Enemy (On the Bones of Gods Book 1)

by K. Eason

  “He can’t still be out there,” she muttered. “We took provisions for five days. It’s been that, and more.”

  “Half rations,” Istel said, the first thing Istel had said since midday. “Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.”

  “Huh.” Dekklis liked the quiet less and less, those silent farmsteads with their windows cutting little squares and shapes into the dark. There should be sentries in the watchtowers. Should be patrols in the fields, among the farmsteads through the lattice of stone walls and snow-buried cart-tracks. “Still. Rurik should’ve sent a runner back after Davni.”

  Istel’s gear creaked, only proof that Istel was in that particular patch of shadow. “We might’ve beaten a runner.”

  “At our pace? Only if he sent one of the cooks and broke her leg first.”

  “Maybe the Taliri got her, then.”

  “Maybe the Taliri got all of them.”

  “Why’re we waiting?” Snow eased down beside her, on the side Istel wasn’t.

  “Looking for patrols.”

  “Briel doesn’t see anything down there.”

  “Well, all right. As long as Briel says so, then I guess we don’t need to worry.”

  “You sound like someone I knew once. He’s dead now.”

  “That a threat?” Knowing better, but tired and cold and worried now about what was left of her cohort, and the first flakes of snow coming down.

  Whatever Snow might’ve answered—and she would have, no chance otherwise—disappeared under a shee-oop and wingflap, right overhead. Dekklis made fists and did not, would not, flinch. Would not look, either, and couldn’t quite not, as the svartjagr crawled up Snow’s arm and settled across her shoulders.

  And then, because that half-blood could not leave a silence: “Briel’s on your side, yeah? Won’t bite you or hunt you down in the dark.”

  Dekklis ignored the jab. “There should be patrols out there. Fires in the towers. Some sign of sentries.”

  “Better for us if there aren’t.”

  “You sound like Teslin.” Who would’ve been calling her too cautious by now, would’ve marched up to Cardik’s gates and talked herself past the nightwatch. Who was dead because of that impatience. Dekklis imagined Teslin’s ghost coming back, or Barkett’s, and wished even harder for fire and bunk and Rurik’s ill humor.

  “Listen,” she said, one last try. “If Rurik’s not back yet, then something’s wrong. He hasn’t sent anyone back yet, means he can’t. Guess I can’t ask you to care about that, can I?” Bitterly, which was more a product of cold and tired than real grievance. As soon ask the sun to shine blue as a heretic half-blood to care about Cardik’s legion.

  “Guess you can’t.” A sigh, faint, that reminded Dekklis she wasn’t the only one tired, that Snow might have more reason to stay outside than go in. “We can’t help your First Spear anyway, yeah? Not against Ehkla. So go report Davni to the praefecta and get your patrols out. Just get us inside first.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Dekklis straightened gingerly. Took a shallow breath against the ache in her ribs. “You got a plan for the gates? Because it’s after sundown, and there will be the nightwatch. Or were you planning some other way in?”

  Snow chuckled and stood, much more easily. Stretched, and Dekklis heard her spine crack. “What, secret doors? No.”

  “No, there’re no secret doors, or no, that isn’t your plan?”

  “Both. And none of us are up to climbing walls, so can you talk your way past the nightwatch?”

  “Yes. My way, and Istel’s. Yours? Maybe. His? Not likely. Not unless you’re prisoners, and that makes a whole new problem for us, because they’ll want—”

  “No,” said Veiko firmly.

  “No,” Snow echoed. She circled back to Veiko, where he slouched against a tree. Slipped her arm around his ribs and steadied him upright. “No need for elaborate acts. Get the gate open, that’s all I need.”

  “And what, they won’t notice you?”

  “No. They won’t.”

  No one sighted could miss either of them. Add the dog and the svartjagr and you might as well wrap them in witchfire—oh. Comprehension sank in like a javelin. “You’re going to conjure. Spellwork.”

  “What did you think? I’d poison my way past the guards?”

  “You’ve noticed we’re not that far from the Wild, right?”

  “Won’t be any backlash,” Snow said blithely, coolly, which Dekklis didn’t believe for an eyeblink. Always a risk for a conjuror outside of a city, even this close. Illhari-born would know it. Snow surely did and knew that Dekklis would, too.

  Announcing that danger wouldn’t change its necessity. Dekklis bit down on an argument, having no better ideas. Trust that Snow knew a half dozen ways into a city that didn’t involve gates, guards, or conjuring. Bet that this wasn’t her first choice. But Veiko was the problem, and would be, no matter who was on the gates or what time of day was involved. He might pass for Alvir in coloring, sure, but not with the braids and the axe and the dog. Man like that would draw notice.

  “And once we’re in? Then what? You have a plan?”

  “I know a place . . .” Snow trailed off, half a question, half a statement, and a pause for punctuation. She looked at Veiko, who nodded, tight and terse and grudging. Snow nodded. “Yeah. Got a plan.”

  Dekklis let go the air she’d held warm in her lungs. “Do I want to know where you’ll be?”

  “Probably you do. Better if you don’t.”

  “Then I need some way to find you. Because damn sure you won’t come up to the barracks.”

  “Find me? Our peace is over at the gates, yeah?”

  “So we make a new peace. Davni is ashes. Veiko is godmarked. Kenjak’s dead, and you pissed her off. I say we’ve got several common problems, and we need to solve them.”

  “And what about your commander? Last I recall, he sent you to find me. You think he’s forgotten that? Think he can tell one half-blood from another?”

  “I won’t turn you over. Swear that, Snowdenaelikk. On my House and my honor. But you’re the one saying Tal’Shik’s back. You’re the one saying we’ve got a half-blood godsworn in the forest, and she’s friends with your friends in Cardik.”

  “And I will handle them. I told you that.”

  “Ehkla’s starting a war. That’s legion business. I can tell you what the patrols find. You tell me what your friends are doing.”

  Snow said nothing for a few steps, then, “The Street of Silk Curtains. You know where it is?”

  Every soldier did. “Yes.”

  “Go to Still Waters bathhouse. Ask for Aneki.”

  “Bathhouse? You mean brothel.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a prude, Szanys.”

  “I’m not. I just thought you’d name some place in the Warren.”

  “Figure we stay on the near side of the Bridge, you visiting won’t stick out so bad. And that might keep you from trying to look for my other friends, who will be in the Warren. Remember, Szanys. They’re my problem, not yours. You handle the raiders.”

  Dekklis shook her head hard. “Aneki. Still Waters. All right. And then? How long do I wait?”

  “You leave a message.”

  “How long?”

  Snow chuckled. “Take Aneki’s advice on the wait. If she says more than a few hours, you go and come back later. Or you find something to do in the meantime. Still Waters has a variety of options.”

  “What says Aneki doesn’t just kill me?”

  “Bad for business, yeah? She won’t. Besides.” Snow smirked, audibly. “Half the garrison’s down on the Street any given night. No one will notice one more soldier. Or two.”

  Truth. Dekklis sighed. “Fine. So I’m safe. What about you?”

  “Lots of half-bloods down there. Aneki is, too, yeah? Looks like her mother. She was a bondie out of Illharek. No high Houses, though, just—”

  “Snow.”

  A sigh. “Do me a favor, Szanys. If I don’t meet you, o
r if Aneki says I can’t come—get Veiko out of Cardik.”

  As if he wasn’t leaning on her shoulder, listening. As if Dekklis had a matchstick’s chance in a bonfire of making that man do anything.

  “No,” said Veiko.

  Which engendered an eyelock between partners that ended with Snow’s quiet, “Debts are clear, if I’m dead. Yeah?”

  “Yes,” grudgingly. And more quietly: “But there will be new debts if you die.”

  “Then pay them back from outside the walls. You, too, Dek. Istel.” Snow pinned them both with a stare Dekklis felt through the dark. “If something goes wrong, get out.”

  “Something’s already wrong. You turning up dead will be one more thing.”

  They were past the fields now and winding around the last farmstead, where the cart-tracks joined up to the road. A lop-eared dog came partway into the yard and barked, and Dekklis thought hard about shooting it, rot that animal. At least Logi didn’t answer it. Didn’t charge into the yard and kill it, either. But the barking got more frantic until the door cracked and spilled a wedge of light onto mud and snow. A woman’s shape moved in the doorway. A woman’s voice called out, “Who’s there?” and “Shut up, dog!”

  The dog yipped to quiet. The woman came out a few steps. Metal gleamed in one hand. An axe, Dekklis thought, some little wood-splitting hatchet. No match for a trooper’s sword, or Veiko’s broad-bladed monster.

  Or Taliri spears, or godmagic. Where were the patrols? Dekklis angled across the lane, so that the light snagged on gear and armor. Trusted Istel to follow her, trusted Snow to get out of sight.

  “Scouts,” she called. “Just back from the forest. Peace, citizen. Apologies for the disturbance.”

  “No matter.” The farmer waved. Grabbed the dog by the scruff and dragged it backward and watched from the safety of her doorway.

  “Near thing,” Dekklis muttered. Turned and damn near bumped Istel, close on her hip. Only empty lane beyond him. Nothing. Shadows. Two sets of footprints, hers and Istel’s. No dog tracks, even.

  Her scalp prickled tight. “Hell and damn.”

  “Shit,” said Istel.

  The shadows melted at the side of the road, spilling away two tall, fair-headed people and one wolf-sized dog.

  “It’s a simple enough trick.” Snow wasn’t smiling now. Thin-lipped, and a muscle tight in her jaw. “Any Dvergir can do it. Children. Even half-bloods. Want me to teach you?”

  There were laws against teaching shadow-weaving outside the Academy, which this woman wouldn’t care about, which Dekklis wouldn’t waste her own breath reciting. “Is that how you’re getting through the gate?”

  “No. I’m going to conjure us through.” Snow slid her arm loose, so that Veiko limped on his own. Spread her palms and cupped them, as if she held a bowl only she could see.

  Then she vanished with Veiko and Logi and Briel.

  Dekklis felt as if she’d missed a step in a long series, sick lurch and drop. A chill settled under her skin and sank straight to bone.

  “Snow?”

  “Go, Szanys,” from nowhere and everywhere. A laugh, low and quiet. “Told you there wouldn’t be any backlash.”

  The conjuring was simple enough. A third-rank spell, one of the first she’d learned. Call up the light, whisper it smooth, shape it in your hands, and then push it outward, so that casual eyes slid away. It was like making mirrors, her teachers had told her. Let the conjuring reflect what people expected to see. That was easy enough when walking through a gate with space for two people and a dog to pass without touching anyone. Much harder inside Cardik’s walls, where illusions strained under jostling and startled glances. At least no one trod on Logi. Hell if she thought she could hold a conjuring against yelps and snarls.

  The crowds were thin this near the gate, with most of the shops closed. The streets wouldn’t be this empty or quiet where they were going. At least the Street of Silk Curtains wasn’t quite in the Warren. It sat just this side of the Market Bridge. Snow could see those lights from here, bob and flicker of lanterns and torches spanning the river. The merchants on the Bridge never shut shop.

  Dekklis and Istel turned and wound their way up toward the barracks. Snow counted ten, then angled Veiko toward a wall and a web of shadows in varying greys, where window lanterns and Cardik’s street lamps overlapped. Big houses up here, large shops. A lot of money, to pay for all the oil. A lot of shadows, too, where the light didn’t reach.

  “Going to drop the conjure,” she murmured.

  Veiko grunted, which meant yes, probably, and what choice do I have? Might mean we’re going to die now, what matter?

  She spread her fingers. Let the conjuring go like breath, like the warmth when tight muscles relaxed. None of the passersby noticed them, shuffling with their heads down against new snowfall. Snow gathered up shadows anyway and dragged the darkness across them.

  “Where are we going?” He hadn’t asked before now. Had leaned on her and trusted and followed. Balked now, in woven shadows. Scared, oh yes, leaving bruises on her shoulder where his fingers gripped. He’d never been in a town with walls. Never walked on pavement. Never seen this many people in one place, on one street, or heard so much noise. Witchfire eyes wide as she’d ever seen them, the Veiko equivalent of Logi’s tucked tail and flat ears.

  “Safe place,” she said, which was enough to get him moving again. Limp and hitch along the wall, looking for the nearest northbound alley. “Still Waters.”

  “The—bathhouse. Brothel,” rolled out carefully, with more accent than Veiko usually had. A new word, bet on that. And, “That is exactly what you told Dekklis.”

  “You thought I’d lie.”

  Dryly: “It had occurred to me.”

  “Me, too. But she’s kept her side of things so far, yeah? Besides. Still Waters is safe,” she added, because he wouldn’t ask it. “You won’t be noticed.”

  His ribs vibrated. “There are so many outlaws here?”

  “Lots of private rooms with locks. And Alviri. And baths,” she added, because Laughing God knew he needed one. She did. Logi did. “The whole area sits on a hot spring. Here.” She turned them into an alley that stank worse than any of them. “This way’s faster.”

  “I do not mind faster,” which was as close as he came to complaining. Tired, yeah, all drag and weight on her.

  “How’s the leg?”

  “Hurts,” he said. They’d moved past fine and no matter. “But it is not bleeding.”

  The wound had been redder this morning than she liked. Healing, yeah, but not well. She needed more herbs and oils. She’d taken enough for emergencies. Hadn’t figured on two storms and three woundings and a godsworn-carved rune.

  Hadn’t figured on bringing someone back to Cardik, either, who’d never been inside a city, who needed her help, and when had she ever been anyone’s guardian?

  Since he’d opened those damned witchfire eyes after the fever broke the last time, and his fingers had clenched around hers. She owed him a turn as her guest now. A turn at her protection.

  Snow hitched a breath and a better grip on Veiko’s ribs. Guided them both from one alley to another, leaving the wealthier neighborhoods and descending toward the S’Ranna River and the little lattice of streets before Market Bridge. The Street of Silk Curtains was actually several streets, a whole, tiny neighborhood just far enough from the Hill that no highborn had to see it, and just on the right side of Market Bridge so no highborn had to cross into the Warren to visit its charms. Tanners, butchers, dyers—all banished to the far side of Market because bondies and servants could walk that distance, but the brothels had to be convenient. Which was fortunate, because Veiko wouldn’t manage the Bridge limping like this. Fall down in the middle of it, yeah, and she’d never get him up again.

  Here, finally. A wider alley, studded by gates into courtyards, and by balconies on the brickwork walls. The silk curtains that gave this neighborhood its name weren’t in evidence in the alleys. These were flat-fronte
d facades, narrow and deep, where the only windows might face the courtyard, or the alley, and relied on shutters instead of curtains and glass. Shutters that were, at this time of evening, all closed, leaking light on the edges.

  Just as well, Snow reckoned. Didn’t need any extra attention, with a wounded man hanging on her shoulder and no easy reach for her weapon. Most of the locals knew better than to bother anyone in the alleys, but there was always the chance of an amateur or an idiot.

  She dipped her shoulder and shrugged Briel off, twist and snap she’d thought were gentle, which still startled Veiko and damn near dumped them both into Laughing God alone knew what on the pavement.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “Thought Briel should scout for us. Her eyes are better at night.”

  “She is nocturnal,” Veiko agreed.

  Too tired to laugh, no air left for it. She kept to the edge, with Veiko between her and the wall, with Logi damn near tripping them both, through another pair of intersections, until she got them to Aneki’s courtyard gate. Wrought iron, solid oak, a respectable lock that wouldn’t keep Snow out for more than a dozen breaths.

  Half a mind to pick it, yeah. She opted for the honest bell cord instead. Eased herself clear of Veiko and settled him into the shadows beside the gate while Briel clung to the rough bricks and poked her head between the bars on the gate.

  “Chrrip,” she chided when the back door finally opened. A lantern swung into the courtyard, on the end of a skinny Alvir’s arm. Its glow landed on Briel. On Snow, too, as she pulled her hood back and thrust her face forward.

  “Oh,” said a boy’s voice. The lantern changed altitude fast enough the flame guttered. Clattered onto the steps as the boy set it down and bolted back inside.

  Veiko’s hand dropped to his axe.

  “Easy,” Snow told him, and took hold of his wrist. “Boy’s new, that’s all. Doesn’t know me. It’s not trouble.”

  Please, Laughing God.

  “Well,” said a voice from the doorway. The lantern glow caught on the orange silk hem of a skirt not meant for outdoors. Traveled back up, glinting off embroidered skirts, to a waist laced as narrow as leather and bone could make it. And farther north: long curls, bleached moon-white, dangling between breasts that protested the shock of the cold. A face that was still pretty enough above that, despite lines around eyes and mouth. Skin just a little darker than Alviri milk-pale, garnet-dark Dvergiri eyes. The smell of incense and perfume, sweeter than jenja.