by Cindy Dees
Kendrick spotted a likely clearing just off the road and the party veered toward it. Will efficiently gathered deadwood and built a fire while the others made camp. Rosana scoured the woods nearby and returned with a cloth full of fresh greens. The tender spring shoots made a delicious addition to their bread and cheese.
They sat beside their small fire for a time, staring into its cheerful flames. Rosana hummed a couple of songs in the old rhythms of her people, one a rollicking tune she refused to sing the words to on grounds that it was too bawdy for her to admit to knowing. The second song was a lament, so sad it hurt to hear.
“What was that about?” he asked after surreptitiously swiping at his eyes.
“My people’s lost home.”
“Lost?”
“The story goes that we gypsies had homeland long time ago. The song hopes that someday we’ll find it again.”
“How do you lose a homeland? Did you gamble it away?” Will asked.
Rosana snapped, “Gypsies are not gamblers and pickpockets. We have a code of honor, you know. And, shocking news, most gypsies live by it!” She sounded offended.
He mumbled, “Sorry. I’m a little on edge tonight.”
A rather awkward silence fell around the fire. Eventually, Eben and Kendrick commenced murmuring quietly to each other, speculating about where the Kithmar would take Marikeen if they captured her again. Raina asked Cicero about something that he told her he didn’t want to talk about here and now. The blond healer looked a little miffed. Rosana scooted over beside Will on the fallen log he’d turned into a bench and, beneath the folds of their cloaks, shyly twined her fingers with his. He froze, thrilled and nervous, unsure of what to do and frantic not to do something to make her move away from him.
Gradually, holding her hand became more natural, and he relaxed … a little. He listened absently to the forest’s night sounds, the rhythm of it as familiar as his own voice. Rosana grew drowsy and leaned her head upon his shoulder. Her eyes drifted closed and she dozed, soft and warm against his side. It was the first time since he’d fled Hickory Hollow that he had felt at peace even for a moment. He relished the sensation.
Full dark stole near, and Cicero put out the fire. Rosana woke and, with a sleepy smile for him, crawled into her bedroll. Her eyes closed immediately as she went back to sleep. He envied her the ability to rest so well. His troubled dreams of the night before made him leery of sleeping tonight. Reluctantly, he settled into his own bedroll. Eben took the first watch.
Will jerked awake abruptly some time later. What had roused him? He lay still, listening intently to the forest sounds. He detected a discord in the night’s melody. It was faint. Nothing a town-bred person would ever notice. But he was born of the woods, and tonight his senses seemed sharper than usual.
He rolled out of his bedding, bunched his cloak, and pulled his bedroll over it to make it look as if he still slept there.
Eben was nowhere to be seen. He must have moved off into the woods a bit or maybe was walking about to stay awake. Will eased his dagger from its sheath and picked up his staff. He still carried the thing on his back as a reminder of home. A pang of grief struck him at the memory of Ty giving him the weapons. Grimly, he slipped into the shadows. Stealth wasn’t in his nature—he’d rather confront his enemies head-on. But the Lady help them all if this was a Boki raiding party.
He felt strangely at home in the darkness, slipping in and out among the trees as he sought what lurked out here. He circled wide around where he thought he’d heard a noise or, more accurately, a damning lack of noise where the crickets and spring peeper frogs had gone too silent.
The fact that he spotted the vague shape at all was testament to his weirdly improved senses. The would-be attacker was well hidden, crouched within the spreading branches of a lingon bush, berryless at this time of year. The figure was perfectly still, a study in shades of black. It wasn’t that Will saw the ambusher as much as felt him. He felt out of place in the fabric of the woods, much as a fragment of straw woven into a piece of wool was part of the weave, yet not meant to be there.
The shadow moved toward the circle of sleeping figures, and Will followed, the texture of the leaves beneath his feet flowing up his legs and into his awareness. He adjusted each step instinctively, bypassing twigs that would’ve snapped, dry oak leaves that had dropped since the last rain and were still crunchy. He even found himself breathing in time with the spring peepers’ rhythmic croaks as they started up their chorus once more. He was of the woods and the woods were of him. When had that happened?
He was curious to see what the black figure planned to do. Was this a scout of some kind for the Boki? Or a thief? He ought to raise an alarm and rouse the party. But some compulsion within him stopped him from doing so just yet.
The intruder crept forward in admirable silence. Will waited patiently as the figure crouched for long minutes studying the cluster of long lumps on the ground. Eventually, the person eased forward … directly toward Will’s bedroll. Interesting. No, not interesting! Cursed worrisome. What did this person want with him?
The figure held out both fists, and claws abruptly gleamed dully in the faint starlight.
He eased forward to within a half-dozen body lengths of the attacker. Will couldn’t believe the fellow didn’t sense him yet. The figure rose slightly, as if easing cramped circulation in his legs, or perhaps preparatory to moving abruptly.
The attacker lifted the deadly claws high over Will’s bedroll.
Will coiled to spring upon his would-be killer, but at the last second the attacker’s arm paused. The claws lowered slowly to the person’s side. Will dared wait no longer. He leaped forward, snaking his arm around the intruder’s neck, the cold steel of his knife biting into flesh.
As quick as lightning the attacker grabbed Will’s forearm and bent over sharply, attempting to throw Will over his shoulder. Ty was known to do the same when he wrestled, and the move was only partially successful. Will grappled with the fellow, who thrashed wildly in his grasp. A claw streaked back toward him. Will dodged the strike, using the attacker’s own body to block the vicious attack.
The man was wiry but strong. Really strong. Inexorably, Will felt his grasp slipping. The attacker was going to wiggle free, then turn and finely dice him with those deadly claws. Not good. Who would protect Rosana when he died?
CHAPTER
18
Selea slipped down the darkened servants’ passage quickly. The tunnel, constructed of common brick, was low and rough, barely clearing his head for all that he was tall for an elf. Anton did not waste the fine materials in his Blood Palace on servants. Neither did the governor waste resources on security in this part of his residence. Which was handy for Selea’s purposes this night.
He slipped out of the crude brick tunnel and into a larger hallway, this one constructed of rough-hewn stone. The door he sought was made of thick oak planks and sturdy iron hinges, but neither slowed him down much. He quickly picked the lock and slipped into the dark chamber.
A woman’s voice came out of the darkness, not from the bed, but rather from the high-backed armchair by the fire. “Is that you, Uncle?”
“It is. And how do you fare, Lady Nightshade? It has been a while since we’ve spoken.” Selea sank into the chair facing hers before the hearth.
Ceridwyn Nightshade, Anton Constantine’s first advisor and as red-haired as he, answered dryly, “I am well. At least as well as can be in this viper’s nest.”
Selea smiled slightly at the reference to Anton’s nickname, The Viper. It was well-earned, and not just for the snake mark on his forehead or on his crest. “Have you any news for me?”
“Why are you in such a hurry, Uncle? Shall we not trade a few pleasantries, perhaps share a hot drink before we get down to business?”
“You would chide me?” he teased gently, allowing the merest hint of reference to his age beyond hers to creep into his voice. She might outrank him significantly, for he was a mere
master of his trade while she was second-in-command of an enormous, if largely untamed, land. However, he was still her elder by decades, and they were kin.
She, of course, caught the the true source of his remark instantly. “What has happened?” she asked quickly.
“I merely recall the first rule of the Hidden Province,” he answered obliquely.
“As do I.” She recited,
“Honor is spirit, together as one.
Honor is fabric, invisibly spun.
Honor is victory, silently won.
Honor is all, the rest forever shun.”
The were both silent for a moment, contemplating the quidng rule by which all their kind lived and died.
The she added wryly, “And I recall the second rule as well: never forget rule number one.”
He smiled at the joke every nulvari child knew. Ahh, how he missed home, sometimes. But he had chosen to come live among the humans and their endless, frantic struggles for wealth and power and fame.
Ceridwyn fiddled with her signet ring bearing the distinctive blazon of House Night, and finally turned the conversation to his purpose in being here, commenting, “The Emperor receives the same reports you do, Uncle. I withhold nothing from you.”
“You report directly to Maximillian, now?” Selea asked in surprise.
“A lowly first advisor in a distant colony? Hardly. My reports go through channels.”
He nodded in understanding. It was the way of his race to prefer being the people behind the people behind the throne. Invisibility was prized in the Hidden Province. Real beauty rested in the art of manipulating kings without ever touching them directly.
“You have news, then?” he asked.
“I believe I have discovered what Captain Krugar has spent the past fifteen years traveling the colony in search of.”
“Indeed?” It was an enduring mystery where Krugar came from and what his true purpose in being here was. It was unlike the Emperor to send one of such obvious skill and competence so far from court to languish in the worst legion in the entire Imperial Army.
“He let slip to me that he has long sought an escaped prisoner.”
“For fifteen years?” Selea responded, surprised.
“Apparently.”
“The identity of said prisoner?”
“I do not know. But I believe him to be a former Imperial military officer. Which may explain Krugar being sent after him.” She added as an afterthought, “Oh, and I am told this prisoner is jann. And powerful.”
Imperial Army. Jann. Powerful. An impossible possibility exploded across Selea’s mind. Surely not. The man he thought of was dead. “When did this prisoner arrive in the colonies?” he asked urgently.
“The last prisoners were transported to Dupree sixty-five years ago. This fellow must have been here at least that long.”
The timing was right. General Tarses had been a jann and, stars knew, powerful. Selea had personally witnessed the general absorbing the essence of an ice elemental lord during the Pan Orda campaign. Granted, Aurelius had to dive in and lend magical help to keep Tarses from being subsumed within the elemental. But it still had been an impressive feat on Tarses’s part to absorb even a portion of an elemental lord’s powers.
If Tarses did still live and he had escaped, that would certainly merit Maximillian sending someone of Krugar’s talents to recapture him.
His mind awhirl with the implications of this news, he mumbled distractedly, “Any other news to share?”
“Anton is alarmed by reports of a Boki raiding party in the south. He was not expecting the raid and does not know its cause, which angers and worries him. He has sent Captain Krugar to the Forest of Thorns to investigate why the Boki attacked an outlying village like that.”
The reference to the Forest of Thorns jerked Selea’s attention fully back to the conversation at hand. “Does Krugar have any hidden agenda other than the escaped prisoner?”
“Not that I am aware of. Have you information regarding some other task he might have been given?” she asked shrewdly.
“Nay.”
“But you will let me know if you discover one?”
“Aye, of course.” he answered.
“In the meantime, Anton appeases the landsgraves by letting them mount an expeditionary force to the Forest of Thorns.”
A full expeditionary force? Not good. Not good at all. De’Vir’s boy was about to head that way in search of what Tiberius, Aurelius, and he failed to find sixteen years ago.
Aloud, he asked, “Anton lets his landsgraves go? My impression is that they have no great enthusiasm for such a venture. They do not wish to provoke another native insurrection like that last one. The landsgraves seem to feel this expeditionary force of theirs is necessary for the safety of the colony.”
And better that the landsgraves do this thing than Anton, who had a gift for infuriating and provoking people.
Ceridwyn nodded her agreement. But then she said, “I am certain that Anton has no stomach for war with the Boki. My guess is that he has secret allies among them. But the populace will howl if Anton does not make the point to the Boki that they will only be tolerated so long as they stay within their forest.”
“Has he lost control of his Boki allies, then, or have his cronies within the Boki been overruled by their peers?” Selea mused.
“I do not know, Uncle.”
They both stared at the fire for some time, considering the implications of a secret deal between Anton a portions of the Boki leadership.
Eventually, Ceridwyn shrugged. “Anton intentionally weakens the landsgraves, of course, by ordering them and their subjects on what is bound to be a bloody mission, and furthermore, forcing them to pay for the expedition out of their own coffers. As usual, Hyland sees through the ruse. But his hands are tied. The Boki must be confronted.”
A silence fell between them, and he relished it. Most humans labored under a distressing compulsion to fill pauses with meaningless babble.
Eventually, Ceridwyn murmured, “Have you had any communication from our friends of the Shadow?”
“Nay. Cauchemar and his servitors have been quiet of late. Truth be told, I have heard little the Hidden Province.”
He thought fondly of the nulvari homeland deep in Under Urth. He should go back for a visit when he retired. Aloud, he said, “The only directive I have received is that we are to continue to monitor the situation closely. A number of powerful forces seem to be converging on Haelos toward some unknown purpose.”
“I have heard the same from other sources, albeit unreliable—soothsayers and seers mostly. Even Anton seems uneasy. Earlier this evening he called for the old military reports from the Boki insurrection to be brought to him. He spent the evening poring over the maps his commanders drew.”
Maps, eh? What did the canny whoreson seek on the old maps? Mayhap the location of that grove from so long ago? The one Tiberius had conveniently failed to draw on the maps of the previously uncharted Forest of Thorns?
“Nothing the governor does or says go unobserved?” Selea asked.
“I have been watching him for twenty years. I do know how to do my job,” she replied mildly.
No more needed to be said, so he rose to his feet and let himself out of the chamber silently.
* * *
Desperate, Will pressed his knife harder against the attacker’s throat. And belatedly became aware that the person’s skin felt oddly resistant under the blade. Cool and slightly … metallic. That wasn’t skin. It was scales.
Recognition exploded across his brain. The lizardman female. This was the same wiry frame beneath his hands as yesterday. The same smooth, unnaturally cool scales. The same desperate strength.
A foot hooked behind his right ankle and he started to go down. But from somewhere unconscious within him the proper technique to counter the sweep came to mind and he executed it—not perfectly, but well enough to keep his feet. Startled at his success, he yanked the girl upright.
“What’re you doing here?” he growled in her ear.
“My treasure. Taking back,” she grunted as she strained against him.
He released her abruptly and she stumbled forward, crashing to her knees. The noise and disturbance brought the others awake and they leaped up in various degrees of readiness for combat. Rosana was the last to wake, and she looked badly disoriented as she roused slowly.
“I ran into this girl yesterday in Dupree,” Will announced. “Literally. She’s the one who gave me the wood disk.”
Rosana’s gaze shifted to the lizardman girl in interest. “Where’d you get it?” she demanded.
The lizardman girl remained silent, oozing surliness. Kendrick lit a small oil lamp with some sort of flint and steel device he pulled out of his pack. A circle of golden light illuminated the clearing.
“Where’s Cicero?” Raina asked abruptly.
Eben replied, “He took the watch after me.”
“The kindari in the woods, you mean?” the lizardman girl asked. “Knocked him out I might have.”
Raina lurched. “Where?” she demanded.
The lizardman girl pointed over her shoulder. Raina wasted no time plunging into the darkness, and Will was relieved to see Kendrick follow her, sword drawn. The healer didn’t strike Will as particularly capable of protecting herself. He turned back to the lizardman girl. “Why did you give the disk to me?”
“Give it to you I did not. Your pocket I used to hide it from those cursed soldiers.” She stared at him defiantly for a moment, then added, “Give it back!”
“I wish I could.”
The lizardman girl jolted. “Sell it you did not?”
“Nope. Still have it.”
“Then hand it over.” Her voice grew more truculent by the second.
“I can’t. It’s stuck to me.”
The lizardman girl frowned. At least he thought so. With that fine mesh of scales covering her entire face, it was difficult to make out the nuances of her facial expression. “What mean you, ‘stuck’?”
Will sighed. He reached for the top of his shirt and peeled the garment back to reveal the wooden disk stuck fast to his chest. The lizardman girl took a step closer to him. He groused, “If you know how to remove this thing from me, by all means, please do it.”
