“Why would he want Zin?” asked Blackfoot once we arrived.
“She bore witness against him,” I explained after I caught my breath. “She was as culpable in his humiliation as Reiwyn or the rest of us.”
“But the Scumdogs didn’t come after us.”
“They don’t take men,” explained Uller. “They only come for the women.”
Arn was livid. “Where is he?”
“He said he was going to question the rest of the night watch,” I answered.
With that, they were off again. How he and the savage could still run was befuddling to me. Even Blackfoot was beginning to pant, and he’d always seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of energy. I cursed under my breath and struggled to keep up as we ran to the gate, attracting much attention from the colony as we did. When we arrived, we found it open, with guards standing on either side.
“Who opened this?” Arn asked the closest guard, a Mormentish man with a shaved head holding an iron-tipped spear.
He gave Arn a puzzled look and answered, “Ferun.”
21.
“How long ago?”
The guard continued to give Arn confused looks. “An hour, maybe longer.”
I stepped forward. “How’d he open the gate without the key?”
“He had a key,” explained the guard, looking from Arn to me and then back at Arn. “He said you’d given it to him to pursue the Scumdogs.”
I looked at Arn. “You gave him a key?”
Arn shook his head and reached into his shirt. He pulled out the iron key at the end of a leather thong tired around his neck. “There’s only yours and this one.”
“He must have made a double.” I looked at Blackfoot. “Is such a thing possible?”
Blackfoot shrugged. “No lock is unpickable, and no key is uncopyable. If he knew what he was doing, he could have made a clay mold from the lock, or secreted into Arn’s yurt and stolen the original long enough to fabrimate a copy.”
Arn put his head in his hands. It all made sense. He’d played us all for rubes. He had to know that it was only a matter of time before Sharkhart overwhelmed Stree’s fear of retribution by Ferun, and he took every second of that time to make good his escape. He hadn’t counted on Reiwyn being so difficult to take, but his plan had worked in so far as Zin was now on her way to the slavers.
Arn raised his head and looked past us down the White Road. “We’re going after him. And after Zindet.” He looked at Gargath. “Is Antioc well enough to travel?” Gargath shook his head. Arn cursed and looked at me. “I’ll need you. And Reiwyn.”
“I’ll get my bow,” she said, running off.
“I’m going too,” said Blackfoot.
“So am I,” added Uller.
“You’ll need me, too.” said Gargath.
Arn nodded and turned to Sharkhart. “This will be a dangerous journey. Find three more men. Loyal men, no one you’ve seen spending a lot of time with Ferun.” He looked back at us. “Gather as little as you need and meet back here in fifteen minutes. Every second counts. Go.”
“I thought you didn’t like her?” I queried Uller after we’d gotten underway. I made sure to ask quiet enough that none of the others could hear us. I didn’t want to be insensitive.
“I never said that. Just, being her friend is . . . challenging.”
“I know the feeling,” I said, giving him a sideways glance. He seemed to notice and grinned.
“I didn’t like her,” said Reiwyn. “Not at first. But she has a good heart, and no one deserves the fate the slavers have planned for her.” I could tell there was more to it than that. I saw the same look in her eyes that she’d given Antioc once she’d seen how badly he’d been beaten by her lover. It was responsibility, however misplaced.
Keeping up with Arn and Sharkhart was challenging. They kept at the fore of the party, well ahead of Front-Strider and the other three guards the savage had fetched for him. We took up the rear. I maintained we were guarding our flank, but the truth of it was we weren’t used to this kind of sustained movement. Reiwyn might have been able to keep up, as with Blackfoot, but they stayed with us. I was glad of that. I’d almost lost her last night. The thought of that made a lump in my chest. Worse still, we were on the verge of losing another friend, and had precious time to waste in her rescue.
We followed the whole day, without even stopping to eat. When night fell over the island, we collapsed to the beach, panting as we struggled to open our waterskins. I took a long drink and rolled onto my back, staring at the stars. The night was cold, making breathing painful. I unfurled a fleece blanket and leaned against a piece of driftwood while Sharkhart built a fire.
Arn walked down the beach alone, staring up the White Road. I watched him, feeling now more than ever that there was something familiar in his look. In the way he gave commands, I saw a hint of authority that was almost noble. It gnawed at me. I knew he had to be of a noble house, but I couldn’t place which one. He didn’t have the look of any of my father’s bannermen, nor of the families of my mother’s father, Lord Yarley. I supposed I could just ask him, but if he was like to come out with an honest answer he wouldn’t have asked Zin to keep it a secret, and this was definitely not a good time to ask.
Sharkhart had the fire going in short order. It built to a roar, basking us in its warmth as we dug into our packs for dried fruit and jerky, while Front-Strider took our waterskins into the woods to look for a spring to refill them.
“He only had an hour lead,” whispered Uller after our meal. He and Blackfoot had joined me under the blanket, sharing body heat as our breath turned to white fog. Sadly, Reiwyn hadn’t joined us, deigning to wrap herself in fleece and sit closer to the fire.
“One can move faster than many,” explained Blackfoot. “And hide better, too.”
I looked over my shoulder up the White Road. “Wouldn’t we at least see his fire?”
“He wouldn’t build one,” said Sharkhart from across the flames. “And he’ll rest half as much as we must. Because he can.”
“What hope have we of catching him, then?” asked Uller.
“Little,” answered Sharkhart. “But we may yet overtake those who stole Zindet.”
“Won’t he join them? Take strength in their numbers?”
It was Blackfoot who answered, “They would only slow him down.” Sharkhart nodded slowly.
“Who was he before?” I asked, looking at anyone who could answer.
As I feared, that turned out to be Reiwyn. I could tell by the strain in her voice that she wasn’t comfortable discussing it as she said, “He is of Bronta. The son of a middle-lander pawnbroker. He fought in the war and was in the infantry, just like Antioc.”
“Was he a deserter?” I asked, declining to append “like me” to that.
“No. He served with distinction. He was decorated, and returned home a hero to find that his family had lost their business and been driven into destitution. So he became a highwayman. When he was finally captured, it was only his honorable service that merited a choice between death or exile. He chose the latter, and that’s how he came to be here.”
I nodded as she fell back into silence. I could actually see where he’d be very good in the role of a brigand. He combined high training with a limitless capacity for violence and an indifference to the suffering of others. In fact, I reasoned he might even have taken pleasure in seeing others hurt. He’d certainly proven his depravity knew no bounds by so long betraying the man who’d trusted him the most.
“Why was he working with the Scumdogs?” asked Front-Strider. “What did he have to gain?”
“He talked about going home,” replied Reiwyn, “Of someday being able to book passage back and buy his pardon. I thought it was just talk.” She shrugged and turned her head from the fire.
“How would the Scumdogs help with that?”
“They were paying him,” I explained. He was just like us, looking for treasure to afford a pardon. The key difference being, our pl
ans didn’t involve selling anyone into slavery. We were adventurers, not monsters.
After a time, I noticed Arn. He was further from the fire than the rest, not eating, not drinking, only staring up the White Road as though his blue eyes could see in the darkness.
22.
The White Road was treacherous in the early morning. It grew narrow by the sea, pressing us between rocky cliffs and the tide. The land was broken there, with great black rocks bursting from the ground, some barely covered by the moist, white sand. Along the way, Front-Strider told us that these parts were impassible at certain times of the day when the tide came in.
Sharkhart pointed to some footprints where the sand met the sea. “These are new. The tide slowed Ferun. We may catch him yet.”
The road took us away from the beach for a while, stepping up around a cliff face that ran right up to the water like the one to the east of the colony. It narrowed to a path that snaked through the forest, leading us under a canopy of trees with bare limbs as we passed through ankle deep, yellow and brown leaves. It deposited us back on the beach some hours later, at the base of a cliff high enough to be a mountain. It was there that I collapsed.
“This is no place for resting,” said Front-Strider.
“I just need a minute,” I moaned, panting. Uller fell to the sand behind me, landing on his hands and knees and coughing roughly. Even Reiwyn and Blackfoot stopped, leaning on their knees as they took deep breaths. Uller found a dead tree to lean on as he gasped for air. Gargath ran to check on him.
Arn and Sharkhart were too far ahead to notice that we had stopped. Front-Strider nodded and took off after them. That left us with two of the three guards Sharkhart had selected. One of them, a dark-haired fellow with scars on his face, stepped toward us. “Get up, you lilies!” he snarled, grabbing me by the arm.
“Leave him alone!” Blackfoot jumped up beside me as I was jerked to my feet.
“Quiet, boy!” said the dark-haired man, raising his hand as though to strike. Blackfoot filled his hand with his dagger and gave him a snide look.
Uller jumped to his feet and backed away, putting up his arm to stop Reiwyn from getting too close.
“You’d draw steel against me?” asked the man.
“I’d draw steel against any who manhandle my friends.”
He released me with a snort. “You’re all weak. I don’t know why the Sand King even thought to bring the lot of you. Mark my words, it’ll be one of you who gets sent to ashes first─” That was when an arrow burst from his throat.
“Daevas!” I shouted as everyone jumped back at once. The other guard scrambled for cover, diving over a sandbank. The dark-haired guard dropped his club and fell to his knees, gripping his throat as blood gurgled up and passed his lips, running down his front, staining the sand red.
Reiwyn hit her knees and readied her bow. Blackfoot grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward the trees. Gargath crouched low and covered his head. “Uller!” I shouted as we ran. The mage stared at the dying guard, dumbstruck, until an arrow took him in the leg. He didn’t scream right away. He just looked down and saw the shaft of wood poking in one side, coming out red on the other; then he screamed.
“It’s him!” shouted Reiwyn, grabbing Uller and pulling him to the ground. She quickly brought her bow back up and scanned the tree line for some sign of Ferun. Gargath wrapped his arm around Uller’s chest and dragged him screaming into the trees north of us.
Front-Strider came running back, crossbow in hand, with Arn and Sharkhart close behind. They ran into the trees wherever they had approximated the arrows had been borne. They were there for some time, during which the dark-haired guardsman died, and Uller’s wails became hoarse whimpers. After several minutes, they emerged, looking dejected.
“He’s gone,” said Arn when he reached us. “You can come out now.”
We emerged, heads down, Uller propped against Gargath, limping painfully as red streamed down his leg. Gargath had dressed the wound, but had yet to extract the arrow.
“He killed Doten,” said one of the guardsmen, a freckle-skinned ginger from Bronta named Landis.
“Would have killed Uller if he hadn’t missed,” I added, staring almost dumbstruck at the dead man on his knees before us. I didn’t think I’d ever met him before yesterday, and not shared words before today. I doubt he’d had more regard for me than I did for him, but there I stood, unable to look away.
“He did not miss.” Sharkhart’s voice jolted me out of it.
“Can you mend him?” Arn asked Gargath.
“I can bind the wound, but to remove the arrow will require a healer of Nol’s skill. I need to return him to the colony.”
“No. The smell of his blood will bring the gluttons. You will be overwhelmed alone, and we cannot spare the numbers to go back with you. Sharkhart will build a fire and you will extract the arrow here.”
Gargath turned pale as his eyes widened. “I’m not sure I’m up to the task.”
“You must be. Whatever aid you need, we will provide it.”
Gargath’s throat flexed as he swallowed, his eyes fixed on Arn. He took a breath and nodded slowly. “I need as much fresh water as you have. Take him.” He handed Uller off to Arn, groaning with the transition. “And a better knife than mine.” Reiwyn offered hers.
“You sure do get hurt a lot,” said Blackfoot with a grin as Arn passed with Uller.
“Shut up.”
Gargath cleaned Uller’s wound with water from our skins while Sharkhart got a fire going. Landis and the other guard, a black-skinned Floorishman named Efrot, carried a large piece of driftwood up to the campfire for Uller to lean against while the Volteri medic did his work.
“He said he didn’t miss. What did he mean?” I asked the Sand King. I couldn’t quite bring myself to question the savage directly.
Arn wiped sand off his breeches and took a drink of water before answering, “He killed one to scare us, another to slow us down.”
Uller wailed.
“Daevas, every glutton on this island will hear that boy’s cries,” said Efrot.
Arn walked to Uller and knelt beside him. I watched carefully as he stroked his hair and looked him in the eyes. “Your bravery is needed, young wizard.”
“I’m not . . . I’m no wizard. Not yet.” He looked down at the arrow jutting from his thigh and winced. “May never be, now.”
“Do not say such things. Yutan speaks quite highly of your skill and intelligence.”
That got a fast look from Uller. “Master Yutan speaks of me?”
“Of course. At least, I think he does. I can barely understand a word he says.” They both chuckled at that. Arn took off his cloak and rumpled it into a pillow, then eased Uller’s head onto it. “You’ll limp for a while, but you’ll recover. Soon, you’ll be the one teaching young apprentices, and this will be one of many stories you’ll tell them.”
I knew then where I recognized him from. It was in his voice, so calm and regal. I had not met him, but I had met his family. I had to look away to disguise my realization. Even that wasn’t enough to hide it from Reiwyn. “What?” she asked, crinkling her nose.
“It’s nothing. I am fair.” I understood at once why it was so important that his secret be kept.
Gargath picked up a stick. “I need you to bite down on this.”
Uller nodded and took it. “You’ve done this before, eh? Removed an arrow from a body?”
“Dozens of times,” he replied, then looked down at the wound. “Though this is the first time my patient has been alive.” He pushed the stick into Uller’s gaping mouth before he could respond. “He has to remain still. I need someone to hold him.” Sharkhart and Efrot were the biggest of us, so they grabbed his arms. Arn and I took his feet. “This is going to hurt.”
“It looks like it already does,” joked Blackfoot. I grinned at that, but that disappeared when I saw the look on Uller’s face. Pain mixed with fear and surprise. The body never really knows just how much p
ain it can be in until it’s pushed to that limit. Gargath had just informed him that what he was feeling was about to get worse, and that was more than my learned friend could reckon with.
Gargath grabbed both ends of the arrow. Uller groaned and tried to move, but we held him fast. Reiwyn stood behind him, stroking his hair and ushering him to stay calm. With a twist and a bend, Gargath broke the fletched end of the arrow with a wet snap. Uller’s voice pitched as he shook, throwing back his head so hard he almost knocked Reiwyn over. Then, holding the other end, Gargath pulled the broken arrow through his leg, drawing a stream of blood from both sides of the wound. I heard the wood in Uller’s mouth strain under his bite as he screamed through it. Once the arrow was free, he collapsed, unconscious.
“You should have just let me knock him out. Would have spared us the wails,” said Landis.
“Then I’d be treating a concussion as well as an arrow wound,” said Gargath. He poured water over the holes and pressed his hand to them. “Bring me the knife.”
Blackfoot scurried to the fire and returned, holding the handle of the glowing yellow blade. He handed it to Gargath, who took it gently. “Keep holding him,” he said, and we tightened our grip on Uller. Gargath brought the blade down and pressed it against one of the holes. Flesh sizzled, and the air smelled of burned meat. Uller screamed as he awoke, sitting up so hard that Efrot and Sharkhart lost of their grip for a moment. They quickly grabbed and subdued him, while Blackfoot shoved the dropped stick back into his mouth.
“Just one more,” Gargath said, wincing at the gruesomeness of it. Uller nodded and closed his wet eyes, his tear-streaked cheeks quivering. I patted my friend’s hand and Gargath lowered the glowing blade to the other hole. Uller took this one better, screaming and shaking only a little as his flesh seared shut. When it was done, he collapsed against the log, panting as he passed out again.
After, Gargath went down to the sea to wash the blood from his hands and clothes. The guards collected wood for the fire, while Blackfoot and Front-Strider carried our skins back to the spring to refill them. Reiwyn cradled Uller’s head in her lap; an enviable position, too bad he wouldn’t be awake to enjoy it. For my part, I was too astir to feel jealous. I promptly followed Arn down the beach to where he and Sharkhart conversed quietly.
Exiles of Forlorn Page 19
