an easy thing, even if Tharadis’s success wasn’t assured. Every motion Tharadis made would have to be precise; the slightest error would mean death, death for him, death for the woman he loved, death for his unborn child.
He could not, would not fail.
The blade found air three more times, then it was stopped as Tharadis seized the man’s wrist, twisted, pivoted on his feet. Forrigan dropped his sword, watched as the bones in his wrist snapped, and screamed. The scream was cut short in a yelp of surprise as Tharadis yanked him around flipped him over his back. The wedge-shaped edge of the madrona stump crushed Forrigan’s spine as he landed on it, forcing the air from his chest with a sharp gasp.
Tharadis snatched the sword from the air and reversed his grip, quickly reassessing Serena’s situation. Now that he was armed and Forrigan taken out of the fight, he could focus on the true threat: Trandsull.
Ten paces away. Back at an angle to Tharadis. He was roaring, mid-thrust, spittle spraying from his mouth. Serena was in the wrong position to defend herself; her axe was raised high, evidently to defend against his last strike. Trandsull’s sword would rip through her belly, killing her, killing their child.
Tharadis couldn’t make it in time, not if he ran as fast as he could. Even if threw the sword at his back … no, that wouldn’t help, it would just push him forward, make him kill her all the … Why couldn’t he see it like he had with Forrigan?
Tharadis had no time to think about it. He spun the sword around, launched it like a over-large throwing axe … and hoped.
The sword’s blade flipped end-over-end. Time slowed.
; The tip of the sword flying through the air nicked the back of Trandsull’s knee and sailed past to disappear in the foliage. Something snapped. Trandsull’s knee buckled and the man jilted to the side.
Still, the edge of Trandsull’s blade found flesh.
The head of Serena’s axe descended.
The man watched, bemused, as the axe fell. Watched, as it caved in his face like it was an overripe melon.
The sword dropped from his dead fingers.
Serena’s eyes rolled back. Tharadis ran to catch her before she fell to the ground, unconscious.
* * *
“Hey,” came a gentle voice.
Tharadis’s eyes snapped open. His head jerked up. Everything around him was dark, wreathed in shadows by the weak light of two small candles. Serena, was she—
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
Tharadis turned to look at her face. It was pale, but she was smiling from where she lay on her bed. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he felt the tension in his muscles melt away.
He must have fallen asleep, exhaustion having finally claimed him. He’d been tending her all day. She hadn’t once woken up. The wound she had taken at her hip was shallow, and he had cleaned it and stitched it up as best as he could, worried that it had somehow been infected, though he had no idea how that could have happened so quickly. Serena seemed feverish from the moment she passed out. As he carried her back to the house, he hoped it was just her pregnancy, or the shock. She looked better now, and he released the breath pent-up inside of him.
He was sitting on the floor next to her bed, legs folded up beneath him. He straightened one with a grimace. Though he hadn’t planned on falling asleep at her side, he wondered at his lack of foresight for not even moving a rug to where he now sat.
When he realized just whose fingers were laced with his, all of his worries fell away. He turned to stare at Serena’s face, wide-eyed in amazement.
She laughed. “That’s not an expression I had ever imagined on your face.”
He looked at the swell of her belly, mere inches from his nose.
“Shores … you’re really—”
“Yes, Tharadis.” She ran her fingers through his hair again, bringing a tingle of pleasure up his spine. “We’re really going to be parents.”
He turned to regard her. “I was sure that you—”
“Shush. Come here, idiot.” She pulled his head to her breast. “I just needed some time to think about things.”
Tharadis nodded against her and closed his eyes. The months without her felt like a nightmare from which he’d just woken. Unreal, unimportant, fading from memory. He wondered how he had lived so long without her, without even bothering to see her, to see how she was. The feel of her, the smell of her … he knew it was all he needed, all he would ever need in this life.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Nonsense. You’re here now.”
“I’m sorry nonetheless.” He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. “Those men today.”
She shifted her body slightly. He could feel her eyes on him. “You heard what they wanted.”
“I did. But I didn’t believe it.”
“Believe it. It’s real.”
He grunted in agreement. “Perhaps ‘understand’ was the word I meant.”
“I guess I’m glad you can’t understand them.” She jabbed him playfully in the shoulder. “It means there’s hope for you yet.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
He looked at her, voice grave. “How are you? Really?”
The playfulness wilted from her eyes, yet she forced herself to smile. “I’ve been awake for a little while, and I’ve had time to think about what happened.” Her smile withered as she looked away. “I killed someone today. I’ve never had to do that before. I know I should feel something—shame, horror. Something bad. But truly, all I felt when I saw that man dead, dead by my hands, all I could feel was relief. Relief that I was alive, that you were, that our baby was, and that he was not.” She met his eyes. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“No,” he said, and meant it. Whatever apprehension she had felt melted from her face then. He understood her completely. He felt the same way. Those dead men didn’t matter; they had chosen their fates. Serena did matter, and her safety was all he cared about. “And … what about everything else?” he asked.
It was then that Tharadis could feel the tentativeness in her touch, as if his body were a thatch of stinging nettles.
He didn’t pull away. His touch she could bear, he knew; him pulling away, she could not.
“Hungry,” was all she said.
The food he cooked for her was the best he had made in some time, though it was a simple meal of fried vegetables and carp, freshly-caught. It had little to do with the food itself. Merely being around Serena made the world come alive, made his senses sharper.
“You were incredible,” she said between bites. Her face was near rapturous, and she made no effort to hide it. Her voice, though, betrayed some concern. “You’ve been practicing.”
Since I killed your husband. Tharadis fought to dismiss the bitter thought. It was difficult, but he managed when he glanced up from his meal into her eyes. She loved him, of that there was no doubt. It was his own guilt he was feeling, not any condemnation from her.
“I have,” he said. “But, honestly, I couldn’t say exactly what I felt. Everything just … seemed to add up for me.” He took another bite. “It didn’t last long, though. I almost didn’t save you.”
“But you did.” She smiled and reached across the table to touch his hand.
He smiled back. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She stared at his hand as she absently ran a finger across it. “In the morning, I want to take you somewhere.” Tharadis could see the words cost her something, but what, he had no idea.
He nodded after a moment. “I’ll come get you after dawn.”
“I thought you were done with your foolishness.” She pushed her chair back a ways and stood, one hand on her belly. “You’ll stay here with me tonight. Just to sleep, mind you.” Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper and she glanced away. “I know how you get, you know.” She tried to smile, and failed.
She was in pain. More pain than she had ever been in before. He could see it in her words, in the way she held herself. He wondered if it was just the natural progression of her affliction, or if her pregnancy had somehow worsened it.
She got undressed and climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She rolled over and smiled as she reached a hand out to him. “Come to me. Hold me.”
He went to her and held her through the night.
* * *
“Where are you taking me?” Tharadis asked, bemused.
With the corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile, Serena had been gently tugging him along by the hand all morning, since before the sun had risen. The people of Naruvieth had scarcely begun to stir as they had walked through the city, starting their daily tasks bleary-eyed yet with customary eagerness. Tharadis had always thought that those who woke up the earliest were always the most enthusiastic in their work. He had often seen this translate into success.
But they hadn’t stayed in the city any longer than to trade a coin for a pair of small pastries, which they ate while walking the streets. Wherever they were going, Serena was in a hurry to get there. And she hadn’t told him where she was taking him, no matter how many times he asked. In fact, she hadn’t said a word to him since she poked him in the chest to wake him up and said, “Get up. It’s time to go.”
At times, he had to trot to keep up with her or risk losing his grip on her hand. Pregnancy wasn’t slowing her down; neither was her condition. If anything, she only seemed more spurred on than usual. While descending the Face, she had crashed through some overgrown thorn bushes barelegged, with only her sandals and her vermilion dress hemmed just above her knee for protection. Her black hair, half of which was done up
in a tail, bounced above her shoulders with each tromping step. Tharadis had known Serena since they were children. They used to go on adventures and sometimes got themselves in trouble, though never with any regrets. It almost felt as if they had gone back to those simpler days.
“Let’s rest,” she said once they had reached the edge of the drytree forest. She leaned against the gnarled gray trunk of one the drytrees and took a pull from the waterskin slung over her shoulder, glancing at Tharadis with a glint in her eye. Then she handed the skin over and wiped the sweat from her brow as he drank.
“Rest time’s over!” She snatched the skin from him before he had gotten a mouthful and bounded into the forest with it. Tharadis took off after her with an inner promise to wrestle her to the ground once he caught up, pregnant or not.
But she was quick. Several times she had disappeared from sight, only to reappear long enough for him to get a sense of where she was. Occasionally, all he had to go by was the rustle of her passage or, once or twice, her teasing laughter. The forest thickened the deeper they went, blotting out much of the light. Tharadis found himself tripping on roots more often than he would ever admit.
Finally, he broke into a clearing. Serena was there, biting into a small apple so red it was almost purple, holding another apple just like it in her other hand. “Here,” she said, tossing it to him. “No luck hunting for our lunch, what with all the game you scared off.”
He grinned at her as he bit into his apple.
When they had finished eating, Serena crossed to him, took his hands in hers, pressed her lips to his. At first, it was tentative, but then the kiss turned fierce, desperate, fingers twined together into knots, squeezing and tightening. The sensation of pressing against her rippled throughout his body as he felt her tongue meet his. He felt as if he was a part of her, and she a part of him. It was a union unbending, eternal, unyielding.
Shoreseeker Page 26