“There’s no time,” he snapped. Her entire upper arm was in his grip, and he was bruising the delicate flesh as he dragged her forward. He motioned for Attilus to follow. “No rest. We have to keep moving.”
Melody’s tears fell silently as the ranger hauled her away, pausing only to collect their packs. Calder pushed their pace, leading them ever west, toward the coast – such as it was. Fear had wiped away his exhaustion. He had to keep her safe.
Melody would not understand yet, of course, but he would explain everything in time. The forest was their home, so he would keep them there as long as he could. They would eventually seek refuge in Cabinsport, many days distant. It was not a large town, but it was a town. The Duke’s men may believe they had killed who they were sent after. But then again, they might not. The last place anyone would look for a Dweller was in a bustling town. All he had to do was get her there, and find out how much Korith knew.
Melody stumbled again, and though he could not see the tears that blinded her, Calder knew they were there. He steadied her, but did not slow. It was eerie, how she wept with no sound. Eerie and heartbreaking. There was no way he could console her, because it was his fault. Gorlois had known all along that Melody could not stay hidden. It had been Calder’s duty to prepare her for the future Solus had seen for her, and now…
The ranger sent up a silent prayer for wisdom and quickened their pace once more.
2
Jovan blinked as a spray of the healer’s blood landed on his cheek, his only reaction save a tightening of his jaw. He didn’t wipe the blood away. Coraline was a good healer, though she was no more a magic user than he was – whatever the Duke claimed.
As a top fighter in both the sword and grapple divisions of the Paltos Arena, he’d been under her care more than once. She was a kind woman, an adept herbalist, skilled with a needle and stitching. Not a witch. Now Duke Korith himself was whipping the wailing healer’s bare back into dark, wet ruin. It wasn’t right.
Coraline’s screams rose with those of the other healers as they too, were beaten. Oil-soaked wood for the bonfires was already laid beneath each of them. Their burning was to be the grand finale of this closing ceremony.
Jovan stood straight alongside the other fighters who had been required to witness the event up close, his face impassive save the twitch in his tightened jaw. The blood on his cheek itched as it dried. Korith was so close, it would be all too easy to— No. No good would come of revolt. Not here.
There had been a speech, much too long. The Duke said that watching and gambling on the weekly fights glorified the violence. It made people more aggressive, more likely to commit crimes. Closing the Arena, Korith insisted, was a way to preserve order and peace. Jovan guessed that meant the Duke didn’t want anyone rising up or fighting back when he outlawed everything else.
According to Korith, the Arena also created a demand for magic. Fighters desperate for victory would be tempted to cheat, using unnatural powers instead of strength and steel. Jovan had his own opinions on the likelihood of that, but he wasn’t about to volunteer them. Healers, the Duke said, were the most dangerous of all— they denied their magic, yet practiced it right under everyone’s eyes! How long would it be before another Lich King rose to replace the one now a thousand years dead?
A unified nation, Duke Korith had said, a nation under his wise leadership, that was the only solution. The other Dukes remained stubbornly blind to the true threat of magic, and they would lead the entire country to ruin.
The fighters displaced by the Arena closure were encouraged – but not required – to join Korith’s own forces, use their talents to ensure order and compliance. Those who chose otherwise were advised to disperse peacefully, return to their homes and seek an honest trade. Smaller, rural arenas were not honest, the Duke reminded them, and those would be closed in due time.
The Arena’s healers, however, must be made an example of. Duke Korith had insisted that the punishment reflect the seriousness of the crime. Magic would not be tolerated in his lands, he would leave it no place to root and grow. He would lead the wider world to wisdom by his own example.
Allowing himself a brief daydream of violence behind his blank stare, Jovan imagined he could feel the snap of Korith’s neck under his fingers. It would be simple enough— but no, that would be too quick. Perhaps the Duke would slip in Coraline’s blood and fall into the rising flames as the bonfires were lit…
Jovan refused to look away as the crackling flames rose high and the cries of the healers became shrieks – mad banshee wails that came to a ragged end too quickly. The rest of the fighters stayed straight and focused as well, and he was proud to be among them. Coraline and the others deserved their strength, at least.
Archers, with arrows at the ready, lined the raised wall of the main pit, and armored soldiers lined the inner wall with their weapons drawn. Even Hunters, Duke Korith’s personal guard, were stationed at every entrance – there was no help for the innocent healers, no hope for the Arena. The crowd shifted uncomfortably in the snapping, sizzling silence.
It was the hat that caught Jovan’s eye through the heat haze. The sweeping brim and ridiculous feather, years out of fashion, was a beacon amidst simple leather caps and bareheaded farmers. Only one boy he knew would wear a hat like that, and if he was here in Paltos… Jovan exhaled. It might not be him. He looked back to the fires, well aware that it was.
The last of Coraline’s skin melted away, and the assembled crowd were finally permitted to leave. Jovan joined the other fighters in filing out of the Arena for the last time. Today was getting progressively worse. Not only was he unemployed, but his younger brother was about to discover—
“You’re a pit fighter?”
“Was,” Jovan corrected. “Arena’s closed. Did you miss the speech?” He walked faster, torn. He hadn’t seen Kaeliph in close to seven years, and now the boy was here in Paltos? It meant nothing good.
“No, I heard it. Everyone did.” Kaeliph held a hand to the brim of his hat to keep it in place while he tried to keep up. “You told father you apprenticed with a stonemason.”
They turned at the blacksmith’s shop, and Kaeliph didn’t hear Jovan’s reply as he noticed the girl filling the trough near the forge with clean water. Golden skin, hair to match, plump in all the right places… He lingered until she noticed him noticing her, and was rewarded for his patience with a smile like sunshine.
After a mutual moment of appreciation, Kaeliph caught up to Jovan. “What did you say?”
Jovan didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “I said there was no money in it. And keep clear of Cooper’s daughter – the man could crush you.” He led them to an unremarkable inn. “Why are you here?”
“Father is dead.” Kaeliph hadn’t meant to say it like that. It seemed to hurt more for the simplicity.
Jovan paused – just a heartbeat – before he continued up the stairs to his room and stepped inside. “When?” He sat on the neatly made bed, and gestured his brother to the single chair.
“There’s blood on your face,” Kaeliph pointed out. He perched where he was directed.
Jovan licked his thumb and wiped his cheek clean. “When?”
Kaeliph sighed. “Almost two weeks now.” He took off his hat, and his fingers worried at the feather. “He’d been sick for so long, we had to sell the boat—”
“You sold it?” Jovan was stunned. That boat was the lifeblood of their father’s meager fishing business.
“There were bills to pay, and we couldn’t fish. We were barely surviving, Jovan.”
“And you were too good to get work and help?” His tone was too harsh, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. Anger would solve nothing.
“He was sick, Jovan. Really sick.” Kaeliph curled the brim of his hat in his fists. “I couldn’t leave him.”
“Why didn’t you send for me?”
“What could you do? The money you sent was all we had. I found a healer— I thought I did. Bu
t he took every coin we had left, and father’s cough only got worse…” He trailed off.
Jovan’s frustration deflated at the uncharacteristic catch in Kaeliph’s voice. “It’s … it’s all right,” he said. “I’ll figure something out,”
Kaeliph gave him a half smile. ”You always do.”
Jovan waved a hand at his little brother. “Get gone. Go … explore or something, I need to think. And stay out of trouble. You don’t need to get on the wrong side of this Duke.”
Kaeliph settled his favorite hat once more on his head, his destination already in mind. “I always stay out of trouble,” he lied.
Minutes later he was at the blacksmith’s, and the girl with the sunshine smile was perched on the hitching fence while he leaned beside her. Her long skirts blew around her ankles as they spoke, and her blue eyes sparkled as she laughed. Kaeliph easily forgot everything else.
Full dark fell too soon. The girl’s father called from the house a second time, and she blushed a guilty smile as she slipped off the fence. Their hands touched in tender farewell, and Kaeliph headed back in the direction of his brother’s inn.
He stopped abruptly when a long, thin blade flashed in front of his face.
“Poor choice, newcomer,” a voice hissed as Kaeliph took a step back and drew his own weapon. “She is not interested in the likes of you.”
Kaeliph grinned, peering into the shadow and circling towards the slurred, jealous voice. “Of course she is. You would not challenge me otherwise.”
The stranger stepped from the darkness, arrogance quite at home on his pale, angular face. His clothes were fine, and Kaeliph smelled strong spirits – stronger than farmers or fisherman could afford, for certain. Nobility, then. No doubt the son of some local Baron with nothing better to do than drink, gamble, and take advantage of innocent blacksmith’s daughters … yes, this one could do with a humiliating defeat.
Kaeliph feinted a few times, testing the younger man’s skill. Even drunk, the stranger had some ability, but Kaeliph was better. Since the moment he fished up the old rapier as a boy, his entire childhood had been nothing but this. He spent countless hours standing in the small boat, acting out the fights described in mother’s books, building his form and balance. Practice fights against willow branches in the wind had made him fast— faster than any staggering dandy, to be sure. The grin remained easy and wide on his face as he began the duel in earnest; there was nothing more cheering than a sword fight in the evening.
“You’re no challenge. When I best you, I’m going to see you and your absurd hat removed from this town. If you’re still breathing, that is.” The noble’s blade sang toward his head, and Kaeliph ducked just in time to save his neck— the feather on his hat was not so lucky, and half of it floated to the dusty street. Kaeliph pressed another attack, laughing as the man – no, he was little more than a boy – struggled to keep up.
“Why take your impotence out on my hat?” Kaeliph asked, landing a sharp smack on the boy’s rear with the flat of his blade before dancing back out of range. “No, I believe I’ll stay. You are hardly man enough to hold the affections of such a charming young lady.”
“She was mine before you came, and she will be mine when you are dead at my feet. I suggest ... you ... leave!” Another of the youth’s wild swings connected with Kaeliph's hat, knocking it into the swirling dust in the street.
Kaeliph’s smile never faltered. “I have no plans to die, friend.” He dipped and whirled, his blade flashing in the dim light. It was clear who held the advantage – clear enough to him, at least. The drunken noble seemed to be having some trouble with the obvious.
“Not tonight, and not … to … you.” With his last words as emphasis, Kaeliph neatly disarmed his attacker, tripped him, and knocked him senseless with the hilt of his rapier.
He nodded, satisfied. That headache on top of the excess of spirits should teach the impertinent young stranger a lesson or two. If it didn’t, Kaeliph would happily teach him again. Barely out of breath, he picked up the boy’s weapon, far superior to his own. He hefted it in his hand, eyeing the gem set into the grip.
“A shame to waste this on your mediocre talent,” he said to the well-dressed young man sprawled unconscious in the dust. “It deserves a better master. How fortunate I know just the one.” Kaeliph tucked the new rapier into his belt, but left his own beside the unconscious noble before he departed – so as not to leave the boy completely defenseless.
Kaeliph found the canal’s edge instead of his brother’s inn, and he turned, disoriented. Ahh, there was the road he sought.
Jovan was not asleep when Kaeliph padded in and shut the door behind him. “Who is after you now, brother?”
The younger man sighed. “It hurts that you think I would be in trouble already, Jovan.”
“I know you.” Even without moonlight, Kaeliph could see the rare smile on his brother’s face.
"Still, you shouldn't assume.”
Jovan crossed his arms behind his head as Kaeliph lit the candle on the bedside table. There was nothing keeping them from making a life here in Paltos, he reasoned. Maybe he could be a stonemason after all. The Arena would not reopen, and there was little other trade he was skilled with. Kaeliph could apprentice somewhere, preferably with someone who didn’t have a daughter.
“They brought a cot for you,” Jovan said. “It should do until a bigger room opens up.”
“Thanks.” Kaeliph shrugged out of his cloak, aware of Jovan watching his every move.
“Where’s your hat?”
Kaeliph breathed a silent curse. He knew exactly where it was, and also knew that Jovan would not understand. “It must have … blown off,” he said. “There was a breeze tonight.”
Jovan nodded without conviction. His eyes fell to the weapon on his brother’s belt. “New blade?”
The younger boy beamed, his missing hat forgotten, and held the rapier up to the dim flicker of candlelight. “Beautiful, isn’t she? And a bargain.”
“Who’d you kill?” Jovan’s serious eyes betrayed his light tone.
“No one, brother.” Kaeliph, offended, tucked the weapon away. “His head will ache when he wakes, but drunk as he was, it would have regardless.”
Jovan remained silent, still watching him.
“He threatened me, Jovan.” Kaeliph sat on the cot, his gut twisting at his brother’s silence. “I’m not in any trouble. I swear.”
“Of course you're not.” Jovan blew out the candle, and they said nothing else.
Morning brought rain. Commotion greeted the brothers in the inn’s dining room when they came down for breakfast. Voices overlapped each other, gradually forming a story.
“Floating, he was, right there in the river!”
“Beaten and robbed, how terrible.”
“His poor parents ... they'll bury him today.”
“Korith’s offered a reward, of course, but no one knows nothing.”
And more softly, with a hint of frustration: “Now they’ll never leave.”
“The man who done it left his hat and sword behind,” someone volunteered.
“Done what, friend?” Kaeliph took a seat at the bar, joining the conversation with little effort. Jovan, silent, sat at his side.
“Killed him, that’s what. Killed the Duke’s only son, and the boy was just fifteen.”
“They found him in the river with his head bashed in and all his fine things stolen.”
“And the killer even left his own things behind,” chimed in another. “Like he’s just daring Korith to come after him. Mind you, the Duke won’t let this go unpunished. Not his only son.”
“Of course not,” Kaeliph agreed. His face did not hint at the cold dread coiled in his gut. The Duke’s son? Was it even possible? He knew his blow had not been fatal, he was certain of it— but he had no proof. No one would believe him. “I pray the killer will be brought to justice soon.”
Jovan stood, touching Kaeliph’s shoulder. “We should go,” he
murmured.
Kaeliph couldn’t agree more. Someone may recognize him as the owner of the extravagant hat … and no doubt the jeweled rapier hanging proudly from his belt belonged to the dead man. He and Jovan made it out of the inn without incident, but with their cloaks and packs in the room, their luck didn’t hold. At the end of the roadway, two of Duke Korith's soldiers recognized the weapon.
“Halt! Thief!”
“Run.” Jovan stepped in front of Kaeliph as the soldiers drew their swords. “Lose the blade, stay out of sight.”
Kaeliph obeyed. Within minutes he had reached the canal and dropped the beautiful, incriminating weapon into the murky water without a second thought. Well, maybe just one. Without the rapier, though, Kaeliph’s bravado had returned. He sauntered towards two other soldiers as they patrolled. “What's happened, sir? Why are there so many soldiers?”
“Duke’s son was killed last night, that's what. You should move along.”
“That’s terrible,” Kaeliph said, pouring surprise and sadness into his words. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Let us worry about that,” one of the soldiers said as they moved off.
Kaeliph spared himself a small, triumphant smile at their backs, but Jovan’s sudden appearance from a narrow alley stole his grin.
“We’re leaving,” Jovan said, beckoning to his brother with a blood streaked hand.
Kaeliph followed. “What happened?” he asked. “Are you alright?”
Jovan did not answer. He led his brother through the twisting streets so quickly Kaeliph had to jog to keep up.
“Jovan? What happened? Did you—? Are they—?” Jovan turned and fixed him with a brief, serious stare. There was blood on his cheek, but no wound. Kaeliph shut up.
After a few more turns and alleys, they arrived at the back door of a small building. Jovan easily shouldered it open. Any noise they made was covered by loud wails and tearful singing. Kaeliph didn’t question when Jovan handed him a long black hooded robe. They dressed fast, pulled the hoods up to cover their faces, and slipped into the church through the Acolyte’s arch.
Awaken Page 2
