“Wild ones, I promise.”
I chose a grassy patch facing away from her as we set into our respective lunches. Alastair pointed out landmarks as we ate. “See that peak to the north?”
I nodded, my mouth full.
“That’s An-Edannathair,” he said. “‘The Foremost.’ We call it Edan’s Crest.”
I swallowed. “Is that where Edan met his dragon?”
He nodded, a faraway look in his eye. “The Vehryshi say they sparred together for three days before Aur’eth declared Edan worthy of his loyalty. That was where he agreed to fight for humankind against the first Tekari.”
“Sorry, the who told you that?” I asked.
“Vehryshi,” Akarra said. “Keepers of the Sacred Hearth and the most honored of dragonkind. And it’s not supposed to be where Edan Daired met the Flamesire, khela,” she added, and crunched something bony, “it is where they met. The Vehryshi would not be happy to hear a Daired say otherwise.” Another crunch, followed by a short blast of dragonfire. “You can turn around now if you like, Aliza. I’m done.”
“Thank you. I’m, er, sorry.”
“You know, that’s something that’s always puzzled me about you,” Alastair said. “I wouldn’t have thought a healer would be so squeamish.”
“I didn’t used to be.” I looked away, trying not to think of my little sister’s face and the southern pasture at Merybourne Manor where that had all changed. “And there’s a difference between an herbmaster and a surgeon.”
“No need for apologies,” Akarra said. “Anyway, Alastair’s hardly one to talk. I assume he’s told you what he did after he made his first kill?”
He glowered at her as I leaned forward. “What did he do?” I asked.
“Akarra, you said you wouldn’t bring that up again,” he muttered.
“To your casual acquaintances, maybe,” she said with a toothy smile, “but you should keep no secrets from your wife.”
“I threw up after I beheaded my first gryphon,” he said. “There. Laugh if you must.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
“Twelve.”
I thought of the gryphon I’d killed. It had been more than a year since our battle in the Witherwood but I could still feel its body twitching beneath me, still hear its dying screams. What must it have been like to go through something like that as a child, to know only the world of blade and blood? A passage from the Book of Honored Proverbs came to mind and I no longer wondered at the truth of it: “Hardest of all is the service of Thell, to whom no one bows without first having been broken.”
“I would never laugh at that,” I said quietly.
“Then you’re kinder than most dragons,” Alastair said with a last glare in Akarra’s direction. “How many more hours to Claykeep?”
“Two or three if the weather stays fine,” she answered.
“Is there no chance of making it to Hatch Ford today?”
“Doubtful. The borders of Harborough Hatch are the better part of a day’s journey beyond Claykeep. We could try to make it to the Ford tonight, but we’d be flying long after dark. Are we really in such a rush?”
“You may enjoy flying in a blizzard,” he said, “but Aliza and I’d both prefer not to get frostbitten crossing the Langloch Mountains in the middle of a storm.”
“Oh, we’ll be fine. Winter’s still a good month away.”
“All the more reason to get there quickly.”
“How long do you think the hunt will take?” I asked.
“Mikla willing, we’ll be back at Pendragon in time for Martenmas.” He scratched his nose and stood. “But for now, I’d rather not be in the air after sunset. We’ll stay in Claykeep tonight. Besides,” he said, pulling a dagger from its sheath on his calf, “that gives us some time to practice. Draw your knife.”
I blinked. “What, now?”
“Yes, now. You wanted to learn how to protect yourself, and I’d rather show you in Dragonsmoor than in the Widdermere.”
“But I’m not . . .” My mind raced, supplying excuses I’d never thought of before. Is it wise to fight on a full stomach? Shouldn’t we wait until we’re safe indoors? Those clouds in the west look ominous; what if it starts raining? All right, it’s sunny now. But isn’t that too much of a distraction? “I mean, shouldn’t we work up to it?”
“If we wait until you feel ready, we’ll never start at all.”
My cheeks grew warm. Something about the way he said it made me suspect he’d heard every excuse I hadn’t said, and probably even those I hadn’t thought of. This is what you agreed to, I thought, and drew my knife.
I really hated my past self.
“No, hold it like this.” He adjusted my grip. “You’re not stabbing your enemy with a paintbrush. Don’t be afraid to hold it firmly.”
I clenched my fist around the hilt.
“You’re not holding a blacksmith’s hammer either. Strike a bone while holding it like that and your whole arm will go numb.”
“Firmly but not too firmly, loose but not too loose?” I said.
“That’s simplifying it, but essentially, yes.”
“I suppose I should stay close to my enemy, but not too close?” He nodded. “And strike but not strike? Maybe kill it, but not really?”
Akarra’s laughter rumbled behind us. Alastair furrowed his brow. “Are you taking this at all seriously?”
I relinquished my attempt at levity, astonished at how naked I felt without it. When it came to war, it was not Alastair who fought, or at least not the Alastair I’d gotten to know over the last few months. Put a blade in his hand and he was Lord Daired the Rider, and the Rider didn’t have quite the sense of humor as my husband. Perhaps it was just as well. Only the madman laughed on the battlefield. I gave a few experimental thrusts.
He murmured something in Eth. “We’ll . . . work on that. Perhaps more basic, then. First lesson: know your weapon. Look at your dagger and tell me what you see.”
“It’s, um, a long knife. Double-edged. The leather around the grip is worn, but there’s—” I looked closer at the hilt. “There’s a pattern worked into the steel.” Chips of colored stone and enamel glinted in the sun, tiny waves and spirals of white and yellow and blue. I’d never noticed it before. “It’s quite pretty, actually.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Keep looking.”
I stared at the knife, willing it to reveal its secrets. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s sharp and shiny. Alastair, what am I looking for?”
“Hold it out.”
“Yes?”
“Think, Aliza.” He circled me, staying just out of reach of the knife’s point. “Pretend I’m a Tekari. What do you see now?”
I followed each footstep. “I . . . oh! I see.”
“There. If I attacked you, you’d have only an arm’s length to defend yourself. Whatever strike you decide on, you must make it count the first time. You may not have a second chance.”
“So if I’m attacked by, say, a rampaging gnome, I’ll be all right?”
“You’re the expert on garden-folk. You tell me,” he said. “But you understand the principle. A dagger is for close-range combat only.”
“I could throw it.”
“Then what would you use to defend yourself? Only let go of your weapon if you have no other choice. If you’re in danger, your first options should be run, hide, or both.”
“What if you need help?”
If possible, he grew even more serious. “You’re the bravest person I know, Aliza, but the Old Wilds is no place to prove yourself. If there’s danger, run. Don’t hesitate, and whatever you do, don’t wait for me. Akarra and I will handle the fighting.”
“But what—”
“No,” he said flatly. “There’s no debate. Either you promise me this or we take you back to Pendragon right now.”
“Fine.”
“Give me your word.”
“Aye, I promise.”
He parried my dagger easily and clos
ed the distance between us. For an instant the Rider’s mask slipped and he was my Alastair again, his voice gentle, his presence warmer than the sunlight falling over his shoulder. “If you want to help me, then protect yourself. As long as you’re safe, there’s no Tekari I couldn’t face.”
“All right.” I moved closer. There didn’t seem to be any other sensible option. He glanced down with an expectant look, which rapidly crumbled into disappointment. “What?” I said.
“If you were hoping for the advantage, that was it.”
I followed his gaze. The knife hung in my grip like an afterthought, tilted away from his exposed side at the most nonthreatening angle possible. He’d handed me victory and I hadn’t even noticed. I glowered up at him. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?”
“Distracted me!”
“Myet av-bakhan,” he said with a grin. “It means ‘be on your guard.’ If you’re going to fight, you must learn to see the world as a Rider sees it, and to us the battle is never over. We must always be ready. So should you. Seize every opportunity, every advantage. Mercy has its place, but distraction is death.” He moved my hand so the tip of the knife settled in a chink of his armor. “This would give a clean kill. One good thrust up through the ribs and into the liver. I’d bleed to death in minutes.” He drew my hand across his body. “If you wanted me to suffer, aim here.”
“Stomach? Why?”
“That’s not as quick. If you manage to pierce your enemy’s stomach, they may ask you to end them before long.”
“All this applies to Oldkind anatomy as well, I hope,” I said, suddenly uneasy at the realization that Alastair was teaching me how to kill another human.
“Most living things, yes. Your safest bet will always be the head, neck, or heart.” He stepped away. “Raise your knife.”
For the next hour he taught me the basics of knife-work, how to move like the dagger was part of my arm, how to think on my feet, how to shift and dodge and make myself a more difficult target. It wasn’t easy. I lacked his natural grace, his sixth sense for the blade, and frankly, his stamina. Despite Akarra’s occasional words of encouragement, my arm ached and my lungs burned after forty-five minutes, most of which was spent diving out of the way as he showed me new angles of attack. How anyone could stand to fight in full armor, with a longsword in their hand, against an opponent who knew what they were doing, was beyond me. When Alastair sheathed his knife and said we were finished for the day, I was almost relieved to climb back into the saddle.
Almost, but not quite. I wasn’t that exhausted.
The sun was settling below the mountains behind us when we saw the first glimmer of the torches burning on the walls of Claykeep. The city sat on the edge of a vast, darkened pit—the oakstone quarries, Alastair had told me earlier. Akarra landed outside the city. Cold, sore, and hungry, I wasn’t in particularly good spirits as we trudged toward the gates, which promised less protection the closer we got. Mortar crumbled between the bricks and the spikes sticking out from along the top of the city wall were rusty or missing. Alastair banged on the postern with the heel of his hand. There was a scrape, a flare, and the oily reek of a lantern, and a square of light fell onto us as the guard shoved aside the sally port hatch. “Eh? Who’s there?”
“Travelers.”
“Travelers? Wot business you got in Claykeep at this hour?”
“What do you think?” Alastair growled. “We’re looking for lodging. Open the gate.”
With a creak of rusty hinges, the door swung open. The guard held up his lantern and peered at us from under his hood. “It’s a rare day we see travelers of any sort out this way, ’specially after sunset. Er, Lordship,” he added at the sight of the Daired crest. “Can’t blame a body for being too careful, wot with all those Tekari roaming about. Why, just yesterday—”
“Yes, thank you,” I interrupted and asked for him to point us toward the nearest inn before he could begin recounting his adventures as the gatekeeper of Claykeep. He jabbed his lantern toward the center of town and shuffled back to the gatehouse.
What started as a main street soon devolved into a spindling alley lined with quarry refuse and ropes of laundry. Children wielding the long poles and torches of lamplighters swarmed up the walls to light the public lamps with the agility of squirrels. They whispered to each other as we walked by. Alastair snagged one of the girls by the arm as she passed.
“Oi, wotcher!” she cried.
“Where’s the nearest inn?”
The girl looked up at him, her face soot streaked and sullen, and didn’t answer.
“The inn, girl.”
“Yeah? What’ll you gimme for it?”
“Oh, for gods’ sakes.” I fished a copper trill from my purse and handed it to her. She snatched it and stuffed it somewhere among her clothes.
“Righty, milady. Go straight on till the street dust turns white. That’s Mason’s Alley. There’s a halfway-decent inn ’round the corner from there.” Alastair released her and she scurried off.
“No need to be so rough,” I said as we started off in the direction she’d indicated.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Our money worked,” I added under my breath, but I was too tired to argue.
The inn was more or less where the girl said it was. A sign swinging above the door announced it as Hunter & Quarry. The front parlor was empty, save for a thin man with sagging features sweeping the hearth. He stopped sweeping when we entered.
“Do you have a room available?” Alastair asked.
He stared at us. At our repeated entreaties, a twig-bearded gnome peeked around the corner, much to my astonishment. One glance at Alastair and he hurried out, wiping his hands on his apron and giving us a greasy smile as he leapt atop the nearest table. “Gracious me, is this honest-to-gods Riders in my establishment? What brings you out this way, friends?”
“Looking for a room,” Alastair said and held out a silver half-dragonback.
The gnome brightened. “Hal! Fix up the south chamber!” he said to the thin man, who scurried up the stairs like a dog with its tail between its legs. The gnome took the coin reverently and tucked it away in his pocket. “We’ll see you done right, milord. This here’s the best inn in town. Please, sit! Set your bags down. Would you like some dinner, perhaps? Something to refresh yourselves?”
Alastair tossed our bags below the table and ordered whatever the innkeeper could prepare fastest. The gnome bowed again and rushed off to what I assumed was the kitchen, hopping from table to table the whole way. He left tiny footprints on the wood. I touched the table in front of us. A fine layer of quarry dust had settled over everything in sight, including us.
Alastair brushed his armor clean with one hand as he sat with a few words in Eth that did not sound complimentary. A few minutes later an equally dusty maid appeared with a pot of stew, which she ladled for us in return for, as she swore was the innkeeper’s orders, five copper trills. It was a shameless cheat, but we were too tired to care. At that point I would’ve parted with a handful of gold dragonbacks for a chunk of bread and a decent pillow.
The room she showed us to when we finished wasn’t much larger than our wardrobe at Pendragon. A few green logs smoldered in the grate, coughing coils of smoke up the chimney, and a black bearskin lay draped over the narrow bed, moth-eaten and missing patches of fur. There was neither bath nor washbasin.
“Charming,” I said.
Alastair threw himself onto the bed with a sigh of long-looked-for relief. The mattress sent up a fine cloud of dust and creaked under his weight. “You didn’t have any objections spending the night in significantly less hospitable locations. ‘We’ll make do,’ I believe your words were? A sentiment I still admire.”
“If somewhere in there is your offer to take the floor, I won’t object.”
“What’s wrong with the bed?”
“It’s tiny.”
He smiled. “Precisely.”
I shed
my Rider’s gear and curled up on the other side of the lumpy mattress. Despite my protests it did fit both of us. Barely. As if he’d read my mind, Alastair brushed the hair away from the nape of my neck and began rubbing the tension from my shoulders. “Ah, thank you,” I murmured.
He slid down the straps of my chemise. “Aliza?”
“Hm?”
Slowly he ran one finger along my right shoulder blade, following the scar I’d earned at the end of a lamia’s war-scythe. “What happened in the Cairn?”
A word. One word and it began again: the pressure on my chest, the rapid heartbeat, the struggle to breathe normally. Please, no. Not in front of him. I buried my face in the pillow but could not shut out the memory. The Broodmother’s grinning skull crown swam before my eyes. Blood trickled hot and sticky down my back. I heard the rush of flames. Ashes coated my throat, tasting of dragonfire and death, and I had to swallow twice before I could speak.
“You know what happened.”
“Akarra told me what she knew, yes. I need to hear it from you.”
“Why?” I hated that my voice shook.
He stroked my hair, his fingers gentle, insistent, persuasive. Akarra’s dragonfire had seared off my braid at Cloven Cairn, and the shortened fringe still only brushed my shoulders. “You have dreams about it, don’t you?”
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