“Once we reach camp I’ll send a party out to sweep the area.” Krillos turned to bark at his men. “Get these bodies burned. Wipe out all these prints. There can’t be any trace of our trail, or theirs. Nothing anyone can follow. Nothing to make them look twice. Do you understand? If we lose this camp, we lose everything.”
THIRTEEN
Many things had surprised me lately. It made sense, considering the significant gaps in my memory. This was different. I felt it in my bones. Never before in my life had I seen anything like Malaq’s camp. It wasn’t the thrown together cluster of bog-covered hovels I imagined. The Shinree weren’t sequestered. Rellans weren’t being bullied by Langorians. What stood on the other side of a perimeter of trees was the beginning of a proper village, filled with refugees from all over the realms.
Rellan and Langorian women were doing the wash and sewing together. Their men were chopping wood and skinning dinner. Arullans and Langorians of both sexes were sharpening weapons and sparring. Some were carving arrows, clubs, and staffs. There were Kaelish and Shinree tending pens of livestock and pounding grain. A Langorian man was laughing with a Shinree woman as he helped her draw water from a well. No one was fighting. They weren’t even looking sideways at each other. An impossible blend of conflicting beliefs and traditions, of differing policies and viewpoints that had been settled at the point of a sword for hundreds of years, appeared to be coexisting. More than that, they were a community—with children. The youngest of which were running in circles, playing with a small, brown dog.
A dog, I thought; stunned. They have a dog?
The landscape was equally startling. Swamp as foul and thick as what we’d spent the last day and a half trudging through, ran the edge of the site like a fence. It formed a natural barrier of meshed trees, watery streams and thick clumps of bog. But the camp itself sat on a parcel of dry land; solid, stable land, cleared of brush, vines, rocks, puddles, and any trace of mud. The tidiness of the area (complete with grass and a few fruit trees) was not only out of place. It was unnatural.
Leaving me to my gawking, Krillos moved ahead to converse with the two Arullans standing guard on this side of the trees. Dark-skinned and dark-haired, the men’s garments were simple in color and style, but beautifully crafted with the elaborate stitching their kind was known for. Some said the gods crafted Arullan bodies with just as much care, as a large majority of their race carried the right amount of weight and muscle for their height. The men were often handsome and intelligent. The women were exotic and aggressive. They had an extraordinary eye for strategy and fought as passionately as they made love. Wait…how do I know that?
It hit me: Aylagar.
Then it really hit me, as our time together came rushing back. Thoughts, images, and moments—incomplete and out of order—crowded into me like an ocean pouring through a keyhole.
“You there!” she called.
I didn’t dare turn. If it was me the Queen was after, her tone was not pleasant.
“Do you not hear me, soldier? I said report to my tent, now.”
She came closer. I kept working. Pulling the bridle off over Kya’s head, as I dropped it, Queen Aylagar’s hand seized my wrist.
I looked at her, feigning innocence. “Your Grace?”
Jaw hard, eyes intense, Aylagar’s grip tightened. “Do I speak in some unknown tongue, Shinree? Or should I give you a lesson in the meaning of the word now?”
Her mouth hovered over mine. “So, I was right.” Rolling away, Aylagar got up and left me alone on the furs. She glanced back. Her round eyes brimmed with pleasure. “You can do more than fight.”
She shouldered me aside with a grunt. In one flawless strike, Aylagar swung and splayed open the man behind me.
Grabbing my arm, she yanked me close. “Keep your eyes on the fight, Shinree. Not on me.” With a grin, she shoved me away.
The silence hurt. The air tasted of death. I smelled of old blood, piss, and vomit. There was nothing left in me; hadn’t been for days. Food. Water. Strength. Hope. They were all gone. Just like her.
There were only the birds now. They’d been coming all morning in great flocks, following the stench of decay on the wind; they’d found a banquet.
“Go away!” I howled at them. My arms were weak. I could barely hold her as I pulled Aylagar’s cold, gaunt body tighter against me.
The little gluttonous bastards could nibble on the Langorian’s withered husks all they wanted. They weren’t getting her.
I doubled over, gasping. The humid air dragged like knives through my lungs. I couldn’t pull in enough to breathe.
Hand pressed against the ache in my chest, I sensed their eyes on me.
Hoping I was wrong, I raised my head. Krillos was a few feet away, staring. Kit turned to do the same, then Kel and Arig. All four were grubby and sweaty from our trek. And all four were giving me the same uncertain, cautious expression.
I motioned them ahead with an irritated wave.
“We’ll wait,” Krillos offered.
“No need.” I gestured again. The camp was just past the trees, a handful of paces away. “It’s right there. What could happen?”
His scarred face tightened. “Do I really need to answer that?”
He had a point. I still gave him a glare. I wasn’t trying to be an ass, but Queen Aylagar Arcana had been a defining force in my life. She was the first woman I loved. She was my commander in the Rellan army for six years. She was the person I betrayed most with the Crown of Stones and the ghost that haunted me the hardest. Her memory had always been heavy on me. Now that I was carrying it again, it was going to take some getting used to. “I need a minute,” I told him.
“One minute,” Krillos agreed. “No more.” He gave a glance to the Arullan sentries (no doubt, about me), then pushed through the trees with Kit and the two sailors behind him. Their presence was noticed right away. Through the branches I saw people rushing up to surround them. Mugs were pressed into the men’s hands. Women encircled Kit, hugging and fussing over the girl as they escorted her off.
Krillos pulled some of his welcoming party aside. A mix of Langorians and Rellans, they listened raptly to what the captain had to say and a call went out for weapons and volunteers. A few moments later, Kel and Arig led a small group back out into the swamp. I gave them a nod on my way in.
I stayed outside the crowd. I listened as men asked after the welfare of the Prince. Several women plied Krillos with food. No one offered me anything. There were plenty of glances in my direction, though. None were hostile, but neither were they overly friendly. Most were curious and hopeful, and slightly afraid.
As everyone moved off Krillos gave me a tour of the camp. The place was bigger than I thought. But after an arduous trek through the swamp, the cleared byways made for a pleasant walk. Krillos interjected his own personal stories as he explained functions of the various rows of lean-tos, tents, and huts. Not surprisingly, most of his tales were colorful and involved large amounts of drink. He described how the labor was divided and what each section of the camp was dedicated to. I looked for segregated areas, but if there was prejudice, I couldn’t find it.
We stopped at one of the larger tents. The flap was tied open. Inside were shelves of food stores and cooking implements. Outside, metal-bound casks, a fire pit, a handful of tables and chairs, and a couple of drying racks filled with meat were all positioned in a half circle around the entrance to the tent. A crispy-looking boar inhabited a spit over the fire. Globs of fat dripped off, sizzling as it reached the flames.
The tables were empty. Krillos gestured at one, and I hitched myself up onto its surface while he went over to the row of casks. Several were open, with wooden cups hanging off the rim by their handles. Snatching a cup, Krillos dunked it down inside one of the round vats. He brought his cup back up, filled with a pale-gold liquid, and sighed. “There’s my baby.” Taking a slow, relishing sip, Krillos shuddered. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” Grinning, he sighed again, tipped the cup,
and finished it.
Watching him have another with the same level of avarice, I laughed. “Does she have a name?”
Swallowing, he grunted. “Arullan Ale. Ever tried it?”
“Not that I remember.”
His voice dropped. “This stuff will make even a Langorian whore seem pretty.”
“Can’t say I remember having one of those either.”
Froth sputtering out his mouth as he laughed, Krillos was in the process of dipping his cup a third time, when a man exited the tent. Short and slim for a Langorian, what he lacked in body weight, he made up for in character. His head, fully shaved, was in complete juxtaposition to the graying beard on his chin. It hung in a thick single braid, all the way to the middle of his chest. The scar on his face, indicating his former rank in Draken’s army, had been modified. Worked on by someone with a skill for skin art, the coin-sized, circular scar had been incorporated into a picture involving the backside of a plump, naked woman down on all fours.
The man gave Krillos a quick smile and her cheeks seemed to quiver. “Captain,” he said with enthusiasm. “Ain’t nobody killed you yet?”
“Bartlett, you old crow.” Krillos gave the man a hearty slap on the back. “I see you finally caught that boar.” He jerked his head toward the spit. “How’d you do it?”
Bartlett shrugged. “Just needed the right bait.”
“What’d you use?”
“Meat.” Bartlett winked at him. “The Kaelish variety.”
About to drink, Krillos lowered his cup. “You serious?”
“We had to dispose of him somehow.”
“How close was he?”
“Too close. But he was alone. Just a scout.”
I butted in. “Alive or dead?” They both looked at me. “The bait?”
Bartlett’s shaggy brows came together in a scowl. “What do you think, Shinree?”
“Two years ago, I would have said you hung one of your own men naked from a tree and cut him open so his blood was on the air. Now,” I glanced at Krillos. “I don’t have a goddamn clue. It’s all backwards.”
“Not here,” Bartlett said, his gaze lightening. “Here is just right.”
Krillos drank to that. After, he said quietly, to his friend. “Where’s Sienn?”
“In her tent, I’m guessing,” Bartlett replied. “She came by this morning. I gave her one of those rabbit pies she likes. Haven’t seen her since.”
Bartlett strolled off to tend his boar. Krillos looked at me and tilted his head to the right. “She’s down that way.” When I didn’t reply, he eyeballed me. “The Prince made it out like you two were close before all this.”
“Sienn was under my father’s influence. I doubt she meant half of it.”
“Sienn pulled you out of the mine. She freed you.”
“She was also part of the reason I was there.”
“You think she rescued you out of guilt?”
“My father was dying on that cave floor. I shoved my sword through him. And Sienn came in right behind me and healed him. That puts his continuing ability to aid Draken on her shoulders. Even if no one else blames her, I know she does. And I’m not sure seeing me will help her any.”
“So you’re avoiding Sienn for her benefit?” Krillos shook his head. “You, Shinree, are full of shit.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Completely. Look at it this way. Sienn’s been on Kayn’l. She knows what you’re going through. She also knows you didn’t mean it.”
The color left my face. I knew Krillos had been privy to Kit’s memories when they were linked. But I hadn’t thought about him seeing those memories. “You know what I did.”
“I know what you were made to do. I also know Sienn wasn’t the only one to suffer in that place. You and Kit were victims too.”
“That doesn’t change what happened. What I did to her.”
“You’re right. What’s done is done. But you aren’t the only one wishing it wasn’t. Look at my past. The paths I took. I’ve done far worse than you, my friend, and for far less noble reasons. And these people…” Wistfulness softening his scarred features, Krillos stared out at the camp. “There isn’t a man or woman here who hasn’t done something they regret. Something they would give anything to take back. I’m thinking that’s what holds us all together.”
“Could be. But it’s still insane. You. Me. This place. You’re making Arullan Ale in a swamp, roasting boars instead of villagers. And you have a dog. A dog, Krillos.” Incredulous, I shook my head. “I thought you ate dogs in Langor.”
“No, we don’t fucking eat dogs. I suppose you think we grow fangs at night too and run around on all fours howling at the moon.”
“Not since I was about seven or eight.” I laughed at his dirty look. “You don’t get how impossible this is? You’re a Langorian soldier, and I don’t have the slightest desire to kill you. I don’t even want to punch you. Any of you.”
Krillos toasted me. “Here’s hoping you’ve lost your taste for maiming as well. I can’t afford to lose another hand.”
“No maiming,” I assured him. “Not interested in the least.”
Knocking back the last of his ale, Krillos pointed with his empty cup. “She’s around that corner. Fifth one down on the left.”
FOURTEEN
I stood in front of her tent a ridiculously long time. People passed. They tried to look like they weren’t staring. I tried not to look pathetic.
It was a lost cause.
The anxiety on me was obvious. Everyone could see: I’d rather dance naked in the middle of the town than face Sienn Nam’arelle. I might as well, I thought. I felt that exposed already.
Logically, it was doubtful anyone here knew my history with Sienn. It was shame that had me feeling like each and every pair of eyes that came my way was full of disgust and accusation. Or maybe it was just mine.
From the beginning, my relationship with Sienn had been thorny. Her motives never made sense. Our opinions had constantly conflicted. Two years ago, the obstacles between us had been about a chasm wide. Now, they were a gulf.
After watching the wind play with the tent flap a hundred times more, I pushed it back and stepped inside. The interior was dark, like walking from day to night, forcing me to stand in the quiet, palms sweating, as my eyes adjusted.
First, I made out the silhouette of stacked crates, then a cupboard, a table, and a pallet. There was a hint of lavender in the air. I’d noticed the scent around Sienn before. I wasn’t sure what it meant to her, but I was definitely in the right place.
I cleared my throat. “Sienn?”
A brazier sprung to life in the center of the tent, and I was blind again.
Her voice came from the shadows. “You look well.”
“I’m better.” I rubbed at my eyes. “And you?”
“If you’re here to inquire after my health, then see for yourself.” Sienn stepped forward, into the reach of the flames. I’d been carrying a ridiculous notion that the pain I’d inflicted might show on her face. That all she’d been forced to endure would have made her hard and ugly. It might have been easier if it had.
Barefoot on the soft ground, Sienn was as fresh as a spring day. Her simple, yellow, tunic-dress clung to her tall, slight body. A girdle, made of woven vines and small white flowers, set low on her hips. A band of similar buds were embroidered into the round neckline and the cuffs of both sleeves, which were capped at the shoulders. Her bare arms were wrapped from the wrist up with tan leather bracers; laced on the underside and embedded with Shinree stones on the top. Many of the stones were glowing and pulsing. I stared at them, watching the rhythm, and my skin grew hot.
A minor throb started in my temple. It grew into a steady thump, thump.
I didn’t even realize my hands were shaking until the shudder moved up inside my arms. Then it was everywhere; weakening my legs, churning my stomach.
The stones on her arms seemed suddenly brighter.
The tent grew h
ot, close. I needed air.
I turned to go.
“Is something wrong?” she said.
Panting, sweating profusely, I took a couple of deep breaths. I didn’t want Sienn to think I was fleeing because of her. “No.” Turning back around, I risked looking at her stones again, but nothing happened. The craving had passed. “I’m fine.”
Sienn forced a smile. “Would you like a drink? I assume Krillos has introduced you to the wonders of Arullan Ale?” She stepped closer. I almost stepped back. I didn’t want to notice how her skin was paler than I remembered. Or that her hair had grown out. I’d forgotten how nearly transparent it was; like panes of glass falling over her shoulders. She pushed the strands back, exposing a face that would have been fragile and waiflike if not for the strength of her bones.
She was looking at me.
I struggled to recall her question. “He tried. I wasn’t thirsty.”
“For that man, thirst is irrelevant.” Sienn glanced around behind me. “I believe your hair is longer even than mine.”
I reached back and touched it. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Come. Sit.” She motioned to a set of cushions near the fire. “I’ll cut it for you.”
The notion of her with a knife made me uneasy. So did the aftermath of insulting her. “Thanks,” I said.
“Would you like tea?”
“Sounds good.” I sat down on the cushions. Sienn fetched a cup and started preparing the tea. She didn’t speak, or glance at me. Her movements were relaxed and causal, as if didn’t matter whatsoever to her that I was here. Impressed, I attempted to match her nonchalance. I resisted tracking the way the airy fabric of the dress moved over her body, or noticing how the fire seemed to gleam through her hair. I fought letting on how nervous I was; refusing to let the fear of not knowing what to say show on my face.
But Sienn still had the same damn unsettling effect on me, and after a minute or two, I gave up and locked my gaze securely downward. I thought it was a safe direction. Then Sienn and her tea squatted in front of me.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 10
