by Cat Bruno
Before she could answer, he stepped toward the bed, sat beside her, and said, “Worse, though, is the danger you will face from my kin. Crow and Bear will be interested once word spreads of the babe, although they have been commanded to stay their hands.”
“Commanded?” she asked, still staring at the babe.
“My father knows of her birth, Caryss. He is, I believe, interested to look upon her.”
His words were accompanied by a smirk, as if he knew that the statement was a foolish one. Even as High Lord, he could not stand against his father.
“What of the men we killed?” she asked, uncertainly.
The edges of his lips dropped as he told her, “None know. Yet. For the last half-moon year, several have been killed, my men included, yet my father has done little. He lets us squabble for now. Syrsha will not be touched, Caryss. He has promised me so.”
Giving voice to what she had not yet been able to, Caryss whispered over the babe’s tiny, dark-haired head, “Even now, you do his bidding, Conri. When will it end? What else of mine will he make you take? His word means nothing to me.”
In his arms, the babe still dozed, in peace. Yet, as Caryss stared upon them both, she knew that she must soon go. When Conri next spoke, she understood that he now agreed.
“Moon years ago, I vowed to keep you from harm. You might not believe it so, but much of what I have done is for you and the babe. What power he has is beyond me, Caryss, and even with allies, I can’t yet wage war. When you are recovered, I will provide you with provisions to leave. But you must go beyond Eirrannia, beyond Cordisia, to be far enough from his reach. If you must go, then I will not allow you to stay in Cordisia.”
“The North is her home,” Caryss whispered.
Over the babe’s covered head, he hissed, “As it will be moon years from now when she is strong enough to claim it. Her enemies are many and her powers are weak. Let her learn and grow, and, when she is ready, she will return.”
“I had not thought you to wish us gone,” she sighed, unable to argue further.
His eyes downcast, Conri answered, hoarsely, “I had not thought to feel for the babe as I do.”
The sadness that followed his words surprised her, and, without shame, she wept, tears washing the babe, as if in blessing.
*****
A quarter-moon into the journey north with Delwin’s men, Pietro thought of fleeing more times than he could count. Days before they had entered into Planusia and began heading west, leaving the Vollaxo River, which they had followed since their departure from the King’s City. He had been given an old gelding, and often rode near the rear, where the two other healers rode in a coach, for both were too old to sit a horse. At night, he shared a tent with the wizened men, listening to their snores, coughs, and grunts and thinking of ways to escape.
He wore no chains, yet Pietro realized that he had few options. The Prince knew of his interactions with the Tribesman, and with Bronwen, which had marked him as useful. And so he said little, and did little, except tending to the small injuries and illnesses that often affected the Royal Guardsmen.
Jassen, the older of the two Master Healers, loudly groaned and rolled over, until his bony knees pushed into Pietro’s back. The fire behind his eyes burned hot, warming him against the coolness of the night. Only with considerable effort was he able to calm the pulsing, yet sleep was no longer possible. Grabbing a cloak to throw over his healer’s robe, Pietro walked from the small tent, toward the center of camp, where a large fire still burned.
Joining the Guardsmen who were seated around the fire, Pietro glanced around the camp looking for Delwin, yet he did not see the Prince. From the way the other Guardsmen watched him, Pietro knew without doubt that he would not be allowed to leave. Not until Bronwen was found, he guessed.
Shaking himself free from the thought, Pietro walked back to his tent, trying to forget the fire-haired girl and wishing he had never gone to Rexterra.
*****
26
His brother had returned, although briefly, to the King’s City, but now was gone again. Crispin believed him to be in Eirrannia, despite the Eirrannian Council’s declaration that they knew nothing of the healer.
Even those loyal to Crispin had no knowledge of his brother’s plans, although a few had sent word that Delwin neared the Tribelands. Not many dared to travel to the northwest corner of Cordisia, and his brother’s actions were both foolish and dangerous. For the last moon, Crispin had sent word to any who might offer him aid, including his cousin Willem and the Master Council at the Healer’s Academy, hoping that his pleas would be answered. From Willem, he had heard nothing, and the Master Council had only replied that the last they had seen the healer was when she had departed over a half-moon year before. To tell them more, he would have had to expose much about Caryss, yet he had not.
It seemed as if none knew of her whereabouts, he fumed, squeezing his hands into fists as he sat behind his large desk.
As if she had been little more than a time-walker. Like she had once claimed about his son.
The thought caused him to stumble back from his desk, the large wooden chair thrown against the wall. Books fell to the floor, crashing one after another with a thunderous roll.
“I must go to Nicoline,” he mumbled, rushing from the room with no regard for the mess.
Before the sun reached its peak, he was astride his stallion, with little more than traveling clothes and coin. The ride would be a long one, perhaps a quarter-moon, he figured, yet he had told none of his leaving, except for his two longtime guards and his wife. Even then, he told them little.
If his suspicions were true, then Caryss might have sought the boy. Or the boy might have sought her. It was a desperate guess, he knew, but with no other choices, he hurried north. And with Delwin gone, none would follow him.
For hours, he followed the Vollaxo River, stopping infrequently and only to let the stallion rest. As night fell and the skies above him darkened, he slowed Jellani, letting the horse lead him to the western bank of the river. After dismounting, he reached into the large satchels attached to the thick leather saddle and found his water pouch and several strips of dried, salted meat. After tying the mount to a nearby tree, Crispin walked, chewing the dried meat as he stretched out his legs.
Sipping watered wine, he sat down, leaning against a thick tree. With a full belly and a weary body, Crispin dropped the pouch to the ground and slept.
Hours later, he woke to a star-dotted sky and bubbling water. Pulling his cloak tighter around him to stave off the cooled air, he rose, shaking out muscles that had grown stiff. After he relieved himself, he walked to the river, kneeling low in the soft grass and leaning over the swiftly running water. With cupped hands, he splashed his face, shivering as the water dripped down his neck. Awake once again, he walked toward Jellani, untied him, and jumped into the saddle.
As he rode north, Crispin looked to the dark sky, with no hint of light. It was hours before the sun rose, and he had had little sleep. Yet, somewhere in Cordisia, possibly Eirrannia, his brother rode, too. Red stained his view, mixing with the dark night, until tree and sky, grass and dirt, river and air were all dusk-colored, dusted red with his fury. Faster he rode, pounding his heels into the sides of the stallion.
*****
“He told you that it would be wise to leave Cordisia altogether?”
The babe was with Nahla, leaving Willem, Aldric, and Caryss alone in her room. Willem stood near the door while Aldric was seated on the bed. Caryss busied herself examining clothing Conall had given her, packing what would be useful into a satchel as the two men addressed her.
It had been less than a quarter-moon since the birth, but Caryss knew that she was recovering well, although the bleeding still occurred. Soon, though, she would be well enough to travel, she figured, tidying the old clothing into piles. The birth had been as easy one, even Sharron had admitted such, and the babe fared well, sleeping and taking to the breast often.
> Without turning to face Willem, she sighed, “He mentioned that our enemies are many and their reach extends through all of Cordisia. Of course he wishes that we would stay here, but he is uncertain what his father has planned.”
It was as much as any of them would say of the dark god, and Aldric hurriedly asked, “Is it still your plan to return Herrin?”
Throwing a torn riding jacket onto the floor, Caryss called out, “I seem to have little choice.” In a softer voice, she added, “We have cleared the poison from his body, and he is better than he has been in moon years, although his memory cannot be fixed.”
Pacing the room, his Rexterran boots thumping loud against the stones, Willem told them, “Delwin will have little cause to strike once his father has been returned. Admittedly, you will not be permitted in Rexterra, but I see no reason why the North will not have us. My kin will welcome us. All of us.”
All in the room knew that Willem spoke of Aldric, who stayed silent despite the mention.
“Even without Rexterra against us, our enemies are many. It will not be long before word of the Crow deaths spread. And while none saw what happened, I will not risk what could happen if those deaths are discovered.”
His face growing flushed, Willem cried, “Crow has always been inferior to Wolf! Why must we run scared?”
Shaking her head, Caryss explained, “There is one whom they all must bow to, Willem”
Her words had done what she thought that they would, causing Willem to pale and Aldric’s hands to clench.
“He would not harm you,” Willem hissed.
“I not know what he would do to me. But he wants the babe. I will run as far and as fast as I must to prevent him from even gazing upon her. Conri knows it as well, which is why he told me that we must go.”
“You have only just given birth,” Willem muttered.
When Caryss smiled, her eyes sparkled, older eyes, with tiny lines at their edges and hints of sadness etched into the gleaming gray-green. Both Aldric and Willem watched her, knowing she was not the same girl she had once been.
Feeling their stares on her, Caryss mumbled, “I will have Sharron and Gregorr to tend to the babe and me. Sharron is as fine a healer as I am, while Gregorr has more knowledge than any of us.”
“What of the boy?” Aldric asked, his words crossing the room, as if they were breath.
She heard him though, and replied, “He still has much to learn, and I will have need of Otieno. And so he will come with us as well.”
“Your plans have changed much from what they once were,” Willem interrupted. “What of the North? What of your people and mine? I thought you wished the girl to be raised in Eirrannia.”
Willem’s words, true ones, stung, biting at her skin and reddening her cheeks, but, with a shrug only, she answered, “The North will wait for her. As will the fennidi. In time, she will return, with power and hope. And an army. Until then, she must disappear. It is the safest way.”
“And the King?”
After a pause, she sat on the bed, pulling at her robe. Caryss had thought long on Herrin and her vows to him. Yet, it had been nearly a half-moon year since she had found him near death in the King’s City, and his health had improved as much as it could. While some days, he seemed well and clear-minded, there were others when he would spend the day abed. Keeping him with them, even after they left Cordisia, made little sense and would only slow them down. And give Delwin more reason to strike.
Before she could explain her thoughts to the men, Willem walked to the edge of the room and leaned against the door. His gold-rimmed eyes flittered as he said, “If you would allow me to offer suggestion, I would tell you of what I think might work best here.”
When she did not object, he continued, “Bring the King to my father’s kin. Mihal, who is uncle to me, still lives on the western edge of the Faelan Lake. He is half a day’s ride from Edanburg, and more often than not beside a hearth with several books at his feet. Many moon years ago, he left the city, resigning his position on the Eirrannian Council. Since then, he cares little of what occurs outside of his home. Herrin knows him well enough, Caryss, and it would be of no great shock to find the King with him. And it would be also of little surprise that Mihal did not know the King was being searched for, such is his isolation.”
“How far of a ride is your uncle from the Tribelands?” Caryss asked, growing interested in his idea.
“No more than a quarter-moon.”
“What if we used the epidii?”
Willem’s forehead wrinkled in thought, and, after a long pause, he said, “A few hours at most, although I know little of them. Caryss, would not it bring attention upon us that we do not need?”
“The sooner we are gone from Cordisia, the better, I think.”
He crossed the room and reached for her hand. For nearly a moon year, he had begged her to go to Eirrannia with him. Even now he did so, she thought.
“Let the North see the girl first, Caryss. Let them know she has come.”
Gently removing her hand, Caryss turned to Aldric, who had been mostly silent, and asked, “What would you have me do?”
When he looked at her, she knew that he would answer with truth. “Eirrannia has not seen war in many, many moon years, but she has not been free either. If war comes soon to the Tribe, Eirrannia will have lost her shield. What then? For as long as I can remember, Rexterra has been sword-readied for that day. A swaddled and powerless babe can do nothing.”
Her eyes grew mist-filled, but Aldric lifted a hand.
“Caryss, she is not ready. Not for moon years to come. But she will be. Let them know her. Let them hear of her birth. Let her story grow. If Syrsha is to be their queen, let them learn of her now. Let her be seen and known. And then we take her far from her. Until she is ready to rise.”
“And after we deliver the King? Where must we go, Aldric?” she asked, her words edged with fog and haze.
“We head further east. Until we are at the coast. From there, we hire a boat to take us across the Eastern Sea.”
“Do you know the lands beyond the Eastern Sea?” she pressed.
With a nod he told her, “I was gone from Cordisia for nearly ten moon years, and, most of that time, I was in the East. I know the lands well and the people, too. The lands are vast, the people friendly but hardened. To the southeast, even further still, there is a port city where you will find faces from unheard-of lands. Words spoken in tongues you have never known. We will not be so odd there, with the fennidi and myself.”
From across the room, Willem called, “Do you speak of Cossima? I have heard tales of that great city, but know none who have gone.”
“There are few cities like it, Willem,” the mage told him. “All are welcome, and the laws are just ones. There are many learned men there, yet blacksmiths too. You will find farmer and mage, singer and swordmaster. It could be home for many moon years, I think.”
Laughing, for Aldric was rarely so animated and joyful, Caryss asked, “When were you going to tell me of this?”
The corners of his lips rose slightly as he replied, “When you asked.”
Throwing the folded clothing into the nearby satchel, Caryss told them both, “Ready your things. If possible, we will leave on the morrow. First we must find Willem’s kin and make certain that the King will be safe. Then we will head east until we can find a ship to take us to Cossima.”
When the room emptied, she sat back on the bed. “Cossima,” she whispered, wondering what the fabled city would bring.
*****
Sharron was holding the babe, pink-faced and sleeping, when Caryss finished tying her last bag to the side of the gelding. With a final pat on the gray’s side, Caryss turned, and, with her hood pulled over her hair, walked back to where the others stood. As she neared, she looked over the group.
Otieno was the first she noticed, and the first that most would as well. He was taller than the rest, mahogany-skinned and darkly clothed. His hair, braided and thick,
was pulled back from his face, tied and hanging across his shoulders, like snakes curling about the swords that hung there. In the moons that they had been in the Tribelands, he had grown larger, Caryss thought, although she had seen little of him since the babe had been born and doubted that it could have been so. But, still, his arms were heavy with muscle and his legs thicker than any she knew.
Next, she looked to Willem, who was ever the Rexterran, hair newly cropped short and fitted in expensive garb, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. He, too, looked as a warrior should, despite his age, which Caryss knew was nearly twice her own. She had been surprised when he offered to join them, leaving Cordisia, the second exile of his life. But she would not turn down able hands, nor one who was as learned as Willem. Where they planned to travel, his knowledge could ease their way.
Aldric looked as he always did, aged and ragged, although his thinning hair was longer now. The tunic he wore had been a gift from Conall, edged in gray and woven with fine, dark thread. His pants were new as well, although his boots were his own. His face was always unreadable and today was no different, she knew. Perhaps even more so, the dark mage kept his thoughts his own. Yet, of all the men, he was the one she trusted most, for he had no ties to Cordisia or to the crown.
Jarek was less boy than ever, she thought, as she walked by him. His height was nearly equal to hers now. Although he was thin, as most boys his age were, he was growing tight with muscle, no doubt from the hours he spent training. His hands were no longer the soft hands of a schoolboy, but were now calloused, often bloodied and bruised, like the rest of him. Otieno was no easy master, nor was Willem, who had begun work with Jarek as well, teaching him the ways of Rexterra. In his blue eyes, Caryss saw fear, but he knew little of their plans, which she now knew had been a mistake.
Pausing beside him, she whispered with a smile, “I saw you knock Willem to the ground last night.”
