He speaks too much and knows too much. Maybe letting him go was a mistake…
Still, the thought of leaving him to die was even worse, and after some time Evandro sighed. Apparently the night was quiet enough, and the sentry silent. He could afford to close his eyes.
At dawn he woke up to the rasping of horse hooves. Still curled up by the cold remains of their fire, he watched through his lashes as the commander stretched with a grimace and slowly got to her feet. Evandro kept his breathing slow and steady and waited, and soon he could hear Helena speak to the soldier from the reinforcements.
“... saw something, you said?” she asked. The other man nodded and yawned.
“Pardon me, commander. We saw a flash of light, but then we found traces of your capture—trampled banners, signs of fight… after that, we just followed the trail into the woods.”
“The flash of light is more relevant. Where was it?”
“West from here, somewhere North from Tarini. Magic, I’m sure, and…”
“... and nobody in Epidalio has power to squander that way, I agree. How distant?” she insisted.
Evandro bit the tip of his tongue. The princess had been seen two days from here, and with a fresh horse and his knowledge of the land he could find her in half that time.
He made sure Helena wasn’t looking and turned on his side, squinting to check on the horses. The animals were snorting and rasping the soft ground with their large hooves. Their feathered lower legs stomped restless, and the long dark fringes on their hocks waved like banners—elegant, but covered in dirt and bits of dead leaves. They were gorgeous beasts, even if they were designed for a battlefield and not a hike in the forest. He’d make do.
“Thank you. We’re riding off immediately, and pray the Mother will guide our steps,” the commander said. Evandro waited until she knocked on his shoulder and grumbled in an overly sleepy voice.
“Wake up, Stelio. We’re leaving,” then she moved on to Barnabas, who was grunting for his back pain and lack of sleep.
He made a big show of yawning and stretching, greeting his unwanted companions with the sleepiness of an early awakening. Nobody seemed too interest in his morning routine, but when he splashed some water on his face, letting it trickle down his beard, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He turned around, and found Helena was staring at him. The moment their eyes met, she frowned, and Evandro quickly flattened his bang on his brow.
When the commander clapped his back and resumed her round of encouragement to spur her men into action, his jolt of nervousness relented.
I’m just being obsessive. They can’t have recognized me, or I’d be dead already.
Later that morning Evandro accepted a horse--a skittish beast, and he suspected nobody else had wanted it because of that--and managed to calm it enough to ride it alongside the others. More proof that the party trusted him. The poor beast probably sensed his tension, because every now and then it snorted and kicked the ground, and only with profuse streams of gentle words and pats on its neck Evandro managed to keep it calm.
Helena trotted to his side and grinned, for what her bruised face allowed her.
“You have a way with horses…”
“Who, me? Not really, my lady. It’s been ages since I had one of my own, but I suppose I haven’t lost my touch…”
“Why so?”
Evandro resisted the impulse to clench his fists around the reins and stared calmly ahead of him. The sun was high in the sky, with only a residue of clouds from that morning’s rain.
“You can’t exactly keep a horse when you’re living in the woods, you know?”
“You know what I meant.” she insisted, and her voice had a hint of steel. The voice of a woman who’s accustomed to asking questions and getting answers. He patched together the simplest, most nondescript excuse he could think of.
“I was eighteen when I lost a lot of money at cards; been working as a stable boy for years at the time. I had to flee, and two years later the Spring Slaughter came, and I had nowhere to return to.” He shrugged. “No big deal, it got rid of my creditors for good, and the life of a woodsman and hunter suits me just fine.”
“Ten years living as a hermit,” she said, shaking her head. “You seem quite skilled nonetheless, don’t you?”
A trickle of sweat rolled down Evandro's spine.
“You don’t survive long against wolves, bandits, and the occasional bear without damn good reflexes and muscles,” he blurted out. And this seemed to satisfy the commander’s need for details, because for the next few hours they rode in silence.
Evandro, alone with his concerns, dwelled on the issue until his head ached: did she suspect anything? The sword she’d given him was a comforting, if undeserved, weight at his side; and to be quite honest, nobody would give a sword to someone they don’t deem trustworthy enough.
Eventually, they had to set up camp again; they hadn’t moved that far from their previous outpost, but clearly Helena and Barnabas weren’t fit enough for a longer ride. As they approached a bend in the Arrowhead’s Creek course, he stopped and stared into the distance. One day to the point the princess had been seen last, but not with those soldiers at his heels.
Helena approached him again.
“Look at you, tall on horseback, and with a sword at your side. If you weren’t so scruffy and bruised, you could pass for a knight…”
Evandro jumped, and the horse under him reared a bit, annoyed.
“What… me? A knight? I’m no knight, I’m just… I’m just a guy who left human civilization to flee his debts! Why would you…”
“Relax, Stelio. Of course you’re not a knight, but maybe, one day… if we find the princess--when we find her, Queen Cibele might want to reward you for your services, and…”
“Let’s find the princess first, alright?” he laughed it off. His tunic was drenched in sweat and his hands were deadly cold.
“I like your pragmatism. Come, we’re setting up camp for the night and then opening some mead. We’ll wait for you by the fire,” and she trotted away with a tired smile.
Evandro waited by the river until he was sure tears wouldn’t swell in his eyes.
All that time… all those years he’d renounced his sword, his honor, even his name. A lifetime banning his fondest memories of Eliodoro--training with him when they were nothing but children, with wooden swords and bruised knuckles. Riding together, hunting and laughing, sharing secrets and forging their friendship in steel and blood. When Ligeia became part of their group they were fifteen; Eliodoro knew she was going to be his wife someday, and Evandro knew he loved him already, beyond any hope. Still, he couldn’t hate her: she soon became one of them, reckless on horseback, never shying from a challenge, whether it was with a weapon or a drinking contest.
Her cries still rang in his ears. Ligeia had loved Eliodoro, too, and he loved her in return, so much that their marriage had moved past the point of political interest. She was dead, too. Buried under the castle Evandro had destroyed to keep them from becoming prisoners and pawns.
He’d lived. She and her child—Eliodoro’s child--were lost.
There’s no justice in this world, he thought, turning his horse around.
This time, the group had recovered enough to go for a more civil kind of arrangement for the night. Evandro helped digging the fire pit and unearthing stones to circle it, and was even granted the freedom to explore the nearest surroundings to check for fire wood. He bitterly laughed to himself as he undertook a task usually reserved for old soldiers and kids, but he went the extra mile to bring back fresh pine branches. Useless for burning, but good to make bedding. By the time he got back, a small fire was burning and when he plopped down on his blanket, the pine needles underneath let out a fresh scent. Barnabas and young Corrado were chatting and laughing, playfully teasing each other
These were the same people who’d burned that poor village. Ruthless killers, but also common men. They knew no honor, only obedience
. It was enough to soothe their guilt, if they had ever felt any.
Suddenly, as Helena joined the rest of the team and dropped sitting on the ground, he realized he wanted them dead. They served the Asares, and they had ruined everything he’d ever held dear.
He looked down to his crossed legs and slipped his hands under his knees to hide his clenched fists. The fire, hot against his cheeks, made his eyes burn.
Some might have called it vengeance, but he knew better.
He had tried to deny it. To forget it, leaving the memory under the pile of corpses he’d woken up to after the siege.
It was still there, as true as his beating heart, carved in his bones and soul. He was a knight, and he’d lived out of his moral code for too long.
“Stelio! Come, join us,” Barnabas called him, and Evandro blinked memories away. He kept his head low, blurring the renewed light in his eyes and recreating the same distant smile he’d used with them.
He wanted them dead, but was he ready to taste blood again?
For now, he just sat with the group and accepted the green bottle they were passing around. He thanked them with a nod and watched as —Corrado took a last, long gulp.
Evandro sniffed the contents of the bottle and hardly held a sneeze back. The strong scent of alcohol and herbs prickled his nose, and it burned on his tongue as he barely tasted it.
“Whoa!” he said with an exaggerated look of shock on his face. “This is brutal!”
“My mother makes it,” Corrado said with pride. “It can knock a bull out, and it’s good to remove rust from pots and pans, too…”
“I’ll ignore what it could do to my insides, then,” Helena chuckled, taking the bottle and drinking some more. After a few rounds, the level of the liquor was definitely lower, and not thanks to Evandro's intervention. His mind stayed clear and sober, and barely a hint of the drink lingered on his lips.
Its effects appeared soon on the others, and tongues loosened.
“I’d heard of bands of rebels in the forest, but I never gave it a second thought,” Helena said with a grim shake of her head. “They’re not well equipped, but are fierce.”
“Indeed. Attacking a patrol of fully geared knights is--ack!” Barnabas grimaced as his voice broke. He touched the red wound around his throat and gently massaged it. Helena sighed and passed him the bottle again with an encouraging nod.
“Have some more, it’ll help you.”
Evandro casually tapped his fingers on his new sword, keeping his face as drunkenly distracted as possible.
If they keep going like this, they’ll be drunk inside one hour. Am I really ready to kill a sleeping target?
He shivered, and when Corrado looked at him he shrugged and moved closer to the fire with a grin.
“Drink, my friend,” the boy said. “And then give it back, because…”
“No, soldier. Enough for you, you’re taking the first sentry duty,” Helena interrupted him. Corrado pouted a little, but Evandro took the bottle and pretended to drink, letting some liquor trickle in his beard.
“A toast! To surviving an attack, and to finding our beloved princess!” Barnabas said, taking the bottle from Evandro's hand.
“I really want to know how it happened,” Corrado said as if to himself. “Kidnapping her from the palace sounds unlikely…”
“Not that unlikely,” Barnabas pressed on. “Some say she simply vanished from her room, but mind you, nobody could escape that tower, highest security, magic wards and so on…”
“We’re looking for some dangerous enemies of the crown, and not just for the princess,” Helena said, serious, apparently unaffected by the liquor.
“Enemies? And here I thought the Asares were well respected in all of Epidalio.” Too late Evandro realized the slip of his tongue: his tone was sarcastic, but the commander misinterpreted it.
“You clearly lived under a rock for the past years, Stelio. We’re not at war, but we’re trying to avoid an uprising, here.”
“Besides,” Barnabas continued, “we’re talking about the heir to the throne. We need to find her safe and sound.”
“She’ll be, I’m sure. Isn’t she the most powerful mage ever existed? They used her as a catalyst to give the soldiers the strength to break the old king’s defenses, can you believe it?” Corrado's eyes were wide with excitement, as he extended his hand to take the bottle. Helena snatched it from his grip.
“You’re saying too much,” she hissed, but Evandro insisted.
“How can it be? I thought the princess was a young girl, and it’s been eight years since the Slaughter already… she can’t be much older than fifteen, if I recall correctly”
“Eighteen,” Corrado said, but at Helena’s scolding look he jumped up and murmured something about taking his post.
Eighteen. A child of ten is behind the demise of house Laskaris.
“Anyway, those supposed Laskaris loyalists we’re hunting are living in a dream. There’s nobody left to support: the old king’s dead, and so is his son and the princess. And their guards, too,” Barnabas said nonchalantly, wrapping a cover around his shoulders. “Nikaia is destroyed, and so is the royal palace. We’re safe.”
“Not a palace. A tomb,” Evandro said under his breath.
And wraiths raise from cairns. Wait and see.
“Well, it’s not relevant. Our orders are clear: find the princess and remind Epidalio what happens to those who defy the Asares.” Helena lay down on her back, her hands under her head. Evandro had no doubt there was a dagger under her makeshift pillow. “I’ll do the second shift, and Barnabas the last one, you two try to sleep.”
Barnabas was the first to fall asleep, and his snoring filled the small campsite. Evandro waited, once more schooling his breath to a slow and deep rhythm. Bundled up in the covers Corrado had given him, he peeked at the commander on the other side of the fireplace. After a while, her posture relaxed, and her half-closed mouth revealed she’d yielded to sleep, too.
And again, Evandro waited. Around him, in the stillness of the night, the forest was not silent. He knew its voice well: the trill of the nightjar from the lower branches, the eerie call of the tawny owl, the ubiquitous chirping of crickets from the grass. And in the shadows, some twenty yards from the fire, Corrado was yawning and cracking his knuckles.
Three sentry shifts, Evandro counted. It meant at least two hours per shift, and he needed to make his movements well timed and believable. The first part of the night passed at an agonizingly slow pace, and then he unfurled from his bedroll as silently as possible.
He didn’t really need to be stealthy, he said to himself as he wiped his hands on his thighs; he was a guest in this campsite, and thus allowed to do his business. But he was something else, too: a predator stalking his prey. And for that, he needed to be silent as a shadow. He tiptoed between Barnabas and Helena.
The sword was long and heavy, and he missed the familiar shape of his knife. Would anyone see that he moved to take a supposed pee fully armed and with his satchel? It was dark, after all, so maybe Corrado wouldn’t notice…
The young soldier was crouched on a rock, his shadow lined in grey moonlight.
Smart boy, Evandro thought: no torches or flames to alert any possible intruder. To him, though, he was as visible as in broad daylight. Eight years living like a wild animal--thinking like one, too--had their perks.
He stopped and raised his face to the starry sky. A gentle breeze caressed his face, and Evandro blessed his good luck. Being downwind made his light footsteps even more silent, and Corrado didn’t hear him approach.
Crouched by a bush, less than five feet from his target, Evandro swallowed and held his breath. Corrado was singing under his breath, carving a stick with a short knife; the nape of his neck was exposed, and a sliver of skin peeked from behind his dark curls.
Easy. Just slash there, and he’ll be dead before touching the ground.
Evandro took his sword, but stopped short of unsheathing it. No, he though
t. It was too loud and dangerous, and he knew other ways.
Somehow, this felt right, and his hands stopped being so clammy. He sneaked behind Corrado, but when he was at arm’s reach, a dead leaf cracked under his heel.
Evandro cursed every mythological figure he’d ever known in his mind, and moved before Corrado could turn around.
One hand clasped on the soldier’s mouth and nose, the other grabbing his throat.
The grunting noise, smothered by his palm, was still enough to make Evandro nervous--what if someone from the camp heard it? But Corrado, young and strong as he was, hadn’t expected the attack. He’d dropped his knife, and his reaction was chaotic and pointless. He stood up and scratched Evandro's arms, without managing to move them one inch.
Pressure, precise and relentless, the pulse on the sides of the soldier’s throat growing louder, then quick and fluttering. It took him less than a minute to go from struggling to floundering, to slump in Evandro's grip.
Another minute passed, and eventually Evandro let him go. Yes, he was still breathing, albeit lightly, but his face was serene and slack.
Tying Corrado up only required a few seconds, wrists and ankles tightly bound together and a gag of rags in his mouth--but Evandro hesitated.
They’ll follow me. I need to slow them down.
Once more he considered his sword, but this boy was too young to die, even if he was an enemy. He briefly thought of Ampelio, only a few years older than Corrado, and shook his head.
Code, not obedience. The residues from his past self-hindered him, and he couldn’t shake them off.
This will hurt, he said to the unmoving shape before taking the soldier’s calf in one hand and placing his other on his knee. Bones were hard to break, but ligaments were an easier mark. He counted to three and pulled Corrado's shin up, all the while pushing his kneecap down. A wet sound resonated under his palm, but the boy didn’t let out but a stifled grunt.
Evandro took a step back.
One down. The easy one.
He didn’t even feel sorry. Corrado was still alive, and that mercy was completely unrequited. When he returned to the camp, the fire was burning low and Helena was in the same position as before. Barnabas was flat on his back, and Evandro squinted at him.
The Other Side of Magic Page 14
