by Ashley Capes
Never covered Finn’s flank by slashing at the man who’d caught the knife in his shoulder. Never cut into the fellow’s arm and then drove his other blade into the rebel’s chest as the man spun in response to the first cut.
Blood flowed. Never’s own blood stirred but he turned for another enemy.
Finn stood over two bodies, a small cut in his forearm trickling blood. Never ignored the pulsing in his veins. Not this time. Finn waved down the slope with his sword as a billow of smoke passed. More figures struggled below, bowstrings snapped and flames roared, ash and fire rising to tangle in the canopy.
Never leapt after Finn, pulling another knife as he did.
The battle waged over several fronts, he knew that, but it was constricted to his own world of smoke and tree trunks. He soon lost sight of Finn, pushed back along the slope by a group of three men, two with pikes. He felled one with a throw, but the other two spread to flank him.
One of the Hanik bore a graze on his forehead, as if he’d fallen in the smoke perhaps.
No.
He didn’t need to use it. Never gave ground, ducking from a pike thrust, then spinning to use a tree for cover. The pike slammed into the bark and the man cursed.
The weapon was caught in the wood.
Never sprang forth.
He slashed down, severing arteries in the man’s forearm then twisted away from the second man’s sword. Never sidestepped as he flipped a knife to throw – and something caught his foot.
Never crashed to the loam. He scrambled over a body – red sash tied around the arm. The swordsman followed; leaving the pikeman somewhere in the drifting smoke. Never found one knee as the traitor attacked again, sword clashing with his parrying dagger. Never slashed out with his second blade and the man sprang back.
The rebel was breathing hard, coughing from the smoke. Never’s own throat burned. He found his feet as the pikeman reappeared, one arm tied with a makeshift bandage and the other gripping his pike.
Unpleasant odds.
He feinted a throw with one of his knives, giving them pause. Yet they advanced, driving Never back. One man grinned and Never frowned as he circled. What would –
Pain erupted in his side.
The forest spun as he was cast to the ground. Something white-hot had been lodged in his thigh – then a figure was upon him, clawing at him with bloody hands. Never fought a wild-eyed, bearded rebel; his wound sapping at his focus. But he dropped a blade to catch his enemy’s wrist, only for his other arm to be pinned by the man’s knee. The Hanik sat astride Never’s chest and raised a hammer taken from his belt.
Blood surged.
It shot forth from his thigh and splashed across his attacker. The man screamed as he fell back. Already the bearded rebel’s own blood poured from his hands – his face white above the spray of crimson. He scrambled back across the leaves, rolling away as if to escape... but it was too late. Never found his feet and halted the flow of blood from his hip with a cutting motion of his arm. Then he flipped a knife into hand, sliced into his opposite palm and flung a stream of red at the closing pikeman and his poorly bandaged forearm.
Blood met blood.
The hunger was so great now that the pikeman’s legs turned to water. The man collapsed, clutching at the blood spurting from his arm. Never snapped his wrist, breaking the flow, and spun, but the swordsman had already fled, his stampede of footfalls lost in the screams and shouts.
A wave of impressions and memories washed over him.
Big hands covering his own as they showed him how to hold the hammer, where to aim at the glowing band of metal on the forge – yet interrupting this moment came a pair of smiling eyes as a young Hanik woman laughed and then spun into a dance across a grassy hill, her pale pink dress twirling around her legs.
“Enough,” Never cried.
He fell back against a tree, gasping for air. Smoke thickened. Somewhere, fire roared. The blood flow from his thigh continued to seep and the protruding dagger didn’t help. Clenching his teeth, Never tore it free – biting through his tongue as he did.
But with his eyes squeezed shut he slowed the flow of blood – just as he did on his hands with their map of scars – only he could not stop it fully. It was enough to stumble to a corpse and tear into the man’s cloak, aiming for a relatively blood-free section of material.
Then he wound the strips around his thigh and the inside of his leg, tying it off as tight as he could. “Gods.” He put weight on it and nearly collapsed. Catching a nearby tree, Never hobbled around the trunk and caught his breath.
Bright flames swept the compound and devoured the trees around it. Men fought before the blaze, their weapons flashing orange between swirling smoke. The fire was out of control – all who stayed would die. He took a step back, but paused.
Two figures fought in the chaos surrounding the camp, swords clashing in the bottom of the depression. Lord Gedus’ armour caught the colour of flames so he appeared to be struggling in a suit of fire against a dark shape covered in soot and smoke and whose black cloak and black-wrapped sword seemed to eat up all the light.
Jenisan.
Never swore – he couldn’t risk it.
If he stayed to help, outrunning the flames would be left to chance. Without two good legs, he was too slow.
And yet... Saving the prince would put the man deeply in his debt and he’d have the run of the Royal Hanik library, surely. And any other resource he might desire. Besides which, Elina would never forgive him if he didn’t at least try.
Never crept down the slope, wincing with every step, stopping to pry a hunk of stone from the earth.
Again the prince and Lord Gedus met, blades clashing. Gedus was the heavier of the two, bearing down on Jenisan, but the prince was quicker, twisting out of a lock and pivoting to slash at the man’s armour. The blow had little effect and when they crossed swords again, Jenisan was thrown back, tripping on a log.
Gedus charged after the fallen prince and raised his blade. Never hurled the hunk of stone and collapsed.
The rock crashed into Gedus’ side, knocking him off balance.
Jenisan struck, snake-like with his blade, driving it up through a chink in the Lord’s armour. Gedus fell back with a roar. Jenisan rose and followed the man down, putting his full weight on the sword. Gedus’ body twitched and then he was still.
The prince heaved a sigh then spun, surveying the forest.
Never signalled from where he sat. Darkness crept up on him and he swallowed, his throat raw. Flames rose behind the prince and the man started forward.
Never sank to the ground and saw no more.
Chapter 13.
Never woke to hushed voices and a rhythmic jolting. Sun beat against his back, singeing his neck as he laid slumped against... someone’s back, a tunic of green? And the strong scent of animal sweat. Horse? He straightened until something tugged on his wrists.
He blinked; eyes slow to adjust.
Tied to a horse.
“Never?”
Luis’ voice – that was whose back he leant against.
“I’m awake,” he croaked. He twisted his neck. Other men rode the forest trail around him, weary-looking fellows still wearing their red armbands. Most also bore bandages and bloodstains on their clothing. One man’s hair had been burnt down to his scalp.
The fire.
He twisted again and a flash of pain ran up his side and down his leg – radiating from his thigh. Even so, the pressure on his bindings seemed firmer than his makeshift bandages; someone had obviously cared for him. Above the trees, distant now and barely visible from his awkward vantage point, a great plume of grey and white smoke burrowed into the sky. How big was the blaze now? Had any of the traitors escaped? Finn? He glanced around – there. Finn rode off to the side, speaking with Gnils. He recognised a few other faces but not everyon
e had survived.
Ahead, a woman rode with Jenisan – Elina.
“What happened?” he asked Luis.
“As I understand it, you saved the prince and then collapsed. Somehow Jenisan and most of his men escaped the fire. They got you downriver, which is where we met. Elina noticed the smoke and we turned back to investigate. She was fully expecting you to be involved,” he said with a laugh.
“Only at the edges this time – the fire was Jenisan’s idea. He’s... driven.”
“He claims not a single one of Lord Gedus’ men escaped.”
“I can believe that.” Never peered ahead. “How close are we to the city?”
“Not far. Want me to untie you?”
“Yes, but I don’t know about my thigh.”
“I think you’ll manage. Elina checked you over – said you were healing quickly. Actually, she said ‘too quickly’ but I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”
“Let’s find out.”
Luis pulled the horse off the road and dismounted, where he started on the knots keeping Never in place. Once free, Never swung his good leg over the horse and slid down, letting Luis catch him.
He winced at his landing but his first step wasn’t too bad. Nor the next. The stiffness and pain were enough to know he wasn’t breaking into a run anytime too soon but he could walk. He crossed the path and back and smiled to himself. “This is good.” Better than good. He was healing faster than normal – which wasn’t normal at all. In the past minor cuts had healed swiftly, all part of the curse. Yet proper wounds always behaved properly. Was the curse changing? Another question for Snow, perhaps.
“How far to the city?” Never asked when he returned.
“Maybe an hour. You’ll see it when the trees thin,” Luis said.
“I can probably handle most of that,” Never said. “It’ll be good to stretch out.”
Luis took the reins and walked their mount – the same black Never had been given – and the two set after the rear guard of Jenisan’s party.
He took the time to craft a story of being dragged away from the Pool of Leaves by the giant fish, and driving it off with his blood. Luis had accepted that easily enough. Another lie, but even though Luis deserved the truth... it was safer for him not to know the whole truth. “When I surfaced I sought the shore and climbed free. I was lost in the hills – but I did find something I want to revisit,” he admitted.
“Something from the Amouni?”
“Yes. But best not discuss it here – I don’t want to concern the Hanik.” Or alert them. “How did you and Elina fare?”
“After the boat capsized, we dove for you but there was no trace. I thought you were gone,” he said, glancing away. “We kept looking but eventually we had to continue toward the city. The boat was in one piece and Elina was sure, as Amouni, you would survive somehow.”
“If she’s right, my cursed heritage is good for something it seems,” he said with a grin.
By the time the city came into view Never’s thigh was aching and he had to lean on the saddle where they paused on a gentle crest. Beyond the last few trees, crouched on the banks of the now sluggish Rinsa, waited City-Sedrin; the Silver City. Its bluestone towers stretched high above the walls, black tiles on the peaks and snapping flags of green, the silver tree upon its centre. From a central tower’s balcony hung a draping of silver that shimmered in the afternoon sun.
“The Rebirth Festival,” Luis said. “The streets are already full of performers.”
Before the city gates old stone piers were filled with small boats and larger river craft, sails like white waves breaking slowly in a gentle breeze skipping off the water. Sweating men unloaded wares and marched it to waiting wagons, which in turn joined the flow of people passing through the gates, the huge wooden beams reinforced with steel.
Farther on, other roads joined the path Never stood upon, and farmers and folks from the forest headed toward the city, yet others filled boats that kept a parallel course from the river. The press of green, brown and yellow clothing at the gate was visible even at a distance, spotted with the occasional white or grey of a sailor’s canvas smock.
“Rebirth? That sounds familiar.”
“To celebrate the rebuilding of Sedrin after it was sacked by the Vadiya’s ancestors, before your people settled in Marlosa, as I understand it,” Luis said.
“Ah, yes. Rebuilt by King... something. Sounds like a shoe. King Sandal?”
“Sadanal.”
“Right. King Sandal, as I said,” Never grinned. He glanced at Luis. “You’re rather well-informed on your ancient Hanik history.”
“Elina told me,” Luis said with a grin.
Never chuckled, then glanced to where Elina rode beside Jenisan, seemingly deep in conversation. “Have you spoken with the prince, Luis?”
“Little. He seems formal.”
“That he does.” Never checked on his knives. Down to four. “I think we ought to be careful around him.”
“What makes you say that? You saved his life; he’ll give you half the kingdom if you ask.”
Never spread his hands. “I cannot be sure... he will not bend, that man. His orders with the traitors were beyond prudent or even vengeful. He wanted them all dead and further, those who may have helped them are to be punished also. A blacksmith and his apprentice, a wagon-driver, anyone – these people might have been unwitting accomplices in Gedus’ duplicity. Jenisan sees only one path.”
“Then we make sure we find ourselves on the right side of him.”
“Let’s hope it stays that simple.”
The growing tightness in his thigh offered a clear signal that one more step would be his last for a while, so he mounted up – again with Luis’ help, and they approached the city on horseback, joining the flow of people and passing through the gates after the prince, who joined the crowd without fuss. If the gate guards recognised him – covered in soot and sweat and unshaven – they did not acknowledge him.
Shouts and the thud of ships unloading cargo followed them in, but were quickly swallowed by hundreds of voices, visitors, locals and musicians and actors in costume. City-Sedrin was bursting with colour; yellow cloaks, red scarves, blue and green masks, purple hand-puppets on performers, all flashing between slashes of silver – many of which seemed to hang from every available surface. Even near the docks he saw them in windows or wound around gates and door handles.
“Festive,” Never said as the horse clopped along the paved street. “Defiant or desperate I wonder?”
“What do you mean?”
“Their king lies stricken. Perhaps, underneath the cheer there lies worry they won’t let free.”
One tavern sported a curtain of thinly-cut strips of silvery fabric over its doorway. A sign out front boasted the best ‘Rebirth Pantomime in the city’. Skipping merchants kept trying to sell him ribbons of silver, their voices full of cheer.
Never waved another good-natured fellow away. “I’ve never been here during the festival, Luis. Tell me this isn’t all silver?”
Luis shook his head from where he walked beside the horse. “Most of it is painted to shine – if you look closely, there’s just not the same depth,” he said. “If you held some you’d see, the weight is a sure giveaway.”
“Quite the expert there. More timely information from Elina?”
Luis flushed even as he laughed. “Well, some of it. But I do have an eye for silver – I used to apprentice to a silversmith.”
“It didn’t last, I take it.”
“No. He had a quick temper.” A hint of anger entered his voice. “One day, after he broke one of my ribs, I took his favourite toolset and cast it into the lake and left. I kissed my mother and gave her what little money I’d earned. She was heartbroken,” he said, lowering his voice. “More than I realised at the time. But she knew I had to leave, she
didn’t try and stop me. I hopped onto the back of a merchant’s wagon and I haven’t returned since.”
“When was that?”
“Ten years ago, I suppose.”
“And your father, what did he think? Didn’t he try and stop you?”
“No. He was probably looking for his tools.”
“Ah,” Never said. How often the failures of the father drive the son. “Sounds like you made the right choice.”
“Pacela as my witness, I did.”
Elina dropped back as the prince led the party away from the music and the colour of the main streets. In the quieter backstreets – silver still hung from most windows – the street sloped up to a row of fountains that stretched in a wide corridor, one with multiple entries and several exits. It was designed, Never was sure, to give visiting dignitaries a chance to take in the palace itself, which reared above rows of buildings with their bluestone walls and dark rooves.
A few people – mostly visitors, perhaps fishermen from the river, even a few Marlosi citizens – stood to stare up at the palace and its glittering windows, but it seemed most of the people were watching the street performers.
They missed the true view of beauty. Years had passed since he’d last seen the Hanik Palace but it was just as impressive as ever. It was not built for war. Bright domes rested beneath the central tower. Its graceful balconies swept up from two smaller towers, the central tower with its own walkway ringing the top. That was where his eye had been drawn in the past, where sunlight caught the silver tree atop.
Today his eyes were drawn to the domes.
The sparkling tops, threaded with quartz, had taken on a new familiarity. Amouni craftsmanship. Answers did lie within the palace. The library and Elina’s grandfather – answers lurked within. All he had to do was uncover them, offer Elina and her grandfather what they needed and be on his way with the answers he sought.