by Tanya Huff
Gerek chewed his lip while he thought about it. “Good,” he declared after a moment. “I want you to be dead. Just like my papa.”
Stasya’s heart contracted at the pain in his voice and she came to a sudden decision. “Gerek, I need to tell you a secret.” She couldn’t Command because she couldn’t see his eyes and, under the circumstances, she doubted Charm would be very effective. All she could do was work her voice so that he had to believe her. “It’s a very important secret and you mustn’t tell anyone.”
He liked secrets and the anticipation of hearing one made him forget his plans to yell at the bard. “What?”
“Promise you won’t tell.”
“I promise.”
“Your papa isn’t dead. It was a mistake, like he said, and the king is coming to make it better.”
“My papa isn’t dead?”
She put everything she had into the repetition. “Your papa isn’t dead.”
Kneeling by the grate, both hands holding tightly to the smoking torch, Gerek turned over the words in his mind, examining each one. The world, pressing so tightly around him, suddenly loosened. His papa wasn’t dead. He knew it. He’d known it all along. His papa had said it was a mistake. Just wait till he told his Aunty Olina.
Halfway to his feet, he frowned and knelt again. The bard had made him promise not to tell.
“Why can’t I tell?” he demanded.
“Because we don’t want the bad people who really did what they said your papa did to find out he’s alive.”
“Oh. Is he going to catch them?”
“Yes. And he’s coming here. Really, really soon.” Down in the pit, Stasya hoped it’d be soon enough. “He’s coming with Annice, the bard who was here in Third Quarter. Do you remember her?”
Gerek sat back on his heels. “Of course I remember.”
He sounded so indignant, Stasya couldn’t help but smile. “I was supposed to watch for them, because they’ll be sneaking up to the keep, but I can’t do that now …”
“ ’Cause you’re in a hole.”
“That’s right, so I need you to do something for me. I need you to go visit Bohdan.”
“Papa’s steward. I like him better than Lukas even if he told me to do things more.”
“That’s good, because when you’re alone with him, I need you to tell him what I told you about your papa.” Bohdan, for all he was a sick old man, was the only person remaining in Ohrid who might possibly have enough authority to stand up against Lukas and Olina. Based on what she’d seen back in Fourth Quarter, he was also the only person in Ohrid she’d trust with the truth.
“But I promised not to tell anyone.”
Grinding her teeth sent knives of pain through her head. “Anyone but Bohdan,” Stasya amended. “Do you remember what to tell him?”
“That Papa isn’t dead and it was a mistake and he’s coming with Nees.”
“What a good memory you’ve got.”
Gerek snorted. “I’m five.”
“Of course you are. And I need you to tell him where I am and who put me here.”
“Okay.”
“But don’t tell your Aunt Olina!”
“ ’Course not, I promised. Papa says you never break a promise.” He stood. “Besides, Aunty Olina knows where you are. I gotta go ’cause my fire is going out.”
“Gerek?” No, she couldn’t ask him to leave the torch. She had no idea how far he’d have to travel in the dark without it. “Never mind.”
“Okay.” He was almost to the next room when he remembered something and returned to the grate. “Bard? I don’t want you to be dead no more.”
Her back against the wall, Stasya lifted her head one last time toward the light. “I’m glad, Gerek.”
* * * *
“In case you’re curious, we’re in Ohrid.”
Pjerin pushed the mare to one side of the path and turned to stare in confusion at Annice. “How do you know?”
“By the way the kigh react to your presence.”
Her tone hinted that any idiot should know that, but, remembering the morning’s tears, Pjerin gave her the benefit of the doubt and kept his own voice neutral. “Excuse me?”
“The kigh recognize you as the person responsible for this area of land.” Annice pushed an overhanging branch out of her way, waiting until the shower of water droplets ceased before she continued walking. There was no point in taking shelter from the storm and then being drenched by its aftermath. “Surely you’ve heard the idea that the lord and the land are one?”
“Well, yes, but …”
“When you took the title, didn’t you make a cut with the family sword and bleed on the earth? At First Quarter Festival, don’t you make the first cut for the plow? And at Second Quarter Festival, don’t you spend the night in the fields, spilling your seed?”
“Annice!”
She grinned at him. “Well, don’t you? It’s your right; you’re not too old, or too young, I imagine you have plenty of choices, and I know all the parts work.”
“Annice!” When she looked as if she was going to continue, he raised his free hand and cut her off. “All right. I do. Now drop it.”
“I was only about to point out that all these things—and others—tie you to the land.” She nodded toward the earth at his feet. “The kigh know that you’ve come home.”
* * * *
The door to the armory, which was heavy and had a tendency to stick, would have defeated him had one of the stablehands not chanced by to open it for him. Gerek thanked her, explained he could close it by himself, and waited until she’d rounded the corner before he went inside.
While Nurse Jany had fussed and scrubbed him and helped him dress, Gerek had made up his mind. Bohdan was old and sick and couldn’t help the bard anyway.
Taking bow and quiver from their pegs, he checked them as he’d been taught, slung the quiver over his shoulder, and wrapped the bowstring tightly for traveling. He had a cooked sausage in his belt-pouch and he had a plan.
Gerek stared up at his papa’s sword. It was the duc’s special sword his Aunty Olina had said when she’d handed it to him at First Quarter Festival. His papa was the duc. He was going to take his papa his sword.
Hung high above his reach, he had to stand on a bench and use the end of his bow to knock it off the wall. The blade bounced partway out of the scabbard when it landed, hilt ringing loudly against the stone floor of the armory, but Gerek shoved the pieces back together and wrapped it awkwardly in his best cloak. He wasn’t allowed to play with the sword, so he figured he should hide it until he was out of the keep.
No one saw him as he made his way to the gate, struggling a little with his heavy load. Relishing his role as a secret messenger, he stayed in the shadows close to the walls. Once outside the walls, he slipped off onto a narrow path too steep for anything but goats or children, screened from above by the lip of the track. He had to let the sword slide down alone, but it didn’t seem to have hurt it when he retrieved it at the bottom.
With one wistful glance toward the shrieks of laughter coming from the fields on the other side of the village, he darted into the tangle of growth bordering the creek that ran from the base of the keep to the forest. He wasn’t a baby. He knew that if he kept to the track, they’d find him and bring him back.
He also knew, although he couldn’t put the idea into words, that there could be no going back. His Aunty Olina wasn’t the type to forgive such treachery.
* * * *
“Stop crying, Jany!” Olina snapped. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Gerek spent the afternoon in the fields when I expressly forbade it and he’s going to be punished.” Although the boy’s disobedience had actually been convenient as she’d had enough to take care of without supervising his lessons, that didn’t negate the fact he’d disobeyed.
Gerek’s nurse choked back a sob and lifted her face from a damp, crumpled square of linen. “He didn’t spend the afternoon in the fields, Lady. I washed
him and I dressed him and I sent him down to you.”
“Just because he was washed and dressed doesn’t mean he didn’t return to the pleasures of mud,” Olina pointed out, drumming her fingers on the arms of her chair. Gerek had obviously become too much for the old woman to handle. He needed a tutor, and the moment the Cemandian invasion was complete, she’d get him one.
“No, Lady, I spoke with Gitka. He wasn’t there. No one has seen him all afternoon.”
“No one?”
“No one, Lady. What if he’s …” The thought became too much for her and she burst into fresh sobs.
“What if he’s what? Hurt? You’re not helping him, Jany.” Olina stood, lips set in a thin line. Although fond of the child, she had no doubt that he’d be found tucked into a corner somewhere, happily oblivious to the panic he’d caused his nurse. Meanwhile, she could use this incident for other ends. “Find Lukas; he can organize a search of the keep.”
Eventually, the search spread out from the keep to the village and the surrounding valley. Torches were lit as night fell and the voices calling his name grew strained and frightened. Parents held their own children closer and remembered all the dangers of the darkness.
Olina stood by the entrance to the old cellars, staring at the stub of the torch and the print of a small foot outlined in crumbling flakes of earth. Gerek had gone into the cellar carrying the torch she had used when they got rid of the bard and then come out again. What had he seen? And what, if anything, had he been told? Things had just become much more complicated.
* * * *
“Has anyone checked the palisade? He may have gone to watch the work and …”
“Lady!” Urmi pushed her way through the crowd gathered in the outer courtyard. “I’ve just searched the armory! The duc’s sword is missing!”
The little fool has probably taken it and trotted off to challenge the king! Olina slapped control around her relief. At least he’s not hiding in the keep with what he knows. Now, I can deal with this. “Has anyone seen the bard?”
No one had.
The server sent to check Stasya’s room raced back crying that the bard was gone.
An ugly murmur ran through the crowd. Olina listened and did nothing although she could have stopped it with a word—reaction would serve her better than reason. She was pleased to see Lukas flash the sign against the kigh and more pleased still to see it mirrored around the courtyard.
“The bard can’t have gone far!” Urmi cried. “She’s on foot. We have to get Gerek back. We have to go after her!”
“And face the kigh at night?”
Urmi turned on the man who’d spoken, her lip curled. “I’m not afraid of the kigh!”
“You should be.” Lukas stepped forward, but stayed in Olina’s shadow. “You saw what the kigh did to my house and my daughter.”
The muttering grew more apprehensive and less militant. Even those who personally despised Lukas couldn’t deny that his house had burned and his daughter was dead.
“Remember that this is the bard who took Pjerin to his execution.” Olina’s voice cut through the babble, leaving a sharply defined line of silence behind it as assumptions were hastily shuffled.
“Shkoder is destroying the Ducs of Ohrid!”
The babble became a roar.
“But why?” someone called.
“Because Shkoder is afraid!” came the answer from the back of the crowd. “We’re all that stands between them and Cemandia, and suppose we don’t want to be a living barrier anymore?”
“His Grace—that is, His Grace’s father—saw it coming. He tried to make a deal with Cemandia and they killed him.”
Olina hid a smile. It was such a small step from oathbreaker to martyr.
“What has Shkoder ever done for us?”
“Cemandia sends us trade!” bellowed one of the villagers who’d made a handsome profit at that first fair. “Once a year, Shkoder sends us a bard to let us know what we don’t have.”
“Sends a spy!”
“King Theron’s probably coming with an army!”
“Do the bards work for Theron or does Theron work for the bards?”
“He’s ruled by the kigh!”
“Kigh are not enclosed in the Circle!”
Again the sign against the kigh flicked out, but this time, hands that had never made it before traced the gesture, caught up in the mass hysteria of the mob.
“Send a message to Cemandia! Let them know what’s going on! Cemandia has no dealings with the kigh!”
Well pleased with the result of her suggestion, Olina raised both hands to silence the cries of agreement. “There’s nothing more that can be done tonight. Go home. See to your children. And think on how we will greet King Theron when he arrives.” With any luck, they’d jump him when he entered the valley and deliver his whole party to her in pieces.
“But what of Gerek?” Urmi protested as people began to turn away.
“What good will you do him if the kigh strike you down?” Olina asked her.
“Well, none, but …”
“No. We can only pray that he remains unharmed and plan our vengeance if he is hurt.”
“I could ride …”
“Can you track the wind?”
The stablemaster’s face fell. “No, Lady.”
Olina watched her walk away, watched them all walk away, until there was only Lukas standing beside her on the steps to the Great Hall, the torch he held isolating them in a circle of flickering light.
“What about the boy?” he asked, eyes shifting nervously from side to side. “He isn’t with the bard.” His tongue darted out to swipe at his lips. “Is he?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Olina snapped.
“Then why?”
Olina turned to stare full at him. “Are you questioning my judgment?”
“No, lady. Only … That is …” Lukas took a deep breath and found enough courage in it to carry on. “Do you know where the duc is?”
“As he wasn’t found in the valley, I can only assume he reached the forest. He probably took his father’s sword and went off to challenge King Theron with it.”
“But why?”
“I imagine he saw you deal with the bard.”
Lukas paled, his face between beard and hair bone white even by torchlight. “Lady!”
“You’ve nothing to worry about. Haven’t I arranged it so that no one will go after him? So no one will wonder about the absence of the bard?”
“Yes, Lady. Thank you, Lady.” When she started to walk away, he scuttled after her. “But suppose he reaches the king and …”
“And nothing. The king is still approximately ten days away. Gerek is barely five years old. I’ll be very surprised if he even survives the night.” She pushed at the weight of her hair and muttered, “The stupid little fool. Had to be a hero. He’s dead—” She turned on Lukas so suddenly he stumbled and almost dropped the torch. “—because you couldn’t think past the moment.”
“I’m sorry, Lady.” He scrubbed his free hand against his tunic, leaving damp smudges of sweat on the fabric. “I couldn’t be more sorry.”
She stared down at him for a long moment. “Yes, you could,” she said at last. She’d been going to mold Gerek, turn him into the kind of duc neither Pjerin nor her brother had had the courage to be. And this sweating, stumbling idiot had lost her that immortality.
He was alive because, at the moment, she didn’t need any more unanswered questions. When the moment ended, so did he.
* * * *
Her back against the wall, every piece of clothing from her pack either on her or under her to fight the damp and cold, Stasya considered her companion. The chill air had helped preserve enough integrity that it had been a body, not just dry and dusty bones that she’d found folded in on itself against the far wall. The remains of a tangled beard had given him gender and the intricate carving she could trace on a buckle and a pair of wrist bands suggested he’d been a man of some means.
>
How long ago, she wondered, knees tucked up against her chest and arms wrapped tight around them. How long has he been down here? Does anyone remember him? How long did he live before he died?
She rested her head on her knees, eyes closed to give an illusion of choice in the darkness. Were the ends of his fingers broken and split from trying to claw his way out through the heart of the mountain? Had he screamed and fought? What had he done when he’d realized that no one would come?
Ten days. The king would arrive in ten days.
With luck, Annice and the duc would contact Bohdan sooner.
But she had to count on surviving for ten days.
There’d been trail food for a couple of days still in her pack that could be stretched to provide meager rations, but her water skin had been empty. She’d have to lick the moisture off the walls and hope the bit of water she’d crawled through earlier would continue to collect at the lowest point of the floor.
Ten days.
Her head throbbed and standing left her so dizzy that the mountain had to act as her support as well as her prison.
Ten days.
I could made a song out of this that would pull night terrors from the most flint-hearted listener. Let’s hope I last long enough to sing it.
Long past rot, the faint smell of continuing decay was an omnipresent reminder of the alternative.
* * * *
Tired and hungry, Gerek plodded between the towering trunks of ancient pines, dragging his father’s sword behind him. Above him, each needle stood out in sharp relief against an ominous gray-green sky.
The sword caught on a half-buried stick and the sudden jerk threw the small body to the ground. “That didn’t hurt,” he gasped, getting slowly to his feet and trying desperately hard not to cry.
Exhaustion had brought him a few hours of fitful sleep tucked in the hollow between two giant roots. A dense layer of fallen needles had made a comfortable enough bed, but with the moon hidden behind cloud and the forest noises so loud and so close, he’d spent most of the night staring wide-eyed and terror-stricken out of his refuge. The scream of an owl heard from the safety of his nursery was not the same sound heard alone in the dark; Gerek had screamed in turn and thrown the protection of his cloak over his head. Fortunately, the larger predators had been hunting elsewhere.