“Come in, Captain.” Ra-khir made a broader gesture, actively ushering the guards into the room. As they filed inside, he introduced each of his companions in turn, avoiding the use of titles. He ended as most settled onto the floor. “And our fourth companion is Darris. He’s recovering from an injury, so he may not prove good company.”
In response to his name, Darris came, looking the best Kevral had seen him since the injury. Still wobbly on his feet, he seemed otherwise well. He nodded at the guards.
DeShane nodded back. Harltan attempted to look around him and into the sleeping room.
While Ra-khir and Matrinka played host and hostess, Kevral took a cautious position between the guards and the bedroom. She remained standing after the others sat, DeShane sacrificing the window seat for Darris. The bard accepted the position with a thankful wave. Harltan continued to look intently into the cottage’s other room.
Kevral saw no reason, other than vengeful nastiness, to prevent Harltan from looking. To hide areas of the house might invite unnecessary suspicion. “Before we get started, and before the captain wears his eyes out, you’re welcome to search where you please.”
“Thank you,” said Captain DeShane. “That won’t be necessary.”
Harltan apparently believed otherwise. He accepted Kevral’s invitation with mumbled thanks, which sounded more bitter than appreciative. Giving Kevral a wide berth, he headed into the sleeping room.
With a glance at Kevral to confirm she had no intention of sitting, DeShane took the seat Harltan had vacated, one of only three in the room. Ra-khir sat on the chest, while Matrinka used the barrel seat that Kevral usually chose.
Ra-khir opened the discussion. “So am I to understand you’re looking for Tae?”
“I’m afraid so.” DeShane turned his attention directly to Ra-khir, obviously more comfortable conducting his business with a man. So far he had proven reasonable, so Kevral forgave this annoying little quirk. “From what we can gather, he masterminded a prison break of Pudar’s most notorious criminals.”
Kevral considered, one ear turned toward Harltan. If the guard’s rasher captain made a mess of their belongings, she would see to it he suffered for the indiscretion. Tae’s motivations eluded her. Her time with him convinced her that his toughness was as much bluff as reality; and Matrinka’s descriptions of his actions since Ra-khir had chased him from the group only skewed the picture toward bluster. He had revealed a kindness to her that pulled her toward him in much the way Ra-khir’s more open moments made him seem all the more handsome. Although no one seemed to understand Tae well, she did not believe him the type to loose a scourge of killers on innocents in Pudar.
Matrinka asked the obvious question. “Why would Tae do that?” Than a more significant concern struck her. “Are these killers now roaming the streets?”
Though the first query had an obvious answer, DeShane ignored the natural temptation to address the second only. “I can only guess at your friend’s motives.”
“Previous companion, please,” Ra-khir corrected.
“Previous companion,” DeShane corrected with an understanding nod. “We’re not sure whether he really wanted the others free or only used them as a diversion.”
“So they’re not roaming the streets,” Kevral supplied.
The captain and most of the guards swiveled to look at her. “No. The prison guards killed all but three. We captured one and got the full story from him. Tae Kahn and one other disappeared.”
“They’re loose somewhere in the castle?” Matrinka sounded worried, perhaps imagining assassins free in Béarn’s keep. Surely, that thought brought memories of the heir killings that had haunted her days and nights.
DeShane returned his attention to the princess. “Unlikely. We’ve scoured the place. They’re gone. And in answer to your other question, the one who escaped with Tae was a thief, not a killer.”
“Oh.” Matrinka relaxed visibly. “And Tae’s not a killer either,” she assured him.
DeShane made a noncommittal gesture. Obviously, he did not agree, but he would not argue with Matrinka now.
Harltan emerged from the sleeping room. He broke into their discussion even while he continued to search. “It all comes back to this. Are you harboring him? Do you know where he’s gone or might have gone? Will you help us catch him?”
A soft meow wafted beneath the front door, followed by a gentle scratch. Kevral walked to the door and opened it a crack. Mior slipped in, as grimy as the day King Kohleran found her, accompanied by the foul odors of ammonia and feces. Heads turned as the smell slowly permeated the room.
With a noise of disgust, Matrinka rose and headed for her cat. “Excuse me,” she told the guards, then addressed the animal. “Mior, you dirty cat. Outside.”
Kevral stepped aside as the princess herded the calico back toward the door.
Harltan’s questions became momentarily lost in these new concerns. When no one answered him, he stopped searching to glance tensely around the room.
DeShane picked up the discussion. “We’ve had to cordon off Pudar. The gates won’t open this morning, so no one can go in or out. No one will enter or leave this city until we have Tae Kahn in custody.”
The news seized Kevral like hot iron tongs. Finally, Darris had become nearly well enough to travel. She would not allow a crisis to stall their trip indefinitely. Already, time weighed heavily against their mission. “That’s ridiculous!”
Kevral’s distress pleased Harltan, who smiled for the first time. Apparently satisfied by his search, he leaned against the wall, across from Kevral, and joined his guards with the same overseeing manner as the Renshai. “Catching an assassin of such danger requires desperate measures.”
DeShane shrugged, without apology. “It’s the only way, and it’s not ideal for Pudar either. We’ll lose huge amounts of money in trade. The politics won’t please anyone, and we may go without needed goods.”
“Tae’s probably long gone from Pudar,” Kevral insisted as Matrinka returned to her seat, a worried expression creasing her usually gentle features.
“Unlikely.” DeShane dismissed Kevral’s suggestion. “The wall and gate guards were quadrupled immediately. We called up the wartime army within an hour, and they’ve reinforced our defenses.”
“But he got out of the castle,” Kevral reminded.
Harltan responded before DeShane could. “The castle protections are designed to keep danger out, not in. The walls and gates do both.”
Kevral glanced at Matrinka, who nodded slow agreement. From that gesture, Kevral guessed Mior had told her Tae had not escaped the city. She huffed in frustration. “Isn’t there any other solution?”
“One,” Captain DeShane admitted with a warning glance at Harltan, an obvious plea for silence.
To Kevral’s surprise, Harltan did defer, amusement replacing his previous surly mask. Clearly, he did not expect a positive response to DeShane’s suggestion, and the idea of watching the other captain receive the bulk of their annoyance pleased him.
“There is, apparently, an archaic law, rarely invoked.” DeShane shifted uncomfortably and turned his attention back to Ra-khir, although Kevral had asked the question. “No one has done so in my lifetime, at least. It’s called the ‘One Crime, One Sentence Rule.’ Its original intention, I’m guessing now, was to substitute lesser needed individuals for pivotal ones who committed a crime.”
Ra-khir asked, “What exactly does this rule state?”
“I don’t know the precise words,” DeShane admitted. “But it allows transfer of sentencing to a person who claims responsibility for the accused. It’s gotten modified a few times, more recently to cover escape since we’re long beyond the days when Pudar had only one blacksmith or cooper or healer. Responsibility now falls first onto any person who performs an action that suggests he or she might have aided the escape.” His gaze swiveled carefully back to Kevral, but he did not meet her eyes, as if he had done so more to gauge her reaction than to i
nform her. “Originally, the stand-in had to take the accused’s place willingly. The current wording allows the king to demand substitution in a case where someone’s behavior makes them suspect.”
Darris had remained silent so far. Now, he spoke with more strength than Kevral expected. “Tae could come back and take the substitute’s place at any time prior to carrying out the sentencing. Death in this case.”
All eyes shifted to Darris in an instant. That Darris knew Pudarian archaic canon surprised Kevral only for a moment. He had dedicated his life to learning. She worried that he might have to resort to singing if he said much more.
“Correct,” DeShane said. “How did you know that?”
Darris shrugged. “Law’s an interest of mine.” He switched the subject to matters more germane. “But it’s all moot, really. What makes you think one of us would die for a renegade rogue we scarcely know?”
DeShane cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “There’s the matter of a fight in the king’s audience chamber.”
Everything became crystal clear to Kevral in that moment. “Are you saying you’re going to force Matrinka or me to take Tae’s place?”
Harltan smiled. DeShane shook his head. “I’m not here to do anything but explain the situation and cite the law. Neither I, nor my men, will force anything.” His gaze fell to Harltan and paused there several moments in warning.
Kevral did not need the gesture. She already knew neither DeShane nor propriety could fully control the other captain. If he caused more trouble, she would end it swiftly.
“I will give you some advice to do with as you will.” Captain DeShane rose, and his men followed suit “The king will see to it someone dies for a crime as heinous as this. The longer and harder it proves to catch Tae, the worse things will go for him. And we will find him. If too long a time passes, the king will almost certainly invoke the ancient law. It will go easier on a volunteer than one forced to comply.” He glanced around at the assemblage, his expression betraying a trace of sympathetic misery. The guards headed after him, Harltan moving last.
“Wait,” Matrinka started.
Kevral froze, guessing her charge’s intention in an instant. Matrinka believed Tae innocent, as did Kevral now. But she would not let the princess die for her loyalty.
“I want—” Matrinka started.
Kevral interrupted, her voice louder. “I’ll take Tae’s place.”
Startled gazes flipped to Kevral in an instant, including Matrinka’s.
Ra-khir’s expression went from stunned to horrified in an instant. “No,” he whispered, the words soft but audible in the silence that followed Kevral’s proclamation.
Harltan fairly beamed. DeShane’s brows rose, and all of the guards stopped in their places. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“I’m sure,” Kevral said. The hand she raised for a gesture of assurance brushed a bulge in her pocket she had nearly forgotten. She still carried the gem Tae had given her, the gift that had forced her to first ponder the relationship that might develop between them. The consideration that should have come before flashed through her mind now. Their quest was too important to further delay. The party could not spare a princess nor the bard’s only heir, and Ra-khir’s honor would not allow him to take punishment for a disreputable companion. One other reason surfaced with the touch, one she had not expected and little understood. Like Matrinka, she believed in Tae’s innocence. She loved him, she knew that now, apparently enough to die for him. The depth of an emotion she’d scarcely acknowledged she felt surprised her.
“No,” Ra-khir said again, this time louder. He rose, clenching his hands to combat the restless need for action. His honor would not allow him to interfere with Pudarian law. Kevral knew he could not offer to substitute for Tae, but the situation had changed. It was no longer Tae’s life at stake. “Please, take me in her stead. Please.”
The silence intensified, as if everyone in the room held their breath at once. DeShane’s attention shifted to Kevral. To save herself, she had to speak. One crime, one punishment. It did not matter who received the sentencing, only that one person did so—not two.
Kevral looked at Ra-khir, his fear and need written plainly in his green eyes. She could no longer deny his love for her nor, she discovered, her own for him. Tae and Ra-khir; so different, yet she cared deeply for them both. The intensity of emotion she had not previously dared to admit frightened her in a way even condemning herself to death did not. “Thank you, Ra-khir, but no. I will take Tae’s place for now. He’ll come back. I know he will.”
Ra-khir opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He tensed, as if to battle through the entire collection of guards at once. But they both knew his honor would prevent it. Tears blurred his gaze to emerald puddles, but he stalwartly refused to look away. Kevral did not envy the war he fought inside himself at that moment.
Kevral turned. “Let’s go,” she told the guards. They crowded around her, though no one touched her. If she did not go willingly, they could not keep her. “Tae will come.” Kevral tossed back one last assurance as she headed peacefully toward execution.
Chapter 30
New Alliances
I believe in who and what I am. No cause is worth abandoning my honor.
—Colbey Calistinsson
Though more than a week had passed since the elves’ attack in the clearing, Ravn had little time to consider his actions before danger again called him to Griff’s side. As always, the displaced Béarnide found his solace in the Grove. The shade of many trees coalesced in cool splendor, and wind ruffled leaves, branches, and stream into beautiful dances. The odors of living plants and water mingled into a perfume mankind could never hope to match. The rustle of leaves, the chop of tiny wavelets, and the irregular skittering of squirrels seemed more a part of the woodland hush than interruptions of it.
But Ravn saw danger where Griff noticed only the natural radiance of his sanctuary. Far beyond human sight, elves crept soundlessly through brush, weeds, and shadows, drawing ever closer to the unsuspecting farm boy.
Ideas flashed through Ravn’s mind in a desperate boil. Suppressing the urge to draw and attack, he charged back toward his home on Asgard. He pounded breathlessly into the hall only to find his father gone, surely out on the practice fields or in his own place of privacy. No time to hunt him down for advice. “Mother! Mother!” Ravn hollered, racing into his parents’ room. He discovered neither of them there. He could rely on no one but himself, but the solution to his dilemma did not come.
I can’t attack and kill in natural form, but it was fine for Mother to protect in hawk guise. The details had no time to settle before Ravn snatched the cloak of feathers from his mother’s wardrobe and threw it over his own sinewy shoulders.
Light flashed through the hall of Freya and Colbey, and Ravn burst into flight before he realized he had changed. The cloak’s magic transformed his mother into an aristiri, one of the beautiful singing hawks that inhabited man’s world. But the flashes Ravn caught from the corner of his eyes showed him black feathers befitting his namesake. As a massive raven he soared Asgard’s skies, then hurtled down to Midgard in a wild dive. Wind surged and roared around him, drying his eyes to blindness. He caught glimpses of color, the passing of the Bifrost, the rainbow bridge that linked the gods’ world with that of mankind. He saw no one as he passed. The Bifrost’s guardian, Heimdall, had died in the Ragnarok, long before Ravn’s birth.
Like a black arrow of vengeance, Ravn rushed to the clearing near Santagithi, the earth flicking past him in streaks of blue, green, and brown. It never occurred to him to wonder how he learned to fly without need to concentrate nor how he moved so quickly. His mind attributed those to the magic of the cloak and focused instead on reaching the Grove. Speed obsessed him, so the trip seemed to take forever, though only a few minutes passed.
The elves closed in on Griff. Now aware of their presence, the Béarnide had risen to meet them, his movements uncharac
teristically clumsy. He was saying something Ravn did not bother to decipher. He zipped between the trees in an instant and soared down upon the one nearest Griff.
Before the elf could retreat, Ravn was on him, jabbing his beak into an orange eye. The elf shrieked, driven backward by momentum. The eye popped free, rolling to the ground at Griff’s feet. The elf collapsed beneath the buffeting wings.
No killing, Ravn reminded himself. Though rage drove him to hammer the elf to oblivion, he withdrew, turning his attack on another. This one faltered more quickly, throwing his hands over his face to protect his eyes. Ravn slammed his whole body against the shielding arms, sprawling the elf, then he descended on the others.
Another lunged for Griff, diverted by Ravn into a rolling dodge for cover. Ravn screamed a wild battle cry that emerged as a trumpeting squawk. Griff retreated, giving the raven space to maneuver. Ravn set to his task with undiminished fury, poking, pummeling, and hammering to herd the elves into a pack. Occasionally, one broke free, making a desperate move toward Griff that Ravn always countered. Again and again, he redirected them, his blows getting harder as he grew more accustomed to bird form. More like a dog than a raven, he herded the attackers into a defensive bunch and drove them from the clearing. Repeatedly, his beak drove into an ear or for an eye, threatening precious senses as well as causing pain.
Only after he had chased them far from Griff did Ravn pull back long enough to allow a regrouping. Then, the elves drew together for magics of escape. Shortly after he withdrew, they disappeared for other places. Or Griff. The thought exploded through Ravn’s mind like a panic. He winged his way back, zipping like wind through the clearing.
Griff was gone. Ravn howled, the sound transformed to a squawk his bird larynx could handle. He wove between the trees, searching desperately for the friend his own incaution might have lost. For a moment, he knew a fiery anger for his parents’ lecturing. Given his own head, he would have slaughtered this second group of elves as he had the first. His parents had tied his hands, probably costing Griff his life.
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