Dragonsbane (Book 3)

by Shae Ford

  “Sorry. I’ve always traveled a … different route,” she said with a quick glance at Baird.

  She pointed to the sky, and Kael took her meaning. “Well, then why don’t we try it your way?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? We could be at the mountains in no time at all.”

  “I do love a good shortcut,” Baird called cheerily.

  Kael jerked a thumb behind him. “See? We’re all in agreement.”

  Kyleigh shook her head. “It’s far too dangerous. The moment we tried going that way, the gates of Midlan would burst open and the King’s army would swarm. It would take ages to lose them.”

  “Hmm, I don’t like the sound of that,” Baird mumbled.

  Kael ignored him. “You could outrun them easily. I know you could,” he said when she glared.

  “It’s not that simple,” Kyleigh growled. “I traveled that way so often before because I had to. I could never stay anywhere for long because the King … knew. It was like he knew where I’d be before I even knew it. The only reason I managed to escape is because I used the shortcut.”

  It didn’t make any sense. “If that’s true, then why hasn’t he been chasing us this whole time? Why haven’t we had Midlan breathing down our necks?”

  “I don’t know.” The fire in her eyes was suddenly more like candlelight than a blaze. “I expected him to chase me. I thought you and I were going to have to use the shortcut eventually. But it all just … stopped, the day we left the mountains. I’m not sure why.” Her brows furrowed as she studied the clouds. “We’ve been fortunate so far. I’m not going to do anything to catch the King’s attention — certainly not while we’re so close to Midlan.”

  “Yes, I agree with the whole skin of my heart!” Baird chirped from behind them. “Let us tread with the soft steps of shadows and leave not a blade bent behind.”

  “Why does Crevan hate you so much?” Kael said after a moment. “What in Kingdom’s name could you have possibly done to him?”

  Baird cackled. “He reached for her, but she knocked his hand away! The whole castle saw —”

  “Shut it, Baird!”

  They’d shouted at the same time.

  “I told you — I tried to kill him,” Kyleigh said shortly. Then she quickened her pace, pulling Baird along behind her.

  Kael couldn’t be sure, but he thought the back of her neck might’ve looked slightly pink.

  They traveled in uncomfortable silence until midday — when the sky opened its gullet and a thick spring rain washed down upon the forest. Baird wore his rucksack on the front of his chest and walked, hunched over it like a lean-to for nearly half a mile.

  He never once complained, and not even the rain could dampen his chattering. But as Kael watched him stumble along, guilt made him miserable. All he could think about was Roland: with the knobs of Baird’s knees and his swollen fingers, the way he more shuffled than walked — it all reminded him of his friend.

  If anybody ever came across Roland soaking wet, Kael knew he would want them to stop and help. So with a sigh, he shrugged off his cloak.

  It took him several moments to pull Baird’s rucksack back into place and drape the cloak across his thin shoulders. “Oh good, I’m so glad you thought to bring a spare,” he said as Kael tugged the hood over his shaggy mane.

  “Yes, well, I try to think ahead,” Kael said shortly.

  Once he’d gotten Baird all settled, Kael marched back up to Kyleigh. Her head turned towards him for a moment as they walked. The shadow of her hood covered her face completely, so he had no idea what she was thinking. And she didn’t offer any explanation.

  She probably thought he was a fool for giving up his cloak.

  A few hours later, he’d begun to agree with her. The rain fell warm and thick, spilling from the canopy above them in hundreds of weeping falls. It soaked into his clothes and rubbed raw patches across his skin. By late afternoon, the only bits of him that weren’t soaked were the parts of his arms and wrists that were covered by his gauntlets.

  They were the gauntlets Kyleigh had given him — the ones she’d made from her scales. The way the rain washed down their blackened tops reminded him of water sliding from the oily back of a duck.

  He understood now why Kyleigh hadn’t packed a cloak: covered head to toe in dragon scales, she must’ve been plenty dry.

  “Well, there’s no use in slogging on,” Kyleigh declared suddenly. The shadow of her hood turned to face the trees. “The two of you ought to find us someplace dry to sleep.”

  “Where are you going?” Kael said.

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she jogged into the thicket — running until the woods swallowed her up.

  He supposed she would be all right. Kyleigh knew the forest better than he did, after all — and he seriously doubted that she would run into anything more terrifying than she was. Besides, he was too wet to worry.

  It didn’t take them long to find shelter. After a few minutes of searching, they came across an ancient tree that had toppled over onto its side. Decay had been eating at the tree’s innards for a while, leaving a hole that looked like a monster’s bite mark. The flecks of its bark were as big as the shingles of a roof, and the rotted out space in its middle was the size of a respectable house.

  The half-moon cave it left behind could have been home to all sorts of creatures. Kael was surprised to find it empty. The first layer of the wall was too rotted to burn. He dug beneath it until he came across a dryer patch. He cracked the deadwood off in strips and tossed it into a pile. Once he had a fire going, there was nothing left to do but wait.

  “Hang my cloak near the flames — I want the wool to be dried by morning.”

  Kael had been hunched beside the fire, painstakingly wringing the moisture from his shirt when Baird’s sopping cloak struck him full in the face. “You have to warn people before you start flinging things everywhere,” he snapped as he hung the cloak on a jutting bit of the wall.

  Baird spread his arms wide. “Sorry, but I thought I was the blind one. You ought to be able to see anything thrown your way.”

  “Yes, well, where I come from we don’t just throw things without fair warning.”

  “I see. And where did you say you came from again?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Baird leaned against the wall behind him and whispered: “Oh, he’s clever.”

  Kael used the small fire to warm their food. Once his hair stopped dripping, he took the Atlas out and went back to studying the maps.

  The rain slowed to a steady drizzle. Late afternoon drifted into early evening. Baird prattled endlessly about the quiet flutters of the flames and the way the warmth kissed the walls. But other than that, the day was mostly pleasant.

  “When should we expect the Swordmaiden’s triumphant return?” Baird said loudly, pulling Kael’s gaze from the maps.

  He wasn’t sure when Kyleigh would come back, and he couldn’t see why it ought to be triumphant. But he knew one thing for certain: “She’ll be back eventually.”

  “Eventually? Oh dear, what a span and space of time that is … eventually.” Baird snorted. “Time keeps a steady gait, young man. It stops for no one. Each step is measured in a moment, a breath. There’s no place for vagueries upon its path —”

  “Vagueries?”

  “You’ve got to be specific about where you plan to turn. You must know how many steps it’ll take to get there. Otherwise, the moment might just pass you by.” Baird frowned as he added: “Many a man has wasted away waiting for eventually.”

  Kael sighed. “Fine. She’ll be back soon.”

  “Soon?” Baird snorted again. “Soon —?”

  “Look — if she wanted to leave me, then she would’ve left a long time ago. Kingdom knows she’s had the opportunity.”

  “Hmm, yes. I must admit I thought it strange that the Swordmaiden would trouble herself with one so frail. She used to keep the company of great warriors. Either she’s more disgraced than
I thought … or you are not nearly as frail as you seem.”

  Kael didn’t like Baird’s smile — and he liked his words even less. Slowly, he reached for the dagger at his belt. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Baird the Beggar-Bard —”

  “No. Who are you really? Kyleigh thinks you’re harmless. I’m not so sure.” Kael drew the dagger and leveled the point at Baird’s chest. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I heard the muffled rake of steel parting its leather bonds.” He smiled. “Why waste my breath when you mean to cut it short? Plunge your knife into my heart. Go on, be quick about it.”

  That was it. Kael was tired of playing games.

  With one quick movement, he lunged and ripped the bandages off Baird’s eyes. The beggar-bard yelped and threw his hands over his head. Kael pulled them away by the wrists, exposing his face. What he saw made his heart shudder to a stop.

  The lids of Baird’s eyes were red and sunken in, shut tightly against the world. Hairline scars ran in lines from their bottoms and stopped just short of his cheeks. They looked like a trail of tears — frozen in time, forever branded into his flesh. Old age hadn’t claimed Baird’s vision.

  His eyes had been cut out.

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea …”

  Kael placed the bandages in Baird’s hand, and his knobby fingers curled about them tightly. The other hand traced his scars. “I had no choice,” he whispered.

  Kael could hardly breathe. “Wait a moment — you did this?”

  “With a sharp rock and in the dark underbelly of the night. I had no choice,” Baird said again. His fingers trembled down the frozen line of tears. “I knew too much. They planned to turn me over to the Falsewright — and he would’ve got it out of me. Oh yes, he had his ways. I had no choice! The first was easy.” He drew a half-moon around his left eye. “Just more pain than any man should ever have to endure and, ah … darkness.

  “The second was more difficult.” His finger hovered over his right eye, trembling. “It wasn’t the pain I feared — it was the darkness. A window closed never to be opened. A thousand sunsets wasted against my lids, a thousand faces I would never see again. I had not the courage to face the darkness … but I had no choice. I had no choice!”

  He clutched his face, dissolving into wails. Kael grabbed the bandages from his hand. He wrapped them around Baird’s eyes and bound them tightly. It was only after they’d been covered for a moment that his wails began to quiet.

  Kael wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Kyleigh had been right to pity Baird. She must’ve been able to sense the pain beneath his madness, the darkness behind his lids. Kael should’ve listened to her.

  Instead, he’d tortured a blind man for no reason. “Baird, I’m so —”

  “Do you want to hear a story?” Baird was leaning against the wall, smiling as if nothing had ever happened.

  Kael was too relieved to argue. “Yes.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll do a bit of barding.” Baird’s weathered fingers gripped the knobs of his knees. He was quiet for such a long moment that Kael thought he might’ve fallen asleep. Then quite suddenly, he began:

  “Long ago, in an age when the earth was young and the first grains of time had only just slipped through the glass, two lands were born to Fate. The first rose from the sea in the shadow of the setting sun, and so she called them the Westlands. It was a dark place, a quiet place. Fate cast her die and the symbols for power, greed, and war landed upon its shores. Kings fought against Kings. Mages rent the land with their spells. Men cried out to Fate, and she answered. There was always much to cast for in the Westlands.”

  Kael had gone back to his reading at the first mention of Fate, but the story slowly drew him in. The words came alive on Baird’s tongue. He closed his eyes and images passed before him — blooming out of the dark in bursts of color and sound.

  The battered shores of the Westlands rose in his mind. Blood burned his face as he joined the Kings in battle; he could hear the mighty roar of the earth as it crumbled beneath the mages’ spells. All around him the gaunt faces of men turned skyward. He listened to the thunder as it split the clouds — no, not thunder. It was the sound of Fate’s die rolling across her great table.

  His heart slowed its beating and his lungs held their breath. His ears tuned to each bounce and roll. Sweat drenched his brow as he begged for the die to land in his favor …

  It’s only a story.

  Kael’s eyes snapped open. He ground his palms against his head and tried to focus on the wall in front of him. It was only a story. He wasn’t going to let himself get pulled back in …

  His eyes shut in the middle of this thought and Baird’s voice drowned his ears: “The second land born to Fate was as fair as his brother was fierce. Strength, wisdom, and order fell here — a strange cast of the die. They made the land grow thick and gave life to the trees. White rivers burst from the rocks, their waters swift and chilled. Great storms rose from the depths of the northern seas and lashed the earth with their fury. There were no wars, no mages or Kings. The greatest danger was the land, itself. And so Fate called them the Wildlands.

  “For all their beauty, the Wildlands stood empty. So Fate fashioned creatures to live within them. She gave them hooves and wings, teeth and claws — they were sure-footed and strong. There were creatures that could reach the highest peak and the lowest depths of the sea. They would never conquer the land, but live with it. Of this, Fate was determined.

  “But the wars in the Westlands grew more fierce. Powerful mages drove mankind away and kept them pressed against the desolate shores. The Kings began to try to cross the seas, looking for a new land to settle — and Fate knew it would be only a matter of time before the die landed in their favor. So she traveled deep into her brother’s realm in search of guardians to defend the Wildlands.

  “Death, who loves to bargain, gave her fourteen souls in exchange for this: once each year, Fate must turn her face from the Wildlands and allow Death to rule. It’s a bargain they’ve kept to this very day.”

  “Who were the fourteen souls?” Kael said. He knew full well which day Fate turned her face from the earth, but he hadn’t heard anything about the souls. And he didn’t want Baird to skip over it.

  Baird’s head rose from his chest slowly, as if he woke from a deep sleep. “I’m getting to that. Be patient, young man.”

  Kael shut his mouth.

  “They were the souls of seven men and seven mages — heroes who’d proven themselves worthy during their lives in the Westlands, but had perished before their time. To the seven men, Fate gave great strength and long lives. They would clear the land of monsters so that their offspring might grow in peace. They would protect the people of the Wildlands. And so the seven men became known as knights.

  “To the seven mages, Fate revealed all the secrets of the earth. The mages forgot their language of spells and instead learned the groaning tongue of the wilds. They were to be intercessors, voices that would speak for the land and protect its secrets from the children of the knights — who might unwittingly destroy them. The seven mages each received a token from Fate, a token of dark and terrible power: they would forsake their human souls and become like animals. So they were called barbarians —”

  “Shapechangers.” Kael didn’t remember standing up. He was vaguely aware of how his fists were clenched. His nails dug into his palms, but the fire that filled his head numbed the pain. “They’re shapechangers — not barbarians.”

  Baird’s head lifted again, his bandaged face tilted in Kael’s direction. “No, they’re … friends of yours?”

  When he didn’t reply, Baird smiled triumphantly.

  “Your words came from somewhere very deep — bursting as if they rode the last wind of a long journey. But still potent, despite their climb. Such a powerful stand against one small word could only mean friendship.” He leaned against the wall as if he’d uncovered a great secret.

  But Kael had uncovered a s
ecret as well. He smiled back and said simply: “You’re a whisperer.”

  Chapter 7

  The Huntsman

  Baird’s mouth went slack. “I … how did you know?”

  “I have my ways,” Kael replied.

  It was the only explanation. Even Roland with his growling voice had never told a story that sounded so alive. If a whisperer could command others by the power of his words, then surely he could entrance them.

  “You’re a craftsman.”

  Baird slumped against the walls. “Oh Fate, I’ve failed you! He’s going to turn me over to the King. Now I shall never reach the mountains —!”

  “I’m not going to turn you over to anybody,” Kael said quickly, before he could work himself into wails. “I just thought …”

  He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. A shadow stood outside their shelter, hanging near the edge of the trees. Kael was still trying to figure out what it was when the shadow slipped away.

  “Wait here.”

  He grabbed his bow and slung the quiver across his shoulder. The rain had stopped, but the air was still damp. His boots pressed carefully into the soggy earth as he inched towards the tree line. His eyes swept across the brambles; his thumb traced the fletching of a nocked arrow. He was prepared to draw back at the first sign of danger.

  A long moment passed and the shadow never reappeared. Kael wondered if he’d only been imagining it. He was about to turn back for the shelter when the snap of a twig drew his gaze to the left.

  Two glowing eyes watched him from the brambles, and Kael recognized their haughty light immediately. “Silas?”

  The halfcat didn’t reply.

  “How did you find us? When did you …?” Then he remembered how the door had slammed open the night they left Frome’s Refuge, and how rations kept disappearing from the merchant’s vessel. He suddenly figured it out. “You stowed away and followed us to the Grandforest. Why didn’t you just —?”