How was a very interesting question. Fortunately, I’d travelled often as a Centaur. The shape fit me, and the situation, perfectly. I could hold my bow in my right hand, pity my left didn’t work, and Iyumi might ride astride my back. She rode a horse better than any royal cavalry master. Dead easy.
I quickly shifted forms. My equine hooves stomped the loose soil as my tail restlessly slapped my hocks and flanks. I settled my sword across my bare shoulders, ready to hand. The Centaur form felt so natural, so familiar – but it brought forth only memories of my brother who had died to save me. Quashing the bitterness, the grief, I glanced down at myself. Black hide, white socks, black – whoa, time out. Why did I suddenly sport Kiera’s colors? Gods! My heart burned within my chest. I knew why. So she’d never truly leave me. Firmly, I changed all my color to black. The same color as my hair, my mood and my outlook. The similarities to Malik be damned. I’ll not change to all white, for gods’ sake.
If Iyumi noticed my swift transfer from piebald to all black, she gave no sign. Her attention seemed directed at the battle far below. I dared not glance down, for the sight of Malik’s dead body might well tip my sanity over the edge. Rather than follow her gaze, I adjusted the way my swordbelt rested with my swordhilt within easy reach, and hanging my quiver from my human waist over my left equine shoulder. I extended my right arm down to her.
“Your ride awaits, my queen.”
She turned back, trying for a smile as she gazed up, into my face. “Right.”
Taking my arm, she vaulted upon my back and gripped my barrel with her strong legs. Slim arms crept around my middle. Was that her head resting against my spine? It didn’t matter. Her feather weight hindered me not at all, and her easy, natural balance assisted me in finding mine.
Steadfastly refusing to glance back toward those I left behind, I swung into first a fast lope and then into a dead run. Uphill, away from death and ruin, toward the high, snow-capped peaks and the child that needed a bitchy princess. I leapt worm-tracked deadwood, fallen timbers, ducked under low-hanging branches of winter pine and sturdy oak. My hooves crashed through thickets and kicked up last years’ needles and dead leaves. I jumped a gurgling stream, galloped down its rocky course and up its far side. Iyumi stayed with me like a tick to a hound, her grip on my waist light and sure. She didn’t speak, for which I felt grateful. I doubted I could tolerate the usual platitudes, no matter how well-intended.
Refusing to think, numbing my heart against the grief that besieged it, I concentrated solely on my footing, speed, and making sure I didn’t toss Iyumi off my back and onto her royal head. Up and up, forcing my body into working harder than it ever had before, I followed the winding game trails that led deeper into the mountains, traversing the high passes as the deer, elk and wild cattle crossed. Eons old, their twisting paths led me higher into the tall ranges, rather than below to water and shelter from the harsh winters.
Above us, lightning cracked across the lowering clouds as the sun sank behind the tallest peak. The storm Malik and I noticed hours before, finally, like a shy milkmaid at her first suitor, emerged from behind the barrier of the mountains. Shyness, however, wasn’t in its vocabulary. It intended to bull downward with all the force of the gods’ ire behind it.
We had leagues behind us and leagues yet to run. A storm like this may very well slow us to the pace of a snail drunk on Tamil’s home-brew. A delay we couldn’t afford. The freshening wind brought chills to my sweating chest, arms and flanks. Crap, crap and crap. Mountain travel was difficult enough without adding cold wind, rain and sleet into the mix. Surely the gods’ penned my name on their collective shit list.
I turned my head slightly, catching Iyumi’s alarmed eyes. “Hang on. We’re in for a long night.”
CHAPTER 10
Dra’agor
Outsmarted. Defeated. Again.
Vanyar and Princess Yummy galloped out of the river valley, and out of my sight, leaving their dead mounts behind. Ducking into a canyon half-hidden by a thicket, he carried her on his broad Centaur back into the jagged mountains. Escaped. Gone. Just like that. Damn. That boy was good.
Blaez’s outraged shriek in my ear deflated my admiration of Vanyar. “You let them escape? You fool! How could you let them escape?”
I sighed, rubbed my ear, and tried unsuccessfully to quell the nausea rising in my belly. The magic powers I used, and especially the evil I conjured up from hell itself, gave rise to the sickness I learned to associate with the boy’s sacrifice. Squinting down into the gloaming, I tried to recall exactly how I conjured the damned thing. I seemed to remember the incantation coming to me, as though someone stood beside me and breathed it into my ear.
No matter. It’s here and it’ll kill Malik and his surviving Atani. Malik. Another weird story, I thought, frowning. I know, I know, the river broke him into pieces. Vanyar may have dragged him up before he drowned, but no, and I mean no creature could survive the river falling on him. No matter how strong a beast he was.
Conquering his mind wasn’t easy. I only survived the task because I took him completely by surprise. A very old spell, one long forbidden by the Great Elders before the ancient Mage Wars, rose to my hand. I don’t know where it came from, but I used it just the same. I entered his consciousness with all the stealth of a silent bat winging onto its brainless prey. My will overpowered his. He started up in alarm, but my stolen magic forced him into subservience. He recognized me and what I was there for: his death. He was powerless to prevent it, however.
I told him to stand in the river, and he obeyed me. When Van sought to intervene, I clenched down on my will. Stand, I commanded. You will do as I say. Stand in the river. Let none convince you to move. That he obeyed me, that the spell worked, shocked me to my core. Might this work on my father? Imagine the possibilities.
Once inside and in control, I found Malik not just intelligent, but that he possessed a mind as great, if not greater, than many of our geniuses. In strict, disciplinary control of himself, he owned no thoughts that ran counter to honor, loyalty, compassion and a high-regard for King and country.
Malik stood for everything I didn’t, and despised all I stood for. Who was the better man? Malik certainly. But, folks, who was alive and free, and who looked to become demon dinner? I glanced, uncaring, down at the sight of Malik and his pals fighting my monster, and stroked my finger down the scar on my cheek. I owe you that one, Malik, may you rot in hell forever.
Turning away, I tried not to hurl what little lay in my belly.
I whistled for Bayonne. “I didn’t let them escape,” I said, answering Blaez with my gut churning, roiling and threatening to reverse direction in one swift move. “They did that all by themselves.”
“We should ride hard after them,” Blaez screeched, dancing on his toes. “Ride, ride now.”
I squinted at the lowering sky. “It’ll be dark shortly,” I replied. “And it’s going to rain. We’ll start in the morning. First light.”
Blaez raised himself on his toes and screamed. “They’ll be long gone by then, you ass!”
I winced, my belly heaving. “Blaez, please. Chill out, will you? We’ll hunt them down tomorrow.”
“Uh, m’lord,” Buck-Eye said, staring down the hill. “What if they kill your, er, your, uh –”
Bayonne trotted to me, his silver coat gleaming in the near darkness. Though he ran when that bloody bull charged full upon our rear, he returned when I called with most of the loose horses clattering behind. I forgave him all and rubbed his ears, stroking my hand down his bony face. “They won’t, Buck-Eye. He’ll be eating Atan horses and chickens for his dinner.”
“Then what?” Boden asked, his eyes ringed in white. “M’lord prince, then what? Will it come after us?”
His question made me pause. Then I shrugged. “If it does, I’ll deal with it. Meanwhile, mount up. We’ll ride back a ways and camp for the night.”
“But, m’lord,” Boden said, his skin waxy-pale. “What of Todaro? Kalan
? They’re – they’re still –”
“Dead, Boden,” I replied, swinging into my saddle and feeling for my stirrups. My gut threatened to heave, but I forced the nausea down. “If you want to fetch their corpses out from under yonder fight, knock yourself out. Meanwhile, I’m for a hot drink and a hotter fire. Come with me or not, your choice.”
Nudging Bayonne into a trot, leaving the lightning, booms and fires of the Atani battle with my monster on the far side of the hill, my ears scarcely registered the sounds of my men scrambling into their saddles. From a distance, I heard their calls: “M’lord, wait!” “M’lord prince, hang on!”
Until one voice, rising in a scream of outrage and hate, purged all other sounds.
I seized steel and kicked Bayonne sideways, all in one motion.
Half-turning in my saddle, raising my blade, I balanced precariously on my left stirrup. Charging his black stallion toward me, Blaez didn’t raise just his sword. He swung with all his magic behind it. Flames raced down his blade. His eyes glowed red under the swift flashes of lightning. Saliva dripped from his clenched teeth. As evil as the demon I summoned, my father’s chief terrorist forgot our truce and remembered how badly my old man wanted me dead.
I ducked and reined my horse left.
A better magician than a horseman, Blaez continued his scream as his black charged past Bayonne’s startled face and carried Blaez well beyond any harm to me. I lifted my own sword and kicked my boy into a gallop, hoping to dispatch the traitor before he knew I was there. Though I never won any tourneys with my swordsmanship, I did know which end worked best in this situation. I planned to sink that bad boy hilt deep in Blaez’s neck and watch as it burst out from his gushing throat.
Blaez certainly had a few tricks to teach me. He ducked without turning, reining his horse into a swift, sliding halt. My sword whistled over his head as Bayonne carried me past my target. Blaez’s powers, shaped like a fist and just as hard, struck me hard between my shoulders. My wind gone, I fell from my saddle to land with a breathless crunch to the stony soil. My father’s bomb-creator spun his black around and charged, yelling like a tribal shaman, his expression triumphant. I might have lain there, stunned, trying to get my wind back as Blaez sank his fiery sword into my churning gut.
Did I not say I paid handsomely?
As Blaez charged, my blood in his eyes, Buck-Eye created a blaze of his own. The black stallion reared high, screaming, as a wall of fire spun out of nowhere between Blaez and his quarry – me. Blaez’s expression, behind the raging yellow, orange and red flames, lit eerily like a mummer’s mask. Not just rage, hate and blood-lust. No, my dear Blaez’s sanity had long since fled for other climates. I found no reason, no stability at all in the Commander’s furious countenance.
My eyes squinted against the heat and glare, I saw Blaez search for a way past or through the conflagration to yet pounce on my prone body. His powers tried to drown Buck-Eye’s flames, but Buck-Eye had learned a great deal since this morning’s magical lesson. More than half the battle’s explosions were not of Blaez creation. The hungry fires reached for Blaez, tiny fingers stretched outward to snare him within their grasp. Perhaps my Commander might relish a death by flames.
Outmaneuvered, Blaez reined his rearing horse aside. Licking flames kissed his black’s tail, threatening to engulf them both in searing heat. The stallion kicked backwards, panicked, fighting the bit. He plunged and reared, dancing on air as he fought Blaez for control.
“I’ll get you, Prince!” Blaez yelled, spittle flicking from his gritted teeth. “You and yours will die, boy, by fire and steel! I’ll bring your entire house down upon your heads!”
Sawing savagely on his mount’s mouth, he spun the horse and set spurs to black hide. Beyond the roar, I clearly heard hooves thudding down the hill, Blaez’s round head bobbing with every step. His horse’s flagged tail and sleek rump vanished into the half-light and darkened forest. As his horse’s thudding hooves vanished from my ears, I heard the lonely lament of a wolf crying to the rising moon.
Buck-Eye killed his flames, willing them to subside. They obeyed him, dropping into mere sparks upon the scarred and torn earth. Smoke dissipated reluctantly, stinging my eyes and throat. It’s oily scent clogged my lungs, making it hard for me to breathe anything clean.
“Don’t let him go,” I gasped, wheezing, floundering in the dirt, trying to get up as Buck-Eye’s protective flames died away. “Get him back, get him back.”
“Boden!” Buck-Eye yelled. “Torass! Help me!”
Blaez’s man galloped hard on his master’s heels, thudding into the gathering darkness. My sworn bodyguards leaped from their saddles to assist me, as Lyall gave chase after a fleeing Galdan. Lyall’s red roan vanished into the gloom, dim light shining off his drawn sword.
With Todaro and Kalan dead, Blaez and his lad racing toward home and hearth, I recognized a certain annoying handicap. My little pack down by four, with a mere four men remaining with me. At this rate, I’d be forced to beg my nasty sire for more mercs.
Lyall gave up, and cantered his horse back, shaking his head. “He’s gone, m’lord prince. They both are.”
With Buck-Eye’s strong arm under my shoulder and mine over Boden’s young back, I gained my feet. Without hurling, I might add. Though the prospect of such added strength to my willpower more than Blaez’s treachery. I hated hurling, in all its many forms. My gut heaved, and I kept it under strict control with the barest of margins.
“Don’t matter,” I muttered, bent into a horseshoe. “Better off – without them.”
“M’lord?” Buck-Eye asked, “you all right?”
“Of –” I managed, “– course.”
“No, he ain’t,” Boden said, his tone worried. “Get him on his bugger. The sooner we’re away from this place, the better.”
“Aye,” Torass agreed, naked fear loud in his voice. “Something’ll trot over yonder hill, and, personally, I donae want t’ be here when it do.”
Strong arms boosted me onto my horse. Quivering, sweating, my head spinning like a top under a child’s hand, I offered no protest. Instead, I gripped my pommel and held on as my lads nudged their mounts into a swift gallop and carried me with them. Black seeped into my vision. I thought I hurled my gut onto Bayonne’s smooth shoulder, but no stench followed. Perhaps I hadn’t then. No stain, that I saw anyway, appeared beyond my squinting eyes. Moonlight shown down, bright and full, as Bayonne’s strong gallop carried me into nothingness.
“Flynn.”
Iyumi’s dulcimer voice parted the darkness like a knife. Her soft, tiny hand stroked my brow. Sweet, royal scent lulled my senses and threatened to drag me deeper into the sublime depths of delicious unconsciousness. I wrapped her vision around my shoulders like a second blanket, and snuggled deeper into her arms.
I breathed her name. “Sofia.”
“Sofia?”
The voice without hardened. The soft hand left my brow. Though I frowned and yearned for it, I failed to find it. I tried again. “Sofia?”
The soft hand slammed me face-first into the dirt. I woke, sputtering, cold, my head aching as though Blaez had taken his flaming sword to it. My belly lurched, threatening to hurl its contents at a previously unrecorded speed. I blinked, half-rolling onto my side and raised myself on my elbow. “Mother?”
“Ah, you finally got the name right.”
Enya sat primly on a smooth log beside a blazing fire, her skirts gathered precisely around her trim legs. Coiled this time, not hanging about her slender form like a shroud, her golden hair gleamed under the red-orange glow. Yet, the face that met my bleary gaze wasn’t my mother’s. While it owned my mother’s pale, regal beauty, it wore the harsh features of a dark stranger. Dark red eyes gleamed within deep-set hooded sockets. Full lips stained in garnet parted in a feral smile. White-washed teeth like those of a corpse, long-dead, gleamed under fish-belly pale skin.
I cringed back, filled with fear, tasting coppery panic on my tongue. That’s not m
y mother, my mind gabbled, incoherent. What is it? What is that thing? What have you done to my mother?
Lightning flashed briefly, illuminating her yet at the same instant shadowing the hollows under her eyes, her cheekbones. Thunder grumbled in the distance. Its throaty growl caught her voice within its grasp, and mixed them together. Though her words appeared mild, her tone wasn’t so much.
“You’ve made a proper hash of everything,” Enya said, her tone cold as she half-turned away to soak a cloth in a steaming bucket. “Why I bother with you, I can’t imagine. Sometimes I think your father’s opinion of you isn’t bloody, dead-on accurate.”
The woman that squeezed excess moisture from the cloth and dabbed the sweat from my cheeks, brow and neck was my mother in truth. Though she didn’t wear her usual eager to please expression, her corn-flower blue eyes held not just worry, but a new I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-you hint of exasperation I’d never seen before. She might love me, her eyes and face told me, though I tried her patience to the hilt.
My mind refused to comprehend, and shied away from the melding of the two women I saw, one over the other. I half-rose and shifted away, scooting on my butt as the blanket covering me slid off. At least I was fully clothed. Had I been naked under that stern gaze, I think I’d have died from mortification alone.
“Thanks,” I stammered, reaching for and plucking the cloth from her fingers. “I’m all right.”
I used it to further wipe sweat from my face and neck, all the while eyeing her sidelong. I half-expected her to leap toward me, and bite through the skin over my throat like a rabid beast. As usual, Buck-Eye, Boden and Torass sat around the roaring fire, talking in low tones. Lyall must have picked first watch, for I didn’t see him. If my body lay open to death, it would take me while they sat, gossiped and picked the cracks of their asses. They paid no at all heed to my visitor, incompetent idiots that they were.
She snorted. “I can bloody see that. I’m not a complete fool, Flynn.”
The Unforgiven Page 35
