Fiz hummed as he rode at the head of the group on his massive stallion, which looked more suited to hauling wagons than carrying riders. Kres soon picked up the refrain, his confident tenor ringing out across the plains. Even Gull hummed along, a bit tuneless but still cheery. Siv grinned. Despite the fact that he was figuring out how to escape from them without getting killed, Siv was starting to like these people. It probably had something to do with them rescuing him from a far less-pleasant bunch of traveling companions.
He fell back to where Latch trailed behind the others. Siv had tried to make friends with everyone on the team in an effort to prove he wasn’t a spy, but if anything, Latch had cooled toward him throughout the journey. He got particularly grumpy whenever Siv practiced swordplay with Gull. It didn’t matter whether he used a rapier or a saber. Latch did not like that there was another skilled duelist among them now.
But damned if Siv was going to let the surly Soolen get the better of him. If he was going to survive long enough to make it home, he couldn’t pick up any new enemies. Firelord knew he had enough of those already.
“He sounds like a burrlinbat when he sings that song,” Siv said, putting on his friendliest grin and nodding at Fiz up ahead. “Have you ever heard—?”
“I don’t care,” Latch said through gritted teeth.
“Just making conversation,” Siv said.
Latch rolled his eyes. “I’ve never heard a burrlinbat.”
“How about a bullshell?” Siv said. “I hear they make a pretty powerful noise. They live on the Soolen—”
“I know where they live.”
“Ever seen one?”
Latch gave him a flat look. Then he sighed. “Once.”
“Was it as big as Byrd Brelling says in his Soolen travel journals?” Siv brought his horse closer to Latch’s, unable to hide his excitement. “He writes that if you find an empty shell, there’s enough room for ten men to camp inside.”
“Brelling exaggerates,” Latch said. “You’d be hard-pressed to fit the five of us inside an empty bullshell.”
“Really? But Fiz is as big as two men. You reckon you could fit six normal folks inside in a pinch?”
“Sure. Six.” Latch looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Was that curiosity? That could be a good sign. “You ever read about Brelling’s visit to Cindral Forest?”
“That was my favorite,” Siv said. “That’s where I first read about gorlions and—”
He froze as Latch whipped out his rapier and laid it across his throat so fast it could have been a Fire Blade.
“Easy there,” Siv said. The tip of the blade was cold against his skin. They had dropped back far enough that none of the others would be able to do anything before Latch rammed the tip through his neck. None of them looked back or noticed Siv’s plight anyway.
“You’ve read Brelling’s travel journals,” Latch said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Yes.” Siv gulped, his throat bobbing against steel. “No one’s ever drawn a blade on me because of my preferred reading material before.”
“You read a lot?” Latch said softly, pressing his sword harder against Siv’s neck.
“Yes . . .” Siv had no idea where this was going.
“You don’t seem to know how rare and expensive Brelling’s travel journals are,” Latch said. “They’re too pricy for your average Truren wine merchant to afford one, much less enough of them to have a favorite.”
“I didn’t own them,” Siv began, thinking fast. “I once met a—”
“Save it,” Latch said. “Who are you really?”
“I’m a wine—”
“I know a lord’s manners when I see them. And I know those Soolens didn’t kidnap you by chance. I thought you were a spy, but spies aren’t any richer than wine merchants.”
Siv cast about for a way to salvage his story. He couldn’t tell the truth, naturally. He may be getting along with the others, but they wouldn’t bat an eyelash if Latch killed him. He wished people would stop pulling swords on him, even if it was just because of his reading habits. Come to think of it . . .
“How do you know about Brelling’s journals?” Siv said. “You said Brelling exaggerates. You’ve read them too, haven’t you?”
Latch’s face twitched, and that was answer enough.
“You’re some kind of secret lordling, too, aren’t you?” Siv said. It may not be the best idea to annoy Latch right now, but he was short on options. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that no one uses your surname. And your dueling style is remarkably refined for a pen fighter. I’d say you’ve at least worked with a Vertigonian coach. Those don’t come cheap either.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Latch demanded. And he looked genuinely scared for the first time. Interesting. “What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything,” Siv said. “I’m not a spy, and I’m not here for you.”
Latch frowned, but he didn’t remove his sword from Siv’s neck.
“Can we agree to keep our own secrets?” Siv said.
Latch didn’t answer. A bead of sweat slid down Siv’s face and into his scruffy beard. He did not like having a sword at his throat one bit. That never happened to him back when he was king. Well, almost never.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “I swear it.”
At last, Latch relaxed and withdrew his sword.
“Thank you.” Siv resisted the urge to rub his neck. “I don’t think Kres would be too happy about having to find yet another knife fighter.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Latch spat a curse at him and heeled his horse forward again. Right. He’d been close to Shreya, the knife fighter who was killed before Siv joined them. He sighed. So much for bonding with Latch over their shared reading interests and secret noble pasts.
Still, he wondered if the rest of the squad knew about Latch. Were they hiding him from some sort of trouble? Was that why they’d been so determined to keep Siv lest he give them away? Was it possible Latch had even more people after him than Siv himself? He would keep Latch’s secret, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to find out more.
He could only hope it all had nothing to do with him.
25.
Shadow
DARA clutched the hilt of her Savven blade. It kept her hands warm, and its solid weight at her hip was reassuring. She turned in her saddle to scan the road behind them for the hundredth time that day.
They were being followed. She’d been sure of it for a while now. She had expected to be attacked after they bypassed Roan Town. Yen must have reported their departure to his mysterious sandy-haired friend. He must have disclosed everything he knew about them.
They had ridden late into the night, and when they finally made camp, she’d spent sleepless hours waiting for dawn, hands tight on her sword, expecting an assault at any moment. Vine had slept soundly after her hard day of meditation, trusting Dara to keep them alive until morning. An attack didn’t come that night, nor the one after it. But they had a shadow. The wraithlike presence never got too close, but it was always there.
They were still traveling on the Ridge Road, which ran alongside the Linden Mountains until it reached the High Road to the west. The Ridge Road meandered through groves of bare-branched linden trees, slowly drifting closer to the foothills. Unlike on the plains, the hills and trees provided ample hiding places for their shadow.
Dara felt on edge. She wanted whoever was behind them to attack already. At least then she could do something about it.
Vine showed no signs of concern. Ever since she picked up a hint of Siv in the Air, she’d been following it like a hound. Her confidence had returned with interest, and she seemed certain they were going the right way. Rumy charged onward as eagerly as Vine, as if he too could smell Siv on the breeze. Dara was the only one who still worried.
“Why aren’t they attacking?” Dara said—not for the first time.
“I expect they want us to lead them to King Siv,” Vine sai
d.
“And then what?”
“Who knows?” Vine tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m sure plenty of unsavory people would pay for knowledge of his whereabouts, including your parents.”
“Do you . . .” Dara swallowed. “Do you think we should draw them in another direction? They must not have the Air Sense, or they wouldn’t need us.”
“That is a reasonable guess,” Vine said. “It’s your decision, Dara.”
Dara frowned and looked back at the empty road again. She had been considering that possibility for days. According to the clues in the wind, Siv had traveled overland at an angle toward the High Road, whereas Dara and Vine were riding due west. They moved quickly, but Siv was making good time too. It would be a race to get to him before he reached Kurn Pass, if that was where his captors were taking him. Vine had reported that she sensed pain and struggle in the Air—sometimes multiple times a day. Whoever had Siv, they were hurting him regularly.
Those hints of pain were enough to make Dara abandon the idea of guiding their shadow off on a false trail. Whoever was following them to Siv might not be as bad as the people who had him right now.
Movement flickered at the edge of her vision, and she whirled in her saddle. The road was still empty, but she’d had enough. She wasn’t going to lead anyone to Siv. It was time to end this.
“Rumy,” she called. “Come here, boy.”
The cur-dragon banked sharply and glided down toward her. She’d sent him to try to get a glimpse of their pursuer more than once over the past few days, but he hadn’t had any luck yet.
Rumy came in for a landing, startling up a puff of dust. Storm shifted nervously. Their steeds had gotten used to the cur-dragon, but it still unsettled them when he soared down, wings flaring, and landed close by.
Dara slid off her horse’s back and knelt beside Rumy.
“I need you to give me some Fire, boy,” she said.
Rumy snorted and looked up at her in surprise. She had only tried to Work with the residual Fire in his flame once since that day on the mountain path. She worried that if she started using the Fire again, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She missed the sensation of heat beneath her skin almost as much as she missed the sound of Siv’s laugh. Yen had said time and distance would help. Even though she was fairly certain Yen had sold them out, he was probably right about that. But she couldn’t sit here and let some unknown enemy follow them straight to Siv while she still had this tool at her disposal.
Dara readied herself for the blast as Rumy reared back on his hind legs. She was a little out of practice in Working. How long had it been since they left Vertigon? Four weeks? She wondered what was happening up there. Was Sora still sitting on the throne as a puppet, dancing to Dara’s father’s wishes? Or had he decided there’d been enough time for the transition? Dara shook off the thought of her father, trying to focus on the task at hand.
Rumy blew out a jet of flame, and Dara stuck her hands into it all the way up to her elbows. The heat of the dragon fire warmed her, but it was nothing like the Fire that mixed with Rumy’s flame in little spurts. It could be her imagination, but there seemed to be more Fire there than last time. Dara clutched at the spurts, soaking them up like a sponge.
She lost all awareness of the world around her as the Fire seeped into her skin and coursed through her veins. The rush was incredible, even in this small quantity. She had missed this. It was raw power. Pure. Blazing. Indestructible. The Fire from Rumy’s flame was somehow wilder and more difficult to control than the molten power flowing from Vertigon Mountain, but she welcomed it, burning feral beneath her skin.
A gust of wind buffeted her face, sharp and cold, drawing her attention back to the dusty road. Rumy’s flame had started to weaken.
“That’s enough,” Dara said. “Thanks, boy.”
She wrapped her hands around her Savven blade to help her focus. It was still easier for her to control the Fire when touching steel. The Work she was about to attempt was a delicate thing. Rumy lay down on the ground, winded from expelling so much flame. She would only have one chance to get this right.
She eased the Fire out of her skin, letting it pool in her hands. They were the only travelers on the road here, but she scanned their surroundings once more in case the searing light drew unwanted attention. Then she closed her eyes and reached out with her senses.
She’d been thinking a lot about Vine’s Air Sense on their journey. Vine had felt something when she neared the pool of Fire collecting in the secret cavern on Square Peak, even though she had no Firespark. And Dara had been sure she felt something of the Air once, some sense of Siv on the wind. At the time she had brushed it off, assuming it was her own desire to find him playing tricks on her mind.
But what if there was a connection? What if having the Firespark gave her the ability, however limited, to make use of the Air magic that flowed freely on the plains of Trure? Zage Lorrid had once said the Fire was the raw material, but the magic within her was something else, something distinct. How much could she do with it?
She closed her eyes and let the breeze caress her skin, feeling for some hint, some presence. She was aware of Vine and Rumy and the horses beside her. She smelled the horseflesh, the leathery saddles, the dry aroma of dead linden leaves. She heard the rustling, sighing, ever-present wind.
She reached further, trying to grasp onto something just beyond the edge of her senses. She groped blindly, as if she were feeling for residual Fire. She tried to leave herself open to all sensations, hopeful she might feel something through the Air even if she couldn’t bend it to her will. Please let this work.
Then she felt it. A flicker. A shadow. A hint of nuisance.
She struck.
The Fire she’d gathered shot away from her like an arrow. Thin spirals of power snaked into the shadows behind them. She’d practiced the action before, but she’d never relied on blind feeling to guide its trajectory. She felt the stream of Fire bend and coil, following the hints from the Air. It was like the sensation on her scalp when she curled her hair around her finger, a mere hint of movement.
A gasp came from deep in the trees, followed by a muffled curse.
“Got you,” Dara said.
“What are you doing back there?” Vine asked. Intent on her own senses, she hadn’t noticed what her companions were doing.
“I caught our shadow,” Dara said. “Let’s see who we’re dealing with.”
She left her horse with Vine and backtracked, following the pull of the Fire she’d sent blindly into the trees. The dry leaves crunched beneath her boots as she pushed through the dense grove. A few dozens yards off the road, she found the Fire, Worked into shackles and holding a prisoner tight.
It was a man, though not the sandy-haired Rollendar lord she had expected. This fellow was younger, probably no more than twenty-five. He wore rough clothes in the Truren country style, and he had tanned, freckled skin and light-brown hair. He stood utterly still, staring at the shackles of Fire as if they were live vipers.
“Who are you?” Dara demanded. She drew her sword, but she didn’t threaten him with it directly. The Fire ought to scare him enough.
“Let me go,” the man wheezed. “Are you one of them Air Witches?” He had a coarse voice, and Dara got the impression that he was farmer, a country boy. Could he be here by chance?
“Why are you following us?”
“I ain’t following you.”
“You are,” Dara said. “You have been since Roan Town.”
“Let me out of these blasted things,” the man repeated.
“I don’t think so,” Dara said. “Who hired you?”
“Release me, Air Witch.”
“Does that look like Air to you?” Dara took a few steps closer to her prisoner, adopting a menacing tone. “Fire is a lot more dangerous than Air.”
“Now, Dara, that is debatable,” Vine said, pushing through the trees to join them, both horses in tow. “Air can surprise you, and I dares
ay it can be just as lethal as Fire with the right technique.”
“Tell her to let me go,” the man said desperately, turning to Vine as much as he could without brushing against the Fire that held him. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he looked on the verge of panic.
“Dara doesn’t respond well to commands,” Vine said. “It’s a rather endearing quality, I find.” She walked in a wide circle around their prisoner, stepping lightly over the brush and fallen tree branches. “Now then, you aren’t what I was expecting,” she said. “Are you a local?”
“I’m Truren, if that’s what you mean,” the man said. “I ain’t answering any more questions until you free me.”
“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be wise,” Vine said.
“Tell us who hired you,” Dara said.
“I work on a farm near Roan Town.” The light from the Fire made his eyes glow as he stared at his shackles. He tore his gaze away and looked pleadingly at Vine, perhaps thinking her a more-likely ally than Dara. “Farmer Wells hired me to care for the horses is all.”
“We’re pretty far from Roan Town,” Dara said.
“Dara is right,” Vine said. “And you’ve been following us rather closely for several days.”
Dara looked up. “You sensed him?”
“I didn’t think him worthy of concern,” Vine said. “We are on a tight schedule.”
“Wait a minute,” the man said. “You’re an Air Witch too? They didn’t tell me . . . oh, I never should have left the farm. That’s what I get for talking to strangers. Farmer Wells ain’t that bad.”
“Ah,” Vine said pleasantly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Dara? I don’t believe this man will hurt us. Perhaps you could make him more comfortable?”
steel and fire 03 - dance of steel Page 24