“Where have you been, Cade?” It came out harsher than Ky intended. He folded his arms across his chest. At least he wasn’t standing there like a sun-struck fool anymore.
“Killing Khelari.”
And earning battle scars while he was at it. Ky blinked at the new scar that carved down the side of Cade’s face. Made him look older and fiercer than before. More intimidating too. “What are you doing here?”
“He is here with me.” A Saari woman emerged from the shadows. The quiver of spears strapped to her back and the spear in her hand triggered Ky’s memory—Sym, that was her name. The stains on her leathers spoke to long travel.
“And me.” A dwarf stepped out beside her. For a split second, Ky thought it was Migdon. One glimpse at the enormous rucksack on his back, and Ky started forward, ready to greet his friend. Then the moonlight hit the dwarf’s face, and he stalled. Not Migdon. Of course not. Migdon was dead, and this dwarf had blond hair that curled over his forehead, and a thick curly beard combined with a ready grin. The dwarf huffed out a long breath and hunched over with a hand on one knee. The enormous rucksack—at second glance, Ky realized it put even Migdon’s oversized knapsack to shame—gave him the appearance of a turtle lugging around a shell two sizes too big. “Ah, pleased to meet you all. Very pleased. The name’s Tymon.”
Ky held his breath waiting for the rest of it. Every other dwarf he had ever met had come with more names and titles than he could count. “Tymon . . .”
“Just Tymon.” The dwarf bobbed his head cheerily. He had a mild sort of voice that seemed at odds with the dual swords poking out of the top of his rucksack. “I rather think the rest is a load of pretentious blather, and I don’t really go for that sort of thing. Besides, we haven’t time for it now, do we? There are far more important things to discuss.” He dropped the rucksack. It made a hideous clank. He straightened with a groan, rubbing at his shoulders. “And important discussions should happen over food and drink. Point me to your fire.”
Ky glanced from Tymon to Sym and then over to Cade, head bursting with questions. Because sure as slinging, this was no accidental meeting. They were here for a reason.
Cade met his gaze, but his eyes gave nothing away. “Tymon doesn’t brag. He’s the Caran’s head chef. Trust me. You want him cooking supper.”
Oh, hang it all.
For all he knew, this was one of those pesky dwarf customs like insisting upon formal introductions. Though Tymon didn’t seem to put much stock in things like that. “Fire’s this way.” He led Tymon and his massive rucksack up the hill toward the main part of the camp. For some reason, the dwarf’s cheerful smile irritated him. Or maybe it was just the uncertainty surrounding Cade’s reappearance and what it might mean for the Underground.
Behind him, Birdie spoke. “Tell me, Sym, why are you here?”
“To talk to you, Songkeeper. We are in desperate need of your help.”
26
Out of his rucksack Tymon withdrew a stack of pots, cooking utensils, and countless pouches of spices and other ingredients, and still it seemed just as full. Ky stared openmouthed as the dwarf settled easily into work in the cooking space with nearly half of the inhabitants of Drengreth clustered around to watch. They had already eaten one meal, but given the tantalizing smell already rising from Tymon’s pots, he doubted anyone would find that a hindrance.
Ky jogged back down the hill to the grove where the others sat around a newly lit fire. The flames licked feebly at the wood. As he approached, Cade tossed a handful of dried branches on, and the fire sizzled to life, sparks spiraling up toward the overhanging tree limbs.
“How did you find us here?” Birdie asked Sym. They sat together on one side of the fire with a narrow gap between them and Cade.
Ky hesitated on the edge of the circle.
“We followed the rumors.” Sym had a hoarse, throaty sort of voice. He remembered that. But now it sounded softer than usual, and her eyes shone like glass in the blend of fire and moonlight. “The mountains are full of them. Talk of a healer, a singer, a worker of wonders. In whispers, they have taken to calling these the mountains of music.”
With a groan, Cade stretched his long legs out. “Rumors are bad, you know.”
Mentally, Ky kicked himself. What was he waiting for? This was his camp. He stepped forward. “Tymon’s got supper going.” He squeezed into the gap between Cade and Birdie. “At the speed he was working, don’t reckon it’ll take long.”
Cade ignored him. “The question’s not how we found you but why the Khelari haven’t found you yet. There are too many of you crammed in here. Too much activity. Too much coming and going.” He shook his head at Ky. “You’ve left trails all over the place. You’re getting sloppy.” An elbow jab to the ribs caught Ky off guard. Not hard, but still annoying.
He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t that bad. They had a good system here, or else they would have been discovered long ago. Of course there were rumors. That was unavoidable when you ran a refugee camp where the Songkeeper herself healed people—a risk Birdie had insisted on taking. What was it? Cade just couldn’t let him have one victory without trying to show him up? Prove how he could have done better?
“Where’s Slack? She’s good at hiding that sort of thing. Misleading trackers, laying false trails. Should’ve asked her for some pointers.”
As much as Ky had grown to understand about Cade’s leadership over the past few months, it hadn’t made it any easier to stomach. He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Slack is gone. She betrayed me because she was angry that you had left the Underground to me. Took Meli with her too, and half the runners.”
Yeah, he had failed at the whole “no bitterness” thing.
“And you just let her walk away? Didn’t think to go looking for her?”
“I had the rest of the Underground to look after.” What made Cade think he could walk in here and judge the way things were run after he had abandoned them?
“We have bigger concerns now.” Sym’s voice cut through the rising tension. Cade looked away first, and Ky felt a tinge of shame for being so easily riled. “All of Leira is at risk. Everywhere, the Takhran’s forces are stronger than we imagined. We need you, Songkeeper.”
The crackle and snap of the fire seemed magnified in the silence that followed her words.
Birdie spoke at last. “Need me for what?”
“To end this war.”
Ky glanced at the faces around the circle, trying to gauge if someone was joking, but they all appeared to be deadly serious. Even Cade. He knew Birdie was the Songkeeper, maybe even understood a little of what that meant—he had witnessed the force of her Song in overwhelming ways—but ending a war seemed a mighty tall task for one person to attempt singlehanded.
Even a Songkeeper.
“Supper, anyone?” Tymon’s cheery call brought the discussion to a grinding halt. He bustled into the circle with a tray stacked with steaming bark bowls of soup and a plate of cheese and sausage. He distributed the food with muttered warnings that it was hot, and then Cade pulled his legs in so the dwarf could join the circle.
Ky blew into his bark bowl until the soup cooled enough to sip. It tasted sweet and savory all at once, with soft chunks of root, meat, and vegetable floating around it. He cocked an eyebrow at the dwarf. “You always travel with that much cooking gear?”
“It’s been said that I’ve always been a better chef than fighter.” The grin appeared again. “Better chef than traveler too.”
“Better is relative, Tymon.” Cade chuckled, jerking his chin toward Ky. “You could take him out no problem.” Tymon’s snort sent heat crawling through Ky’s veins, but he gritted his teeth and reminded himself that this was normal behavior from Cade. And then Cade leaned in with a wink and whispered behind the cover of his bowl. “Don’t be fooled. Tymon claims he’s not a fighter, but he’s near about given me a run for my money once or twice.”
And that was not normal. It wasn’t like Cade to first
set him up as the brunt of a joke and then to pad the sting. It didn’t make a lick of sense. Ky downed the rest of his soup and focused on Birdie and Sym’s conversation across the fire.
“. . . but the last I saw you, you were headed back to the desert.”
“Messengers stopped me at the border. Inali had escaped on our journey back. I was not allowed reentry.” Sym’s tone reminded Ky of rock. Stern, unflinching, and yet there was a hint of something more buried beneath. “The Matlal has sent me to serve as a go-between for the mountains and the desert, an ambassador of sorts between Nar-Kog and Cadel-Gidhar.”
“But Cadel-Gidhar is fallen.” Birdie’s eyes met Ky’s across the fire for a split second, and then she cast them down. “We saw it. We watched it fall.”
Tymon leaned forward. “You were there, Songkeeper?”
“Yes. There was nothing I could do.”
But the dwarf clapped a hand to his knee as if he had not heard her. “I knew it was so.” His eyes grew distant, misty. “The walls had fallen. The Khelari were an unstoppable tide. But even as so many died and bled and we fled into the night, we heard a melody upon the wind and felt the whisper of a rain falling upon us. It broke the mindless horror of Earthshaker and the monsters that hunted our blood. It gave us the courage to rally together, to retreat instead of flee. It saved many lives that night.”
The dwarf’s words conjured up an image so vivid Ky’s heart hammered in his chest, as if he stood again upon the heights and watched the battle unfolding below.
Cade broke the spell. “The fortress may have fallen, but the army survives. We Nordlanders aren’t done yet. The Caran, many of the Xanthen—his council—even the chief Adulnae leaders broke through the slaughter. Since then, the army has been regrouping, skirmishing with the Khelari now and then but avoiding pitched battles.”
He spoke as if he had firsthand knowledge. Ky gave a second glance to the dwarf-made armor and the new scar cutting across the side of his face. “You were there?”
“Joined up with the Adulnae after I left. Completed a handful of missions. We killed that Khelari marshal, Cedric something-or-other. Killed him and planted his head on a spike.”
Ky stiffened at the name. Couldn’t help noticing the fevered gleam that lit Cade’s eyes as he spoke of the man who had taken Siranos, murdered Migdon in cold blood, and was responsible for the attack that had led to Aliyah’s death.
Cade nodded at him. “Thought you would be pleased at the news.”
Was he pleased? Should he be pleased? “It’s not going to bring Migdon or Aliyah or any of them back, is it?”
“No. But it’s just real satisfying to know that he’s dead. After that mission, we joined in the defense of Cadel-Gidhar and took the fight to the mountainside once the fortress fell. That’s where we met up with Sym.” A wry twist crept into his voice. “While you’ve been raiding slave camps, we’ve been fighting a war.”
Despite the words, Cade’s tone lacked the old sting. Ky shrugged them aside.
“In the south,” Sym said, “the Khelari have made several attempts upon the desert, but they have been beaten back. Still, we cannot carry on as we have been. From anyone else a two-pronged war would be madness, and yet we are divided, and the Takhran fights from a position of strength. The desert and the mountains must unite in this battle.”
“That’s why we came to find you.” Cade leaned forward, eyes fixed on Birdie. “The Takhran has a fleet. Thanks to our time at Siranos, we discovered that. After I joined the Adulnae, they sent Tymon and me on a scouting mission to figure out what we could expect from that quarter. We found fifteen Langorian ships anchored in the bay, unloading soldiers by the hundreds. Monsters too. All marching for Cadel-Gidhar.”
“Lately,” added Sym, “there has been a troubling movement of soldiers back to the fleet.”
That sparked Ky’s attention. “Wait . . . you mean they’re leaving? That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Hardly.” Cade rolled his eyes. “If the Takhran’s marching his soldiers out of here, it’s because he wants them somewhere else.”
Sym nodded. “Matlal Quahtli has been considering marching a significant portion of his forces to aid the war here in the north. But he will not come unless the Takhran’s fleet is destroyed. He cannot risk leaving our lands undefended if the Khelari can sail behind and attack from the rear.”
“We remove that threat, his forces are ours,” Cade said.
Birdie’s eyes narrowed. “You think I can help with that?”
“If not, Sa Itera has come all this way for nothing. The chiefs of the clans and military leaders meet tomorrow at dawn to formulate our plan.” Sym dipped her head, and the braids she kept bound at the base of her neck slipped over her shoulder. “We would like you to come.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Regardless of what he says—” A roll of her eyes indicated Cade. “—it was not easy to find you. We have wasted much time. Will you come?”
Birdie nodded without hesitation. “Yes, I will come.”
All this talk, and Ky might as well have stayed at the edge of the circle for all the role that he had played in it. He fidgeted with the tail of his sling. “And what do you want from me?” No sooner had he spoken the words than he wished he could recall them. He got the same sort of feeling when he misstepped during a swordfight, leaving himself wide open to the next blow.
Cade flashed him that earnest smile. “Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s a great distraction. Forces the Khelari to divide their attention, keeps their focus off the real danger.” His hand flicked to his belt. He removed a pouch and tossed it to Ky.
A familiar weight filled his hand. “Sling-bullets?”
“Call it a peace offering.” Cade stood, hand on the hilt of his sword, and for just a moment, his smile turned deadly. “I’m here to recruit your raiders. Anyone who wants to join the real fight can come with me.”
•••
Ky weighed the pouch of sling-bullets and watched as they marched off into the night. Sym, Tymon and his enormous rucksack, Cade, Birdie, and about a dozen of his raiders that Cade had managed to recruit. He let his hand sag. Peace offering? More like bribery to sit back and do nothing, to leave the real work to them.
Bitterness lodged in his throat. Months on his own, leading the Underground to become more than Cade had ever accomplished, freeing folk from their chains, raiding Al Tachaad, and destroying the graves. You’d think it would count for something. But five minutes with Cade was still all it took to make him feel worthless.
A light step caught his ear.
Obasi slid up alongside, peering into the dark. “Lionheart.” A gruff nod. “Who was that?”
“Just an old friend.” He tried to sound confident in that fact as he threaded the pouch of sling-bullets onto his belt. Bribe or not, they were sure to come in handy.
The Saari made a low, rumbling sound in his throat. It reminded Ky of the noise a lion made, something in between a purr and a growl. “I do not like him.”
Ky had to agree with him on that.
Apparently, Cade was more easily appreciated in his absence.
27
With a sweep of her arm, Sym drew the tent flap aside and ushered Birdie in. Firepots dangled from the ridgepole, casting a garish light over the scene. A handful of dwarves and Saari mahtems were already seated at a U-shaped table covered in maps and scrolls and scraps of parchment. The two seats in the center stood empty. Three mahtems sat along one side facing Nisus and Jirkar and half a dozen dwarves on the other. She had heard the dwarf brothers’ melodies on the way in, but the sight of them still sent a wave of relief to quell her spiking anxiety.
All eyes turned to them.
“I trust we are not too late?” Sym inclined her head, and Birdie did the same, not sure whether she should bow or curtsy or simply stand there and smile . . . or not smile.
How was a Songkeeper supposed to act at a council of war?
Nisus reached for a steaming pewte
r cup that sat amidst a mound of papers before him. He nodded gravely at Birdie over the top before taking a sip. “Not at all. Sa Itera and the Caran will be joining us shortly.”
Jirkar winked.
And the tension within her bones eased.
After that, it was a jumble of introductions. Sym led her over to the mahtems and introduced them one by one. Thirty Saari in all had come from the desert to escort the wife of the Matlal through such dangerous territory. Ten from each of the tribes represented by the three mahtems. They had strong, harsh-sounding names that echoed the resilience and fierce spirit born into the desert dwellers. Narrowed eyes and taut smiles greeted her. Perhaps they had not yet forgiven her or Hawkness for abandoning his end of the bargain for her rescue.
She had come to fight now. That should count for something.
No sooner had Sym finished her introductions than Nisus stood and bowed with a flourish. He named the dwarves, delineating between those of the Xanthen—three dwarves to his left, clad as he was, in simple, loose-fitting robes with wide sashes draped over one shoulder and bronze torcs about their necks—and the Adulnae—three dwarves to the right of Jirkar whose introductions included military titles, cohort numbers, and years of service. Emblazoned bronze breastplates gleamed on their chests, and plumed helmets sat on the table before them.
Only after Nisus sat did Birdie realize that the introductions were finished and she couldn’t recall a single one of their names, though their melodies she already knew by heart. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cade and Tymon slip into the tent and sit on low stools behind Jirkar. Her head spun as Sym led her away, and the meeting hadn’t even begun yet. It was almost as overwhelming as the council meeting in Nar-Kog. And yet she knew something now that she had not known then, and the knowledge grounded her. Gave her comfort.
She was the Songkeeper, and she walked in the way of the Song.
Sym led her to the two empty seats beside the three mahtems, but before they could sit the flap slapped open, and all at the table stood. Sa Itera immediately claimed the eye. A surcoat of bronze mail clinked over her golden robe, and a beaded cloak of light blue and red draped from her shoulders. The tawny, knotted strands of her hair had been swept up and bound with a band at the back of her head so that the tail hung loose. A battle headdress consisting of a bronze band lined with lion’s teeth crowned her brow. Beaded strands dangled alongside her face.
Song of Leira Page 30