Daughter of the Wolf (Pathway of the Chosen Book 2)

by Cat Bruno

  Caryss nodded, and Aldric relaxed his arms. “It is for you to decide how much to tell her.”

  “What do you want of my son?” Nicoline demanded, rubbing at her arms.

  Pulling her jacket tight to her as the winds increased and the air cooled, Caryss told her, “I want what you want. What any mother would. I want him safe and protected, to teach him things that he cannot learn here. I have given you my word, and to him as well, that he will not be harmed. But I did not know of his skill.”

  “Willem did not mention it then,” Nicoline murmured.

  With a shrug, Caryss answered, “We only discussed you once, and I had too many cups of wine even before talk turned to Rexterra. And when I saw the boy at the palace, I knew nothing of his calling, only that his mage-skill was strong. Nor did Crispin tell me of him.”

  “You are Eirrannian, Caryss, and stories suggest that all are welcome in the North, even ones with untrained talent.”

  There was a long pause before Caryss responded. Aldric watched her, knowing that it was time for her to choose. The risk was great, and the High Lord would see the boy killed, Aldric feared. He offered no warning, though, as he waited.

  “Our children are enemies, Nicoline, even mine who is yet unborn. Just as you must think on what is best for Jarek, I must think on what is best for my daughter.”

  “You are Tribe?”

  Caryss pushed her flaming hair from her face as she shook her head and sighed, “The babe’s father is. Nicoline, I did not know of this ancient feud.”

  “What feud?” Nicoline laughed. “As I’ve told you, I know nothing of my father. He visited my mother one night, just as others did, and never returned. His feud is not my own, nor is it my son’s. All the same, though, I have never wanted him to leave. Now he has reason to stay.”

  “No, mama! No! You told me that I could go with them.” Jarek cried.

  “The healer thinks you will harm her babe,” Nicoline told him angrily. “If there is nothing else, I think it best that you all leave.”

  Again, it was the diauxie who intervened.

  “Leseda, there is a reason that you have come here. The boy is only a threat if he wants to be so. Think on this as a chance to mend old wounds. An enemy must not always be so, and the boy desires to come with us.”

  “Mage,” Otieno called, turning to him, “The boy alone cannot be much of a threat. I know little of this land, but from what I’ve heard discussed here, there has been no war for generations. I see no harm in letting him come with us. And even more in letting old wounds fester.”

  Realizing that everyone watched him, Aldric hurriedly explained, “If the boy can harness his power, then perhaps he would be no threat. I have not witnessed an Elemental myself and know not what he can do or how well-controlled his magic is. A misplaced lightning streak would be enough to kill any of us.”

  “Just as if I were to swing any of my swords, you would be dead as well. And you, Aldric? What if you were to call for flame? Is your fire any less deadly than the boy’s skill?” the Islander called out to him.

  Caryss only listened, white-faced against a now-darkened sky. Aldric looked to her in an attempt to garner what she was thinking, but her eyes were elsewhere, as were her thoughts.

  Turning back to Otieno, he argued, “A weapon can only be so if it is used. I have heard it said before. If we are attacked and you must draw your sword, Caryss would not be your target. It is not so if the boy calls a storm. We might all suffer for it, and the babe most.”

  “You bicker over nothing,” Nicoline interrupted. “The boy will stay here.”

  Jarek was tugging on Caryss’s arm before any of them could object, and Aldric looked to Nicoline, silently warning her to call the boy back. When she did not, he stepped toward the healer.

  “We need the boy,” she whispered, her words traveling no farther than his ears.

  Louder then, she asked, “Nicoline, can Jarek be trusted with his mage-skill?”

  “Asks the woman who carries a child of the Tribe,” the light-haired woman smirked.

  Across the yard, the women stared at one another, as if rivals.

  Finally, Caryss called, “The babe is innocent and will remain so. She will lead one day, Nicoline, and perhaps then your kind and hers will be ally.”

  A blowing wind hummed around her as she continued, “What happens here today is not about us. We must consider what will come for our children and the paths that they may walk. My daughter needs friends, Nicoline, as does the boy. Who else but Otieno will teach him the ways of the sword? Who else but Aldric will teach him the ways of the court? He will learn healing, a necessary skill for any who follow the sword. If he stays here, he will be nothing more than a farm boy who plays with the skies. With us, he will learn and grow, until he is ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Nicoline cried.

  Her words soft and floating like a feather lifted by the swirling breeze, Caryss answered, “Ask him what he dreams of just before he sleeps. Ask him why he time-walks so often to the palace. Ask him what he seeks, Nicoline. Jarek knows, even if you do not.”

  The boy dropped Caryss’s arm as she spoke, understanding that the winds had changed again, and now she fought for him to come with them. His mother watched him, her blue eyes wide and striking, and suddenly filled with doubt. The boy stayed silent, as if he knew that Caryss spoke true.

  After the airs calmed, Jarek answered, his words controlled and even, as if they had been well-practiced.

  “I want the throne, mama. I am the rightful Rexterran heir, and I seek only what should have been mine by birth.”

  Aldric watched as Nicoline made sense of the boy’s words. Her face had become a mask, betraying little. Yet, even that told him much. After nearly ten moon years, her son was no longer hers. She had lost him to a father he did not know.

  “He will not be safe in Rexterra.”

  “Nor am I. Nicoline, I will look after him as if he is my own. And will not let him travel to Rexterra until he is better prepared. He is a child still, and will be for many moon years to come.”

  “The boy has never held a sword,” Nicoline countered, as if she could change the outcome.

  “He is late to it, as Otieno tells me, but his teacher is like none other. Most will believe he was born with a blade in his hand by the time he reaches manhood.”

  “I will not let him go,” she hissed, having played what cards she could.

  Unable to listen further to the woman’s pleading, Aldric called, “We could take the boy with force, my lady, but it is not the healer’s way. Your son invited her here and would just as soon leave with her. She will depart without him, if that is what you wish, but he will never forgive you. The choice is yours.”

  “Let it be, Aldric,” Caryss told him, “She is a worried mother, as most would be. We have come here to take her son, and she knows us naught.”

  Her face suddenly lined and weary, Nicoline sighed, “It grows dark. Let us go inside and make arrangements.”

  When Caryss hesitated, Aldric knew what she would say next. Before she could speak, he was upon her, his eyes scanning her, silently warning her to say nothing more. Her fingers twitched as she held them up to him in protest, but again his eyes locked upon hers, commanding her to say nothing of the King.

  A small magic, he knew, but a necessary one. As they followed Nicoline into her home, Otieno nodded. Caryss saw Jarek as he was, a child with mage-skill. But Aldric and the diauxie saw him as more.

  They saw what he might become.

  And neither would leave the farmstead without him.

  Soon, they were all seated at the table, except for Sharron and the King, who waited outside, one unseen. Nicoline bustled about the room serving them tea and carving a large beef roast. The kitchen was well-tended, neat and filled with tins and plates. Aldric knew that Willem sent the woman money each moon year, and the farmstead had been purchased with moneys from Crispin. Some of the land was leased and the profits shared, but
he knew that Nicoline would never suffer, for Willem would not allow it. She and the boy did not live as his father did, but he lived better than most, and much like Aldric himself had. And, just as he had once been, the boy was now of an age where a different path called.

  Shaking himself free of the memory, he heard Caryss telling Nicoline, “I will require nothing of him, except a vow that he will harm none loyal to my daughter or to me. If a time comes when he wishes to leave, we will see him home safely. ”

  Nicoline paused, knife in hand, yet did not turn to face the healer. Jarek had gone into his bedroom, and Otieno was seated on the other side of Caryss. All waited as Nicoline considered Caryss’s words.

  Before she could answer, Otieno stood.

  “Nicoline, if I may, I would show you what I would teach the boy.” Turning to Aldric, he said, “Keep Caryss warded and away from any windows, but send the boy to me. There is something that I should have done earlier.”

  With that, the Islander stomped from the room, his boots heavy and his steps determined ones. Jarek rushed to the kitchen, having heard the departure and looked to Caryss as his mother followed the diauxie into the night.

  “The Prince of Swords wishes to show you how he earned his name. Hurry now.”

  Caryss began to object as Jarek ran from the room, but Aldric waved her off, throwing a heavy ward over her, one that would take most of his energy to maintain. When it was in place, Aldric strode to the window.

  The dance started.

  No light shined above, yet, even in the darkness, the hilt of the curved sword could be seen as Otieno unsheathed it. It glimmered as if had been cut from the moon, silvery and sleek. As he swung it from hip to hip in a wide circle, Jarek gaped. Around Otieno there was a wide space, as mother and son watched from the porch. With the sword at his right hip, the diauxie lunged forward, flashing and fast, jerking his wrist up until the curved blade was extended above his head before slicing it across his body in a powerful downward slash.

  “Bring the rain!” he screamed, loud enough that Aldric could hear the command.

  When nothing happened, he again screamed, “Show me your skill, boy!”

  Again the boy hesitated, for he had heard the warnings earlier.

  Sheathing the curved blade at his waist, Otieno called, “She is warded and inside. I would not ask you to call the lightning if there could be harm. We are all tested, Jarek, and this is yours.”

  Before the boy could react, Aldric tightened the ward around Caryss until his limbs were shaking and afire. Bracing himself on the sink, he watched.

  With a simple raise of his skinny arms, Jarek called the storm. As he swayed, so did the winds, coming near and brining clouds of gray. Ever increasing, the winds caused the open window near Aldric to bang against the side of the house, the glassed pane clanging each time it struck.

  “Get under the table!” he screamed at Caryss.

  She stuttered in protest, but soon crawled under the table. Otieno two-handed the Greatsword, holding it in front of him, readied and waiting. As Aldric watched, he thought the man a fool. He would have run to them and forced the boy to cease, but he did not dare leave Caryss unwarded. Sharron, he realized, had fled into the covered wagon, where surely the King must now be awake, he thought. Nicoline stood to the left of her son, yet her arms hung at her sides. From what Jarek had said, even his mother had not seen the full scope of his power.

  When the rains came, Aldric’s vision blurred. Across Caryss lay a stronger ward than he had ever weaved, and his legs threatened to collapse beneath him. Even if the boy had been trained by kin, he would not have been strong enough to break the ward, Aldric knew. Yet, still he worried, for he would not be able to maintain it long.

  Outside, Otieno’s black clothing clung to his body and water dripped from his chin. As the first streak of lightning cracked, the diauxie smiled, half-mad and teeth gleaming white. Aldric nearly threw a fireball at him, but his arms would not rise. The lightening streaked closer, and Otieno moved, parrying. Faster than the sizzling jolt, the Islander rolled onto the wet ground, his long hair trailing behind him. But he was back on his feet again before any could blink.

  A jagged slash of light landed near his feet, yet he cut his sword through it, tearing the bolt in half, sending shards of crumbling light to the damp grass around him. For a brief moment, sparkling pieces of glowing light fell across his body, illuminating him as if had become a shattered, falling star.

  Otieno did not speak. He moved. Over and over. With a cool rain falling on him and under a dark sky, he danced to the sky’s revolt. Thunder growled at him, threatening, yet the man seemed to fear nothing. Each explosion that neared was destroyed by the Greatsword, bursting into harmless sparks that fizzled on the wet ground. The boy, even as mage-skilled as he was, could not defeat the man.

  In this battle, sword trumped sky.

  When the light faded and the rain ended, the boy stood with dropped arms and an open mouth. Otieno bowed. His next words crackled across the air.

  “Sword over sky, boy. When wielded properly, steel can triumph over fire and water as well. What is one weapon when you can have two? Your skill is mighty, but mine is mightier, as you just saw.”

  Aldric dropped the ward, struggling with hazy eyes to find a chair. He saw nothing else as his head fell to the table.

  When next he woke, Caryss stood behind him, cool linen pressed to the back of his neck. Jarek stood near his side as he addressed the healer.

  “My mother has explained to me what you require before we depart. Under sky and star, I vow that I will defend you and your daughter as long as you wish it to be so. Under sky and star, I vow that I will devote myself to learning all that the swordmaster has to teach. Under sky and star, I vow that I will harm none that you deem friend. Under sky and star, Jarek, first son of Nicoline and first son of Prince Crispin, King’s Heir, vows to be your loyal and faithful student.”

  “Is it your wish that the boy comes with us?” Caryss called to Nicoline.

  In a whisper that sounded like rolling thunder, Nicoline replied, “Under sky and star, I vow that me and mine will always welcome your daughter into our home. Under sky and star, I vow that your daughter will be mine, as my son is yours.”

  “On the morrow, we leave.”

  Her words were the last he heard that night.

  *****

  20

  Exile had not been unkind, and Willem had grown comfortable at the Academy. His villa was more home than the Grand Palace had ever been. Yet, since Bronwen’s departure, the Academy, and the clinic, offered little for him.

  He thought of her often, even more so once Crispin had sent him word of her departure from the King’s City. Even with his resources, the King’s Heir had not been able to locate her, although Willem found himself relieved at his cousin’s latest news. Crispin had mentioned much about Caryss, as she now called herself, but he had never mentioned the babe. Either he did not know of her or something had occurred.

  Punching at the door as he exited at the back of the clinic, Willem cursed his helplessness.

  “I need a drink,” he murmured, nearly slamming the door behind him.

  A loud groan echoed behind him, and Willem turned to find a first-year student rubbing at his chin. He could not recall the boy’s name, but his chin was red and swollen from where the door had struck him.

  When he noticed Willem, he said, “I have letters for you, sir.”

  With a nod, he took the letters and instructed the boy to have his chin tended. Once the boy ran off, Willem pulled a small knife from a pouch. Hurriedly sorting from the letters, he found none from his cousin. Yet, there was an unmarked one bearing only his name. Its light wax seal, unbroken, offered no hint either. With haste, he broke the seal and pried the letter open with the tip of the knife.

  It was early still, the sun only edging out of the east, but the scrolling script was a familiar one.

  Sir,

  It has been many moon years s
ince last I wrote to you. I did not think to find myself in need of you once again, but I know not where else to turn. Before I go any further, let me assure you that the boy is well. He grows tall and strong, and although he is still thin, I can see the look of his father in him. He knows more than I about the sky, and I am often amazed at what he can do. Yet, I fear that even with that to amuse him, he grows bored. Of late, he has taken to traveling while he sleeps. I do not know much of what he does, for he keeps most of it from me, since I often try to dissuade him from such action. Now, he has the idea about him that he wants to train with sword. I gave him my word that I would seek a teacher for him, and that is why I am writing to you. He cannot go to Rexterra, as you and I both know. I had hoped that in a moon or two, the boy would change his mind, but he grows more insistent and more restless. Which caused me to write. Is there someone that would not recognize him who could be hired to teach him the ways of the sword until he is sufficient enough or until he grows weary of it? Someone who perhaps owes you a favor? There are men here that I could employ, but few know much of value, as we are more known for breeding horses than warriors. If you know of none, I will take no offense, as I merely promised the boy that I would try to find him a teacher, which I have now done. I hope that this letter has found you well and safe, and that you are enjoying life on the other side of Cordisia. Perhaps one day we shall meet again, and I can properly thank you for all that you have done for us. Until then, N.

  With one letter, all seemed to change. With Bronwen gone from the Academy, Willem often thought of leaving. Now he had reason.

  As soon as he could manage it, he would head east, yet none would know. It was time to abandon the name and face he had worn for so many moon years.

  *****

  Jarek proved to be an easy traveling companion and an accomplished rider, having lived among the famed Planusterran horse traders. It was nearly a half-moon into their journey north, and the boy had not once complained.