“What brought you here?” he said, dredging up what force he could manage.
Kassakan chuckled, producing a noise to which Osrith realized he’d have to become re-accustomed, and began pouring the steaming liquid from the pot into a wooden bowl. “You did, of course.”
Osrith sighed and twisted his lips into a scowl. “And how did I do that?”
Kassakan lowered her eyes and soaked the fresh bandages in the bowl. The aroma was pungent, and Osrith found his scowl lingering naturally as the scent reached his nostrils. Kassakan set the hot cloth on Osrith’s healing wounds, pressing it against his skin and smoothing it over with an expert touch. “You are my j’iitai. You are a part of my soul, and I of yours. I heard you call though you yourself did not.”
Osrith closed his eyes and exhaled as noisily as he could manage. “Don’t set in with your spirit talk, Kassakan. I haven’t the strength to run or the patience to listen. You’re here by Oghran’s whims – let’s leave it at that!”
“As you wish.” Kassakan pulled the quilt back up over Osrith’s freshly bandaged chest and sat near the hearth. For the space of a few long clicks the fire chattered to itself. “Was the dreamstone the cause of all this?”
Osrith’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of it?”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I discovered it in your neck pouch, but I have not disturbed it.”
“Good,” he said tersely. “It’s no business of yours.”
Kassakan recognized his tone. “Please, Osrith, my kind have strict rules about murdering our j’iitai. It is considered… bad. But I will kill you if you refuse my help.”
Osrith smiled very faintly. “Have at me, then, woman. I’ve no intention of splitting my reward with anyone or anything.”
Kassakan smiled her unnerving, toothy smile. “Would you prefer to pay my standing rate for healing, perhaps?”
“I think not,” said Osrith, his tone softening to one of friendly surrender. “I’ll tell you, then; not to please your damnable whims, but to preserve my silver from your greedy claws.
“A seer named Gai sent word into the Deeps that he needed help. Ruuhigan dispatched me to investigate, and the old man promptly hired me to see the stone into the hands of King Guillaume. Apparently it holds a vision or some such thing. I don’t know or care, but it attracted enough attention whatever it is. I was tracked through the mountains by several parties of hrumm – I think they were Dieavaul’s.”
“Dieavaul?” Kassakan’s tail swished from underneath her tunic, sketching nervous patterns on the stone floor. “What makes you think it was he?”
“Gai had a vision the day I left him. He saw a pale man whom he described in great detail. A bringer of death, he said, and he mentioned the sword. By virtue of reputation, I suspected Dieavaul. And, in the mountains, the old wound began to ache.”
Kassakan lowered her head and spoke softly. “Yes, I noticed the scar seemed agitated. I knew this day would come. Life is ever a circle.”
“Right.” Osrith closed his eyes and lay his throbbing head back on his pillow. Kassakan always felt the need to insert her philosophical diatribes into otherwise practical conversation. She was right to some degree, he supposed. It did seem odd that here, of all places in the Eastern Realms, he once again faced Dieavaul. Here, where the darkest stains on his memory clung indelibly to his every waking thought, where every stone, every tapestry, and every face was likely as not a disturbing reminder of why he had left in the first place. He recognized that the thickness in his chest and throat was not merely from his wounds and medications, and clenched his teeth against the distraction of nostalgia. He cleared his throat to speak, intent on changing the subject, but Kassakan interrupted him.
“You will be travel-worthy within a ten-day – maybe two. Until then you should rest. You will need all of your strength.”
At that point Osrith realized he had no idea how much time had passed since his collapse near the Eavely’s farm. “How long has it been?”
“Four days,” replied Kassakan. “I wondered at first if you would ever awaken.”
“Four! Gods Below!” So much time lost. Osrith wanted to jump from his bed and be on with his journey, but his pragmatic center knew this was impossible. It would be best to take the lizard’s advice and rest. The sooner he recuperated, the faster he would be done with this mess and intent on nothing more complicated than spending his reward. His body had lain dormant and inactive for so long that he was both exhausted and bed-weary. His muscles twitched with a desire to stretch, yet ached when he moved. Despite it all, it was his restlessness that decided him.
Osrith sat up slowly, holding the bed sheets to his naked body, his face frozen in an expression determined to hide his pain. Kassakan eyed his movement warily from the hearth. Osrith felt a strange headiness as blood flowed with renewed energy through his limbs. His arms and legs didn’t feel completely fallow. Kassakan’s experience as a healer was extensive enough that she knew to exercise them while he was indisposed. But there was still a great deal of pain.
“A ten-day and no more,” he said gruffly. “We have to make the capital before Guillaume returns to the front.”
Kassakan nodded her huge head. “We will leave when you are ready.”
Osrith had long ago ceased to marvel at her ability to agree without agreeing and so barely acknowledged her statement. “Meanwhile, I need to occupy myself with something while I’m yet awake.”
Kassakan turned toward the fire, keeping Osrith in focus with one eye, and poked at the embers with a blackened stick. “There are those who would like to see you, if you are well enough to receive visitors.” She paused, watching him fidget with his bandages. “Lady Evynine has been impatient for news of you.”
Osrith looked away.
“She is your hostess, here. Perhaps it would be wise to-”
“The wounds are still too fresh,” cut in Osrith sharply.
“Your wounds should have healed enough by now.”
“They pain me even as we speak.” Osrith glared at Kassakan’s back, increasingly hostile. “As you should well know, lizard.”
“Yes,” conceded Kassakan, but her tone quickly turned to one of scolding impatience. “Your pain is great. So great it threatens to swallow you because you refuse to share its burden with anyone. Worse, you refuse to allow others to share theirs with you.”
“I’ve refused no such thing!” he returned vehemently.
“Indeed?” Kassakan fixed Osrith with an unblinking stare. “You have refused Evynine for eight years. Or did you expect her to follow you into the Deeps and share your self-imposed exile?”
Osrith’s jaw clenched, and his lips tightened into a thin uncompromising line. He lay back down on the bed, breaking Kassakan’s gaze and staring instead at the cold stone ceiling. “Leave me. I need to rest.”
“No.”
“It’s not your concern.”
“You are my concern, Osrith,” insisted Kassakan. “Watching you dwell in your past to hide in the present is my concern. If you can’t shake yourself of this nonsense, then I shall shake you from it myself!”
“Is it really so hard to understand?” he growled, pressing his fingers against his temple.
“You did what you did, my friend. That you couldn’t do more is lamentable, but it’s no cause to lay blame at your feet.”
Osrith scowled, unconvinced. “Then at whose feet would I lay it? I betrayed her trust. I was careless and arrogant.”
“You did all you could,” said Kassakan softly.
Sometimes Osrith wondered if he had done even that. Wasn’t there a part of him that had wanted nothing more? Hestan had been his friend, the father of his charge, and the husband of his liege-lady. Husband to Evynine.
“Obviously, that wasn’t enough,” he muttered.
“If you will not speak with her for your benefit, at least think on what I have said, and do it for her sake. Don’t waste any more of your life, or hers, bearing this alone.”
>
“I’ll think on it.”
“Good. Now sleep. I will wake you soon for a meal.”
Osrith closed his eyes and was surprised to find he drifted off to sleep easily. Whatever Kassakan’s poultice had contained, it spread a slow, numbing calm throughout his body and limbs that he only hoped would spread to his conscience.
The landscape that unfurled from the castle walls was covered in a crisp white blanket of snow. The wind howled through the nooks and crevices of the stone fortress like a beast alive and hungry, but the ancient towers stood resolute and unyielding. Osrith felt the slap of frozen air across his face and breathed deeply. He found the fresh air invigorating despite its numbing chill. He was clothed only in wool breeches, for his midsection still needed the frequent attention of Kassakan’s skilled hands. His shoulder and leg were healed and without pain, though plagued with a persistent stiffness.
He left the shutters open and walked back to his bed in slow, measured, steps. For all his time in recovery, his gut still pained him greatly. He could not recall any time in recent memory when he had sustained such a stubborn wound, and surmised that Kassakan had not exaggerated her worry yesterday after all. The scar was impressive, at any rate.
He settled into the bed, propping himself up on the pillows he had been provided, just close enough to the fire to allow some small amount of warmth. The stars winked at him from behind the cloud-strewn sky, and the noises of night blew in faintly through the window. The whistling chatter of a spinnet, mixed with distant lupine howls and the lonely query of an owl, provided a musical score as enchanting as any bard’s lyric tale, punctuated for a moment of drama by the harsh shriek of a nightwing.
“Osrith?”
The quiet melodic voice cut into Osrith like a razor. He looked up at the doorway and found her there, almost as he’d remembered her. Her hair fell to her shoulders, framing her dove-white face in a flaxen waterfall, her slender frame accentuated by the curve of her modest bosom and a slight flare at her hips. He could see the dark liquid blue of her eyes in the torchlight from the hallway, the glimmer of the flames lost in their depth. She walked to his side without a sound and sat next to him on the bed. She was clothed in a thick wool nightdress, lined with soft cotton but plain of decoration and flattering in its trim fit.
“Osrith?” she repeated, her skin rustling against the fabric. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” he said, more gruffly than he’d intended. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I hadn’t expected you to be awake. Usually at this hour you are well asleep.” Her lips spread into a smile warmer than the fire beside them. “I was worried. Your wounds….”
She reached for his left hand, but Osrith moved it aside, his eyes darting away from hers. Evynine’s smile flickered for a moment, then resumed, only slightly hampered by concern. “It’s been so long,” she said simply, but with a slight tremor. “Whatever ill fortune brought you here, I find myself thankful for it.”
Osrith’s hardened visage melted a moment at the edges. His lower lip held a slight quiver and his cheek twitched. His eyes searched for any place to rest where they wouldn’t find her. “I-”
Evynine sensed what he struggled to say, and silenced him by placing a delicate finger to his lips. Osrith closed his eyes, relishing the soft tingle left by the touch of her skin.
“Not now. Let it lie in the past, where it belongs,” she whispered. “Let it lie.”
Osrith forced his features into a semblance of control. He disliked his lack of composure with her. Anger was his primary defense, but Evynine’s presence disarmed that readily. “I can’t,” he said.
“By the Grace of Illuné, Osrith!” Evynine’s tone was edged with temper and frustration. “If I may do so, why is there yet any reason for you not to do the same? Others say what they will. I believe in you – I have always believed in you.”
Osrith looked up into her eyes, into her unflinching sincerity, and almost believed her. Even if she believed herself, he knew that somewhere inside something less pleasant, less forgiving, was waiting. It had to be. “As you wish, milady,” he acceded.
Lady Evynine’s smile returned once more, pleasantly deceived by his lie. “Mistress Kassakan tells me you will not be long here. I wish to know everything that has happened to you, when you feel you are ready. She says you fought alongside the underkin in the Deeping Wars. I must hear every word!”
Osrith had a brief vision of Kassakan’s neck between his hands. Never trust a lizard with a secret, he thought, clearing his throat. “It isn’t much to tell, really. A minor skirmish with the hrumm.”
“Minor skirmish, indeed!” she chided. “I am told you felled Pakh Ma Goiilus yourself. This is certainly no small deed!”
“With all due respect, milady, there was after all a contingent of five hundred battle-frenzied kin in my support. And Kassakan is known to have the gift of a bard when it comes to storytelling. Five hundred may as well be five or five thousand the next time she tells it.”
Evynine’s laugh echoed across the cold emptiness of the room. “You speak not far from the truth,” she admitted.
Osrith was content to watch her, as always, enjoying her quiet mannerisms: the tilt of her head, her hand brushing loose strands of hair from her eyes, the relaxed yet graceful way she sat next to him. Guiltily, he shook his head of such thoughts.
“How fares the Western March?” he said, fearing he knew already.
Osrith watched Evynine’s subtle transformation from caretaker to baroness. Her back straightened, as did her brow, and her smile turned to a slight frown before she answered. “The war has taken many of my people from their homes and their families. It has also taken our grains and fruits, our livestock, and our steel. Few will venture west of Ingar’s Way. The Border Knights are hard pressed to police this territory with so many of their number in service to the royal army.” She paused, the very depths of her fathomless eyes filling with dread and compassion. “I fear that our peace here is over. My very spirit aches with this knowledge. I only hope that I am wrong.”
“Everywhere it’s the same. Even in the Deeps we heard news of the surface world’s troubles. It seems the scourge of war and famine reaches far. But you are strong, and your people are brave.”
“I tire of being strong, Osrith.” She reached out and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. “I wish to rest, just one night, without the weight of my own strength to hamper me. Just one night.”
“You’ve always been your own worst enemy,” said Osrith with a frown. “And what of Kiev? Isn’t he old enough to share these burdens? He’s certainly bright enough….” Osrith stumbled over his last word as he saw Evynine drop her head. “What is it? What have I said?” he asked, suspecting and dreading the answer. He had seen her face like this before.
Evynine’s tone softened to a whisper. “The sleeping sickness took him two years ago. There is only Aeolil now, and she is away in Dwynleigsh.”
Gods Above, Below and Between! he swore silently. Damn the lot of them. Useless.
Hestan had been a good husband to Evynine. He’d been a soldier first and foremost, a knight of the House adh Boighn, and an able enough assistant in the governing of the Marches. Even if he’d thought Evynine was a bit out of hand, a bit too close to the common folk, he supported her. Though Hestan had been baron in name, it was only by right of marriage, and Evynine had never even hinted at giving up what was hers, by right. He’d given her two strong sons and a daughter stronger and smarter still. Together, they had ruled in strength and governed in wisdom. Now, as Kassakan had so recently reminded him, she bore the brunt of that power alone.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. There were no other words, no other way to express his grief. He knew Kiev as a young boy, but never again. Like so many others – now just a memory.
“He never understood why you left.”
Osrith was taken aback by her words. It never occurred to him that someone would not understand. Between the gossip a
nd the facts, he thought everyone had understood. “I had no choice.”
Evynine stood then, and half turned toward the door. It was obvious to Osrith that her mood had paled like the cold light from the window. “You made a choice, captal. It was not made for you.”
He saw the anger rise and blossom on her cheeks. He knew too that it had been there all along. Despite her attempt to forget, to leave the past where it was, it had festered in her all these years, awaiting its release, starving itself for that one moment when it could feast on her rage and consume her in the process. He knew this, because he knew anger and hatred all too well. They had made a meal of him long ago.
“I must rise early on the morrow,” said Evynine, regaining her composure to some extent. Osrith could already see the regret on her face, shortly replaced by fatigue and lingering concern. “Rest now. The journey ahead is a long one.”
“That it is,” he replied as she exited his chambers. “It is indeed.”
Chaos swirled in vivid tendrils of magenta and black behind Osrith’s eyes, rushing into the ravenous, open mouth of the whirlpool at the nexus of his dream. Their touch was cold, almost real, but not chilling enough to wake him from his slumber. He felt dizzy and ill at ease, as if staring down from the edge of a towering precipice. An ethereal voice called to him softly from somewhere, gentle but insistent. He turned, seeking it out, and stumbled into the maelstrom.
Osrith fought his way deeper into the wind of colors, shirking aside their freezing touch to find the source of the haunting cry. In a rush of terrible sound, he stumbled through into silence, and within was Evynine, clad in her funeral gown. Her face was long and solemn. Her hands cradled a small, withered bouquet of flowers, their dry petals drifting to the ground. Osrith tried to avert his eyes, but was unable. He was familiar with this dream.
Or so he thought.
The Pale Man stepped between Osrith and Evynine, his dark smile facing Osrith’s shock. “I missed your company in the mountains, Captal Turlun. You rushed away too soon, I think.”
In Siege of Daylight Page 6
