"I'm a bit weak. Time in prison."
"You always said you wanted to stay as far from there as you could."
"I believe my exact words were I would rather be trapped in my grave than in a cage."
"I remember something like that," she said. Once he sat straight, she withdrew. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"What is she like?"
"Who?"
"The Immortal. The stories are true, aren't they?"
"Which ones?"
"How heartless she is and what she's willing to do in order to preserve the memory of her former husband."
He refused the words coming to mind. Leviana had been a driven woman. In that, she and Helenia were alike. Except, if he were honest, he knew Leviana would stand beside those with her to her death. Helenia would turn tail and run without hesitation. So very alike and yet different. Then there was Jalcina, the woman he couldn't place at all.
The name again.
He almost turned the horse around toward the far waters. The soft tones of her voice swung in his ears and beckoned him. He filled his eyes with the silhouette of Helenia as if it would wash away the thoughts of that other woman. After spending so much of his life avoiding just such entanglements, he found himself ensnared not even once but more than once. The absolute cruelty of fate.
"Something's bothering you."
"That would be a lot of things right now. Hel," the familiar form of her name dropped from his lips without bidding. "I think something's been done to me."
Concern he didn't expect from her. Not beyond whether or not it would affect her plans, but her brow furrowed as if she thought about his words. Then she shook her head.
"I'm going to send someone back to let them know you were seen along the caravan route."
"If you give the game away too soon, we won't make it far enough away to draw the trouble we need."
"If we get too far ahead, they won't follow. They'll get ahead and then we'll have to worry about them getting the drop on us."
He couldn't fault her argument.
The plan, hastily put together, had flaws. They didn't know where they were going to hold up, yet. They didn't know how they were going to get the Blades to follow them into the trap. He didn't know how he was going to manage to think when every other thought brought him back around to going to Denden and following the mellow tones in his mind toward the woman he saw over and over again.
"What do you think has been done to you?"
Her interest had to be academic. She wouldn't help.
"Kendrick, the Voice of the Empire, is a magician."
"What?" The near shriek of her voice got one of her bodyguards to slow down and look around for a fight.
"He is."
"How do you know?"
"He did something to me. He wanted to take on the Immortal and she was too strong for him, I think."
Of course Warden didn't know what was going on between Kendrick and the Immortal. He knew the man used him to fight his battle for him and Warden failed setting out a string of problems he didn't know how to deal with.
Versa's screaming in the fire came back to him in a rush reminding him of a world full of oily smoke. It did not frighten him, but it brought him pause. Kendrick did something to her as well. Her voice gone until those moments when she died.
The horses continued on without urging and Warden was thankful for that. He didn't have to lead the animal, but only allow it to keep going. It followed Helenia's beast and they continued north.
"What's the best stop along the route to set up our bearings?"
"The Plasus Cave." It was a cave in the middle of a lake, a spot often spoken of as powerful for its connection to the stories of the world. "Easy source of water. Close enough to civilization to keep them from thinking we're setting too much of a trap, but far enough away that if it turns into a blood bath we won't have to fight to hide the bodies."
The plan still had a flaw, a big one. How were they going to get enough of the Glass Blades in one place without putting their lives in great, great danger?
They needed a bigger draw than even him perhaps. A bit of a blow to the ego, but in the end Warden kept his mind close to him. It helped him fight the outside urge to do something stupid, like go back to the coast. Find the woman. Find her. It descended on him like a silver pall.
He pitched forward again across the horse's neck.
Again she touched him, drawing him back up to sitting.
"You look done in."
"I have to fight it," he said with a quick toss of his head to get his rapidly growing hair out of his eyes. "Whatever has been done to me, I can't let it win. I won't."
A guard rode up close and Warden eyed him with suspicion. Helenia beckoned the man close enough to whisper and then shook her head.
"He's reminding me of what happened when we came this way last," she said in response to Warden's look. "Arathum has been keeping close eye on everything in the region with the Immortal's impostor ranging around. We have to be careful they don't try to search us."
Helenia didn't look anything like Jalcina, but that meant nothing when one searched for problems. Ambitious officials often saw whatever they wanted to see, if it would work to their ends. Warden did not intend to be anyone's trophy. He'd suffered enough getting away from the city. He wouldn't go back for any reason, even if it meant killing everyone he encountered.
Yes, Helenia included.
He didn't doubt she would turn him in immediately if it suited her ends. Bait or no bait. He served her purposes or he would be sold as meat for the butcher. With honesty, he was a little comforted by that thought. It meant loyalty was not the currency of the moment. She wouldn't pretend to care.
Good.
"I'm going to need some way to hide."
"I don't know if we're going to be able to do that. Other than perhaps putting you in a saddlebag."
Even if he considered entertaining the idea, he would never fit.
"What choice do we have otherwise?" he asked.
"None. Either we avoid them and run the risk of looking like criminals. Or we don't and we run the risk of you getting caught and dragged back to be put on a pyre for truth."
He had come far too close to being burned alive to want to risk it again.
"How far out of the way do you think we need to go?"
"If we veer west now, we might be able to get around them without contact, but there are no promises."
He expected none.
"Then we are going to have to do that. Kendrick wants my head on a plate. I would prefer not to give it to him."
With a predatory smile, Helenia said, "What if I want to give it to him?"
"Then you might want to come and take it before I get away." He kicked his horse into a gallop, barely staying astride, and turned the creature west. Like a flock of birds, the others turned with them as Helenia corrected for his departure.
They rode harder now, the day drawing longer behind them.
Warden wanted to feel like himself again and the constant see-sawing of the horse made him want to throw up.
They reached a place to camp, little more than a hollow depression in the ground surrounded by rocks placed there by previous campers to keep the fires in, well before dark. Warden was glad for the reprieve, his body ached with every motion. His muscles stretched thick and wooden over his fraigle seeming bones. How long had it been since he allowed himself to be this weak?
He collapsed onto the ground beside the center of the fire pit and pressed his head in his hands.
"What can we do about you?" Helenia stood over him with her arms crossed over her ample chest. Her presence brought him something akin to comfort, but he didn't even try to place it. Instead, he sat back and looked up at the sky avoiding seeing her at all.
"Are you going to die?"
If he did, would she mourn him? Would Jalcina know? Or Leviana or whoever it was holding him against his will? Maybe. Maybe not. Pressing his f
ingers to his eyes, he thought a moment about clawing them out, just dragging them out like they were not his eyes at all.
"No," he said. He wasn't going to die. He would fight, just as he always had. When the world sought his life, he kept it tighter, fighting for every scrap of anything he had. He flirted with starving, but never had, though he knew the feel of it like an ancient unwanted caress. It stroked over his skin and offered him memories of what it was like to be so thin he could feel every bone stretching him.
"Then what?" she asked.
"I need a wise woman," he said. The sharp kick to his side told him his words were not welcome. "I didn't mean like that."
"I understood you."
"Then why?"
"Because you're a fool," she said. "If I can find you a wise woman, how will that help you?"
"I don't know. I don't know how this was done or how to fix it. I only know I need someone who is beyond me to do it and that means someone who has at least some passing familiarity with magic."
"You're asking for much."
"I'm asking you to help me survive until I can do what you want."
Her silent response did not chastise him.
"Helenia-Kel, please."
He deigned to use that word with her only because she understood what it meant. It meant his pride had taken all the battering it could stand and he wouldn't allow it to be the reason he died.
"I'll find a way to keep you from dying." He felt each of her steps as she walked away and left him to his thoughts. Warden knew he asked for too much when she could just as easily hang his broken carcass at the side of the road as she could help him, but he hoped, nay prayed, she would give him the dignity of not doing that.
Her retinue ranged near enough he saw them when he looked, but far enough away he didn't recognize any faces. He didn't expect to. Helenia kept her own secrets and those who learned them didn't always survive long. It also meant she didn't keep a steady group, she used mercenaries. Always claimed it was cleaner.
The ugly thought was she needed a steady supply of different men to keep her satisfied. In all their time together, he'd never asked her, that would be rude. He didn't need to be rude to her to get her to leave him alone. The easy route was to open his mouth and push her away.
The softness of the ground lulled him to what might have been sleep if he didn't feel as if there was something standing on his chest. Old stories said the dead could come and suffocate you for failing to care for them. Once there had been an entire battlefield found that way, or so the legend went. Warden rarely put stock in such stories. However, with his eyes closed and the feeling of a mill stone grinding into his bones, he had to wonder how true it was.
You're not going to make it. A voice he didn't expect to hear again. The dragon left him ages ago in the temple at the base of Backaran where the world came to an end. Except there it was, in his head, chiding him.
Not going to make what?
Silence in response.
Silence going on forever as he gasped for air denied.
Their last encounter the dragon told him he would have to fight to survive. That the Black King would come and take away all that he was if he didn't stand and fight it. He would be consumed and it would no longer matter who he was or what he did because he would be someone else.
Above him the world passed into indigos and loose gold of a night full of stars but no moon. Nearby, Helenia watched, her weapons close by, casting glances at him and over his still form.
He opened his eyes to an empty world surrounded by an ephemeral being as real as the suffocating smoke from his expected funeral pyre. Red of blood rubies stared into him from above a maw full of serrated teeth. He knew that form, had been that form. It surrounded him and filled him with strength.
The urge to go to the coast battered at the combined strength of them and found itself wanting. Warden couldn't have been more glad for the reprieve.
Tell me what you know.
The story is in the bones of the world, it said. You are almost ready to know. Soon she will know also.
She, the girl, the Immortal, his consort or was he hers?
In his captivity, he tried to groan and the sound came out choked.
The bones of the world. He had thought of the base of Backaran as the place where the world ended.
The absence of the dragon from his consciousness felt like the sudden rush of hitting ground flat on his back. He sat up with a start and stared at the horizon already dark around him. The soft scrap of metal on metal told him someone sharpened weapons nearby. How long had it been since he did something so simple? He brought his hands to his face and concentrated on making each finger flex all the way out and back before turning them into claws with nubbed points.
The story was in the bones of the world. He had to find it.
The sudden hand on his shoulder sent him spinning in the dirt to put distance between him and the surprise, an old reaction too slow for its good. Helenia stooped where he had been with a species of smile on her face.
She had gotten the drop on him. He was rusty.
"Bad dream?"
"Maybe."
Straightening himself, he moved to touch her but she batted his hand away.
"Tell me something, Hel?"
"What?"
"Will you hang me out to dry when this is over?"
"Thinking about last time?"
"Yes."
"Maybe."
"Thank you."
One less thing to worry about, he needed to know for certain how he would survive without her because she was going to cut his throat as soon as it was convenient. He thanked her for the clarity with a kiss to the forehead before wrapping up once again and lying back down. They would leave in the morning, traveling all over again. He needed every ounce of strength he had. A few moments later, his rumbling belly reminded him of his last meal, the neigh untouchable food of the dungeon. For a last meal, it made him wish for the pyre.
"Is there anything to eat?"
"The men ate hours ago, while you slept. Perhaps you should see if there is something left."
He didn't get up. It would wait until morning. Warden closed his eyes. Sleep did not wait.
Helenia let her eyes rest on him. Warden had changed again. Did she expect any less from someone who made his living surviving against odds meant to put a man in the grave? It brought another smile to her lips. They hadn't been good together, nothing would make her believe that. His blatant question regarding her choices brought no surprise. Honesty had never been an issue between them. When she bought his services, she bought them for their going price and the occasional trysts had been a bonus. He must have thought the same as he did return a time or two. Of course, it could also have been because he knew she kept enough weapons with her to insure he would never be unarmed as long as he could get into her presence.
At the end of it though, she knew where she wanted to be, on top. The assassins had not necessarily caused her much anguish, but she saw an opportunity to make a rush for power. Not taking it would be criminal.
Using her ex-lover as bait was, once again, a bonus.
It might be worth it to see if he wanted to go a bit after he'd had a few days to rest up and cool off. Her current man wasn't bad, but he also didn't understand anything about adventure preferring tried, true, and stale. Warden had been willing and sometimes even eager to try.
Chasing the Spire
Jalcina stayed out of sight the first day, but only because she wanted to let those around her think she chose to obey. Mekan needed to believe she wouldn't do anything to cross him. Of course, crossing him might well get her thrown off the ship, but she doubted he would take such a chance now that he had her where he wanted her.
The niggling doubt of him having left the door unlocked needled at her though. If he wanted to keep her captive, he could have. He had the means. Yet he gave her free reign to come and go at her leisure, then asked her not to.
Night came and went
with the slow rocking of the ship upon the waves and after spending so much time on a smaller vessel, Jalcina actually felt at ease.
She laid on the wooden floor with her head pillowed on her arms.
Whatever Wrepta was, Mekan believed in it.
The Kemalan believed in it.
Belief stood stronger than mountains in the eyes of some.
Her father, Lord Mordaen, thought that. He taught her to believe in her own strength as well though.
Lulled by the rhythm of the ship's rocking, Jalcina let the world drift away. The scent of sea wrapped around her like a swaddling blanket.
Morning meant little inside the cabin, except heat. Everything seemed to make the heat worse, until she sweltered and thought she would cook in her own skin. Opening the door for some air, she sat down near it and let the limited view pass before her eyes. The men looked much like the men of Xernia to her, all of them sunned and strong. Beautiful in their own strange way to her with their melodious voices and constant intonations to strange gods. Once or twice she saw Mekan pass by, but he paid the door no mind. If he saw it open, he didn't remark and that was well enough. She wasn't sure she wanted to try and keep it closed with the heat so heavy.
The second day, she moved out on the deck before daylight. High above, hidden against the mast, a man watched the far-off looking for signs of a storm to come. As if they could stand against it if it did.
It was on the second day she glimpsed the Crystal Spire jutting from the waves. She expected it to be white, but in the early morning ruddy light it spit bright shards of red across the water. Even from a distance, she imagined it towering like a mountain over all around it surrounded by a froth of waves. Standing transfixed by it, she didn't hear Mekan come up behind her.
"You should not be out here," he said.
Jalcina did nothing to defend, but stuck her chin out and waited for him to say more. When he didn't, she stalked back to her makeshift cell and shut the door firmly behind her. If he wanted to talk to her, he could come in, but she doubted he would. She did as he asked, she vacated the deck.
A few minutes later, he did knock on the door and admitted himself without fanfare.
Ruins of Fate Page 13