Forest of Ruin

by Kelley Armstrong

  As they watched Daigo go, Gavril whispered, "He is still bonded to you."

  "Hmm?"

  Gavril cleared his throat. "I have noticed Daigo seems quite attached to Tyrus, and I thought that might bother you."

  "He watches over Tyrus when I cannot. I'm glad of it."

  "Oh. I had not interpreted it that way, but yes, your affection for Tyrus is obvious to anyone, even a beast. Or, I suppose, particularly a bond-beast."

  When they reached the longer grass, they discovered why it was longer--the ground was moist, almost bog-like. Once Moria had gotten as close as she dared, she settled in. Daigo appeared, slinking through the grass. She scratched him behind the ears and said, "I'm fine. Go back to Tyrus," and he chuffed and left.

  "I'm fine, too," Gavril called after him.

  Daigo snorted as he crept away through the grass. Once he was gone, Moria discovered an advantage to their spot--they were downwind of the encampment, which meant they could likely hear better than Tyrus. When she caught faint voices, she glanced over to ask Gavril if he heard them, and found him watching her with a look she knew well.

  "What have I done now?" she whispered.

  "Nothing."

  "You have something to say."

  "This is not the time."

  A few more moments, then she sighed. "Say it. I cannot concentrate with you giving me a look that says you wish to speak."

  "I can speak anytime I wish."

  She growled under her breath and turned away, saying, "You are in a mood."

  "I am not in a mood. Perhaps you are."

  "Enough, Kitsune. We aren't going to argue about who is in an argumentative mood. If you wish to say something to me, do it so we may get back to listening."

  More silence. Just as she caught a voice from the camp, Gavril said, "We still need to speak."

  She tried not to growl again. "On what?"

  "Me. What I did. The rest of it. I know it will not . . ." He shifted position. "It will change nothing, but Tyrus has heard it all, and I would prefer you heard it from me."

  "He would never tell me your story. That is yours."

  "But he might allude to it, thinking you already know. I am not saying we need to speak now, Keeper. I'm simply asking that you allow me to finish, when there is time."

  "All right."

  He paused. Then said, "You agreed too readily. You are trying to silence me."

  "Yes, blast it, I'm trying to silence you so I can listen."

  She could hear voices now. One raised, telling someone to stop something.

  "I realize you are--" he began.

  A cry cut him off. A sudden and high-pitched cry, and her first thought was of the shadow stalkers, but it was a far more ordinary sound. The cry of a child. Moria went still, straining to hear, and Gavril did the same.

  She caught a man's voice. Telling the child to stop her howling or he'd give her a reason to howl. Then another child--a boy--said that the girl was only frightened and yelling at her didn't help.

  "I . . . I know that voice," Moria whispered.

  "Niles," Gavril said.

  She looked over, surprised that he would actually recognize the voice of a child from Edgewood, let alone know his name.

  "He used to come around the barracks," Gavril said. "He said he was looking for chores, but I suspect he was watching our lessons, hoping to learn how to use a sword, which I told him was pointless for his caste."

  "But it is Niles." She looked toward the camp, which had gone quiet now. She turned quickly back to Gavril.

  "We've not found the shadow stalkers. We've found--"

  She scrambled to her feet without finishing. When he grabbed her arm, she tried to wrench away, but his grip tightened.

  "Yes," he said as he fought to hold her still. "It is the children."

  "How can you be so--?" She broke off with a sharp shake of her head. "Of course you can. You didn't care about anyone in that--"

  "I care about you, Keeper," he said, his voice chilling. "I'll not let you run blindly into danger. Yes, I do not feel for the children of Edgewood as you do. They grew up with you, and you with them. They adored you, and you them, however much you pretended otherwise. That does not mean I fail to feel compassion for their situation. I want them free as soon as the safe opportunity presents itself. Safe to them and, moreover, safe to you."

  He released her. "You have accused me of paying no attention to those in Edgewood. That is correct. I did not because I knew I must betray my post, and could not afford to form attachments. Which is why I rebuffed all attempts at friendship. Even yours." He adjusted his sword as he knelt to look out and then mumbled, "Especially yours. It was difficult to be cold toward people who were kind to me. If you condemn me for that, then I'd ask you do so once, thoroughly, and be done with the constant reminders."

  "I do not mean--"

  "You do not mean to be cruel. I know. But now we have another task. Rescuing your village's children."

  "It is them."

  An annoyed look. "Have we not ascertained that?"

  "It's just . . ." Tears prickled. "I wanted to search for them. I always wanted to be searching, but then other things would arise, and I would feel so guilty, Gavril. So blasted guilty."

  "Don't cry."

  "I'm not--"

  He moved closer and put an awkward arm around her. "You've found them, Moria. They will not wonder why you didn't come sooner--they will only be happy that you've come."

  She leaned against his shoulder, letting the silent tears fall onto his tunic. He stiffened, and she was about to back away, but he tightened his arm around her, still awkward, mumbled equally awkward words of comfort until a voice said, "What happened?" and Gavril pulled back so fast that Moria would have tumbled face-first onto the ground if Tyrus hadn't caught her.

  "Moria?" Tyrus said, his eyes widening as he saw her tears. She started to speak, but he pulled her against him, and she buried her face in his shoulder as he said, "Gavril? What happened?"

  "She's upset. And happy, I think. But also upset. She . . . was . . . crying."

  "I can see that. Again, what happened?"

  Moria pulled back and wiped her eyes. "It isn't the shadow stalker camp. It's the children."

  "Wh-what?"

  She stepped away. "The children. Of Edgewood and perhaps Fairview and Northpond. I heard a boy I recognized and Gavril did, too. It's them. It's truly them."

  Tyrus looked toward the camp, rising, his hand going to his sword pommel. Gavril grabbed and yanked him down.

  "Apparently this is why you two need me here," Gavril said. "So you don't run headlong to your deaths. Yes, the children are there. Yes, we are obviously going to rescue them . . . if such a thing is possible. And if it is not, then we will return with aid."

  Tyrus looked at Moria and broke into a broad grin. "It's the children. You found them."

  "Yes," Gavril said impatiently. "I believe that has been acknowledged--"

  Tyrus threw his arms around her neck and hugged her, whispering, "I'm so glad. For them and for you, Moria." He grinned down at her, and it was a breathtaking grin, as if the children were from his own village, as if it did not matter that he knew them not at all. What mattered was what they meant to her. And she loved him for that. She truly did, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him as tightly as she could.

  Behind them, Gavril sighed. "I thought you were in a hurry."

  "Yes, yes," Tyrus said. "Stop grumbling and give us a heartbeat to enjoy the moment, Gavril." One last hug, then, "There. We're done. Now . . ."

  "What did you see, Tyrus? From your position?"

  "I couldn't get close enough to see or hear, but I did spot a wagon leaving. I was coming to suggest we waylay it to determine the exact nature of the camp, but now that we know it, clearly we must--"

  Gavril grabbed Tyrus's arm when he started rising again.

  Tyrus glared at him. "I was merely looking."

  "Don't. You'll call attentio
n to us, and there's nothing to see. Now may I suggest that since I view this situation most dispassionately, I should plan our next move?"

  "What do you have in mind?" Moria asked.

  He told them.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The farther they followed the wagon, the more anxious Moria grew, seeing the camp disappearing behind her and feeling as if it truly was disappearing, like a mirage in the desert.

  They had to follow on foot, leaving the horses behind. They continued at a distance, until the camp vanished into the darkness and Gavril proclaimed they'd gone far enough.

  Moria hurried on with Daigo, getting far enough ahead of the wagon and its two guards that she could slip into their path and collapse there. Well, fake a collapse. She sprawled on the trodden path they used as a road, her cloak abandoned in the long grass with Daigo. She'd left her boots there, too, so she was barefoot. Gavril claimed her skin glowed in the moonlight. She rather thought he exaggerated, but it was pale enough to be spotted in the darkness. She fanned her long hair out, too, in hopes that would help keep her from being trampled.

  Eyes closed, she listened to the pound of hooves and the squeak of the wagon wheels, and with each passing moment, her heart beat faster and the urge to peek was almost overwhelming.

  Daigo will protect me.

  So she trusted, yet those hooves and that squeak grew closer and closer until she could hear the heavy breathing of the horses and she swore she could smell them and--

  "Hold up!" someone called.

  The horses whinnied to a halt, and Moria exhaled a soft sigh of relief.

  "A pretty girl lying on the road?" One of the men snorted. "Clearly the local bandits have heard too many bard songs. You two head out. Find where they hide and take care of them."

  This was exactly as Moria expected. The ploy was so hackneyed that no one would fall for it. She did peek then, since they did not truly think her unconscious. The man giving the orders was the wagon driver. He sent the warrior guards to find the bandits. Then he climbed down, approached Moria, and bent beside her.

  "So, girl," he said. "You thought you'd take a wagon full of riches, did you?" He laughed. "You'd have been mightily disappointed. We've nothing in our wagon but a prisoner. You waylaid a supply wagon on the wrong leg of its journey."

  Moria said nothing, just kept her eyes open enough to watch him.

  "This might be an inconvenience," the wagon driver said. "But you'll repay us for that." He reached out and toyed with a lock of her hair. "Amuse us enough, and we'll bring you home. If you do not . . . well, there are brothels that will pay richly for a pretty Northern girl."

  Moria leaped up then, not with her daggers, but simply jumping to her feet to run. The man grabbed her. She struggled about as hard as he'd likely expect from a girl, which was not much at all. He easily hefted her over his shoulder, with her weakly kicking and pounding at his back. Then he carried her to the wagon. As he opened the back flap, he froze.

  "Release your hold on her," Gavril said. "Or I shove this sword through your neck."

  Moria kicked the wagon driver's stomach as the first note of his call for help escaped. He fell back with an oomph and dropped her. By the time she got to her feet, Gavril had him on the ground, his sword at the man's throat. Daigo crouched beside him. At a motion from Moria, the wildcat took off for Tyrus, who was stalking the two warrior guards.

  Moria searched for weapons on the wagon driver. While he did not appear to be a warrior, he had a blade, plus a dagger in his boot. She disarmed him and climbed into the wagon to search for something to bind him.

  When she caught sight of a figure in the wagon, she readied for attack. Then she saw that he was slouched against the side, facing away, his hands bound behind his back and she remembered the driver saying they were transporting a prisoner. He seemed to be unconscious, and she was about to ignore him, but . . .

  There was something about the prisoner. Something familiar.

  Moria opened the flap and thrust out a torch she'd carried in her belt.

  "Light this," she said to Gavril. And then added, "Please."

  He cast a quick spell and lit it with his fingers. Moria pulled back into the wagon and took hold of the young man's shoulder. As she was about to give him a shake, something happened outside. Gavril snarled at the driver not to move or--

  The wagon jolted as if one of them had fallen against it. Moria stumbled. The prisoner fell and jerked awake, his limbs flailing, one catching her in the leg before she pinned him with a bare foot.

  "Ash?" Ronan stared up at her, blinking hard. Then he looked at the foot planted on his chest. "Moria?"

  The wagon flap opened and Gavril pushed through, the driver hanging from one hand, the other brandishing his sword.

  "Gavril?" Ronan said.

  Running footsteps sounded outside, and Tyrus appeared, breathing hard and flecked in blood. Daigo was at his side, breathing just as hard and looking just as blood-speckled.

  "Thank the goddess the driver lives," he muttered as he walked toward them. "Daigo and I had less luck with our targets. Neither was very interested in being captured and--"

  "Tyrus?" Ronan said, scrambling up.

  "Where's Ashyn?" Moria said.

  "I . . ." Ronan blinked hard, as if his sleep had not come naturally.

  Moria grabbed him by the shirtfront and gave him a shake. "Wake up, blast it. Where is my sister? Is she with you?"

  "I . . ." Ronan's eyes snapped open and he pulled from her grip. "We need to go to her. Now."

  "We will," Gavril said. "As soon as you explain."

  "No, now. I'll explain on the way."

  THIRTY-FOUR

  As much as Ashyn missed Ronan, she was, in one way, glad that he was not there, or she'd have been enduring his grumbling all day. It seemed time did not progress the same in the North as it did in the rest of the empire, because apparently "day" extended to cover the following dawn. That's when the ritual would take place.

  Still, she missed him. There was no denying that. As kind and friendly as Edwyn's people were to her, she was keenly aware that she and Tova were among strangers. Edwyn had tried to make her day pass quickly with preparations. Ashyn didn't know the purpose of any, and all were conducted in a foreign tongue. None required much more of her than her presence, which meant a very boring day. Between rituals, Edwyn had entertained her with histories of the North, but as keen as Ashyn normally was to learn, it all became a bit, well, tedious.

  Later, when she reunited with Moria, she would be far happier about having Edwyn in their lives. Right now, though, her thoughts were consumed with worry about everyone she'd left behind, most of all Moria.

  Night came but sleep did not. She'd gone to her tent too early, partially from boredom and partially from excitement for the day to come. But excitement certainly did not calm the nerves for sleep, particularly when night dragged doubt in its wake. What if she failed the ritual? What if she failed her grandfather--was not the girl he expected?

  She kept thinking about the Seeking rituals. That was how all this started. Her first venture into the Forest of the Dead to soothe the souls of the convicts who'd died in exile there. She had gone in with the Seeking party from Edgewood . . . and emerged with Ronan, one of those exiled convicts. Everyone else in her party had perished horribly, killed by shadow stalkers, and all she'd been able to think at the time was "I did this." That somehow she'd conducted the rituals wrong and raised these creatures, and it was all her fault. She knew better now, but that didn't stop her from remembering how it felt. That crushing guilt and horror. What if this time she truly did fail? Or if she woke the dragons . . . and they massacred everyone around them and then flew into the empire and--

  So she did not sleep. Not for a very, very long time, and only then after one of the women came to check on her, discovered she was awake, and withdrew in alarm, returning with a cup of wine.

  "You must rest, child. You truly must."

  Telling her she had t
o rest only added to the anxiety over not resting, particularly when Ashyn began to worry that a lack of rest could cause her to fail the ritual.

  Surprisingly, though, despite her knotted stomach, sleep did come. Perhaps there was more than wine in that cup. The next thing she knew, she was waking to a commotion outside her tent.

  She heard a shout in the common language, the words drowned out by the scream of another. Then the clang of steel and an oath, and she grabbed her dagger and cloak, Tova already at the door, growling. She pushed open the flap to see three unfamiliar warriors, blades raised, encircling a fourth, prostrate on the ground. The downed man seemed dead, unmoving, and Ashyn let out a gasp. She heard another oath, this one from a woman, and turned as one of Edwyn's people ran toward her, saying, "Back inside, my lady! Quickly!"

  Ashyn ran along the tent instead, with Tova at her side, the woman calling after her. Strong arms grabbed her. Tova snarled and leaped, and her captor let out a strangled cry as the hound's fangs dug into his arm. He dropped Ashyn. She twisted to see another unfamiliar warrior and lifted her dagger to plunge it into his arm, when the woman who'd chased her shouted, "No, my lady! He is one of us!"

  Ashyn stopped short. She stared up at the man. He was brown-skinned and dark-eyed, like Ronan. Not Northern-born and very clearly no one Ashyn had met in camp.

  "He is with us," the woman said, gripping Ashyn's arm.

  Tova backed off, still growling.

  "But we are under attack," Ashyn said. "Those men--the warriors--"

  "They are ours."

  "I am sorry I frightened you, my lady," the warrior said, dipping in a slight bow. "I thought you were panicked and running blind."

  "No, I was escaping the apparent attack."

  She returned back to the front of the tent. The three warriors had lifted the corpse, a man with wildly curling dark locks and bronze skin. A lantern light fell over the dead man, and she saw his face and his tattooed arms. Swirling wolf tattoos.

  Ashyn gasped. "That is--you've killed--it's Dalain Okami."

  "He is not dead, my lady," the warrior said. "Merely knocked unconscious. My fellow warriors and I were coming to join you for the ritual, to control the dragons if needed. We found the young Okami skulking about the perimeter of camp, and we captured him. He seemed to come along willingly. Then he pulled his blade as we reached camp so we were forced to disable him."