The prince didn’t respond aloud. Instead the man levered himself up, clenched his teeth against a groan, and got back to his feet. Then he plodded up the canyon once more.
Kirin followed, dutifully sweeping away footprints. At least I don’t have to herd him.
An hour later they found a large fragment of the old road. Prince Terrell diverted their path to follow the bare pavement instead of the sandy canyon floor. Kirin silently approved and stretched his aching back. The road gradually climbed the canyon wall until they were a dozen feet above the stream bed. A branch canyon opened, and the road turned to a stone bridge leaping over it.
The prince paused, looked over the edge and said, “Water.”
Kirin joined him and gazed down at a small puddle in a hollow of the little canyon’s floor. As Kirin vaulted over the masonry side of the bridge the prince cautioned, “Don’t leave any tracks.”
Kirin bit back a retort and instead nodded shortly. The wet hollow lay at the bottom of a steep little side-canyon gouged into stair-stepped basins, all dry save this one. He coaxed as much of the precious fluid into his water bag as he could manage, then corked it and threw the gurgling sack up to the prince. Only then did he bend down and stick his head in the hollow to drink. He stopped when he got coarse sand in his mouth, sat up and wiped his lips with the back of one hand. He noticed that the dye had begun to fade and peel off with his skin.
Prince Terrell sat with a grunt and dangled his legs over the edge of the bridge, drinking more neatly. “Thank The One for this.”
Kirin frowned at the dangling feet. “Highness. You’re bleeding.”
Terrell glanced down, inspected one stained bundle of rags and shrugged. “Broken blister, I guess.” Then, frowning, “Have I been leaving bloodstained tracks?”
“Not yet. Let me look at it,” Kirin requested, using the excuse to avoid the prince’s gaze again. He unwrapped the stained rags as carefully as he could and stared in dismay. “Highness, the bottom of your foot looks like raw meat. Four broken blisters, at least, and another ready to go.” He took out his knife and added, “Hold still.”
Prince Terrell stiffened for a moment, then did as asked. Kirin carefully lanced the blister and trimmed away the rags of skin from it and the others. He scooped up the last of the water from the rock basin to wash the oozing skin, then cut up more silk to make a bandage. After he rewrapped the foot he held it for a moment, soaking his Shadow into the cloth. If The One God was kind it might kill any vermin lurking in the water or sand. He did feel a few tiny puffs of life passing through him, barely detectable but there. He gave the other foot similar treatment, using the last of the silk and holding it for slightly longer. When he finished he glanced up to see the prince staring down at him. Kirin hastily looked away, fearful of the man’s eyes, and cursed himself for a careless fool. He should have waited until his charge slept before using his Shadow.
“I saw that. What did you do?” Prince Terrell demanded in a tight voice.
Kirin’s shoulders hunched, then he forced himself to stand erect while not meeting the other man’s gaze. “It’s my own special talent, Highness. It kills vermin and such. My wife thought it stopped evil plagues from entering wounds, too. I—we can’t risk you getting sick out here.”
The prince’s gaze beat down at him. Kirin refused to meet it. For a long moment he stood there and endured.
At last the prince said, “I see. We’d best continue.” He levered himself to his feet.
Kirin breathed a sigh of relief as he leaped up to catch the stone railing and heaved himself onto the old road again. His charge took a few testing steps, then the prince’s stride lengthened and became more confident, though the bandaged feet must still have been painful.
The old road stayed above the stream channel now, occasionally eroded to a narrow shelf or torn by an outright gap. Twice Kirin helped the prince scramble across teetering slabs undermined by vanished floods. Their route wound around sharp curves and crossed frequent side canyons as the suns sank behind them. More and more they walked in shadows with direct sunlight shining only on the canyon wall. The air rapidly cooled from its pounding noonday heat, falling to comfortable and then chilly. The light on the higher hills vanished and stars began to appear. Prince Terrell walked as steadily as if his legs were made of iron, but his feet flinched when he put them down.
He’s hurting, Kirin thought. We should walk all night, but he’s not going to be able to keep this up. He’ll have to rest. What’ll I do if those soldiers catch up to us? I’ve got to find a place for us to hide.
He passed the water sack to his charge again. The prince drank a little, handed it back silently; it was already down by half.
Kirin drank even more sparingly; he hadn’t lost any blood. They passed a side-canyon that exhaled chill air at them. They were miles from the humid valley by now and the canyon wound steadily upward. He heard a growl from the prince’s stomach and his own echoed it.
After a while the canyon curved and a shelf appeared on the far side of the sandy bottom. Some past flood had piled it high with debris. Thank you, Lord Haroun.
“Highness,” he said. “Look at that mess of broken trees down there. I think we could hide there for the night.”
The prince stopped walking and stared into the canyon. After a moment he nodded.
Kirin helped him down the steep bank to the sandy bottom, carefully erased their footsteps as they crossed, then scouted among the jumble of smashed tree trunks. He wondered how the stream had found enough wood to make this jam. At the highest point the pile stood taller than him. There were several gaps under the larger trunks, the biggest one floored with sand and easily large enough for them.
“Are there snakes in this country?” Prince Terrell asked.
“Snakes?” Kirin stared at the pile, unsettled by the thought. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t want to give the prince more cause to distrust him, but he would rather that than get bitten by some viper in his sleep. He put his hands on parts of the pile and poured his Shadow into it, trying to keep it within the mass and as unnoticeable as possible. Lizards yes, he detected plenty of them, and even some mice and a little garden-snake, but nothing larger. That nest of scorpions, however, had to go. He slew them without hesitation.
“I think we’re safe now,” he reported, drawing his Shadow back inside.
“Useful talent you have there,” Prince Terrell remarked to him in a very dry voice.
Kirin deliberately ignored the remark. They crawled inside. Kirin took food out of his pack, pressed a traveler’s biscuit into the prince’s hands. There were only two of the twice-baked rations left.
His charge eagerly crammed the tough biscuit into his mouth and chewed avidly. Kirin wondered how much he’d been fed during his captivity. Or how little.
“Want some roasted almonds, Highness? I’ve got a few.”
“Water first, please,” the prince practically begged. Kirin passed over the water bag and saw how Terrell’s hands trembled as he uncorked it and took a gulp, then made himself pause and regain control before he took a smaller second swallow. He passed the bag back immediately afterwards like a man exiling temptation.
Kirin pressed a dozen almonds into the prince’s hand. Terrell carefully popped two into his mouth and chewed, eating with a dreadful concentration.
Eight days chained to a stone floor. Kirin visualized the waiting, imagined knowing his captors would have to kill him in the end, and being unable to move. It made his heart hurt. Mother Umana, help him. No surprise that he’s in pain. It’s a wonder he can walk.
The cold settled in deeper. This hidden cave had been shaded most of the day, unwarmed by the suns. A shiver ran down the prince’s arms and he dropped the last almond and had to grope for it. Kirin reached over and plucked it out of the sand for him. The way the prince’s hands trembled as he lifted the nut to his lips decided him.
“Highness, I’ve only got one blanket. We’ll have to share it.�
�� Kirin hadn’t shared a bed with anyone but Maia in more than a year, but he figured the prince wouldn’t be much different from sleeping with Attir and the cousins in the Boys Room back home. Maybe smellier; neither he nor Prince Terrell had had a proper bath in much too long.
The prince nodded tiredly, drooping a little even as he shivered. “I understand. You’ve got the knife and you’re in better shape than I am if it comes to a fight, so you should be on the outside.”
Kirin hadn’t thought of that; his respect for his charge rose a notch.
He arranged the blanket against a log at the back of their cave and ushered his charge into it, then lay down in front of him and pulled the blanket over them. They had his pack for a pillow, but the confined space didn’t allow either of them to stretch out. The prince lay half-curled on his left side and spooned against Kirin’s back in an uncomfortable intimacy. Warm breath brushed the back of his neck. The blanket barely fit around both of them, little chilly drafts kept sneaking under the front edge. But Kirin’s back rapidly warmed up and the Prince’s shivering soon stopped. They had each tucked their left hand under their heads, which meant Kirin had the prince’s left elbow under his neck.
Is this going to put his arm to sleep? He wondered, visualizing Terrell waking them both up from pins-and-needles in his limb. That would be a nuisance, but they’d live. A guard finding their hiding place in the night worried him more. Before crawling inside he had carefully swept away all traces in the sand outside, then jammed his tattered broom and a few other bits across the entrance like a mass of weeds caught in the wrack. It wouldn’t fool a close inspection, but it might pass a casual one. As a last defense he stuck his knife in the sand where he could readily grab it if needed.
The prince gradually relaxed against Kirin’s back as they both warmed up. His breathing smoothed out and he yawned. Kirin thought he must be on the verge of sleep. So it came as a shock when his charge’s voice drowsily whispered in his ear.
“I hope tomorrow you’ll tell me why you set me free—and why you kidnapped me in the first place.” Another yawn, then a whispered, “Good night.”
Kirin went rigid. He knows! He was torn between wanting to bolt and fearing to move. If they didn’t stay close the cold outside might kill the prince in the night. Kirin agonized over a hundred different scenarios as his charge’s breathing settled into the regular rhythm of one deeply asleep. Is he angry at me? Maybe not. Or maybe he’s biding his time. Then why did he tell me? Does he want to put me off balance? That worked! I’m a fool to lie here with him at my back. But there’s no choice, without me and the blanket he might die, and then Pieter would die.
Finally, one thought made it to the top of his mind and stayed there.
He wants me to tell him why I kidnapped him. Do I tell him the truth?
When he fell asleep, he still didn’t know the answer.
CHAPTER 46: TERRELL AND KIRIN
Terrell dreamed. He hung by his hands from a wooden bar suspended on two ropes and swung through the air. A crowd of people stared up at him. Someone else swung nearby, upside-down with his legs hooked over another bar suspended from ropes like this. The speed and motion ought to have made Terrell dizzy. His legs pumped as he drove each swing higher. Then he let go and soared.
His stomach wanted to flip over and dump itself. His body folded through a bewildering series of contortions while land and sky traded places once, twice. Then he raised his arms over his head and his hands slapped against the other man’s wrists. Their grips locked and held against a tremendous force trying to drag all four of their arms out of their sockets.
The watching people cheered.
Two more swings as he pumped his legs. The other man threw him back into the air. His mind wanted to gibber in panic, but his body knew what to do. Another bewildering contortion while the world tumbled around him, then his bar slapped against his hands. He found himself back where he had started but facing the other way. More cheers as he levered himself up onto the bar, standing and bowing to the crowd even as he swung back and forth. He finally noticed that he wore nothing but hose, and his skin had become a pale golden color.
The dream vanished as if it had been washed away. Terrell awoke in darkness, warm and curiously relaxed despite the frightening disorientation of the dream. The human presence against his chin, chest, belly, and thighs comforted him. He and Pen had gone winter hunting in the far north on young Duke Vanford’s estate and stayed for the night in a rough camp before the dawn stalk—
Then belated memory awoke. Danger threatened Pen too far away for Terrell to help, while he lay wrapped in a blanket with the mage who had kidnapped him. And bewilderingly, also set him free. He had found no answer to that conundrum, so before falling asleep he had thrown the riddle back on his rescuer.
He said his name is Kirin, Terrell thought. It means Black Eyes, and they certainly are. He conjures spells blacker than night, too. He said it should kill any sickness attacking my bloodied feet. I haven’t felt any worse than I expected to feel, so perhaps it worked. I think he used the same dark spell when he examined our hiding place. Never saw anything like it. He’s a very strange mage.
If he’s only a mage. Is he also demon-possessed? The idea that he might be wrapped in a blanket with a demon gave him an urge to shudder and push away, which he resisted. If he is, I must know. He’s asleep, I’ll risk a little prying. Father Haroun, be my shield and guard now. For what may be seen with magery, may also see me.
Delicately Terrell opened his mind and his magesight. The man so close in front of him was completely opaque, like one of the utterly untalented. Beyond and around them he could sense the tissue-thin wrapping of life over this harsh desert land, sense a small node somewhere ahead and the large warped one under the ruined city not many miles behind them. Much too close behind them. They desperately needed to get farther away from Silbariki and Ap Marn’s soldiers. But his exhausted body rebelled at the thought and pressed for more sleep. He denied it a little longer, stretching his magesight to probe at Kirin. But he found no magic at all in or around the sleeping form pressed against him. And absolutely none of the queasy sensation leaked by demons.
I don’t feel any evil emanating from him, certainly nothing like those Shadow-bears or Klairveen’s creatures. But blood-mages are hard to detect, they conceal their auras very thoroughly. And I’m no mage myself, to defeat a spell like that.
He remembered Kirin’s reaction to being asked if he had killed the guards. He called on Mother-Seraph Umana and he looked frightened at the mere possibility. Frightened of killing? Or frightened of killing with his magic? Genuine fear, too, if I’m any judge. I don’t think a blood-mage would have dissembled that way.
Though he had to admit that it might also mean that the mysterious mage had in fact killed with his power and didn’t want to do it again. This Kirin wouldn’t be the first skilled killer who had no taste for it. The memory of Pyrull with his hand on Irreneetha’s hilt came to Terrell.
I think I’d be wise not to underestimate how complex—and dangerous—this Kirin might be.
Terrell became aware of something else. The pressure that had grown inside his chest for the last few days, as his Light accumulated with no place to go and too little to spend it on, had eased. It trickled out of his chest in a steady rivulet and flowed into Kirin’s back.
For a moment the sensation unnerved him, and he tried to stop it. But he didn’t know how it even happened, he simply sensed the flow and concomitant release of pressure. Was this necessarily a bad thing? If it reimbursed whatever power source Kirin had drawn on to cast his own magics, it might be an important key to their survival.
The real question is, do I need him in order for me to survive? He does have the food and water and blanket.
Terrell made himself think about the situation coldly. Right now he’s deeply asleep and completely relaxed. He’s very strong, but I don’t think he’s ever trained for war. He doesn’t hold himself like a warrior. There�
�s no instant readiness to fight in his movements or his resting poise. He’s wary, but not ready to attack or be attacked, especially not now while he’s sleeping. I could probably break his neck and take those things off his corpse—and decent clothes too.
The thought briefly tempted him. The man had kidnapped him, he was confident of that. Death had always been a just reward for treason in Silbar. But that would leave me alone in a wasteland with only the faintest idea where I’m going. I’d have to conceal my own tracks as I go.
He listened to the night, much quieter than the ruined temple had been. There must be far less life inhabiting this dry canyon than the swampy ruins. He heard the skittering of a mouse in the deadfall and a cold breeze fluted mournfully through the sandstone walls.
No. For better or for worse, I need his help.
Inside his mind his honor gave a snort and challenged his vanity. Be honest with yourself, Terrell DuRillin DiGwythlo. You also need his company, or this empty unpeopled land might drive you mad with loneliness. You spent eight days chained to a stone floor with only twice-daily visits from your jailer, and one very unpleasant visit from Darnaud. Your parents are dying, Chisaad is scheming to put someone else on the Stone Throne, and your life will be worthless if you don’t find a way to out-think him. You’re too close to madness as it is.
Terrell contemplated a painful truth. I do not know how to be alone. It terrifies me more than death. Then he allowed himself to sigh.
Pen, Pen, with all my heart I wish you were here with me.
A tremor ran though Kirin’s sleeping body. Terrell wondered if the mage dreamed, and if so, what he dreamed about. Impossible to know. He closed his useless eyes on the night and allowed his tired body to carry him back to sleep, while his abundant Light continued its steady streaming into the dark stranger.
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Shadow and Light Page 45