Kalsan had the strength, the weight of body and leverage of muscle. She had the agility and speed. They were evenly matched. Hit for hit, point for point. Kalsan lost his breath trying to catch her. He seemed not to feel the blows she landed, but her shoulder protested further movement.
"What is going on here?” Brother Klee roared. He pushed his way through the crowd with Jultar right behind him.
"Practice, sir.” Kalsan lowered his sword and stepped back. He smirked at Andrixine, daring her to attack.
"Practice?” The scholar sighed, his shoulders relaxing visibly. “Nephew, why can't I leave you alone for more than an hour without someone engaging you in a battle?"
"At least I had a choice this time.” Andrixine handed her sword to Kalsan. “It's a pleasure to battle someone who will stop before blood is drawn.” Her breathing was almost back to normal.
"Usually your opponent's,” was the dry rejoinder. Brother Klee looked them both up and down, then turned to Jultar. “Now that the children have disrupted our talk for the evening, I think some wine would be in order.” He gestured toward the inn doorway spilling golden light and music into the courtyard.
"Sound advice.” The old warlord nodded. He winked at Andrixine and clapped Kalsan's shoulder before turning to follow.
"You're lucky they stopped you when they did,” an onlooker said, raising his voice. “The boy almost had you. A little longer and he might have worn you down."
"I was just warming up,” Kalsan retorted. He winked at Andrixine. “Help me put these away?” He balanced the practice swords across his shoulders and turned to go inside.
She followed him into the inn and upstairs. Along the way, similar remarks were thrown at them. She began to wonder just how good he was, that his companions found it amusing she had held up against him.
"Maybe you're falling ill,” she suggested.
"Hardly.” Kalsan pushed the door open to the room he and three others shared. He looked in, then tossed the swords onto the nearest bed. “It's still too warm to stay inside. Truth be told, I started to worry."
"Over what?” She followed him back down the hallway.
"You're good. You need a little flesh on your bones, build a little muscle, but you're in no danger from anyone overpowering you. Speed is as necessary as strength.” He laughed as they headed down the stairs and thumped her on the back. Andrixine let out a yelp and caught at the banister, knocked off balance. “Sorry.” He caught her around the waist and held her up until she planted her feet underneath herself.
"I'm sure you are.” She forced a laugh. Her heart banged against her ribs and she found it strangely difficult to breathe until he let go of her.
"Ah, I'm falling in the world, no doubt about it. I can't even hold my own against a little boy.” He looked around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “That's what happens when you get your braids trimmed."
"I wondered,” she admitted.
"Not a fair fight at all,” Kalsan said, shrugging. She could tell he still writhed inside at the memory, however much he tried to make light of it. “They had to come on me from behind and nearly knock my head off with a rock to do it. I'm still bruised from the blow—more than a week ago it was."
"Were there three?” Andrixine didn't know whether to feel sympathy or laugh. She knew what was coming in his little tale.
"I have no idea.” Kalsan looked around as they walked out of the inn yard, heading back toward the river. “I was alone. Someone had been bothering the horses, and I went to quiet them. When I came out of the stables, someone smashed me with a rock. I woke up with my head splitting and one braid trimmed to half its length."
"No clue? Hernon didn't have any advice to help you track the culprits?"
"No, he—How did you know Hernon—Did you run into trouble in Worland's Forge?” Kalsan caught at her arm, stopping her short.
"A little. They thought me an easy target, since I'm just a thin, weak boy.” She turned, trying to free herself and saw his face clearly in the moonlight—red from repressed laughter. “They were caught in the act and promptly punished."
"After you were finished with them, no doubt."
"No doubt."
"Drixus, promise me one thing."
"As far as I can."
"Should we encounter any troubles along our journey, fight at my side, will you? Between us—"
"You won't lose the rest of your braids,” she interrupted. Kalsan stared a moment, his mouth falling open. Then he burst out laughing.
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Chapter Eleven
TWO NIGHTS LATER brought them to another trail house. A band of five men were there already, roughly dressed, their horses badly used and put into the shelter without tending. Instead of greeting the newcomers as tradition demanded, they waited sullenly and silently at the door. No one drew a weapon, but Andrixine saw more than one man shift his stance so sword or knife became visible. Stiffening hairs prickled her neck as she dismounted behind Brother Klee, Jultar and Kalsan.
"Greetings, this fine evening,” Jultar called to their leader, who stood with arms crossed a few steps before his men. “We ask the honor of sharing our provisions with you and exchanging news of the road."
"Of course. All are welcome.” The man was of medium height, his hair dark and lank, beard unkempt, clothes the soiled remains of once fine fashion, his tone oily smooth. His eyes flicked over their band as they entered the clearing around the trail house. Annoyance touched his face.
Andrixine wondered if he had been sizing them up for an attack, despite trail house law. Maybe not right then, but later at night, after everyone had gone to sleep. She reminded herself to voice her suspicions to Brother Klee—if he had not already noticed the hints of danger.
Brenden and Rogan helped her and Kalsan with the horses, groaning about the length of their day in the saddle and how glad they would be to reach Cereston and stop journeying. She agreed with them but said little, her thoughts busy elsewhere. She was glad when they went indoors and left her and Kalsan to work in companionable silence.
A quick thrill mixed with disappointment touched her as she did a rough calculation of time and distance. Five days to reach Faxinor if nothing slowed them. Five days until she could see her father—admit she had failed—and work with him to find her mother. And only two days until Jultar's band left them to continue down the King's Highway to Cereston.
The joy of reaching home and sharing the burden with her father couldn't dull the pain and sense of failure at not having rescued her mother herself. Andrixine said another prayer for understanding, for increased faith and dedication to Yomnian. If this was a test, preparing her for harder service as the Sword Bearer, she couldn't quite repress a sense of resentment. Couldn't Yomnian have started with something a little less demanding and hard?
"It feels like rain tonight,” Kalsan commented as she returned from the spring with another slopping bucket of water.
"Does that mean I shouldn't keep filling the troughs?” she returned, grinning. She dumped the bucket and, turning, got a better look at the wagon belonging to the five strangers. It looked ... wrong, somehow.
"If it rains hard enough, we won't have to draw water for washing. We can all strip and dance through the raindrops and come out better all around by morning.” Kalsan cocked his head to one side. “You don't like rain, Drixus?"
"Why do you say that?"
"You went pale."
"No, not rain...” She flushed as she caught up mentally with his conversation, then shook her head.
"Something about that wagon?"
"Nothing."
"No, it is something. Tell me.” He caught hold of her by an arm and a braid when she would have turned and left. “We're friends, remember? Something bothers you."
"I would tell you—but not here. Listening ears could be dangerous, even in a trail house."
"After supper, then?” He held her until she nodded, then released her so they could continue t
heir chores.
Andrixine worked hard, trying not to follow her thoughts too far. As she worked, her gaze returned to the dingy wagon with the mended left rear wheel. She noted where canopy posts had broken off, the decorative paint scraped away and the cushioned seats ripped out. Andrixine longed to get closer to the wagon, to crawl underneath and search for her father's signet burned into the wood. She didn't need that sign to identify it as her mother's stolen wagon, but others would before they believed her.
All during the meal and cleaning up afterwards, she couldn't get close to Brother Klee to voice her suspicions. Even more frustrating, at dinner she sat next to the man who, in her vision, had fondled Glynnys. Andrixine wanted to slash at his arm when he brushed against her while reaching for the stew pot. Any act of aggression, including an accusation of crime, violated the laws of the trail house. She knew the kidnappers would not hesitate to break those laws if it suited them. Her vows as Bearer of the Spirit Sword and the vows of Jultar's Oathbound warriors kept them from violating those laws. She silently seethed at the unfairness of it.
There were fewer men here than she had seen in her vision. The scarred man who had murdered Cedes was not with them. Was he perhaps somewhere else, maybe guarding her mother and Glynnys?
While the others settled down for the night, she slipped out of the shelter. No one followed. She made sure all members of both bands were inside before she left. Andrixine darted into the bushes around the clearing and watched the doorway. She counted to almost one hundred before the door opened again. Five drops of slowly approaching rain touched her face before Kalsan came out. She waited until he had closed the door, then stepped out of her hiding place and waved. He came silently, watching for spies.
"Now will you tell me? I thought you might fly through the ceiling at dinner.” He settled down against the base of a sheltering tree. The rain made tiny tapping sounds on the leaves but wasn't strong enough to penetrate that thin shelter.
"Those men are kidnappers. The wagon belongs to a lady whose party they attacked nearly two weeks ago."
"Proof?” he asked after only a moment of thought. Andrixine breathed a sigh of relief—he didn't doubt her.
"Under the wagon, next to the front right wheel hub, in the exact center of the wagon bed and under the steps at the back are carved the signet of Lord Edrix Faxinor. Three crosses connected at their base. If you check the horses drawing the wagon, you'll find the same sign in the shoes."
"Faxinor? You mentioned Lady Faxinor before.” Kalsan shook his head, his face growing troubled. “What is she to you?"
"She ... nursed me through my illness at Snowy Mount."
"And that's why you and the Brother travel to Faxinor, to help find her?"
"Mostly.” Andrixine wondered if she had really lied. She couldn't confess Lady Arriena was her mother; that would raise questions she couldn't answer.
"If only this were an inn and not a trail house,” Kalsan whispered. He swore under his breath. “Jultar has faith in me, so I can witness."
"What are we going to do?"
"I'm not sure yet, little brother.” He grinned, grasped Andrixine by her shoulder, shook her once. “We will find a way to help the lady."
They waited until past moonrise. Kalsan's prediction of a strong rain failed. The spattering of drops died after a few more minutes and the wisps of clouds melted away before the moon. Andrixine almost wished the clouds had been thicker, to hide their actions. More rain would have been an excuse for taking shelter in the stable if anyone discovered them. She stood watch at the entrance to the crude shelter, little more than a roof and boards haphazardly nailed between the support posts to keep the horses confined. Kalsan went inside. She heard the snorts and nickering of the horses as he checked them first. Then silence, before she heard him grunt as he slid under the wagon.
The gravel hissed as he moved across it, and she winced, imagining his discomfort. They couldn't risk torches; Kalsan had to trust the feel of the carvings under his fingers. The signets were large and deep, specifically to keep them from being carved out of the wood. Anyone who tried would find it necessary to replace portions of the wagon.
"Done,” Kalsan whispered, reappearing behind her. He winked and gripped her shoulder. Together, they slipped across the clearing and into the trail house.
Brother Klee and Jultar were awake, talking in low tones before the fire. Two men from the other band sat in silence on their side of the fire. Andrixine was sure they kept watch on the warrior band. She picked her way through the sleepers to her bedroll in the corner. Behind her, she barely heard Kalsan talking to their leaders about their walk in the woods. She knew it was more to soothe the suspicions of the kidnappers than for their own elders. Andrixine envied his quick thinking.
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Chapter Twelve
KALSAN'S SLEEP WAS broken into small pieces by odd dreams. He woke after each one to roll over and look for the strangers sleeping among the warrior band. Once, he woke with images of Drixus still before his eyes, racing after the kidnappers with a sword that blazed brighter than the sun. He checked for Drixus before he looked for the other men.
Why, he wondered, was he plagued with dreams like that and never granted a vision that would give him direction? He wanted Yomnian to send him a mission in life, something he could be proud of, something to dedicate his entire life to.
The first grayish light of false dawn peeked through the gaps in the wall and thatching when Kalsan woke from a misty dream of the sword maiden. She looked at him with Drixus’ eyes. Kalsan took a deep, shuddering breath, enjoying the longing even as it frustrated him. Would he ever find her? And why did she have Drixus’ eyes?
Then he remembered his restless night. In the dim gray light, the empty spaces on the floor were easy to see. His heart thumped loudly as he rolled over and untangled his blankets from his limbs. Kalsan looked to the corner where Drixus slept beyond the shelter of his uncle's broad back. The boy was still there. Kalsan crept through the warriors to Jultar's side. Several men twitched in their sleep but no one leaped after him or shouted an alarm. He wondered if there had been a drug in the food, to keep seasoned warriors asleep while the kidnappers fled. He supposed he ought to be glad they hadn't had their throats slit while they slept. He touched the floor where one of the kidnappers had slept, and the wood was still warm.
Jultar came awake the moment Kalsan touched his shoulder. His voice low and soft, watching the small, dark shadow of Drixus, Kalsan told the warlord what they had seen and done the night before. He finished by gesturing around the trail house.
"A chase!” Jultar called, pushing himself to his feet. The warriors rolled from their blankets, reaching for swords, mumbling but making no other sounds. Their steadiness and speed assured Kalsan that if there had been drugs in their food, the effects had been slept away.
Drixus went white when he heard the news. Kalsan worried the boy might be sick, then he saw the pained look Drixus shared with Brother Klee. He wasn't afraid, but angry. What lay between Lady Faxinor and him that the boy took her kidnapping so deeply?
"I should have done something last night,” Drixus said as Kalsan joined him and his uncle.
"Because others violate the law is no justification to do the same. Especially us,” Brother Klee said, grasping his nephew's shoulder. Drixus went a little paler. Kalsan couldn't understand the silent communication between the two. “It was well done, though,” the holy man continued. “You noticed more than I, last night. We will have answers by noontime."
"And revenge?” Drixus asked, his voice a harsh croak.
"Justice, nephew. Justice."
The chase took less than half an hour. Kalsan was grateful for his restless sleep, though his head ached from weariness and his eyes were gritty. The kidnappers only had a small lead, made smaller by the pace of their damaged wagon, and Jultar's men were experienced trackers. The warriors mounted their horses and ate bread and cheese in the saddle, passing wine s
kins between their trotting horses as they rode.
Brenden and five others rode ahead when the trail branched, to circle around the fleeing kidnappers. Kalsan wished he could have gone with them. Then he looked at Drixus riding next to him, pale and tight-lipped with fury burning in his young eyes. He knew his place was next to his young friend—to control him, if necessary.
The trail through the forest soon grew wide enough for three mounted men to ride side by side without jostling each other. Jultar and Brother Klee led a few steps ahead of Kalsan, Drixus, and the last two warriors. Drixus stared at the trail, intent as if he alone could find the clues to lead them to their quarry. Kalsan felt sorry for the boy. He wished he knew the words to say to help him.
He spotted Brenden waiting at the end of a long, straight stretch of the trail, just where it began to curve. The man waved to them, then turned his horse and rode into the forest, nearly disappearing from sight. Jultar looked back over his shoulder, signaling them to slow. Kalsan grinned at the impatience that put a flush in Drixus’ white cheeks, but the boy did obey.
The river ran near the trail, and there was a wide, clear space not far into the trees along the bank. The wagon and the kidnappers waited, their faces as sullen as the night before. The six men who had captured them sat their horses, swords and crossbows at the ready. Jultar rode through the loose ring of guards and dismounted. Brother Klee signaled Drixus, and they stopped their horses at the edge of the trees to dismount. Kalsan followed, watching the captured men more than his friend.
"The noble warlord shows his true colors,” the leader of the kidnappers called as they approached.
"Justice is my goal, friend,” Jultar responded with a calm voice.
"Justice?” The man spat. “You used the sanctity of the trail house to spy on us and prepare to attack us once we were on the road again."
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