The Desert Prince

by Peter V. Brett

  Even captive here, I have a taste of it now, and there is a part of me that wants more. That wants to be appreciated. Respected. Like Iraven.

  Like a man.

  * * *

  —

  Kai Tomoka is dismissed, and Iraven returns to his horse as Belina’s carriage breaks away from the main caravan with an escort of mounted warriors.

  I’m given tan pants and robe, along with a loose scarf to protect my face and hair from sun and sand—traditional clothes for a child in the Krasian desert. They give me bido cloth as well, but I dare not unweave my own, and Belina says nothing as I decline to remove it while I change.

  I am not bound, or kept from the windows, but as we race east along empty, forgotten roads, the trees are a blur and I quickly lose track of the forks and turns. I can see wards glowing on the horses’ hooves, making their strides tireless and impossibly fast.

  The unnatural speed slows at sunrise, but there is no rest. We press on at a mortal—but no less frantic—pace, and by twilight come to the shore of the great lake. A landing boat awaits us on the beach, its mother ship a dark silhouette out on the water.

  I cast about for Micha as we leave the carriage and animals behind to board the ship, but there is no sign of her.

  There are wards along the planks and keel of the boat, but still I shudder as we push off. We are far from Mother’s greatwards. It is said the lake is so deep, water demons do not need to return to the Core to flee the sun, only sink below the light. I watch the water, waiting for a horned tentacle to rise from the lake and wrap itself around the bow.

  “You are wise to fear the demons beneath the waves,” Iraven says. “On land they are formidable, but we have ground to stand on, air to breathe as we fight. In the dark water, there is only cold and blackness.”

  I am led to a small cabin on the ship, still unbound, but with a pair of guards posted at the door. I remember how easily the Watcher defeated me. I do not think I would last even that long against two armed and armored Sharum, and even if I could, it isn’t as if swimming is an option.

  We sail for two days, skirting shipping and patrol routes as we head south. Whenever the winds weaken, oarsmen bend their backs to keep up the pace until we reach the southern shore where a camp awaits with fresh animals and supply.

  We move more slowly during the increasingly hot days, resting frequently, but at night the animals race across the desert on warded feet that eat the miles. The magic Belina is expending is enormous.

  I’ve studied hora magic my entire life, but demonbones have become increasingly rare in Hollow since the Deliverer’s purge and the building of the greatwards. Belina is draining a king’s hoard of their power to spirit me away before anyone can figure out what’s happened.

  In my heart, I expected to be rescued by now. For General Cutter to appear with a cavalry of Hollow Lancers to take me home.

  The maps in Mother’s study say it can take a month for a Messenger to travel from Hollow to Desert Spear, but in less than a week, we crest a rise and I see it in the distance, great spires topping a massive wall of warded sandstone.

  Fort Krasia, the Desert Spear.

  Rescue isn’t coming.

  19

  MYSTERY

  Like my other senses, touch is overly sensitive for me. I usually sleep atop the bedding, because the rough sheets in Tibbet’s Brook feel like sandpaper scraping my skin.

  The sheets in Baron Cutter’s manse are fine silk, the mattress feathered, and I feel like I’m lying on a cloud.

  But I can’t sleep. All I can think about is Selen.

  I toss and turn, wondering if she’d wanted me to lean in. To let go. To admit to her—to myself—what I wanted.

  Her scent confused me. It always does. A mix of desire and amusement, like a cat batting around a trapped mouse while deciding if it’s hungry.

  And what did she mean about Olive? It made no sense. Olive Paper is like the sun. Beautiful to look on, dangerous to stare at, and utterly out of reach. I can’t imagine a world where she’d want to kiss me, or where I’d even want her to. Be like kissing my sister.

  I don’t think I can sleep, but then I wake with a start and realize I must have drifted off. Someone is pounding on my door.

  “Darin Bales, get up this instant!” Selen is shouting.

  I’m moving before I realize it, vaulting out of bed and running a hand through my hair. I grab my shirt, throwing it over my head as I reach for the door, wondering what I’ve done wrong.

  Selen looks stricken, but it’s her scent that jolts me, a sour stink of fear so intense it wafts from her like a skunk’s spray.

  “What’s happened?” I reach for her arm, no hesitation now as I squeeze. Tears well in her eyes and she throws her arms around me.

  “Olive and Micha are missing.”

  I keep my arms around her as I pull back to meet her eyes. “How? When? We just saw them…”

  Selen puts her hands against my chest and gently pushes me away. “Don’t know. Messenger just arrived from the duchess’ keep. Da’s on his way over. Says if we’re coming, it needs to be now.”

  In the time it takes Selen to draw her next breath, I rush across the room to snatch up my satchel and return to the door, pushing into the hall. “Let’s go.”

  “Don’t you need your boots?” Selen asks.

  I shake my head. “All they do is slow me down.”

  Lord Arther,

  Before Mother left, I borrowed her alagai hora for a casting of my own.

  The dice tell me I need to be with her—that she needs me—and I cannot ignore it.

  I know you—everyone—would try to stop me, and so I must go alone. I am sorry for the trouble this will cause.

  With regret,

  Olive Paper

  * * *

  —

  Lord Arther, First Minister of Hollow, is a former cavalryman. He remains fit for the saddle, but his demeanor is more boring than threatening, despite the military decorations hanging below his spear on the wall behind his desk. I can smell fresh oil on the blade.

  The minister’s usually dull eyes are sharp as he watches us read Olive’s letter, his breathing is slow and steady, and he stinks of suspicion. General Gared, who already read it, looks down at us with similarly mistrustful eyes.

  I ignore them, bringing the letter to my nose for a sniff. Olive’s scent still clings to the paper. I can smell the precise spots where her fingers touched. The ink of the signature is fresher than the rest, but folk often read a letter over a few times before signing.

  “This is Olive’s handwriting,” Arther says. It’s not a question. I glance at his desk and see sheets written in similar hand, used for comparison.

  “Ay,” Selen agrees, “but it doesn’t make sense. Olive can’t predict her next trip to the privy with the dice, much less convince herself to run off. And when does Leesha ever put her dice down long enough to borrow?”

  Arther manages to keep his voice calm, but there is tension in his muscles, and impatience in his scent. “Selen, if you know anything…if you helped her…”

  “Didn’t.” Selen shoves the paper back at him. “And Olive didn’t write this.”

  Arther is unconvinced. “Some of the wall guards were drugged with a sleeping draft much like the one Captain Wonda described.”

  Selen shakes her head. “No corespawned way Olive would run off without telling me.”

  “In that, we agree,” Arther says carefully. “Finding Princess Olive is paramount. If you can help, you won’t be punished…”

  “Ay, don’t say that,” General Gared growls. “I find out you helped her run off, gonna be the Core to pay.”

  Selen’s scent is fearful at the words, hurt, but her sudden anger overpowers the other smells. “I didn’t ripping help her, and she didn’t run off! She ent
like that.”

  “Not like that?!” the general roars. “Two of ya pulled this same rippin’ trick not three weeks ago!”

  “Ay,” Selen agrees. “Together! Night, it was my idea! This is different. Olive isn’t impulsive.”

  The general frowns. “Get that you’re trying to take the switch for your friend, Sel, but I ent such a fool as to fall for it twice.” He turns to Arther. “Micha’s gone, too. Means she’s already on the trail. She’ll keep Olive out of trouble while we send some Cutters to fetch her home.”

  I catch a faint whiff of blood in the air. Could be anything. Folk bleed all the time for all sorts of reasons, but there’s call to be suspicious. The others are too busy arguing to notice me slip away. I pad softly around the room, sniffing.

  There’s a strange odor—something I’ve never smelled before. It’s strongest on one section of carpet, and I squat down to run my fingers over the heavy pile. They come away gritty with a faint powder that seems to absorb and mute other scents.

  At a glance the carpet appears clean, but as I brush my hand through the wool, there is a faint stain of red below the surface. I pinch it and sniff my fingers. Definitely blood.

  Now that I have the scent and a starting point, it’s easy enough to follow. The floor’s been wiped clean, but while that might fool the others, it’s another sign to me. Would Arther pause to have his office cleaned, his spear polished with fresh oil, if the first thing he found on his desk in the morning was Olive’s note?

  The trail leads to the window and I open it, throwing a leg over the sill.

  “Ay, Darin!” the general shouts. “What in the Core ya think yur doin’?”

  I ignore him, slipping out of the window and catching the lintel to pull myself up. Talk is meaningless. I have the spoor. I follow the faint trail to the roof, then along the sloping tiles to the familiar eaves above the duchess’ gardens.

  I am stronger in the shadowy nook, leaping down to the windowsill across the way like I did to win a bet, years ago. I jump back to bounce off my momentum on the first wall before sucking in for the final drop. A shock runs up my legs at the impact, but my bones are harder when I suck in, my skin like leather. I’m unhurt as I begin searching for the trail.

  Olive might be strong enough to make that descent, but I can’t imagine her attempting it. Selen is right. Olive isn’t that impulsive. She might have used a rope, but if so, there is no sign.

  I pick up the smell of blood, faint amid the fragrant herbs, and follow it through the garden. Here and there I find bruises on grass or plants that would have been imperceptible to others, patterns where soil has been swept and smoothed to hide passage. I find a hidden exit in the rosebushes and track the blood smell to the stables. If Olive was attempting to go after her mother, it follows she would need a horse.

  Stablehands stare at me as I sniff around the stalls, but even the wood reeks of urine and droppings and dried mud. I lose the scent entirely, forced to exit the stables and circle outward hoping to pick it back up.

  I’m about to give up when I find the spoor again, on the ground near the keep wall. I can smell Olive’s perfume clearly. She was not the one bleeding. Someone was with her. A Krasian. Micha? Did they rest here briefly, or hide to avoid detection?

  After that, the trail vanishes. Either they mounted—and there is no sign they did—or they scaled the wall. I climb to the top, but it is windy, and if there was a trail, it’s blown away.

  * * *

  —

  Selen glares at me as I return to Lord Arther’s office, this time through the door. I tell them what I found, but all three remain skeptical.

  “Ya followed her…scent?” the general asks dubiously. “Like a hound?”

  “Straight up a wall, along a roof, and back down through an herb garden?” Arther adds. “Impossible.”

  I walk over to the minister, pointedly inhaling through my nose. “You ent had breakfast yet.”

  Arther frowns. “That doesn’t prove—”

  “You brushed your teeth with minted paste when you woke,” I cut in, “but it doesn’t change your breath as much as you think. You had pheasant last night, with herb-crusted potatoes and…leek soup. There was blackberry jelly for the pheasant on the table, but you didn’t use any.”

  Arther’s face has gone slack. “How can you…”

  I point to his wrist. “Must’ve got a bit on the cuff of your jacket when you reached across the table.”

  Arther lifts his sleeve, eyes widening as he notices the stain. He purses his lips. “This proves nothing if the two of you are protecting Olive. I know the three of you well enough to trust that if she asked you to hold her secrets, you would.”

  “Corespawn it,” Selen growls. “Something’s happened to her, and you’ve got your head too far up—”

  “Ay, that’s enough!” the general barks. “Ent got anything useful to share, you can keep quiet.” Selen looks as if she’s been slapped as he turns to the first minister. “No one saw ’em leave, so Darin’s story is as good as anything. Doesn’t change what we need to do. I’ll gather some Cutters and go after them.”

  “I want to come,” Selen says, but her father’s scoff denies her without a word.

  I step forward. “I can track—”

  “You can stay put, is what you can do,” the general tells me. “Promised your mam I’d keep you safe. Bad enough Olive’s missin’. Won’t add you to the tally.”

  Selen balls a fist, her scent fierce and angry. Before she can open her mouth, I lay a hand over her fist, squeezing gently. “Ay, all right.”

  Selen whirls on me, but I only squeeze tighter. “We’re just worried about Olive, is all. Won’t get underfoot.”

  The general blinks. “Never had an argument with your da go so easy.”

  I shrug, pretending the words don’t sting. “Ay, well. Ent my da.”

  * * *

  —

  “Why did you give in?” Selen demands the moment we’re alone in the underkeep. Her scent is sharp, angry, and I don’t understand why.

  “Because we don’t need a thousand Cutters trampling the trail,” I say. “We need to follow it now, while it’s still fresh.”

  Confusion mixes with the anger smell. “I thought you lost it.”

  I shrug. “Lost it on top of the wall. Reckon I can pick it back up on the other side, if I head out now. Can you steal some food from the pantry and meet me outside the wall?”

  Selen stares for a moment, then throws her arms around me, crushing so tight I instinctively start to turn slippery.

  “No you don’t.” Selen hugs tighter, keeping me from melting in her arms. “Thank you, Darin. You didn’t have to—”

  “ ’Course I did.” Now I do melt, slipping away to solidify two steps back. “Ent a coward, no matter what folk say. Olive needs us.”

  Selen puts up her hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  The words, her doubt, still stings. But now ent the time to debate it. “Outside the wall. Quick as a rabbit.”

  “Ay,” Selen nods. “Get some other things, too. Clothes. Matches. A tent.”

  “Don’t weigh us down,” I say. “This is a race, and they’ve got the lead. Food, your cloak, and a spear.”

  * * *

  —

  Selen meets me outside the walls, dressed much as the stories of her adventure with Olive describe, in a borrowed wooden helm and cuirass, carved with wards and the crossed axe and machete of Baron Cutter’s house.

  The armor is lacquered and polished smooth, still smelling of whatever soldier wore it last. A round shield is strapped to her back, along with a short, warded spear. I can smell bread and meat and cheese in her pack, and gold in her purse.

  She walks my way casually, amusement in her scent. She thinks I won’t recognize her.

  “Took you lo
ng enough,” I say when she draws close.

  “Corespawn it, Darin,” Selen growls, pulling off the helm. “Needed a disguise to slip away. Picked the smelliest breastplate I could find, and walked right past Da’s guards. How’d you know it was me?”

  I shrug. “Way you walk. Your eyes. Beat of your heart. And I can still smell you under all the sweat.”

  Selen blinks. “Ent sure how to take that, Darin.”

  “Like flowers in an outhouse,” I say.

  Selen rolls her eyes. “I guess that means you’re up to this.”

  I nod. “Found something.”

  “I did, too.” Selen reaches into her pack, producing Olive’s warded cloak. “Ent a chance in the Core Olive ran off after her mum without this.”

  I take her along the wall to a place where some low trees give cover to a spot not far from where I lost the trail on the wall above. “Horses were waiting here last night.”

  Selen looks around, brow tightening.

  “Droppings have been cleaned,” I say. “Hoofprints brushed away. But I can smell them.”

  She looks at me, doubt leaking into her scent. “If you say so.”

  “There were four of them,” I say.

  “So Olive wasn’t alone,” Selen says. “You’re saying someone took her.”

  I don’t like guesses. They feel like a promise you ent sure you can keep. I prefer to trust my senses. “Saying there were four horses here, and they all rode off with Olive and Micha.”

  “Can you follow them through town?” Selen asks.

  I blow out a breath, thinking of the thousand ways to lose a trail in a busy town with cobbled streets. A thousand stinks cover those stones, no matter how often it rains. I honestly don’t think I can do it. But if Olive’s in trouble, she’s depending on us.