Time passed, and Rabalyn became uneasy at the lack of conversation. The woman said nothing. The axman seemed unconcerned. Finally Garianne lifted clear the pot and set it on the ground to cool. Occasionally she would stir it. “I’ll buy you a meal in Mellicane,” said Druss.
“We are not going to the city. We’re heading north. We want to see the high country.”
“There’s some sights to see,” agreed the axman. “If you change your mind I’ll be staying at the Crimson Stag on the West Quay.” She seemed not to be listening, then Rabalyn saw her cock her head to one side and nod.
“I don’t like cities,” she said, staring upward. Then there was a pause. “Easy for you to say,” she continued. Then another pause. “But I can hunt what we need.” Finally she shrugged and said, “As you wish.”
Now Rabalyn was totally confused. The axman seemed to take the entire one-sided conversation in his stride. Moving to the pan, he lifted the spoon and stirred the contents. “Smells good,” he said.
“Eat,” said Garianne. Druss ate several spoonfuls, then passed the pot and spoon to Rabalyn. The broth was thick and tasty, and he too ate. At last he pushed the pot toward Garianne. She sighed. “I am not hungry now,” she said, replacing her baldric and clipping her cloak back into place. “We will see you in Mellicane, Uncle.”
“I’ll bring your pot with me,” he said.
She walked off into the trees without another word.
Druss finished the last of the broth. “Who was she talking to?” asked Rabalyn.
The axman shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve learned there is more in this world than I can see. I like her though.”
“Are you her uncle?”
“I can imagine worse nieces. But no, I’m not her uncle. She started calling me that after I nursed her through a fever last year.”
“I think she’s mad,” said Rabalyn.
“Aye, I can see why you would.”
“Why didn’t she wait for you to finish the broth? Then she would have had her pot.”
“She’s uncomfortable around people. You made her nervous.”
“Me? How?”
“You asked her a question. I did warn you, laddie. She doesn’t take well to questions.”
“I only asked to see her crossbow. I was being polite.”
“I know. She’s a strange lass. But she’s got heart, and she uses that crossbow like a master.”
“What does her family think of her running around dressed like a man?” asked Rabalyn.
Druss laughed aloud. “I’m forgetting you come from a small community, laddie. She doesn’t have any family—not that I know of. She sometimes travels with a pair of twins. Good lads. One’s a simpleton. I have never heard her speak of family though. My guess is they were probably killed. That, or some other shock unhinged her. She is not always as you saw her today. A little wine inside her and she’ll sing sweeter than a songbird. Aye, and dance and laugh. It’s only when the voices come that she . . . well, you saw,” he concluded, lamely.
“How did you meet her?”
“Do you never run out of questions, laddie?” replied Druss, pushing himself to his feet. “Come on, it’s time to be moving. I have a feeling we’ll be meeting your friends before long.”
With the coming of the dawn Braygan was more exhausted than at any other time in his life. The bright sunshine hurt his eyes, and he felt as if he were walking through a dream. A small boy was sleeping beside him, his terrified mother stroking the child’s hair. Other women and children were huddled together at the center of the circle. A girl of around three began to cry. Braygan reached out to comfort her, but she backed away from him. A woman called to the child, who scrambled over to her, sobbing. Braygan pushed himself to his feet and eased his way to the outer circle where Skilgannon stood, with around a dozen surviving men, and the same number of strong women. Some of the women in the circle were armed with knives. The remainder held thick lumps of wood, which they had used as clubs when the beasts attacked.
“Have they gone for good this time?” asked Braygan, glancing down at the dried blood on Skilgannon’s blades.
Skilgannon looked at the priest and shrugged. Just beyond the circle lay the giant body of a hideous creature. Braygan tried not to look at it, but his eyes were drawn to its massive jaws. The little priest had seen those fangs crunch into the skull of a man, ripping the head from the shoulders, before Skilgannon had leapt in, cutting a gaping hole in the beast’s throat. The headless body of the man was no longer in sight. Other creatures had dragged it away into the darkness, along with the corpses of other Joinings.
Braygan swung to look back at the crowd of people huddled together inside the circle. There were some fifty or more, half of them children.
“How many of us did they get?” asked Braygan.
“Ten . . . fifteen,” answered Skilgannon, wearily. “I had no time to keep count.”
The two brothers, Jared and Nian, broke away from the outer circle and approached Skilgannon. Both carried longswords, with double-handed hilts. “You think we should try to get away now it’s light?” asked Jared.
“Wait a while,” said Skilgannon. “They may have retreated back into the reeds, and be watching for just such a move.”
“I counted eighteen of them,” said the young man. “I think we killed five at least, and wounded four others.”
“I cut the head from one,” said Nian. “Did you see that, Jared? Did you see me cut its head?”
“I saw. You did well. Very brave, Nian.”
“Did you see?” the man asked Skilgannon. “Did you see me cut its head off?”
“Your brother is right. You are very brave,” said Skilgannon. Braygan saw the simpleton give a crooked smile, then reach out and take hold of the long, blue sash that hung from his brother’s belt. He stood there, sword in one hand, sash in the other.
“We cannot just wait here all day,” said Skilgannon. “Either they have gone, or they are waiting. We need to know which.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Jared.
“I’m going to take a stroll to the reeds.”
“We’ll keep you company.”
Skilgannon glanced past Jared, at his brother. “Might be best if Nian remains behind—to look after the women and children.” Jared shook his head.
“He couldn’t do that, my friend. He needs to be close to me.”
“Then you both remain here,” said Skilgannon. With that he sheathed his swords and strolled away toward the northwest.
Braygan watched him go—and felt his heart sink. A murmur began among other people in the circle, as they watched Skilgannon move away toward the reeds. “Hold the circle!” shouted Jared, moving away from Braygan. “He’s just scouting. He’ll be back. Stay watchful!”
A flicker of resentment flared in Braygan, and he was immediately ashamed. How swiftly Skilgannon had become important in these people’s lives. He was their savior and their hope. What am I, wondered Braygan? I am nothing. If these people survive they will not remember the chubby little priest who cowered at the center of the circle, begging the Source to keep him alive. They will recall the dark-haired warrior with the twin swords who took command, forming the circle that saved them. They would remember him to the ends of their lives.
“There’s one!” The shout was full of terror, and a wail went up from the children.
Braygan swung round, eyes wide and fearful. A dark shape emerged from the tall grass. It was a golden-haired woman in a dark cloak. Braygan’s relief was immense.
“It’s Garianne! It’s Garianne!” shouted the simpleton, Nian. Still holding to his brother’s sash he walked toward the woman. Jared grabbed his arm.
“Don’t pull me,” he said, gently. “She’s coming here.” Nian waved.
“Over here, Garianne. We’re over here.”
The woman was strikingly attractive, her eyes a soft-flecked gray, her braided hair gleaming in the sunlight. She approached the two brothers. Nian mov
ed toward her, and, dropping his sword, lifted her into a hug. She kissed his cheek lightly. “Put me down,” she said, “and be calm.”
Then she swung toward Jared. “We are glad to see you alive,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless. She did not smile.
“It is good to see you, Garianne,” Jared told her. “Did . . . ?” he cleared his throat. “We were wondering if the beasts were still close by.”
“Some moved northeast in the night. We killed one. Old Uncle and his friend killed three more.”
“I cut the head off one,” said Nian. “Tell her, Jared.”
“He did. He was very brave, Garianne. It would be good if you could stay awhile and help us fight off the creatures. There are many children here.”
“We are going to Mellicane. Old Uncle is buying us a meal.”
“We are all heading to Mellicane, Garianne. Nian would be happy if you came with us.”
“Yes, yes, come with us, Garianne,” insisted Nian, moving forward and taking hold of the blue sash at his brother’s belt. Suddenly the woman smiled. Braygan found the moment breathtaking. In that moment she moved from attractive to stunningly beautiful. Stepping toward Nian, she reached up and curled her arm around his shoulder. “I wish I had seen you cut its head off,” she said, kissing his cheek.
“Three whacks it took. Is Old Uncle coming too?”
Her smile faded and she stepped away from Nian.
“No questions, Nian,” said Jared, softly. “Remember?”
“I’m sorry, Garianne,” muttered Nian. Her smile returned briefly, and she seemed to relax.
“Old Uncle is coming. Maybe an hour. Maybe less,” she told them.
Jared swung to Braygan. “Old Uncle is a warrior named Druss. You have heard the name?” Braygan shook his head.
“He is Drenai, and, like your friend, he is deadly. With Garianne and Druss we have more than a chance against any beasts.”
Skilgannon walked toward the swaying bank of reeds, his movements smooth and unhurried, scanning the reeds for any sign of movement not caused by the breeze. He was exactly as he seemed to those who watched him from the circle, relaxed and strolling, his swords sheathed.
Malanek had called it the illusion of elsewhere: where the mind floats free and surrenders control of the body to the instincts and the senses. As he walked, Skilgannon allowed his thoughts to roam far, even as his eyes watched for danger.
He thought of Malanek, and the tortuous training, the endless exercises and the harsh regime of physical stress. He remembered Greavas and Sperian, and the increasing tension of the days after Bokram’s coronation. Arrests were sudden. Houses were raided, the occupants dragged away. No one spoke of the departed. Known followers of the dead emperor disappeared or were publicly executed in Leopard Square.
Fear descended on the capital. People watched one another with suspicious eyes, never knowing who might inform on them for a hasty word, or a suggested criticism. Skilgannon worried about Greavas and his connections to the royal family, and, indeed, the former actor often went missing for days before returning without a word as to his previous whereabouts. Skilgannon asked him on one evening where he had been. Greavas sighed. “Best you don’t know, my friend,” was all he would say.
One night, around three weeks after the coronation, armed soldiers arrived at the house. Molaire was beside herself with fear, and even the normally resolute Sperian was ashen and afraid. Skilgannon was sitting in the garden when the officer marched out. It was the golden-haired former athlete, Boranius. Skilgannon rose from his chair. “Good to see you,” he said, and meant it.
“And you,” answered Boranius, coolly. “However, I am here on official business.”
“I shall have refreshments served for you,” said Skilgannon, gesturing toward the pale-faced Sperian. The man gratefully withdrew. Skilgannon glanced at the two soldiers standing in the garden doorway. “Please make yourself comfortable,” he told them. “There are chairs for all.”
“My men will stand,” said Boranius, lifting his scabbard and seating himself on a wicker chair. He still looked every inch the athlete Skilgannon had so admired.
“Do you still run, Boranius?”
“No, I have little time for such pursuits. You?”
Skilgannon laughed. “I do, but it is not the fun it was, for I have no one to test me. You were my inspiration. You set the standard.”
“And you beat me.”
“You had an injured ankle, Boranius. However, I did enjoy getting the medal.”
“The days of school medals are behind me now—and you, too, soon. Have you considered your future?”
“I shall be a soldier like my father.”
“That is good to hear. We need good soldiers. Loyal soldiers.” The blond officer leaned back in his chair. “These are difficult times, Olek. There are traitors everywhere. They must be hunted down and exterminated. Do you know any traitors?”
“How would I recognize them, Boranius? Do they wear odd hats?”
“This is not a subject for jests, Olek. Even now someone is sheltering the emperor’s concubine and her bastard daughter. Bokram is king by right and by blood. Those who speak or act against him are traitors.”
“I have heard no one speak against him,” said Skilgannon. There was a tightness around Boranius’s blue eyes, and the man seemed constantly on edge.
“What about the pervert who lives here? Is he loyal?”
Skilgannon felt a coldness settle in his belly. “You are a guest in my home, Boranius. Do not speak ill of any of my friends.”
“I am not a guest, Olek. I am an officer of the king. Have you heard Greavas speak against the king?”
“No, I have not. We do not discuss matters of politics.”
“I need to question him. Is he here?”
“No.” Sperian returned carrying a tray of drinks, the mixed juices of apple and apricot in silver goblets. Skilgannon glanced up at him. “Where is Greavas?” he asked.
“He is visiting friends, sir, in the north of the city.”
“When will he be returning?”
“Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day, sir. He did not say.” Skilgannon thanked the man and waved him away.
“I shall tell him you need to speak with him when he returns,” said Skilgannon, “though I fail to see how a retired actor could be of help to you.”
“We shall see,” said Boranius, rising. “There is also a warrant for the arrest of your friend, Askelus.”
Now Skilgannon was truly shocked. “Why?”
“Like his father he is also a traitor. His father was disembowelled this morning in Leopard Square.”
“Askelus is no traitor,” said Skilgannon, also rising. “We have spoken often. He is a huge admirer of Emperor Gorben, and he has talked, like me, of serving in Bokram’s army. Not once have I heard him say a word of criticism against the king. Quite the reverse, in fact.”
“Then—sadly—he will perish for the sins of his father,” said Boranius, coldly.
Skilgannon had stared then at the young man who had been his hero. The young athlete of his memory disappeared. In his place stood a cold-eyed soldier, bereft of emotion, save perhaps malice. Memories flooded Skilgannon then, moments that had seemed insignificant at the time, but now shone bright in the glow of sudden understanding. The casual discarding of friendships, the sarcastic comments, the meanness of spirit. Skilgannon had seen Boranius through the golden gaze of hero worship. Now here was the reality. Boranius held the power of life and death, and he reveled in it. Anger swelled in Skilgannon’s heart, but he quelled it, and smiled. “I have much to learn, my friend,” he said. “I thank you for taking the time to visit me.”
Boranius chuckled then and slapped Skilgannon on the shoulder. “When you have your final papers—assuming they are Firsts—come and see me. I will find a place for you in my regiment.”
“You do me great honor.”
With that he walked Boranius and his men to the front door, and waited as
they mounted their horses and rode away.
Sperian came out and breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought we were all to be arrested,” he said.
“The man is a viper,” said Skilgannon.
“Aye, your father thought that. Never liked the family.”
“Can you get a message to Greavas tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Tell him not to come home for a while. Go through the market. Tomorrow is auction day. There will be hundreds there. You should be able to slip away unnoticed.”
Sperian looked uncertain. “You think I might be followed?”
“It is a possibility.”
“My eyes aren’t good, Olek. I am not skilled at this sort of thing.”
“No, of course you aren’t. Foolish of me. I will take it myself.”
Now Sperian looked even more worried. “He doesn’t want you involved, sir. He would be most put out if I told you where he was.”
Skilgannon put his hand on the retainer’s shoulder. “If he comes out into the open he will be arrested. Probably executed. Most certainly tortured. I don’t think you should concern yourself with his annoyance at your disclosure.”
“It’s not just that, sir. It’s who he’s with.”
“Tell me.”
“He has the empress and her daughter hidden. He’s looking for a way to get them out of the city.”
Skilgannon was jerked from his memories as the reeds rustled and shook. The Swords of Night and Day flashed from their scabbards. A small dog darted by him, sniffed the ground, then ran on toward the circle. A little girl called out a name and the dog barked and scampered over to her. Skilgannon let out his breath, and continued his walk.
There was no sign of the beasts.
Turning back toward the refugees he saw the massive figure of the axman emerge from the long grass. Beside him was the boy, Rabalyn.
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