by Tanya Huff
Vree shrugged. “There’s an herbalist just around the corner.”
“I can’t imagine they’d be open at this hour.” Then all at once, Karlene remembered. A locked shop would mean nothing to someone who could commit silent murder in the midst of guards and fortifications. So if an assassin brews you feverfew tea, she wondered, swallowing a sudden flood of saliva, do you worry about poison?
It seemed that Vree read her mind. “Don’t worry about poison. I know herbs. It’s safe.”
Because it was also too late, Karlene relaxed a little as she heard the truth in Vree’s voice. “What about the hot water.”
“Oh, that.” Another shrug and a dismissive flick of a delicately arched brow. “Over the years, I’ve learned to improvise.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Some.”
Lip caught between her teeth, Karlene grabbed the edge of the stall where it had been rubbed smooth by the scratching of a hundred equine itches, and carefully stood, her head balanced like an egg on the column of her neck. “You must be exhausted.”
“No.”
*I wonder why she cares. Do you think she’s interested?*
Vree looked startled, then in one smooth motion rose as well. “I’d better wake Gyhard.”
*You’ve gotta admit she’s a looker—in a pale, northern kind of way.*
*It doesn’t matter if she’s interested or not. Nothing is going to happen, Bannon.* Nothing could happen, not when she couldn’t tell for certain which needs were hers and which were his.
*And if we both need, sister-mine?*
She pretended she didn’t hear him as she shook Gyhard’s shoulder.
After leaving the Healers’ Hall, they’d spent the rest of the night in the stable with their horses. From the sounds in other stalls, it was a common enough occurrence.
“We’ve paid for the space,” Gyhard had explained. “It’s ours to use.”
“His Highness needs us now!” Swaying where she stood, Karlene had tried desperately to concentrate through the pain in her head.
“Unless you’re willing to run alongside, you need a horse.” Gyhard had yawned and settled into a pile of clean straw. “No one’s going to sell us a horse until morning.”
Karlene’s head had ached too badly to argue.
The stablemaster, irritated at being woken before dawn, became obsequiously willing to sell them both horse and tack the moment he caught sight of Aralt’s remaining gold.
“You could’ve had the chestnut for less,” Karlene pointed out, tying a rolled woolen blanket on behind the worn saddle.
Gyhard continued inspecting his gelding’s feet. “I bought the best horse I could afford given our immediate need,” he said. “We won’t be able to change mounts, and I don’t want you slowing us down.”
The bard threw her braid behind her shoulder with some force. “Slowing you down? How fast can dead men travel?”
“Dead men don’t need to eat or sleep or shit.” He straightened and began adjusting the girth. “If K … if he left the Capital right after acquiring the prince, he’s a lot farther than a day’s walk ahead of us—a day and two nights farther.”
“The old man isn’t dead,” Karlene declared.
He should be dead. “And that’s our only hope of catching them. They had to have stopped occasionally for him.”
Her reins in one hand, a half-eaten piece of flatbread in the other, Vree led her horse over to the corner of the stableyard. “It’s a big empire,” she said. “After we go through the East Gate, what then?”
Gyhard turned to stare at her. “What makes you think they left through the East Gate?”
“The old man took at least two bodies out of the tombs along the East Road around the time the air spirits first got upset. Makes sense to assume that’s the way he approached the city and if he’s heading away, it makes sense to assume that’s the road he’ll take. So,” she balanced the flatbread on her saddle and brushed crumbs off her shirtfront, “where do we go after we leave the East Gate? We know he’s gone farther than the tombs because when he was in the tombs the air spirits were frightened and now they aren’t.”
One hand absently stroking his gelding’s neck, Gyhard studied her. “You seem very sure of yourself this morning,” he mused.
“It isn’t you and me this morning,” she told him, picking up the flatbread. “It’s find the prince. I understand how that works.”
“It’ll be you and me again, once the prince is found.”
“I know. But it isn’t now.”
*You and him?* Bannon demanded. *What about me?*
She couldn’t believe that just for a moment, she’d forgotten.
*Yeah, I can’t believe it either,* Bannon snarled.
“We’ll go past the tombs.” Gyhard swung up into the saddle. “Then the bard will Sing, giving us a better idea of the prince’s location and how far they’ve gone.” He glanced down at Karlene. “You will be able to Sing, won’t you?”
“I’ll Sing,” she told him through clenched teeth. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Good.” He smiled. “I won’t.”
Struggling to deal with three kigh in two bodies, Karlene could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck—and wasn’t at all surprised to discover that it hurt. Thanks to the feverfew, she could function, but the continual throbbing at the point where the blunt object had connected with her skull made curiosity painful in spite of everything the healers had done. She had a hundred questions but they’d have to wait.
Concentrate on getting out of the Capital, she told herself sternly. She stiffened her neck to support her pounding head and mounted awkwardly. First, the prince. Nothing could interfere with freeing the prince’s kigh.
But once the prince was…
Was what? she demanded of herself. Safe? He’s dead, Karlene, you didn’t keep him safe. Teeth clenched, she followed Gyhard out of the stableyard. All you can do, is get him back.
* * * *
As they approached the East Gate, guiding the horses around a steady parade of farmers heading to market, Karlene realized they had a problem. Gabris would send the kigh to find her—she’d deal with them—but there were also more mundane methods he could use to discover her direction. If anyone has seen Karlene the bard … Bardic recall could add a full description.… inform the palace immediately. Too late to do anything about the people who’d already seen her this morning but at least she could hide her path out of the city. Given the healer’s warning, she’d hoped to avoid Singing until they got past the tombs, but she had no choice.
Sitting as straight as she was able, she began.
Frowning, Vree reached over and touched the bard lightly on the arm. “Be quiet. You’re too noticeable already.”
“I’m Singing so they won’t notice me,” Karlene explained, allowing the Song to trail off while she spoke. In spite of everything, she smiled at Vree’s expression. “It’s a bardic ability.”
When Gyhard nodded in agreement, Vree rolled her eyes and made sure her daggers were ready and her saddlebags secure in case they had to run for it. Making noise so as not to attract attention made less than no sense.
The guard at the East Gate barely glanced at them as they rode by. Obviously, they were none of them the prince in disguise and neither could he be hidden amongst their small amount of baggage.
*That might be a good trick to learn,* Vree observed as no one noticed the tall, very fair, singing foreigner leave the Capital.
*What trick?*
*Singing so the guards don’t see you.*
*See who?*
*The bard!*
*What bard?*
Teeth clenched, Vree turned her head. *That bard. The one riding beside us.*
*Oh.* Bannon remained quiet for a long moment. *I forgot she was there.*
*Were you listening to her sing?*
*I could hardly help it, could I? They’re your slaughtering ears and she’s right beside you. Now. I mea
n, I guess she always was, but …* His thoughts tumbled over each other in confusion. *Vree, I don’t like this.*
*Don’t worry about it. It seems as though she can only affect one of us at a time. Which is weird.*
*Slaughtering right it is.*
*No, I mean because, well, like you said, they’re my slaughtering ears …*
They rode until they passed the line of tombs, the pale stone gleaming in the morning sun.
“I think it’s time we determine if we’re on the right road,” Gyhard declared, reining in. He glanced back at the small, square buildings lining both sides of the empty road. “For the moment, there’s no one around to overhear.”
Karlene lifted her head, eyes squinted nearly shut against the angle of the light. A strand of pale hair lifted off her cheek as she dismounted and handed the reins up to Vree. Trying to ignore the slivers of pain that radiated out from her temple, she walked up a small rise and Sang the four notes that would call the kigh.
Astounded, Vree gaped as the bard’s clothing billowed in the sudden breeze.
*Do you hear any words?* Bannon asked.
*No.* But she could hear a question. “Is it magic?” she asked Gyhard as Karlene stroked the air and continued to Sing.
Gyhard started. He’d forgotten how achingly pure bardic tones were. Kars had sounded like that once. Dragged back from contemplating the past, he shook his head. “Not exactly.”
“Then what is it?”
“Not magic. She’s merely speaking to the spirits of the air.”
“Merely?” Vree repeated as Karlene’s braid whipped around her head and, flung backward, the bard sat down hard on a small bush.
Handing the reins of both horses to Gyhard, Vree dropped out of the saddle and moved forward cautiously. The air was unnaturally still. Not even her movement stirred a breeze. “Are you all right?” she called softly.
“No worse than I was.” Clasping Vree’s extended hand, Karlene pulled herself to her feet and nearly pitched forward onto her face. She winced as only a quick transfer of grip from hand to elbow kept her standing. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”
*She’s interested.*
*Shut up, Bannon.* “What happened?” Vree asked as they carefully made their way back to the road, the bard’s sandals scuffing a track in the dirt.
“You were right about the East Gate.” She raised her voice to carry as far as Gyhard but no farther. “Because the old man is on the East Road heading away from the Capital.”
Vree helped the taller woman up over the curbstones and back onto the road. “Did the air spirits tell you that?”
“No.” Wrapping both hands around her saddle horn, Karlene rested her forehead against the warm leather. “But they were quite emphatic in their refusal to follow the East Road. The kigh don’t judge distance very well, but if I had to guess, I’d say they went more than a day’s walk before they came back to tell me they were afraid.”
“And he’s at least a day’s walk beyond that,” Gyhard murmured.
“Yeah.” She got her left foot into the stirrup and laboriously lifted herself up onto the big bay. “The chestnut was shorter,” she grumbled under her breath. The moment she had the energy, she’d send a kigh back to Gabris and reassure him that she knew what she was doing. They’d have missed her at the Healers’ Hall by now and sent a messenger to the palace.
“If he’s taking the prince along the road, why hasn’t anyone seen them?” Vree asked as she mounted. “They have to be pretty noticeable.”
“People have seen them,” Gyhard explained, “but the next instant, they deny what they saw. The living can’t, or won’t, acknowledge the living dead and so they look right by.”
Karlene stirred in the saddle. “I didn’t. I looked right at them.” Pain dulled the terror that memory returned.
“You’re a bard.”
Sucking her breath through her teeth, Karlene pushed her horse forward into a walk. “Is the old man heading where you thought he was?” she asked as Gyhard and Vree fell in beside her.
Gyhard stared down the road—as though, Vree thought glancing over at him, he could see the end of it. “So far,” he said, after a long moment.
“But you’re still not certain?”
“It’s been a long time.”
Karlene wondered how long it could possibly have been given his age, but the pounding inside her head suggested she forgo dealing with a young man’s ego. “So all we can do is follow him along the road? Assume he’ll stop sometime and hope we can catch up?”
“For now, yes,” Gyhard nodded, “that’s all we can do.”
She thought of Otavas trapped screaming within his murdered body and slammed her heels into the barrel of her horse. Startled, he leaped forward. She swayed but kept her seat and hung on grimly as he settled into a rocking canter, racing in pursuit of the walking dead.
* * * *
The patterns of light playing against his eyelids woke him, dragging him up out of darkness. Confused and disoriented by the constant motion and the sound of wheels against stone, he tried to remember where he was.
He remembered hearing Karlene sing. He remembered the fight they had. He remembered an alley where the shadows held terror…
Gasping for breath, Prince Otavas opened his eyes.
A very, very old man stared down at him, his expression one of rapt adoration. “Good morning, my heart,” he said pleasantly. “Did you sleep well?”
“Morning?” Otavas struggled up into a sitting position. The old man neither helped nor hindered. He’d been lying on a pallet on the rough plank floor of a high-sided cart, his cloak folded to make a pillow. Facing him, were two young men, their skin a pale greenish-gray, their eyes sunk deep above purple crescents. They looked almost familiar. The prince fought to clear the fog from his head.
… where the shadows held terror.
Heart slamming against his ribs, he threw himself backward, crashing up against the side of the cart. The old man reached out to grab his arm, but he twisted away. On hands and knees, he scrambled for the rear of the cart and tried to throw himself over.
Cold fingers clutched at him and pulled him back.
They were touching him.
He shrieked in disbelief, shuddered once, and darkness claimed him again.
* * * *
Still grieving for her infant grandson, Her Imperial Majesty had taken the abduction of her youngest son very hard. Gabris had spent the night and the early morning at her bedside, playing, singing, giving what comfort he could. When she finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, he told her attendants to send for him when she woke and headed for his own quarters and his own bed.
The messenger from the Healers’ Hall finally reached him as he left the Imperial Apartments. The message from Karlene reached him a few moments later as he hurried across one of the myriad courtyards honeycombing the palace.
I’ve gone after the prince. Ask His Majesty to trust me for just a little while.
Although Gabris Sang question after question at the kigh, he got very little information. Karlene was not alone; there were three people with her. She wasn’t happy. The kigh wouldn’t tell him where she was—had been told not to tell him where she was, and Gabris, even fully rested, no longer had as great a command of the air as the younger bard.
When he reached the bardic suite—having rushed past curious courtiers and servants alike, oblivious to their greetings or stares—he threw open the shutters and stepped out onto the small balcony. He couldn’t tell if the kigh he called was the same kigh Karlene had sent to him or a different one as they all shared identical features. Putting everything he had left into the request, he asked it to find Karlene.
It pushed slender fingers through his hair in a mocking caress and disappeared.
Shkodan bards were allowed into the Havakeen Empire by Imperial indulgence. Although the restrictions holding them within the walls of the Capital had been lifted some years before, they were still requi
red to keep the palace informed of their movements. As senior bard, he should be able to tell His Imperial Majesty, at any time, where Karlene could be found.
When the kigh returned a short while later, his relief lasted less than a dozen heartbeats.
Please, Gabris, don’t try to find me. This is bardic business and has to do with … The translation tattered, but the familiar terror of the kigh came through distressingly clearly. This is His Highness’ only chance to rest.
Gabris staggered back into the suite, sagged down onto the edge of the scribe’s table, and buried his face in his hands. “First, walking dead and now this,” he moaned. Obviously, the blow to the head and the shock of seeing the young prince abducted had somehow gotten mixed up with whatever had been upsetting the kigh over the past…
But the kigh were back. Gabris slowly straightened, eyes widening. So whatever had been upsetting them was gone from the Capital. Gone with the prince?
He had to admit the slim possibility.
But why had Karlene not come to him? Who were these three others the kigh placed her with? There were still too many unanswered questions.
Ask His Majesty to trust me for just a little while.
Putting himself in the place of a man who barely believed in the kigh at all and who needed a certain healthy amount of paranoia in order to maintain the integrity of far-flung borders—putting himself in the Emperor’s place—Gabris could draw only two conclusions.
Either Karlene was involved with Prince Otavas’ abduction and had rushed off to join her accomplices or the blow to the head had completely scrambled her brains and a dangerously powerful crazy woman was now wandering the Empire. Either way, it didn’t look good.
* * * *
“No.” Swaying in the saddle, Karlene fought to pull the reins from Gyhard’s hands, trying desperately to see through the orange and yellow bars of light streaking her vision. “We have to keep going. You said yourself, the dead have no need to rest.”
“The horses do.” Gyhard told her bluntly. “We’ve shade here, and water, and I’ve no intention of wasting either. You can go on without us if you like, but it won’t do His Highness any good if your horse founders.”
Lips pressed tightly together, the bard acknowledged his point with a reluctant jerk of her head and slid gracelessly to the ground. Leaving her companions to deal with the horses, she staggered to a crude bench under an ancient chestnut tree and collapsed onto it. Directly above the canopy of leaves, the sun blazed white-gold in a sky bleached of color by the heat. Underfoot lay reddish-brown dirt, crushed to the consistency of dust by centuries of travelers leaving the road to rest at this exact spot. If she turned just a little to the left, she could see a one-story building, the same color as the dirt. The world spun, and she closed her eyes.