The Gray Isles. One more mystery shrouded in that realm. Lorth had abandoned his idea of plying Sedarius for information; this situation plumbed beneath the hoary rulers of Wychmouth. At this rate, the hunter would be on his knees before Maern—or worse, a loerfalos.
They reached the stable entrance, passed through the corridor and emerged into the main hall. Eaglin stood with two horses saddled and packed with supplies. He wore a stony countenance. His father had bid him to remain in Eyrie to prepare for war. Lorth knew his friend’s heart was on the road, but Eaglin was the only man able to bridge the things his father knew with what had to be done.
Wulfgar took the reins of his horse. “How do we know Rhinne isn’t still around here someplace? She’s good at hiding. She eluded my men for months.”
“We’ll keep searching,” Eaglin said. “But my father believes she wouldn’t have fled but to return to Tromb. Something helped her get through the door in his high chamber, and through the south gate. That same something is sure to be helping her now.”
“Perhaps it’s Ascarion,” Wulfgar said absently.
“That’s not possible,” Eaglin returned.
Lorth pursed his lips in doubt. Whether Wulfgar hadn’t made the connection or had grown tired of cosmic theory, he hadn’t bothered to ask how he could still live after his Source had been destroyed, sparing them the sensitive explanation that Ascarion was not dead but only in Void until the Old One brought him forth again in the context of ages. This oversight had given Lorth relief, but Eaglin’s harsh comment stirred his conscience. For Lorth had learned something that muddied the erudite assumption that an entity in Void could not be perceived in any dimension.
Last night, with the stealth of the wolf in his dream, Lorth had asked Eaglin to describe Ascarion. Unsurprisingly, his description matched in every detail the being Lorth saw in the guise of a raven that night in the Shapeshifter Inn. Lorth could only guess—as Wulfgar had just intuited—that Ascarion was helping Rhinne now. A being not solely of the Otherworld, but of formlessness itself.
A being only a Web could see.
To change the subject, Lorth said, “Rhinne must be very weak. Whatever is helping her, she still has to move through time and space on her own.”
“My father said she might be strong enough to ride,” Eaglin said. “I wouldn’t rule it out.”
They led their mounts towards the street. Lorth didn’t bother to mention oborom assassins. The one he had stopped Wulfgar from killing in the market had managed to poison himself before Lorth got the chance to question him properly. But he knew Wulfgar was already thinking about it. The prince understood that while Rhinne might be safe from the mind of Carmaenos, one of his hunters was another matter.
When they reached the street, Wulfgar mounted. Eaglin put his hand on Lorth’s shoulder with the care of a crocodile and said, “I know you’re hiding something. It had better be good.”
Lorth shrugged. “If Maern hides it, so must I.”
“Nice try, Hunter. You aren’t that—”
“Yes he is,” said a voice. Lorth turned as a vast yet familiar force stirred the empty space behind him. A figure emerged from the mist, a vision in infinite hues of gray and black. He rode a raven-black stallion; his hair of the same color was braided on his shoulders and bound in sapphire; and he was armed to the heart. Lorth had never seen the entity without his weapons.
“Milord Eusiron,” Eaglin said with calm familiarity, bowing his head. Wulfgar stared as his horse danced sideways along the cobbled path.
By way of greeting, the war god made an odd gesture with his hand and then turned to Wulfgar with granite regard. “Child of Ascarion.”
The prince nodded, not knowing what to say.
Lorth drew a deep breath at this new development. He hadn’t laid eyes on Eusiron since the war between Faerin and Ostarin many years ago. Gods were elusive and not inclined to mingle with humans; as with any immortal being, such contacts boded the larger cycles of events. He recalled what Eaglin had said in the Council: I’ve heard tell that Eusiron keeps a presence here to watch and ward.
The comment didn’t entirely explain the Dark Warrior’s arrival.
Eaglin lifted his brow in inquiry. “What brings you?”
“News,” the war god said. “A body on the North Road. An assassin with his throat torn out.”
A chill seized Lorth from the depths of the ground.
“Oborom?” Wulfgar said, oblivious to the weirdness of this encounter.
The dark god nodded, his gray eyes shining from beneath the edge of his hood. As he settled his attention on Lorth, the hunter mounted Freya and drew her around. “What killed him?”
“A wolf.” A chilling smile curled on his lips. “Though I’ve yet to know a wolf that would attack a man on the road and leave no tracks.”
Lorth leaned over in his saddle as last night’s dream returned to him. When he looked up, Eusiron was watching him with the subtle air of a private agenda.
“Lorth?” Eaglin said, moving near.
“I dreamed last night,” the hunter responded, straightening in his saddle. He addressed Eusiron. “Did you do that?”
The entity lifted his brow. “You are what you are. My only involvement in your choices is to know myself through them. You found Rhinne the first time by your arts. You are bound in the Old One’s domain.”
Wulfgar cleared his throat. “What are you talking about?”
“I killed the warlock,” Lorth confessed. “As a wolf. I thought it was just a dream.” As the thoughtless comment fell into silence, Lorth could almost hear his old master Icaros snorting a laugh. Just a dream! Fool boy. There’s no such thing.
“Och!” Eaglin growled. “I knew you were hiding something. Friends in the Otherworld, indeed. Did you also free her from my father’s realm and see her through the gates?”
“That, I did not,” Lorth assured him. “Nor did I see her last night. She is hidden from me.”
Relief touched Lorth’s gut like a ray of moonlight. Eaglin’s discovery of his nightly escapades conveniently cloaked the actual thing he was hiding: Void or not, Ascarion was at large. For the moment, Lorth felt almost duty-bound to keep this secret, though he would probably regret it later.
“Rhinne must have been near,” Wulfgar said. Boldly, he asked Eusiron, “Did you help her escape from Eyrie?”
“No. She is hidden from me as well.” His mood changed as if something had thrown a cloak over it. “I found the tracks of men and two horses. One of them rode down into the woods to a recently doused campfire and signs of an encampment. Pony and cart tracks led out to the road. I followed them, but many people on the road hold secrets and I am blind but for questioning. With the dawn, Ealiron treecloaked his world from sea to sky. Our enemy in Tromblast will not know us; nor will we know each other. So it is that imbalance makes mortals of gods.”
“And men of wizards,” Lorth muttered. Under a treecloak, they wouldn’t be able to project apparitions or use mindspeak. They would all be riding blind, except for dreams and deeper perceptions—but the Old One drove that and she was not reliable.
“What’s the point of hiding everything?” Wulfgar said.
“We have what Carmaenos came to this dimension to retrieve,” the entity said. “If he discovers that, he will act accordingly. Ealiron is obfuscating the issue by declaring war on the oborom for their misuse of magic and the murder of three Keepers.”
“What?” Lorth choked. “I wasn’t told of this.”
The war god’s expression twitched with amusement. “The earth is not the only thing keeping secrets,” he said, addressing what he alone knew—and didn’t know—of Lorth’s business. The hunter swallowed his outrage, his cheeks warm.
“Rhinne thought the Keepers on Tromb joined up with the oborom,” Wulfgar said. “I was told they left the isle. Rumors. No one knew the truth.”
“Ealiron believes that Carmaenos will lie low under the war,” Eusiron continued with cavalier equanimi
ty. “He knows we wouldn’t attack if we knew the truth.”
“Subterfuge will get us in,” Eaglin said. “The treecloak will hide the particulars. We need only worry about spies.”
“I assume the Aenmos notified the Aenlisarfon before treecloaking the planet,” Lorth said dryly. Eusiron responded with a feline gaze that Lorth himself used often enough. An affirmative response, and not a wholly negative development, as it would give Lorth the freedom to operate beneath the Council’s eye.
“So it is,” Lorth said with a breath. “Let us ride.” He leaned down and extended his arm to Eaglin, who grasped it tightly. “Light of All be with you.”
“And you,” Eaglin said, stepping back. “I’ll follow soon as I can.”
Lorth envisioned the skies full of birds as he nodded and rode into the mist with his companions, leaving Eaglin to the logistics of a war.
Eusiron had vanished.
As they rode down the cobbled hill from the citadel, Wulfgar said, “Tromb has been hidden all this time. How did Eusiron find out the Keepers are dead?”
“Who knows,” Lorth replied. “One of those men was a spy. I put him there two years ago, shortly after my mission. He never reported anything to me about the oborom, which means he was killed before he got the chance. There are ways to bring such things to the attention of a god, but one has to die to do it, unfortunately.”
“Why?”
“Death is the Old One’s domain. Things like treecloaks have no sway there.”
The prince fell silent. Then he said, “It appears Eusiron is helping us now. Is he under orders?”
Lorth snorted. “Eusiron is as old and nasty as war itself. Nothing gives him orders. Not Ealiron, not even the Old One. You know he once cursed a priestess of Maern for threatening him after he wouldn’t bed her.”
“Ballocks,” Wulfgar laughed.
“On my blade, it’s the truth.”
“What did he curse her with?”
Lorth grinned. “Me.”
The prince shook his head with a fading smile. “It would seem the gods are not so unlike mortals.”
“Not in some ways. In others, they are incomprehensible. Don’t make any assumptions about what he’s doing. It could be anything.” They crested a rise overlooking the roofs and walls of Eyeroth, floating in the fog. “I have watchers posted here. But first I want to find out if Rhinne got a horse.”
The second horse trader Lorth questioned, a swarthy, good-natured man named Laruc, left them with more worries than facts. Laruc had described Rhinne to the freckle, but then informed them that the horse she had bought, a fine mare, had returned to his stables near dawn with Rhinne’s newly purchased things still in the saddlebags. Lorth and Wulfgar strode away from the place, their hearts dark with inimical scenarios.
“Her horse might have spooked,” Wulfgar offered as they crossed the street. “Run off.”
“Maybe,” Lorth said, re-experiencing his jaws closing upon the flesh of a man’s throat. They reached their horses and mounted. Lorth headed for the northern edge of the market.
“She must have sold her sword,” Wulfgar said. “Where else would she get enough coin to buy a horse, new clothes and supplies to journey overland?”
“She could claim being vouched for by the Eye. Vendors ‘round here honor that because they know they’ll get paid. She saw me do it at the inn.”
Wulfgar gazed ahead with a hardened mien. “She wouldn’t try something like that after fleeing your protection. That sword meant little to her. I taught her to use it, and she did that well. But the only reason she ever wore it was to defend herself. She wouldn’t think to protect her people or stand in her place as Sentinel of the North. Few gave her the honor.”
Backwater isle, Lorth thought. How convenient that Carmaenos had such an isolated place in which to cast his designs. “Honor might not be the issue. After that hunter used the blade to violate her, she was probably happy to be rid of it.”
Wulfgar nodded. “That is clear.”
They rode in silence until Lorth guided them into a narrow way crowned by trees. Wind stirred the mists.
“Lorth,” Wulfgar said.
Eusiron stood at the end of the alley like a harbinger of woe, holding the reins of his horse in one hand and a familiar scabbard in the other. The hem of his cloak moved in the breeze as the two men rode up to him.
“Where did you get that?” Wulfgar said.
Ignoring the question, the entity said, “If it is indeed your sister’s intention to return to Tromb, she will have no trouble buying passage.”
His face pale, the prince shifted in his saddle. “She has little reason to return there. Reckless though she is, she wouldn’t be so foolish as to take on the Riven God.”
Lorth threw him a glance. “You didn’t see her in the throes of an immortal bleedthrough. There is nothing more terrible and irrational than the Old One in her aspect as the Destroyer. She is capable of anything.”
“Rhinne does not believe the Riven God exists,” Wulfgar said tiredly.
“That will change,” Eusiron said. He put on the North Born blade as if it belonged to him, mounted his steed and whirled the beast around. “Be as wolves,” he said in a voice from the Otherworld. “Our enemy has a presence in this land.”
As the entity vanished into the shadows of the wall, the Shade of Balance came to Lorth’s mind: The Old One knows.
Fana
Rhinne lay in the floating strangeness of half-sleep until the smell of wood smoke and the soft hiss of drizzle reminded her of her situation. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up.
“Och!” said a voice like wet gravel. “Easy, girl.” On the other side of the fire sat a middle-aged woman with shocking red hair peppered with white.
Rhinne pushed herself up on one arm, breathing heavily. She drew aside her cloak. Her wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and a soft poultice soothed her flesh beneath the waist of her leggings.
The woman cleared her throat. “I am Fana. Best thing you’ve seen this night, I’ll wager.” She reached into the fire with a thick rag and pulled forth a simmering pot. With a splash and a curse, she poured some of the liquid into a cup. “Drink this,” she said, handing it over. “It’ll ease the pain.”
Rhinne took the cup and raised it to her nose. It smelled sweet, like mint and apples. It burned her lips as she sipped it. She got a little bit and then relaxed as it coursed down her throat. “Thank you,” she breathed, glancing around at the woods, draped in darkness. “My name is Rhinne. Where are we? Has anyone seen us?”
“Only the wind.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “We’re off the road from where I found you.” She lifted her brow in a melodramatic expression of knowing. “Had a dead man by your side.”
A wolf-black chill crept over Rhinne’s scalp. Remembering the coin she had gained in Eyeroth, she felt around in her cloak for the pouch. It was still there. “I never saw anyone. I fell off my horse and awoke here.”
“I didn’t see no horse.”
Princess, you nag. “What was he wearing? The man you found.”
The woman peered at her strangely and then leaned back. “Och! Who knows? ‘Twas dark and I didn’t hang about. You in some trouble?”
Rhinne didn’t know how to answer that. Too complicated. “I must leave this place.”
The woman gazed into the fire for a moment and then looked up, green eyes shining. “Trouble deep. They’re lookin’ for you, you know.”
Rhinne lowered her cup. “You said you saw no one.”
Fana shook her head. “Not here.” She straightened her back, grabbed a stick and poked at the fire. “I seen them out on the road. Wizards, huntin’ for a girl.”
Rhinne couldn’t imagine how the Keepers had missed her. And who or what had killed the ruffian who found her first? The thought was not as comforting as it should have been.
“Where you headed?” Fana asked.
“Caerroth.” Enough information, Rhinne decided.
&nb
sp; “Well. I don’t know why I should help you. Och! I don’t want the Lords of the Eye on my trail.”
“I don’t need your help.” Rhinne set her tea aside and gathered herself to stand. She had tired of this woman’s company already. She got to her feet, doing her best to hide the pain that consumed her while doing it.
Fana made an odd face. “Mad as a goat, you are. Keep your secrets. But you’re in no fit way for journey.” She cocked a thumb behind her. “I’ve a pony and cart. No trouble to me, to make room for you there.” She leaned back with a veiled nod. “There’s a way through the forest. It’s less traveled. If you are in trouble, you won’t want to be on the road.”
Rhinne swayed on her feet as fear darkened her heart. She didn’t like the idea of taking up with a stranger who thought nothing of hiding her from the Eye. But Fana was right: she was too weak to travel and Caerroth lay days away under the best of circumstances. Her horse was gone along with her supplies. She dared not return to Eyeroth to replace them now that the wizards had discovered her disappearance and were scouring the road for her.
She briefly considered giving up this foolish quest and returning to Eyrie. But she had made it this far, and unless Fana had spun her a tale, something had protected her. She released a breath of resignation. “Very well. I am grateful. But we must go.”
Fana grunted as she got up. “That, we must.” She put out the fire, humming under her breath.
Rhinne trembled as she watched the smoke curl into the mist. Dead fiends aside, this plan had one serious shortcoming. No forest path would be unknown to a man like Lorth.
Or Nightshade, for that matter.
*
The women were well on their way by the time dawn peeked over the trees on the eastern side of the road to Caerroth. Rhinne was curled up in the rear half of Fana’s cart, which had two compartments, front and back. The woman had rearranged it, stuffing clothes and supplies on Rhinne’s side to cushion her from bumps and to hide her from anyone looking, in the event they were stopped. In the front section of the cart, Fana had packed an unlikely collection of items that caused Rhinne to wonder about the nature of her business: hard leather breastplates, silken mantles, tacky jewelry, various clothing studded and decorated with warriors in mind, scabbards containing knives and swords, a bow, a net, a cage, a silver plate with pictures of hounds carved into it and a pile of books on war tactics and seamanship. It looked like an amateur pirate’s bounty. Rhinne hadn’t succeeded in getting an explanation from Fana, but there was no time to press it.
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