Brenden brought the wine. Jultar and Kalsan settled at the table with them, and the other members of the band left them alone. Andrixine found her hand shook a little when Brother Klee poured the first cup and handed it to her. She took a sip, then haltingly explained what she had seen. She met Kalsan's eyes as she told of seeing the men raping Cedes, how she had fought one man while the other murdered the girl and escaped. The shame in Kalsan's eyes startled her, but suddenly she felt better.
"I saw him,” Kalsan said, giving them a tight smile. “It shouldn't be so hard finding a man that ugly, even among the crowds here."
"I suspect they brought Lady Arriena here just so they could vanish among the festivities and crowds,” Brother Klee said. “Your priorities need refining, nephew."
"My priorities?” Her voice squeaked in indignation.
"Racing off after one man could lead you into ambush. What could you do on your own?"
"I'm not alone,” Andrixine insisted. “I have—” She stopped short, feeling suddenly cold. She wished she had bitten her tongue off even if she hadn't mentioned the Spirit Sword. Looking at her cup, she concentrated on the pale pink wine to avoid the disappointment she imagined in Brother Klee's eyes.
"I would have been right behind you,” Kalsan said. “Even the two of us might not have been enough if he had friends waiting around a corner.” He clouted Andrixine on the shoulder, startling her. “You can't save every lady in distress by yourself."
"No, I can't,” she whispered, remembering how she had hesitated, how her mistakes had let Cedes be killed, how she had been too late to protect her mother.
* * * *
KALSAN THOUGHT HE understood how Drixus felt, having seen and then lost a man who could have led them straight to Lady Faxinor. He kept reliving that moment when he had grabbed the boy's arm and almost got his hand cut open. The fury he had seen in that young face chilled him. Kalsan sensed something behind the need for vengeance. Something personal and painful.
And what about those moments when he looked at the boy and saw the maiden from his dreams? Was he going mad?
The important thing, Kalsan reminded himself, was that he was Drixus’ friend and liked the boy too much to let those odd moments come between them.
Night had fallen by the time their band had its supper, and the crowds filling the town wouldn't allow for searching. The inn's dining room was too noisy to allow discussion of strategy, and the one room all twelve shared was too stifling in the heat. Brother Klee and Jultar vanished somewhere to talk, and the other members of the band drifted off to the festivities. Kalsan wanted to go too, but he couldn't leave Drixus alone. The partial insights from that morning kept nibbling at Kalsan's thoughts. There was a puzzle he was close to solving. It galled him that he had all the pieces but could not fit them together.
What he had to do was find his young friend and try to help him. Just because he was losing his grasp on sanity was no reason to abandon a friend.
"We're not going anywhere for several days, and I doubt the kidnappers are either,” Kalsan said, finding Drixus standing at the stable door, watching the busy inn courtyard.
"I hope not,” was the sullen reply.
In the shadows, Kalsan could hardly see the boy's face. Drixus’ voice struck him wrong. Despite being rough from adolescence, it had a hint of sweetness. It belonged to the gentle lines of the boy's face, the grace of his movements. Kalsan fought an urge to turn and run.
And what if Drixus were a maiden, dressed as a boy? Did that really change anything between them?
Kalsan pushed that thought down before he could even start to think of an answer.
"Let's take a walk. Cool off, stay away from the crowds.” He gestured into the darkness toward the hints of moonlight on water. The festivities centered in town; no torches or tables or dancing rings lined the riverbank.
Drixus shrugged and nodded and let Kalsan lead the way. He said nothing, but Kalsan thought some sullen restlessness faded. They passed through a ragged line of bushes and trees between town and river. A tiny, steady spot of light far downriver showed where the mill stood, a massive, squat blot of darkness with a single lantern in its window.
Walking wasn't enough, Kalsan realized. What good would the night quiet do if his friend's thoughts kept going back to that moment in the crowd? He had to raise the boy's spirits.
He grinned when the idea came to him. It helped that he had toyed with it already, but he had hesitated because he didn't know what Drixus’ reactions would be to the suggestion.
"Drixus, would you be oath-friends?” he asked, one hand already going to his knife.
"Oath-friends?” The boy's voice cracked. He smiled, face pale in the moonlight. “No one ever asked me before."
"My life for yours.” Kalsan drew his knife and held out his hand, ready to draw the few drops of blood to seal the pledge binding their souls together in honor and Yomnian's service.
"No.” Drixus’ eyes looked like they would tear in a moment. “You can't pledge to me. There are secrets between us."
"Such as?” Kalsan could barely hear the boy's soft voice through the sudden thudding of his heart.
"I am not what I seem."
"Well, I already guessed Brother Klee is not your uncle."
"Subterfuge, to protect my life.” A sheepish smile caught Drixus’ lips for a moment. He—maybe she?—looked at the ground and twisted his fingers together.
Kalsan gasped as the pieces suddenly locked together. “You're the heir—Lady Arriena's daughter—you weren't killed. No wonder you nearly stabbed me!” He laughed, the sound echoing off the trees and the water. Both he and Drixus—what was her real name?—flinched at the sound.
"Please forgive me, Kalsan,” she whispered.
"No, you should forgive me.” He held out both hands, one palm up and the other with the knife blade ready to draw the blood for the oath. “Lady Faxinor, you are a warrior born and I would be proud to be your oath-friend."
Her head jerked up and her eyes widened, bright with tears even as an incredulous smile lit her face. Kalsan's heart skipped a few beats. He couldn't believe he had been so blind, not to see the lovely maiden behind the facade of the boy.
"Kalsan—"
"Could I know your name before we pledge?” he whispered, glancing around as if hiding a terrible secret. She laughed as he had hoped and wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand.
"Andrixine."
"Andrixine, heir of Faxinor, will you let this warrior pledge to be oath-friends with you?"
"I would like to be oath-friends with you, Kalsan of Hestrin. Very much. But another secret stands between us."
"Your betrothed husband won't like it?"
"I'm not betrothed. I would give half of Faxinor to avoid marriage.” Her voice cracked and broke.
Kalsan flinched, remembering what she had told them of seeing her maid raped.
"I swear I don't care what secrets you carry. I don't want to know them until you are free to tell me. I will give my life to protect you from unwanted husbands. I'll swear that without an oath-friends vow,” he added, lowering his voice.
She stared into his eyes as if she could see into his soul and read his resolve and the truth of his words. Her lips trembled, as if she wanted to speak words she feared to release. There was fear and longing in her eyes. Kalsan wanted to wrap his arms around her and let her cry until everything turned right again, like he used to hold his sisters. But she wasn't a village girl, free to kiss and flirt. She was a trained warrior, the heir of her father's estates. Even though he had noble blood, too, she was many steps above him.
"May Yomnian forgive me if we vow wrongly, but I need this,” she whispered. “I will tell you the secret as soon as I can, and I pray you are not angry with me.” She nodded and swallowed hard and held out her hand. “My life for yours, Kalsan of Hestrin."
"My life for yours, Andrixine Faxinor.” He took his knife and gently ran it across the heel of his hand, nowhere near sensitiv
e veins or where it would interfere with his grip on sword and bow. “Your battles and quests are mine, and mine are yours.” He held out his hand, the thin line of blood gleaming dark.
Andrixine smiled, even as a tear finally dripped from one corner of her eye. “Kalsan, you may not like what you're getting into.” Shaking her head, she held out her hand for him to make the cut instead of taking the knife to do it herself.
Kalsan swallowed hard, unnerved by the trust implied in that simple gesture. He made the cut and Andrixine repeated the oath. They clasped hands, holding their cuts together until the blood dried sticky between them. The moon seemed suddenly brighter, and the sounds of festivities faded, as if they had stepped into another country with the sealing of their oath.
When they released each other, Kalsan felt awkward. There was something about this moment, the quiet, the moonlight—it hinted at dreams he only half-remembered. They resumed their walk in silence. He glanced at Andrixine twice, and she seemed as unnerved as Kalsan felt. That, in return, made him grin.
"It's lovely out here,” she said, her voice cracking. “Places like this make it hard—” She shrugged.
In the moonlight reflected on the water, her face was a little more visible. Softer, more rounded. Kalsan nearly laughed at himself, wondering why he had not seen the woman in her before.
"Hard?” he said, and cleared his throat. He had to fasten on her words to avoid the odd thoughts that pounced on him.
"Hard to believe war is waiting."
"The common people of Sendorland don't want to believe, either. The soldiers and merchants and nobles know."
"Always the nobles,” Andrixine whispered. “Kalsan, how long would it take to wake Reshor if—"
"If what?” He tensed when she glanced over his shoulder.
"We're being followed,” she whispered. “If the Sword Bearer appears,” she continued in a louder voice, “how long do you think it will take to rouse the people?"
"The Sword Bearer?” Kalsan shook his head. He strained his ears to hear. How did she know someone followed? “I don't know if the Spirit Sword still exists.” He loosened his knife in its sheath and wished he had worn a sword. “Who did Rakleer pass it to before he vanished? Or did Yomnian take back the Sword? No one knows, it's been so long."
"There's a—"
Four men pounced from the bushes to their right. Kalsan grabbed at Andrixine, jerking her out of the line of attack. He drew his knife and slashed at the closest man. She drew her own belt knife and pressed one foot against Kalsan's, so they could keep track of each other in the fight. They held their ground as the men dove in. Someone grabbed his arm, almost yanking him off balance. Kalsan turned, and suddenly there was someone between him and Andrixine. Fury gave him speed. He refused to have his oath broken so soon after making it.
Andrixine let out a yelp as one man blooded her. Kalsan spun, slashing. He saw the long swipe of blood and sliced shirt across her back. Then she turned, fending off another man. Kalsan stabbed the man who had wounded her.
Kalsan recognized the man Andrixine had tried to follow that afternoon. The ruffian grinned, raising his sword high and sidestepped out of Kalsan's reach.
"Andrix—” Kalsan felt a sudden flash of heat, like a fire had ignited. All the air vanished from the river clearing for half a second. Bright light illuminated them so their six shadows stood out in stark black relief.
"Beware,” he finished, turning. He nearly dropped his knife when he saw the long, blazing sword raised high in Andrixine's hands. The same light flared in her eyes.
Andrixine leaped, the sword lighting the way before her. The scarred man dropped his sword and ran. Kalsan dove and scooped up the sword and leaped to his feet, slashing out and up at the next man who came after him. Behind him, he heard a man's choked scream, abruptly cut off.
Fire raced up his arm as the third man drew blood. Kalsan ducked and dropped to one knee and flung himself upward, putting all his weight into his sword. He caught the man just under the juncture of his ribs. The ruffian fell with his mouth wide open in surprise. Rancid breath gushed from his mouth, followed by a spout of blood. He went to his knees. Kalsan jerked his sword free, and the dead man fell sideways.
The fourth man darted past Kalsan, an unmanly shriek erupting from his mouth. Andrixine chased him, sword blazing. Kalsan's mouth fell open as he watched her leap over a rock to land directly in the man's path. The shrieking man brought up his sword, desperation clear on his sweaty face.
Kalsan didn't have a chance to watch. He flung himself on the first man, who slashed and lunged and kicked up dirt in desperation ploys.
"Hold him!” a man shouted. Torchlight spilled into the clearing. Running footsteps pounded in rhythm with Kalsan's heart.
He felt an instant of furious despair, thinking more ruffians had fallen on them. Then he recognized Jultar's voice. Brenden and Marfil appeared on either side, swords at ready. His opponent went pale in the torchlight.
"Do you surrender, or do we let the boy have you?” Brenden asked. The remaining man dropped his sword with a loud clang.
"Drixus?” Brother Klee called, entering the clearing at a pace that made his scholar's robes fly.
"Uncle,” Andrixine nearly whispered, yet her voice was clear enough to be heard anywhere.
Kalsan turned to see her kneeling, holding the sword across her knees. The gleam and fire had vanished from the metal. She looked as pale as the prisoner. She stared, mouth working soundlessly for a few seconds.
"It came to me,” she finally said.
"Of course. It protects its own,” the holy man replied, a touch of laughter and exasperation breaking through the concern thickening his voice.
"Are you all right?” Kalsan asked and dropped to his knees next to her. He wanted to put an arm around her to support her. What if after all this she was the fainting type? That thought made him want to laugh for a moment.
"Yes.” Her gaze shifted to Kalsan's arm. “You're hurt!"
"No more than you, nephew,” the holy man said, kneeling at her other side.
Behind him, Brenden and Marfil dragged away the man, leaving Jultar and Brother Klee alone with the two. Alone, besides the dead bodies.
"That's a nasty slash, lad,” Jultar said, stepping over behind Andrixine. He dropped to one knee and caught at the top and bottom halves of Andrixine's slashed shirt. “Let's get that off and—"
"No, Master!” Kalsan shouted, and leaped at the warlord, knocking him on his rump.
Jultar held on as he fell, mouth open in shock, the shirttail clutched in his hand. Andrixine yelped and twisted aside, revealing a bare, slim back and bloody strips of cloth falling away from around her chest. Brother Klee leaped to his feet, flinging off his outer cloak to wrap around her.
"She's a girl,” Kalsan finished in a near-whisper, and put himself between his master and Andrixine, as if Jultar could see through Brother Klee's cloak.
Jultar nodded slowly, staring at Andrixine. “I can ... see that.” He swallowed hard. “Forgive me, lady, for insult to your modesty."
Kalsan felt a single burst of fury. What had his master seen? Then he realized the idiocy of the situation. He had struck Jultar, his master, who was like a father to him. The amazing thing was that Yomnian had not struck him dead for the sacrilege. An urge to laugh choked him.
"Who are you?” Jultar asked.
"Who do you think she is?” Brother Klee returned.
"I know that sword.” He gestured at the sword lying neglected in the dirt.
"From where, Master?” Kalsan asked. He gladly focused his attention on the sword to push the other considerations from his mind. Stooping, he reached for the sword to pick it up.
"Kalsan—” Jultar stopped, his mouth comically hanging open, one hand out as if to stop him.
"Master?” Kalsan froze in the act of handing him the sword. Seeing the uncharacteristic fear in the warlord's face, he handed it to Brother Klee.
"Didn't I teach you properly?”
Jultar whispered. His gaze stayed on the sword. “Didn't I teach you to know the Spirit Sword if you should ever see it?"
"The Spirit Sword?” Kalsan clenched his fists, feeling a ghost of fire in his flesh. “Why didn't it burn me?"
"You are my oath-friend,” Andrixine whispered. She tried to smile.
"Ah. That explains something.” Brother Klee nodded to Kalsan, who had the sudden sense the holy man approved. He rested the blade in the crook of his arm, against his sleeve.
"Then you are the Sword Bearer,” Jultar said. “Klee is short for Rakleer?"
"Rakleer, yes, but I am not the Bearer.” Brother Klee turned to Andrixine.
"That's the other secret?” Kalsan blurted. Pride washed over him, glad that he had vowed to her before knowing. She had to know that he was a true friend, not a glory-seeker. He had vowed to her, not to the sword.
Andrixine nodded, bestowing a tight smile on him, and wrapped the cloak a little tighter around her shoulders.
"Lady, who are you?” Jultar asked. He dropped to one knee before her and held up both hands, palms pressed together. “Let me pledge myself to the Bearer and the Spirit Sword."
"Please, Lord Jultar...” She cast a pleading look at Brother Klee. It wrung at Kalsan's heart. Woman grown she might be and chosen by the Spirit Sword, but she was still unsettled by all this.
"Can't we do this later?” Kalsan interrupted. “She's bleeding.” He had to concentrate on his duties as her oath-friend.
"Indeed she is,” Brother Klee said. “Since she is the Bearer, the sword shall care for its own."
* * * *
"WE DON'T HAVE time for more conventional healing,” Brother Klee said, raising the sword.
Andrixine closed her eyes, nodded, and gripped the posts of the bed. They were alone in the room their band had taken for the night. Brother Klee had washed her wound, a long, shallow, burning cut across the small of her back. Now, she stretched out on her stomach and waited for the drastic healing he promised.
Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1] Page 13
