After tucking the prince behind some trees, Reia returned to Morgan’s body. Finding nothing significant, she made a mental note to bury him later and scaled the cliff up to where the exciting morning had begun. She hoped to find something to explain what had just happened. The fifth man’s unwillingness to fight after her grand entrance puzzled her. Also, most attackers wanted the prince captured, but the thing controlling Morgan had tried to kill him.
Shivering, Reia pushed thoughts of Morgan’s transformation aside. After retrieving her caydronan sack and bedroll, Reia returned to the prince’s campsite and gathered supplies she thought they might need soon. The rest could be recovered later. Spotting his perforated blanket, she decided it could be used for bandages if nothing else.
The morning had just started, but they would travel nowhere today. She doubted anything would bother them, but not having weapons would be foolish. Reia studied the prince’s kerlak pistol. The compact, remarkably beautiful, black weapon had gold and silver filigree wrapped like slender vines around the handle, trigger guard, and barrel.
It must have taken a year to get that detail!
A Ranger might have spent such effort carving a banistick, but most banisticks were fashioned of danesque or kintral wood. Reia always expected metal weapons to be too unyielding for fine artistic touches.
I stand corrected.
Using a thin, sturdy length of dristal rope, Reia took a less adventuresome way down the cliff face. Upon reaching the bottom, she whispered to the rope and it dutifully returned to her for coiling. Once back by the prince’s side, Reia sat down and watched him sleep.
What do I do? Are we safe? Will they return?
She examined the prince. His thick black hair curled in sweeping waves. Dark eyebrows and long eyelashes guarded the lauded blue eyes, and Reia suddenly wished to see them. She smiled at the memory of the young woman’s expression and cataloged more of the prince’s features. His nose sloped gently downward, being prominent without taking over, and his lips appeared full of restrained life. He looked so serene that Reia didn’t want to disturb him, but his back needed attention to avoid infection.
Rolling him onto his left side, trying not to jar the abused shoulder, Reia examined the burn across his back and winced. A conventional sword wound would have been easier to treat. She didn’t care for the way kerlinblades treated flesh. The wound was as thick as her fist and slashed diagonally across the prince’s back starting below the right shoulder and ending near his lower left ribs. The burned skin puffed and puckered like an angry insect bite.
Sorry. Guess you really shouldn’t have abandoned your guards.
Reia shook her head to fling the futile thoughts aside. The prince couldn’t take back his stupid actions, and she couldn’t change the direction of her banistick strike. Sighing, Reia rummaged in her caydronan sack until she found the necessary herbs to treat the wound. Next, she took out a toom leaf and curled it into a makeshift bowl. Drawing her ankle dagger, Reia chopped cormea and amtea leaves into fingernail-sized pieces and mixed them in the bowl with water, iretel sap, tosh, and crela dust.
“Micten,” Reia murmured, holding her hand above the forming paste. She felt something leave her fingertips and watched with childlike wonder as the rude paste swirled on its own.
Thirty seconds later, Reia said, “Almon.”
The source of power returned in an unnerving rush. Master Ekris had tried to explain the anotechs once, but Reia only remembered that they chose to serve certain people and obeyed Kalastan commands.
Remembering the gag in the prince’s mouth, Reia leaned over and gingerly tugged it out.
“Disda.” The power crawled out onto her hand again and disposed of the slimy rag. That accomplished, Reia replaced the cormea leaf with a new one and dissolved the remains of the old one. “This might sting,” she warned her sleeping charge. A few deft twists turned the toom bowl into a dispenser. After applying a generous portion of the salve over the wound, she unfolded the toom leaf and used it as a bandage. Since it wasn’t wide enough, she used two more leaves.
Once finished patching up the prince, Reia buried Morgan. Lacking time and energy for a proper funeral pyre, she did the best she could with rocks. She worked silently, but her mind hummed with questions about the man she buried. Finding no answers, Reia sang the Song of the Dead and burned a few small sticks to mark his passing. The physical labor let Reia work off some tension, but part of her wanted to curl up and cry.
As the last embers slowly died, Reia remembered the other man who had been shot, the man who had jumped off the cliff mid-fight, and the dead woman above. A quick search showed where someone had fallen, but there was no body. She would have found that odd, had she not taken the fast way down the mountain and walked away with bruises.
A twenty-minute search revealed a man’s gruesome remains amidst the bodies of several korvers. Reia studied the scene. Somebody had walked away, and she could only conclude that it must be the fifth attacker. Having him on the loose was unnerving.
TEROSH COULD HARDLY remember ever feeling so lousy. His head hurt, his back felt like he’d slept on a torch, his ribs hurt, and his limbs were limp and scratched. Something gritty in his mouth tasted awful, so he turned his head and spit it out. He was lying on his stomach. The realization startled him enough to bring him fully awake. He lifted his head and pain shot through the back of his skull. He groaned.
“Keep still.” The female speaker sounded annoyed. “That kintral tree cracked a few ribs.”
Forcing the pain aside, Terosh pushed himself to his knees and prepared to defend himself. Something peeled off his back with a violent ripping noise. He paused on his hands and knees. A dull ache throbbed through his right shoulder. His arms trembled then collapsed. He would have landed on his face had the woman not caught both shoulders and eased him down. Even so, the new back pain nearly drove him unconscious.
Who is she? How did I get here?
“Move again and I will sedate you,” the woman warned. “We’ll have time to talk later, but right now, I have to fix the bandages on your back.”
It took a lot of willpower to not scream as something peeled off his back. A second later something cool numbed the pain and something else pressed down gently over whatever had stopped the pain.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but please, try not to move. My supply of toom leaves needs to hold out for another day or two.”
Inexplicable pleasure addled Terosh’s senses, and in a moment, he realized that he enjoyed the refreshing challenge in her voice. Frank conversation with a woman was something lacking in his life. Sarie occasionally lent him a piece of her mind, but even when his mother had been alive casual conversations were as rare as a moonless night. Queen Kila Minstel had never wasted words. This woman’s voice soothed him almost as much as whatever she had put on his back.
“Who are you?” Terosh asked, longing to hear her speak again.
“Reia Antellio. I’m a healer apprentice. Do you remember what happened?”
Mention of her rank reminded him that she was a Ranger, but the topic switch surprised Terosh.
“I was attacked. You jumped in. One of the unconscious guys woke up, killed one of the others, and fought like a demon. Something struck my back and I jumped off a cliff ... I can’t remember when.” He beat back a surge of panic, determined to keep calm so she wouldn’t think him a fool.
“This morning, about five hours ago,” the Ranger supplied, sensing his need to gain a grip on time. “Who were they?”
“I’m not sure.” Terosh drew breath to continue but hesitated, not sure he should tell her about the other Ranger.
“But you have a guess.”
“There was another Ranger with them.”
“What makes you say that?” The Ranger’s defensive tone said she couldn’t imagine one of her Order attacking a royal.
“I saw his banistick,” Terosh said. The idea went against every childhood lesson on the
Rangers. “Saw” was a lie but saying anything else would lead to an awkward explanation. Stunned silence followed, and Terosh wished he could see the Ranger. “May I get up now?”
“Yes.” The Ranger’s hands fell on Terosh’s left shoulder, gripped, and smoothly hauled him up and around to a sitting position.
He grunted from new pain.
“If it hurts too much, I’ll lay you down and we can try again later.”
Once he blinked back the pain, Terosh got his first good look at the healer. His breath hitched. She was far younger than he had expected—about his age—and far more beautiful as well. Her thick brown hair was twisted into braids that snaked up and around her head, held in place by subtle clips. Her eyebrows and lashes nicely accentuated deep green eyes, which reminded him of the West Remon Sea. Her cheeks flushed above concerned lips, which currently frowned at him.
Both reactions made him smile.
Their eyes met, and Terosh was mesmerized by the intensity of her gaze. Breaking the eye contact, he checked his surroundings, scolding himself for neglecting the simple survival task. They were in a heavily wooded area somewhere on a mountainside, judging by the sharp slope to the ground. Kintral, cal, and rineth trees rose up on all sides, yet three meters of open space existed under the sturdy branches of an old rineth tree. A pair of codrels eyed them with something between curiosity and hostility. Terosh doubted he could fight off even those mild-mannered, blue-gray furballs in his present condition.
“We’re safe,” the healer assured him. “But keep this close while I gather the rest of your supplies.”
Terosh accepted his kerlak pistol. Along with his kerlinblade, the pistol formed a set his father had given him for the Kireshana. Before he could reply, the Ranger slipped away into the trees. Terosh tried to settle into a position that wouldn’t make his back muscles scream.
The healer left for about a half-hour, giving Terosh plenty of thinking time. He wondered what brought someone to the Rangers and what made one stay in the Order. A life of service to the crown was fine, but the Rangers seemed especially zealous. The founding Ranger had once been a prince and the original intent had been to guard the Royal House.
Terosh’s thoughts turned to the other Ranger and the attackers.
Who was the Ranger? Did he want to kill me or not? Who were the others? Why did they want to capture me? I’d make a terrible hostage. He doubted his new enemies were the typical kidnap-for-ransom group. Their black outfits had been similar to Coridian Assassin uniforms, yet the attack style didn’t fit. No poisoned flingers, no kamad daggers. The thought brought him back to asking why someone would want him captured. He blew out an annoyed breath.
A soft footstep drew his attention, and he whipped the kerlak pistol up, ignoring the burning sensation in his ribs. He used his left hand, suddenly grateful for the hours drilling with a pistol. In less than a second, the weapon pointed at the young healer’s chest. Terosh lowered the pistol.
“I could have killed you.” Her eyes added, easily.
“Sorry, I was distracted.”
“Well, you should un-distract yourself if you want to live.”
Her mild reproof annoyed and amused Terosh, but since laughing hurt, he focused on the irritation.
“How dare you lecture me?” He winced and pretended it was from the pain. Sedir’s speech on not being a snotty little prince played out in his head. Pushing the lesson aside, he locked eyes with the Ranger.
Her lips pressed firmly together, holding back words.
“Say what you will,” Terosh commanded, bracing for a verbal onslaught.
“I dare because I have a job to do, just as your guards had a job to do. Sneaking away from them was the single most selfish, stupid, reckless thing I’ve ever witnessed!” Her green eyes flashed.
Terosh let the words sink in, wanting to lash out but knowing them to be true.
“Will they be all right?”
The healer blinked and drew a deep breath. The fire leeched from her eyes.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was suddenly soft. “They’ll probably try to follow us, but we’ll be safer if we can lose ourselves in the mountains. Without a guide, they’ll probably stick to the marked Kireshana path.”
“It will be my fault if they die.” The statement tore his conscience to shreds.
“They’re not dead yet,” the Ranger said. “And they’re Royal Guards. They’ve done this before.”
Terosh nodded, resulting in more head pain. He held his breath until it passed.
“How long do you expect to be here?” Terosh asked, needing to change the subject. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wouldn’t like her answer but thinking about his men would drive him mad.
“Long enough,” she answered, arranging a pile of rineth leaves and pine needles into a rough mattress. She placed her bedroll over it then swept another pile of similar materials together and unfolded his bedroll atop it. Next, she set about making a fire.
After digging a shallow hole, she arranged some small branches over larger ones.
“Linkel,” she spoke to the dry wood. Immediately, the stick in her hand produced a flame from the far end.
“Fire?” Terosh asked, surprised the woman could speak Kalastan. His head jerked, jarring his back. Only a slight twitch of his lips acknowledged the pain.
The young woman studied him. Her expression condemned it as a dumb question.
“How do you know that language?” Terosh asked, too surprised to be offended.
“How do you know it?” she fired back.
“All crown royals are taught Kalastan. It’s supposed to be an ancient and powerful language, though I doubt even the tutors know much more than that. My brother taught me some words.”
Taught me the word for “fire” very well.
Terosh remembered his entire dresser drawer going up in flames. Tate had gotten quite a verbal lashing from Mother—and Captain Kelter—over that prank, and Father had followed it with a long list of chores.
The Ranger absently poked at the other branches with the burning stick. When the fire blazed, she sat back and clasped her hands around her knees.
“It is both.” She watched the flames for several seconds before continuing. “The language you speak of is ancient and powerful.” Prying her attention away from the fire, she looked directly at Terosh. The words flowed from her in low, reverent waves.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“The anotechs say so.” She smiled mischievously. “The Rangers know little about them, save that they choose whom they will. You are royal. You probably have access to them. Some Rangers say they answer to anyone who is sincere, but I only know they answer best to Kalastan commands.”
“Will you teach me?” Terosh asked, barely restraining his excitement. He had heard many tales of the anotechs and knew some simple commands like how to set silent alarms, but the idea of learning how to wield them like his ancestors thrilled him.
“As you wish,” said the Ranger.
He let the point drop, not wanting to press her too hard, but his thoughts raced with the possibility of learning everything Tate knew.
Davel must have taught the Rangers. So much for the family secret.
“—ing tomorrow,” the Ranger finished saying.
Terosh shook his head to clear other thoughts and immediately regretted it.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You can probably move a little, but don’t overexert yourself. It will slow the healing process.”
Terosh nodded carefully, so as not to hurt his head.
“Is there a place to wash up?”
“There’s a stream about three minutes that way,” Reia said, pointing off to his left. “If you listen carefully, you can hear it.”
The Ranger had cleaned his wounds well, but Terosh still felt dirty. Thoughts of a cold bath cheered him. He ate his fill of a savory stew the Ranger cooked, decided he was too tired to wash up properly, and settled down
to sleep even though the day was far from over. He wanted to ask a hundred questions, but now seemed an inopportune time. Eventually, he maneuvered his battered body to the bedroll, but once there, the soft padding worked wonders. Before falling asleep, Terosh heard the Ranger approach and mutter words that eased the remaining aches.
Chapter 13:
Adern’s Strength
JIRA (MARCH) 30, 1538
Twenty-nine days into Prince Terosh’s Kireshana journey
Recovery Campsite, Riden Mountains
Reia rose before dawn, shaking off the bad dream like a soggy blanket. This one featured Kolknir, the dark cave, and criessa. The sun had not quite risen, but instinct born of many months under open skies told her it would soon. A glance told her the prince would sleep until she woke him, so she grabbed her waterbag and slipped off to the nearby stream to wash up.
I wonder if crinal will work here.
The thought intrigued her. She knew it worked in washroom caves but had never tried it elsewhere. Wondering why such a simple thing never occurred to her before, Reia stooped down beside the stream and stuck her right hand into the mud. A second later, she retrieved her hand.
“Crinal.”
The sensation of many tiny things skittering across her hand made her bite her lip.
That tickles.
The movement changed so that it felt like she’d stuck her hand in one of the small whirlpools under the Riden Mountains. A half-minute later, Reia’s slightly raw but unharmed hand had not one trace of mud on it.
So that’s what happens.
She dwelt a moment longer on how the anotechs would run a washroom cave. Reia had never considered mundane things like where waste went.
What else might anotechs be capable of?
Reia knew they could start fires and bind wounds, but otherwise, they remained a mystery. Thoughts of mysteries reminded her of the prince, so she filled her waterbag and returned to the camp.
After building a fire, she made a broth with sannin, corlia, and deklov. She also heated the remainder of the coney stew she’d prepared the previous evening. Then, she went to rouse the prince, but his peaceful expression made her hesitate. She had never seen someone sleep so soundly. Her own sleep had always been fraught with troublesome dreams. Sleep could be as helpful at healing as any tea, broth, or bracing stew.
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