Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  Willow couldn’t speak. She turned to Suel.

  “Snyde will be leading a squad of Elites to Ignis Fatuus. His ship will leave the day after Tee-Ri’s vessel departs; he’ll attempt to follow her to the Kard base, and he’ll succeed.”

  Willow hid her relief. Dammit, why did Tamlevar matter to her? He was just a child.

  “How do you know that?” Tamlevar asked, awed.

  “I’m a mage,” he said, as though that answered everything.

  “You knew we’d be coming here.” Willow was thinking aloud. “You knew we’d need help.”

  “Yes,” Suel said, his face inscrutable.

  “You even knew where we’d be when our luck ran out.”

  “Go on,” said Suel.

  “So it was you who sent Four Fingers to give us refuge.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why did you send him? Why didn’t you aid us directly?”

  “Do you want to know, Willow?” His tone of voice had sharpened. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Tell me.”

  “This way was to everybody’s advantage. You got rescued, Four Fingers has you in his debt, and I have you to rescue the Prince.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Suel. Why did you send Four Fingers instead of helping us directly? Because of you, I am now indebted to a crime lord. Why did you do that?”

  Suel’s smile was more of sneer. “You shouldn’t have hit me.”

  Willow took a deep breath and let it out. Truth be told, being in Four Finger’s debt was a minor concern compared to her current troubles. If she managed to find the Prince and return with him alive, then she’d worry about Four Fingers.

  “I’m leaving today,” she said. “I’m going to be the one to rescue the Prince, not that arrogant twit Snyde.”

  “Yes,” said Suel. “I know. That’s why I’ve arranged a little something … special for you.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Observe,” Suel said. He cupped his elbows with his palms, slid his hands down the arms, and winced. Scarlet trails appeared along the backs of his arms where he sliced the skin open with the razors in his gloves.

  “Ugh,” Tamlevar said, his face wrinkled in disgust.

  Suel continued to concentrate. His gaze focused at the other end of the chamber. A dark circular opening appeared in the wall of the chamber. A passage extended through the outer wall, leading as far as the eye could see. It boggled the mind: immediately beside the entrance to this passage was a window. Through the window, Willow could see clouds and birds … but no passage.

  “This corridor will take you directly to Ignis Fatuus,” Suel said.

  Willow stared a few more moments.

  “No,” she said. “Get rid of it. We can’t leave a tunnel like that open. The barbarians would flood through it. Bryanae wouldn’t have time to prepare an adequate defense.”

  “I’ll close it once you and Tamlevar are through,” said Suel.

  Suddenly, a hammering noise reverberated throughout the tower followed by an indistinct shout. Suel glanced out the window. “Ah, your friends in the Guard have tracked you. You probably should get going.”

  “How do we get back?” Willow said. She didn’t like the fact that Suel had effectively narrowed down her options until only one remained.

  “I’ll give you a keyword …” He closed his eyes, thought a moment, and then opened them with an evil smile. “‘D’Arbignal.’ When you say ‘D’Arbignal,’ another tunnel will open for you at whatever spot your eyes are focused on. Don’t be careless.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Tamlevar said. “I think he’s a friend of my mother’s.”

  Willow and Suel exchanged a private look.

  “I’m pretty sure,” Tamlevar said.

  “Suel,” Willow said, looking down the tunnel, her eyes narrowing. “How do I know that when I say the word you’ll open the return tunnel? How do I know you won’t just leave us there to die?”

  Willow had thought Suel’s smile was evil before, but it was nothing compared to the one on his face now.

  “You probably should have thought of that before you hit me,” he said.

  Chapter 21

  Tamlevar explored the tunnel ahead while Willow limped behind. Her makeshift splint thumped dully.

  “This is amazing,” Tamlevar said, his voice reverberating down the stone corridor.

  “So you keep saying.”

  “Only because it’s so amazing. Have you noticed how the walls and floors kind of … shimmer?”

  Willow continued to shuffle forward: step, limp, step, limp.

  “How long have we been walking?” Tamlevar asked.

  It felt like an eternity. Every step she took sent a fiery agony shooting up her foot, going all the way to her teeth. There was no end in sight ahead. She glanced back: the corridor seemed to extend forever.

  “You don’t think Suel is playing some kind of trick, do you?” Tamlevar said.

  “No,” Willow grunted. “Not his style.”

  Tamlevar looked back at Willow, concern evident on his face.

  “Your foot hurts a lot, doesn’t it?”

  “I can manage.”

  Tamlevar rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “You know,” he said. “I might be able to fix your foot.”

  “Fix it how?”

  “It’s an Illuminatus trick. You can look at an aura and see where the damage is. That way, you can patch it.” He paused. “Only …”

  “Only?”

  In the darkness, Tamlevar’s face was a mere silhouette.

  “Only I’ve never actually done it before. I’ve seen it done, and I understand the principle.”

  Willow kept walking, her teeth pressed together, the pain flaring up to the backs of her eyes. Step, limp, step, limp.

  “I knew this one Illuminatus who had some trouble,” Tamlevar continued. “He tried to heal this old woman’s fractured hip, but I guess he didn’t read her aura right, or else he got distracted or something. He fused the bones together, you see, but it that wasn’t the worst of it. He must have done something to the flesh around the hip, because it started to melt like hot wax. Oh, the poor woman was screaming like you wouldn’t believe. One of the other Illuminata had to use a pressure point to knock her out. You should have seen what was left of that hip! Picture a runny egg, with a lot of blood and—”

  “I get the idea,” Willow said, forcing down her bile. “We’ll save your method for when there is no alternative. In the meantime, I can deal with the pain.”

  Discipline.

  Tamlevar stopped walking.

  “Willow, if we somehow manage to rescue the Prince together, do you think there’s any chance you’ll learn to love me?”

  The question caught her by surprise, and she was astonished to find that it hurt. Nevertheless, she kept her face impassive.

  “Don’t start,” she said, shaking her head. “Keep focused on the Prince.”

  “Yeah, but afterwards—”

  “Afterwards is afterwards.”

  Tamlevar crossed his arms in front of his chest as Willow passed him.

  “I’m not asking for a promise or an oath or something,” he said. “All I want to know is if it’s a possibility.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and considered her words carefully. Tamlevar was her only ally. She couldn’t risk alienating him. Also, there was something about him … something … But that was just nonsense.

  She sighed.

  “It’s theoretically possible. About as likely as a bird falling in love with a fish, but yes, I suppose it’s possible,” she said. But unbidden, a mental picture of her and Snyde entwined in the grass beside the water tower. Willow’s cheeks colored and her breathing came faster. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  This was going to end badly.

  Tamlevar beamed at her. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Willow didn’t reply, kept limping forward. A bittersweet fee
ling ambushed Willow, surprised her with its poignancy. What had her mother called her: that humorless, single-minded shadow of a woman?

  Yes, she felt like a shadow all right. Being so close to the vibrant, effervescent Tamlevar made her feel worse in contrast.

  “Hello?” Tamlevar was snapping his fingers in her face. She realized that he had asked her a question but she hadn’t been paying attention.

  She swatted his hand away. “What?”

  “You drifted off.”

  “I was just thinking,” she said. “Tell me, Tamlevar, do you …?”

  She lost her train of thought. What had she been about to ask him?

  “Do I what?”

  Willow shook her head. Tamlevar groaned.

  “No, you can’t do that to me,” he pleaded. “That’s so unfair. You’ve never asked me anything before.” He dropped to his knees, his silhouette supplicating in the darkness. “Come on, ask me?”

  Willow shook her head again.

  “It was nothing. I was just curious about something my mother had said.”

  “Which was?”

  “Which was none of your business. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. It just helps me keep my mind off the pain.”

  Tamlevar clucked his tongue. “Are you sure you won’t let me carry you?”

  Willow glared at him.

  “Well, either let me carry you,” he said, “or tell me what your mother said to you.”

  Willow ground her teeth. “Fine. She called me a humorless, single-minded shadow of a woman.”

  “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say,” he said, his voice soft. Willow didn’t speak, kept limping forward through the endless tunnel. “You want to know if I think she was right.”

  “Fine. Do you?”

  “Of course not!” Tamlevar gesticulated extravagantly. “I don’t know how you could even think that. You’re not a shadow you’re … you’re …”

  “What?” she said. How had the conversation become about her?

  “Hidden. There’s more to you than any other woman I’ve ever known. It’s just that you try not to let anybody see it, even yourself. A shadow? Hardly! A shadow is something cast by a bright light. Don’t you see? You are that bright light. It’s all the other women who are shadows. And no offense, but I suspect that applies doubly to your mother.”

  “Tamlevar,” she said, then clamped her mouth shut. She had been about to tell him about the Kards, Tee-Ri, the Warlord Rackal … everything. Had she lost control so completely, that she would blurt out such personal information?

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing. What did you ask me before?”

  “All right, what’s the deal with Snyde?”

  Willow inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Tamlevar resumed walking, caught up to her in a moment.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You just seemed to react oddly whenever he’s mentioned. Like now, for instance.” There was an undercurrent to his voice. Suspicion? Or was it just more naïve curiosity?

  “Not your concern,” she said, which was of course, the wrong thing to say. She cursed herself the moment the words escaped her lips.

  Tamlevar stopped again. Willow kept on limping forward, focusing on each footstep.

  “You know I love you,” Tamlevar said.

  “You may have mentioned it once or twice,” Willow said. “I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Willow, if there’s something going—”

  “Tamlevar, are you going to talk the entire way to Ignis Fatuus?”

  He shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” he said, a smile blooming. “How far is that, do you think?”

  Willow shook her head.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “You don’t think we have to walk the entire distance as the crow flies, do you?” Tamlevar shuddered. “That would take months!”

  “No, Suel said it was a shortcut. We’ll be there soon enough,” she said, hoping it was the truth.

  They walked a bit in silence.

  “I could carry you some more,” Tamlevar said.

  “No.”

  “Yes, I could.”

  “I know you can. But you may not. You do understand the difference, don’t you?”

  “Of course I know the difference,” Tamlevar said. “And do you know what else I know?”

  “What?”

  Tamlevar grinned. “I know that I love you.”

  Willow shook her head, and Tamlevar laughed.

  “Nope, no escape for you, beautiful elf maiden,” he said. “Tamlevar’s here to stay!”

  Chapter 22

  Discipline, damn it. Discipline.

  The agony in her foot tested the limits of her stoicism. She fought the urge to whimper with every step. In addition to the ragged, broken feeling, now her foot and ankle began to burn. Infected. Terrific. Short of the attention of a mage or a talented herbalist, she’d likely lose the leg and might even die.

  Fine. If she were going to die then she would die, but not until she had returned to Bryanae with the Prince. That was how it was going to be.

  Discipline. She would not, could not stop.

  “Willow,” Tamlevar said.

  “What?” Her voice was strained, halfway between a grunt and a gasp.

  “I know how much pain you’re in,” he said. “I’m not trying to pry, but I can’t block it out.”

  “Too bad,” she whispered between her teeth. “Discipline is important in a soldier.”

  “So is initiative.”

  Tamlevar lunged at her. Surprised, Willow reached for her rapier, but Tamlevar’s hand closed over hers, held it immobile while he slipped his other hand behind her knees and lifted her into the air, cradled in his arms like a helpless babe.

  “Put me down,” she said, her voice venomous. “I can walk.”

  Tamlevar didn’t reply. He spun her in his arms and then slid her over his shoulder.

  She pounded on his back. “Put me down immediately.”

  Tamlevar shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight. If our positions were reversed, I know you would insist on carrying me.”

  “I’d leave you to die. Now put me down.”

  Tamlevar grinned over his shoulder at her.

  “No,” he said, and swatted her behind.

  She reacted like a scalded cat, twisting in his arms and flailing her legs. The explosion of motion broke Tamlevar’s grip and she fell headlong. She broke her fall with her forearms and palms, but not before she had barked her forehead and mashed her nose against the “stone” floor. The sudden pain surprised her, but she kept moving. She kicked the backs of Tamlevar’s knees with the shin of her good leg, and he crumpled to the floor face-first. Before he could react, she crawled onto him, grabbed his knife from his belt, and pressed it to his throat. His eyes bulged.

  “Don’t you ever touch me again,” she hissed. “I don’t care whose son you are. If you ever touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

  “But—”

  She pressed the knife a little more. Tamlevar didn’t finish the sentence.

  She rolled off him, hobbled to her good foot, her eyes watering. She clenched her jaw, ground her teeth. Her breath came and went in hissing gasps.

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  But that wasn’t true. Of course she would make it. She’d make it if she had to crawl there.

  Discipline. Self-control.

  “I’m not going with you,” Tamlevar said.

  “What?” The blood was pounding so loudly in her ears that she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

  “I said I’m not going with you. I can’t watch you do this.”

  She grimaced, her lips twisted into an agonized frown. Her next step landed wrong, and she grunted.

  “Then don’t. I didn’t ask you along in the first place,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  She pressed forward, half-expecting to hear Tamlevar’s voice or tread. But there was not
hing. After what seemed an eternity, she glanced back, but the black youth was gone.

  Another misstep and she fell to the ground, her scream echoed along the empty tunnel.

  She lay there trying to catch her breath, and listened for the sound of his returning footsteps, running back to help her. But there was nothing.

  So he had abandoned her after all. The realization stung, but she shrugged it off. She didn’t need him or his emotional outbursts. She had lost the Prince without his help and as sure as there were stars in the sky, she’d get the Prince back without his help, too.

  Once more, she tried to climb to her feet, but the pain was just too much even for her. Fine. She would crawl then.

  She was going to rescue Prince Vazerian. It was her weakness that had permitted his capture. It would be her strength that returned him.

  And if she failed, Snyde’s squad could make the attempt next. Whether they succeeded wouldn’t matter to her. If she had failed, it meant that she had died in the attempt.

  One thing was certain: they wouldn’t capture her alive.

  Not again, they wouldn’t.

  Chapter 23

  “No,” Willow said, her lips quivering. “This is too much.”

  The view before her was an affront to her. She never claimed to believe that life was fair, but this was just perverse.

  She stared out at the landscape framed by the opening at the end of the tunnel. Beyond the opening lay the idyllic sunlit forest of Ignis Fatuus, the forest of her childhood, of her homeland.

  Beyond the opening, that is, and far, far below it.

  “Suel, you idiot.” Her face was drenched with the sweat of countless hours of pain and labor. Her hands and knees were raw and filthy with the dirt of seemingly endless miles crawling through the tunnel.

  Her smashed foot had long since gone numb, and the burning sensation had passed, too. She could, however, smell the wound festering. She’d have to deal with that soon enough.

  But this …

  Willow peered from the lip of the tunnel down to the tops of the trees below. Too high. Suel had positioned the tunnel much too high.

  Now what would she do?

  For a moment, she almost gave up. It was too much. How could she withstand the barrage of cruel tricks fate had played on her over the last few days? Why was she even bothering to try to save Vazerian, when she was no longer a member of the Guard, was in fact a fugitive from Bryanae?