“How would you know? You barely showed your face when she was here.”
“She is a very intelligent woman,” Tal repeated, as if that answered Kane. “Besides,” he said, “given the nature of your pact, I thought perhaps you would not find some privacy amiss. And I had no wish to . . . embarrass her.”
Kane stopped his pacing abruptly to stare at his friend. “You seem to care little about embarrassing me,” he muttered.
“Have I embarrassed you?” Tal’s tone was nothing less than delighted. “Indeed, this is good to hear.”
Kane shook his head, bemusement filling him. “I do not understand you, Tal. Why does such a thing please you so?”
“Because I feared there was nothing left to embarrass you about.”
“You make no sense.”
“You have often told me there is nothing left of softness inside you, Kane. Yet if you can be embarrassed, there is some hope.”
“Hope? You are a fool if you equate softness with any kind of hope, unless it is for destruction.”
“I have been called worse than a fool before,” Tal said.
Kane went very still. Yes, he had been called worse. Sorcerer, wizard, mage . . . Kane had heard of the wizard of the mountain forest long before he’d come here, long before he’d come to suspect Tal was the source of those stories. But he’d been secure in his knowledge that such things were merely the beliefs of the weak-minded. Then.
Is it that you fear Tal’s answer?
Jenna’s words echoed in his head as he stared at his friend. Tal did not look at him, seemed intent now on staring into the stream’s clear waters, as if expecting to see the trout he was after appear at any moment. After a moment, Kane stepped up on the boulder Tal sat upon and dropped down beside him.
“Tal . . .”
He said no more, could not think what to say, did not even know what he wanted to say. But Tal looked up then, studying Kane’s face, his eyes, for a long, unwavering moment.
“Are you certain you are ready for this?” Tal asked softly.
“I . . .” His voice trailed away. He did not even know what “this” was.
Tal’s intensity became an almost tangible thing, and Kane was suddenly full of the kind of anticipation he’d felt before a battle, that building sensation that was not apprehension, not eagerness, not wariness, but a combination of all three that resulted in the long unfelt but not forgotten humming in his blood. And Kane knew then that this was the moment of no turning back; if he did not walk away now, there would be no changing what would come. No avoiding the question Jenna had so perceptively known was at the crux of his relationship with Tal.
“I have never lied to you, Kane,” Tal said, his voice still soft, with that kind of deadly intent that Kane knew marked the most formidable of opponents. “I have not always told you all there was to tell, but I have never lied. And if you ask me a direct question, I will not lie now. ’Tis up to you.”
He did not want to ask. To ask would be to admit so many things he did not wish to admit. That what he had thought unalterable truth was not. That what he had always believed was wrong. That what Jenna had said was true, he feared the answer.
Jenna.
And that was what he most of all did not wish to admit. That it was she who drove him to this. That prodding him was the emotion he had carried within himself for this week past, not wanting even to acknowledge, let alone name it. Yet it hovered there, refusing to be ignored or shoved aside, haunting his days and tormenting his nights with imaginings somehow more awful than the horrible realities he had seen, until one day in his exhaustion he had idly wondered if he would feel it when she died.
He could not go on like this. In the worst of his first days here, when he had been tortured by the memories of who he had been and what he had done, he had never felt like this, never felt such hopelessness and despair. He had been filled then with only a dogged determination to either succeed or die, and he hadn’t cared overmuch which it was. But this, this was killing him. Slowly, eating away at his vitals like some slow-acting poison, clawing at him until he was certain he was bleeding inside.
And he had finally had to face the fact that his fear for Jenna outweighed his fear of Tal’s answer.
He lifted his gaze to his friend’s face, the face that held the look of youth, with eyes that held the look of ancient wisdom.
“I have no choice,” he said, not caring about the bleak sound of his voice.
Tal looked at him steadily, intently, that unnerving golden glint glowing in his eyes.
“I can see that you do not,” Tal said at last, an expression of compassionate understanding coming over his face.
Kane took in a deep breath. “Is it true?”
Tal hesitated. Kane blinked, surprised; Tal’s selfassurance had always seemed limitless, yet he hesitated now. And as Kane looked at him, Tal’s mouth twisted ruefully.
“I find . . . it is I who am not ready,” he said. “Ironic, is it not?”
Kane just looked at him, the sight of an indecisive Tal so unexpected as to be startling.
“I . . . value our association,” Tal said slowly. “You are . . . like the brother I never had. I would dislike losing your friendship because of . . . something I cannot help.”
Kane felt a twisting inside him, a combination of shock and gladness and unexpected warmth, followed closely by a sensation of self-recrimination.
And perhaps you must admit as well that you would turn your back on him were it true.
Jenna had said it, and he had known there was truth in it, but he had been so intent on her at that moment he had not dwelt on it. But now, put as simply as Tal put it, it sounded as cruel and callous as anything he had ever done as a warrior. That Tal feared the telling as much as he had feared the asking had never occurred to him. That Tal would fear anything had never occurred to him. That it would be this stunned him.
And it hit him then that he had, without asking, received his answer. For Tal would not be concerned were there nothing to tell.
No one had ever worried about keeping his friendship before. True, he had not given it often, and never so completely as he had given it to Tal, but no one had ever cared much one way or the other. Mostly they were too much in fear of him to think of such a thing, and he told himself he preferred it that way.
So was Jenna right? Would he turn his back on Tal if his suspicions were confirmed? Would he forsake the one man in his life he called friend, the man who had probably kept him from losing that battle he’d fought when he’d first come to these mountains years ago? And for what? To go back to being that solitary man who walked alone, to pretend that Tal’s quiet humor had never taught him that such friendship was possible?
To pretend that Jenna’s courage, determination, and gentle embrace had changed nothing, had truly taught him nothing?
“I think you have already answered,” he said.
For a moment Tal’s eyes closed. His lips tightened as if he feared Kane’s next words. When none came, he opened his eyes again. And when he looked at Kane, his gaze narrowed.
“And I think it is time I asked why you have come to this now? Why is it you wish to delve into things you have always avoided before?”
Kane didn’t deny it; Tal’s words were true enough. And the haunting he had lived with this past week still churned near the surface, close enough that at Tal’s prompting, the nightmare boiled over.
“Because I wish to know . . . I have to know . . . if you have some way of . . . learning about Jenna.”
For an instant, Kane thought he saw something bright and joyous flash in Tal’s changeable eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and Tal’s voice betrayed nothing.
“Learning . . . what?”
“How she fares. Her people, Hawk, Glade . . .”
Kane’s stomach knotted at the words he had refused to say. “I . . . I cannot—” His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until he thought they would bleed.
“She lives, Kane,” Tal said.
Kane’s gaze shot to Tal’s face. Tal met it, held it, not flinching now, no hesitation in his manner.
“She lives. She will arrive home tonight. Safely. But I cannot say how long it will last. Things do not go well with the people of Hawk Glade. The warlord who besieges them knows they are there, and it angers him that he cannot find them.”
Kane had expected no less, but something Tal said perplexed him. “Tonight? But she left here but a week ago.”
Tal’s mouth twisted. “I . . . helped her down to the main road.”
“Helped?”
“The flatland journey is treacherous enough. She did not need to weather the trek down your precious mountain. She had already proven she could manage it by getting here alive.”
Kane eyed him narrowly. “Just how long did it take her to reach the road?”
Tal hesitated only a moment, then shrugged. “She was on her way the same afternoon she left you.”
She left you. Kane winced; had he had to put it like that? Then the fact of what Tal had said struck him. “That is a three-day journey for one who knows the mountain well.”
“Yes.”
And there it was again, hovering between them. Tal watched Kane as if waiting. As, Kane realized, he was.
And perhaps you must admit as well that you would turn your back on him were it true.
I would dislike losing your friendship because of something I cannot help.
Perhaps it was his fear for Jenna; perhaps it was the softening she had engendered in him, or perhaps it was simply the healing he had come here to seek, but he knew he had changed. Had he been too blind to realize it had been happening all along? Was it as Tal had said, that he had been fighting what he had come here for, only now to let it happen?
He did not know. But he did know something else. This much, at least, he had learned in time.
“I do not fully know what you are,” he said, “but I know who you are, Tal. You are my friend. And that is a rare thing for me.”
Tal let out a visible breath. “Thank you.” He gave Kane a sideways look. “In fact, ’tis as rare for me as you. Not many have the strength of will to accept . . . what I am.”
In all his wrestlings with his suspicions about Tal, Kane had never thought of it thus. But he did now. “In your way . . . you have been as alone as I, have you not?”
Tal shrugged. “People fear what they do not understand as much as they fear . . . say, a legendary warrior of incredible strength and ruthlessness.”
Kane turned over the new idea in his mind. “Has it . . . always been so for you?”
Tal looked at him for a silent moment. “I have not always been as I am,” he said at last.
“You mean . . . a wizard?” Kane asked in surprise.
“If that is what you wish to call it.”
“But I thought . . .”
“You thought I was born one? Most do. I was not. I was full grown, settled in my life, when . . . it happened.”
“Then how—”
“ ’Tis a long story, better left for another time.”
Tal got to his feet, pulling in his fishing line, glancing at the bare curved thorn at the end. He shrugged and wound the line into a tidy coil. He glanced upward toward the rapidly sinking sun, as if gauging the time until darkness. Then he looked at Kane.
“You are all right?”
“Yes,” Kane lied, looking at him warily. “Why?”
“I merely ask before I leave.”
“Leave?”
“Maud is too long gone. I need to find her.”
“I noticed she is not tracking your every move. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve seen her since you came back.” Kane frowned. “Have you not . . .”
His words trailed off; despite his unwilling acceptance of what Tal had admitted to, he found it difficult to ask something as foolish as whether Tal had not in some magical way communicated with his small black shadow.
“I know she is well,” Tal said. “But beyond that . . .”
He ended with a shrug and bent to tuck the coil of line into his small pack. Kane watched him for a moment, at first fighting the urge to ask, and then wondering why, since he’d come from acknowledgment to acceptance that Tal had ways of knowing things he could not understand.
“Tal?”
His friend straightened, slinging the small deerskin pack over his shoulder, and met Kane’s gaze.
“If I learn anything of Jenna, I will tell you.”
He turned then and walked into the trees, seeming to become one with the forest in the way that had always unsettled Kane. Somewhat to his surprise, it unsettled him still. Acceptance and embracing were, it seemed, two very different things.
For a long time Kane stood there, staring into gathering darkness, wondering, pondering.
If I learn anything of Jenna, I will tell you.
For the first time since he’d come here, he felt like a prisoner on his mountain.
JENNA’S LEGS ACHED, and the ankle she’d thought healed, throbbed, but she kept on. It was nearly dark, but she was so close to home she could almost smell it, could almost smell the sweet scent of the Jasmine that grew in the clearings, the fresh cleanness of the fir-scented air, the warmth of the sun that shone so brightly there, having not just warmth and light but a feel, a soothing balm that eased a weary mind as well as a weary body. There was nothing that could match Hawk Glade’s sunlight. Except perhaps the touch of Kane’s hands.
She suppressed a shiver. She had thought it would ease, this ache within her, had thought that as she got further from the warrior and his mountain that the pull would lessen. It had not. And she did not know what it meant. She had sold herself for the sake of the Hawk clan, had traded her body for Kane’s knowledge. She knew what that made her in the eyes of many, but she did not care about that. It was only the fact that she had found such pleasure in what he had done to her, what he had asked her to do to him, that gave her pause, that made her doubt the purity of her purpose.
She had thought it would be something she would have to endure, carnality without love. Instead she had found a joy she had never guessed was possible, and somehow it seemed to cast an entirely different light on the bargain she had made. She had been willing to pay to gain his help. That she had somehow become the recipient as well confused her. Over and above the fact that she was dwelling in safety and pleasure while they fought to survive, it did not seem right. She felt as if she had not truly made the sacrifice she had set out to make, and it made her wonder if perhaps it would lessen her chance of succeeding in her mission.
She wished she could stop thinking about it. About Kane. About the secret wonders he had shown her in the night, about the marvels she had learned from hands that had once killed so easily. Yet another paradox her weary mind could not fathom.
She pushed onward, wondering if it was possible to become too weary to think at all.
Of course, having Tal’s clever raven dogging her every step was far too vivid a reminder to easily dismiss. If he truly was a wizard, he was obviously a very good one; the bird had never wavered on the long journey. And she had to admit that after a while she had come to welcome the company, even talking to the bird as she walked, especially when her roiling thoughts threatened to overcome her. And Maud, watching her intently and cocking her head whenever Jenna voiced a question, had listened with every evidence of understanding. So much so that Jenna hesitated to dismiss the thought as pure fancy.
She welcomed
the canny bird’s presence for other reasons as well; it had not taken her long—after all, she was descended from a clan who followed a bird to their new home—to recognize the raven’s suggestion that she follow her into the woods. Once she had found a thicket of berry bushes that had been a welcome addition to the dried meat she carried, and once fresh, clear water to refill her waterskin.
And twice the bird had saved her life, leading her off the main track and well into hiding as a troop of armed men passed. Some carried insignia she did not know, but the last time, as she neared Hawk Glade, she had recognized the viperous banner of the evil warlord Druas. She suppressed a shudder, chiding herself for harboring some slim, foolish hope that somehow it would have all gone away, that she would return to find things as they had once been.
She should never have stayed away so long. All the time she had spent with Kane, in the safety of his mountain and his legendary presence, her people had been faced with the reality of this, of armed, predatory invaders. That they were within the forest, so close to Hawk Glade, made her cringe inwardly.
She wondered who had died since she had been gone. Evelin? The storyteller? Latham? She wondered who had screamed out the last moments of their life in agony as she lay in Kane’s bed, as she welcomed him into her body and soared in his arms.
A shudder of guilt racked her, and she nearly stumbled. Maud made a sharp, warning noise.
Jenna stopped, staring down at her feet. It had not been emotion that had made her stumble.
Sprawled across the path was the bloody body of a dog. Her throat tightened. Latham’s dog. The lop-eared, silly-grinned hound that Latham laughingly said was good for nothing but making the children laugh and warming his feet at night.
The dog who never strayed more than a few yards from Latham’s side.
Latham.
Her breath seemed to stop, lodging in her chest like a solid thing that would not be moved. Maud called out again, that imperious sound Jenna had come to recognize. Jenna lifted her head. The raven sat on a small branch of a twisted shrub, her wings flapping noisily. Jenna had learned this signal of discovery quickly. Now she wished she could ignore it.
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