“I do,” she said, unable to look away, even though she should—before she did something foolish. She pressed her lips together as the temptation to tell him the truth rose up even stronger inside her.
Corwin broke the connection first. “Good. Be careful tomorrow,” he said, and then he disappeared behind the rock.
Regret pricked at her. What a hypocrite she was. How could he not misjudge her when she’d been lying to him for years, keeping her secret? She used to think it was harmless, for his own good, but now she wondered if she hadn’t created the problems between them by her deception, as if by holding herself back she had ensured that they would never truly stand on the same ground. Or maybe the gods were just punishing her for the lie. In the end, neither possibility brought her any comfort.
Kate was distracted the next morning when she rode out ahead of the caravan, her thoughts still on Corwin and their exchange the night before. She believed his apology, but it didn’t change things, as much as she might want it to. He was still the high prince and she the traitor’s daughter.
The wilder.
Should I tell him? Is Raith right? Will it make a difference?
She didn’t know, and she couldn’t stop the questions from cycling through her head. Not until Firedancer gave a sudden spook, nearly jarring her out the saddle. She gasped, heart racing. Then, recovering quickly, she glanced around, looking for the source of the noise that had so startled her horse, only to find nothing.
For Shades’ sake, Kate, what’s wrong with you? She forced thoughts of Corwin from her mind and reached out with her magic. Something must’ve caused the noise, a falling rock perhaps. Only what had made it fall? She swept for the presence of someone else, either human or animal, but found nothing. Perhaps it was the wind. Even now it moaned high above the cliffs that rose up on either side of her.
At least the shock had put her mind back on the task at hand: finding the drakes and their handlers. Urging Firedancer forward, Kate stretched out with her magic again, doing it in sweeps, to the front, the sides, even behind, where she could just make out Corwin and the others.
There were few animals around—a mountain cat, some squirrels, and birds, of course. But nothing else. Not for nearly twenty minutes as she rode along, keeping Firedancer at a walk. Then finally, she sensed it: that oily, multiple-minded presence just ahead. But—it was impossible. There was nowhere for the drakes to be. Nothing but cliff face on both sides and an empty path stretching straight onward. Even still, she slowed Firedancer to a halting walk, her magic telling her one thing and her eyes telling her something else.
When she drew parallel with the drakes, her magic unequivocal, Kate reined Firedancer to a halt. She craned her head back, trying to see if they were above, or if they might be on the other side of the cliff, in a different pass. Yet she couldn’t see how. This was the only path. All the maps said so. She scanned the left wall, searching the cliff face for some explanation of why she could sense them there.
Then she saw the line running down the height of the rock wall, far too straight and precise to be natural. Dismounting, she gave Firedancer a command to stay put. Then she approached the cliff, stretching her hand out toward the line. When her fingers should’ve met stone, all she felt was air. It’s an illusion, Kate realized, her eyes finally making out the lie. There was a passageway hidden here, easily large enough for a horse—or a drake—to pass through.
Pulling out the revolver from the holster at her side, she stepped into the opening. Her heartbeat quickened with each footfall, the drake presence growing stronger. Seeing the end of the passage ahead, she stopped, aware of the mistake she was making. It wasn’t the drakes she was after but the people controlling them. She’d let them distract her with their multiple-minded presence. Pulling away from them, Kate closed her eyes and raised the tenor of her magic, attuning it to that higher, human plane.
Nothing. All she could sense was the distant minds in the caravan. Guessing the drakes must be caged here, as they’d been in the Wandering Woods, she steeled her courage and rounded the corner.
Her breath caught in her throat, awestruck fear rising up in her. Ahead more than fifty daydrakes were crammed into a small gorge cut into the cliffs. There was nothing visibly restraining them, but even when they caught her scent, they didn’t move toward her. Something held them caged in the gorge, which wasn’t a natural formation but a perfect circle as precise as a bullet in shape. Only wilder magic could’ve carved it.
Needing to warn the others, Kate turned around but froze at the sight of a man blocking the path. Short and slight, hardly bigger than herself, he carried a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other. Around his throat shone a black magestone, the magic pulsating dully.
Kate raised her hands in surrender, but the man aimed his pistol, his intent clear. Knowing she had no chance of avoiding the shot at this close range, she seized the only weapon left to her and turned her magic on him. She entered his mind easily, but a moment later, she felt her consciousness flung from his thoughts. She stared at him, dazedly, realizing he had the gift of sway, too.
“Nice try, my little wilder girl,” the man said, and she recognized the slight lilt to his words—he was a native of Penlocke, the port city south of Norgard. “But your skill ain’t close to as strong as mine.”
Maybe not, Kate thought, but I’ve more than one trick to play. Kate called to Firedancer with her magic, urging the horse into a run as she coaxed her into the hidden passageway. The man pulled back the hammer, ready to fire, but he swung around at the sound of hoofbeats. Kate couldn’t use the revolver, afraid of hitting the horse, and so as Firedancer came charging toward them, she pulled a flash stone from her pocket and flung it at the man. The stone exploded in a bright burst, the effect of the magic not affecting her, the one who cast the spell.
The man jumped in alarm, pulling the trigger by accident, but he didn’t fall. He wasn’t even blinded. Somehow he was shielded from the flash stone’s magic. As he turned back to her, Kate saw that the magestone around his throat glowed brighter now. She suddenly remembered what Raith had said—how magics met directly will cancel each other out.
With his only bullet now wasted, the man dropped the pistol and raised his sword. Kate urged Firedancer to safety, quelling the mare’s panic over the flash stone’s effects, while she raised her revolver. Not wanting to kill the man, she aimed for his shoulder and fired. The bullet flew true, and the man dropped the sword as the shot severed his grip. He shrieked in pain, rage flashing in his eyes.
When he lunged for her, Kate fired again. The bullet struck him in the side, but he had too much momentum. He barreled into her, knocking her to the ground. The revolver fell out of her hand and went off, discharging another shot into the air.
The man’s body pressed down on Kate, and she felt the hot stickiness of his blood pooling over her from the wounds in his side and shoulder. He would bleed out soon, but somehow he still had strength enough to wrap his uninjured hand around her throat. Kate tried to pry him off but couldn’t. Panic began to roar inside her, driving away her ability to think. Desperately, she reached for the magestone around his neck and began to twist, hoping to choke him. Terror filled his gaze as he struggled to pull her off. She sensed his emotions now, rage and pain like a tempest inside him.
Aware that he was weakening, Kate focused the strength of her magic and screamed into his mind, Get off me!
He froze, his fingers slackening. It was the moment she needed to free herself enough to reach the gun. But the man recovered all too soon, pushing her out of his mind as he grabbed for the gun as well. They struggled, hands grasping for control of the weapon. It went off with a bang so loud Kate felt it in her teeth. By pure chance, the bullet struck his throat, and blood began to gush from the wound like water from a pump.
He was dying fast—and taking his secrets with him. Desperately, Kate plunged into his thoughts, fighting off the horror of what she was doing. Images flooded her mind, faces
of loved ones, regrets, and a terrible soul-deep fear of what was happening to him, his inability to stay when he could feel the life leaving him. Through it all though, she managed to glean a recurring memory at the front of his mind: that he had been arrested by the Inquisition for being a wilder.
And then he was slipping away. . . .
With a cry, Kate pulled back from his thoughts, terrified of what she would feel when the last of his life fled his body. She scrambled out from underneath the dead man and rolled onto her stomach, ready to be sick, then froze in terror at the sight of the drakes moving toward her.
They were free. The man must’ve been controlling them, and now he was dead, his magic broken.
Lurching to her feet, Kate called for Firedancer. She leaped into the saddle, and they raced through the passageway back to the main pass. The drakes surged behind them, their screeching wails loud as rolling thunder.
Kate still had the revolver, two bullets left in the cylinder, but it wouldn’t matter against fifty drakes. She pulled a handful of flash stones out of the pouch on her saddle and flung them behind her, slowing down the first wave of drakes, but the second kept coming. They would be on them soon. Firedancer was galloping, hooves slipping on the loose rocks, but they couldn’t slow down. Kate needed to warn the others.
Reaching out with her magic, she searched for Raith but couldn’t distinguish him among so many, not over such a distance. It didn’t matter though. Their thoughts buzzed with alarm, and she guessed they’d heard the gunfire. Wanting to be sure, Kate raised the pistol overhead and fired off the last two shots. Then she holstered the gun and pulled out the shield stone, activating it with a single word.
She saw the shimmer of magic spread around her, but doubted it would hold against so many drakes. She had to find a way to slow them down before they overtook her. If she could reach the caravan, she would be safe behind the ward. Then the answer came to her—one so simple she’d overlooked it. Her magic. If that other wilder could hold them, so could she. Somehow. But there were so many. More than she had ever tried to control before.
Shoving the doubt away, she focused on the drakes nearest. If she could get them to slow, there might be a ripple effect. She could clog the pass with drakes piling up on one another, maybe even force them to start attacking each other. Grasping hold of those oily, multiple minds, she sent out the command.
Something strange happened. The drakes obeyed her will, but it wasn’t only the ones she touched. She sensed her command echoing over and over again, spreading through the minds of the other drakes like an infection. Stunned, she realized she didn’t have to control them all. If she could reach one, the rest would follow, their will bound together.
A thrill of victory went through Kate. She could end the threat right here, with a single thought. But then the complication of the situation struck her. She couldn’t do that and still keep her secret.
Seeing no other choice, Kate decided to make a ruse of it, a performance with the daydrakes as the actors. She formed the behavior she wanted from them in her mind and sent it out as a command. The drakes sensed and obeyed, the pack racing after her but not attacking, just flashing their fangs and claws, screaming their wails. Their poor, dumb collective minds couldn’t sense the trap waiting for them, didn’t know that the force guiding them was leading them to their deaths.
But the moment Kate charged to safety past the waiting caravan, Corwin and the others opened fire, and one by one the daydrakes fell, unwilling sacrifices on the altar.
27
Corwin
CORWIN SURVEYED THE CARNAGE. FIFTY dead drakes. He should’ve been pleased, but disappointment plagued him. The drakes were dead, not a hint of them anywhere else in the pass. Their handler was dead as well, leaving few clues about who he had been and no hints at all about his service to the Rising.
“You’re sure he was from Penlocke?” Corwin asked Kate when she led them to the strange, circular gorge where the daydrakes had been caged.
“Yes,” she said, arms wrapped around her waist. Although dirty and bloodstained, she appeared otherwise unharmed.
Even now, Corwin could barely contain his relief. When he first heard those gunshots, he felt his heart seize in his chest, fearing the worst. He’d lain awake all last night, regretting the things that had come between them. That he’d let come between them. And wishing for some way to make it right. There had to be one, even though he still couldn’t see it. But at least she lived and there would be time. He clung to that hope.
Raith was stooped over the man, searching his body for distinguishing marks. They’d stripped him naked but found nothing so far. Not so much as a scar or an unusual mole. It seemed impossible that they would ever find out who he was among the vast citizenship of Penlocke.
A moment later though, Raith stood up, nodding. “This man has been treated by the green robes for an illness sometime within the last year.”
Corwin frowned. “How can you tell?”
Stooping over the body again, Raith motioned for Corwin to join him. “Do you see these fine white lines?”
Corwin focused his gaze where Raith pointed, but it took him a while to make out the blemishes on the man’s skin, as fine as a spider’s webbing. “Barely. What are they?”
“The result of a drawing spell, the kind used to purge the body of poison and certain diseases.”
“Interesting, I suppose, but I don’t see how it will help us.” Corwin stood again, hands on hips.
Raith rose as well. “The greens keep records of everyone they treat. It’s possible I might learn his name from them. Once we are done with our business at Thornewall, I will travel to Penlocke to find out more.”
Corwin thought about the golds’ denial of ever having caught Ralph Marcel. Perhaps Raith would have better luck with the greens. “Please leave as soon as you’re ready. We have more than enough magists with us now that the daydrakes are dead.”
“Thank you, your highness.” Raith glanced at Kate, and Corwin braced for him to say Kate would be coming with him. Corwin had accepted that there was nothing romantic between them, but there was still something between them. But Raith only said, “I will leave tomorrow, once you’ve settled at Thornewall.”
Beneath a gray, twilight-dim sky, they at last arrived at Thornewall Castle. To Corwin’s eyes, however, it was more of a fortress. Like the one at Andreas, the wall here was built into the surrounding cliffs. The stone edifice loomed high above them, impregnable and unwelcoming, while its lower surface bore the scars of claw marks. Several bodies of dead, decaying daydrakes surrounded it, those the freeholding had managed to fell from atop the wall.
The moment the guards on the bailey saw the royal banner, the people inside burst to life, welcoming them in with great pomp and excitement. Baron Thorne greeted Corwin with fumbling relief. He kept bowing and thanking him for their rescue, all the while ignoring his youngest son. Worse still was the way the baron hardly even reacted to the news that his second-youngest son had perished.
Seeing for himself that the rumors about Dal’s sordid family were true made Corwin feel ill. These people were undeserving of Dal, unworthy of his love and the risk he’d taken coming here to save them. Still, as distasteful as Dal’s parents turned out to be—his mother not much better, although she at least wept at the news of her son’s death—the rest of the people who lived at Thornewall mattered more. Their relief and joy at being rescued made the risk and all the expense worth it.
I should defy the high council more often. It was a dangerous thought, very much like one the Corwin who had once been a captain in the Shieldhawks would’ve had, and yet he couldn’t help smiling to himself.
True to his word, Master Raith left the morning after their arrival, taking two of his blues with him. Corwin and the rest stayed a week. The soldiers helped with the arduous process of burning the bodies of the dead drakes. They also ran sweeps through the pass and surrounding areas, searching for more of the creatures, but not findin
g a single one. It seemed the threat to Thornewall truly was over. Why the freeholding had been targeted in the first place remained a mystery. Corwin could only hope Raith would uncover answers in Penlocke.
On the sixth day of their stay, a caravan from Norgard arrived bearing Dal’s brother, his body already prepared for the holy burning by the priestesses of Noralah. That evening they held the death ceremony, but it was Lady Thorne who lit the pyre instead of her husband as was tradition.
Afterward, Corwin walked along the ramparts of the castle with Dal. Neither spoke for a long time, both lost in their own reflections while a chill, damp breeze blew in their faces.
When they reached the section of wall overlooking the Penlaurel River, they came to a stop and leaned against the edge, peering out at the dark water, the expanse so wide they couldn’t see the far shoreline.
“It’s strange, but Robert and I never got along,” Dal said, breaking the silence at last. “When we were children, we were always forced to do things together because of our closeness in age. I hated it. He used to steal my dessert and break my toys. Yet all I can think of now is how much I’ll miss his irritations.”
Corwin nodded, understanding the sense of loss completely. There were days he missed the way his mother used to scold him nearly as much as he missed the way she would hold him close and stroke his head when he was hurt or scared.
“Of course,” Dal continued, “none of us really got along except for Matthew and Lucas, the eldest brothers.” A bitter laugh escaped Dal’s throat, the wind doing its best to steal the sound away. “But I suppose that makes sense. Can’t have the purebreds mingling with the mongrels.”
Feeling an ache in his chest at his friend’s misery, Corwin searched for something to say but could think of nothing aside from empty platitudes.
Dal brushed hair back from his face, nodding to himself. “It’s the cruelest part of this life, I think, that we don’t get to choose the families and situations we’re born into.”
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