"Thanks a lot, Dad," Kaltor said bitterly as the wagon hit a particularly deep pothole, knocking his head against the backboards beneath the driver’s seat.
"What?" Gereth said innocently. "At least I’m a man of my word!" He slapped the floor of the wagon. "I said I would ride with you unless you were able to ride alone."
"You also said there would be no emotional blending," he retorted flatly, carefully selecting a well-balanced throwing blade from a bag Jensai had provided.
"You did not get anyone else’s emotions," Gereth replied tartly.
"Honmour did!" Kaltor replied sharply. "Did you see how he was looking at Mom? Now he and Jensai are off on patrol and I’m stuck here. Who knows if they’ll ever talk to me again, much less respect me!"
With a quick twist of his hand he sent the dagger spinning into the air. A number of wooden targets were arranged along the back of the wagon. His blade sank into a wooden deer’s chest, right behind its left foreleg, a few inches above the heart. After Master Taneth had seen what was left of Kaltor’s wound, he’d provided a few practice targets to take with him as he traveled. He’d understood well what immobilization did to a Varadour’s temperament.
"Well, at least your dagger skill is improving," Gereth said positively.
"I was aiming for its head," Kaltor lied. "Stop trying to cheer me up."
Gereth threw up his hands defensively. "Hey, I’m the one bound by honor to stay in a very small wagon with a very angry, wounded Varadour assassin in search of useful targets. In my shoes you would be doing the same thing. Admit it," Kaltor glared back in defiance, and another dagger sailed in between them, this time into the tip of a wooden deer’s tail.
"Were you aiming for the fly I just saw there a moment ago?" Gereth asked.
"No."
"Okay, fine," Gereth conceded. "But at least your mother managed to convince Taneth to let you three go. Earlier he seemed most adamant about keeping you close by."
"You mean after you pushed their powers to the point of exhaustion healing me and still managed to mangle my leg?" Kaltor clarified, his tone more accusing than grateful. "He was getting rid of dead weight for next week’s training exercises!"
Kaltor rubbed his wound grumpily, trying not to think about the ugly knot of bone Gereth had grown from their combined powers. They had managed to reduce some of it, but Taneth still wanted him bedridden for the first night of the trip while his body absorbed the rest of the unwanted material. A handful of long, thin blades emerged from the sack next to him.
"Your mother will be back as soon as she finishes discussing some religious issues with Taneth," Gereth offered. "At least you’ll get to see her tonight, right?" Kaltor’s demeanor softened a bit, his next projectile twirling harmlessly in between his fingers.
"You still haven’t told her yet, have you?" Kaltor asked.
"About your true training? No," Gereth answered, his eyes glowing blue as he flipped aside Kaltor’s blanket to glance at his patient’s leg. "For now she needs to focus on this trip. We already have an advance party at the dig site exposing the surface rubble. Once we get there we should be able to go inside it!"
"‘Inside it’?" Kaltor asked inquisitively, throwing his new blade into a wooden deer’s eye. "You mean inside the city?" Gereth groaned uneasily, wincing a bit.
"Dad?" Kaltor said seriously. "What are you not telling me?"
"We already excavated part of the city," Gereth admitted. He pulled a satchel into his lap and withdrew some dried fruit and venison. Kaltor’s stomach growled. Gereth offered the travel food. "Hungry?"
"Stop trying to avoid the issue!" Kaltor snapped. "Throw it here."
As they ate, Gereth explained the events of the last few weeks. They had been excavating the sealed level of the palace where he’d assumed the rarest and most powerful of weapons were stored. The door posed an impenetrable defense, forged of a strange, metallic white stone which even their best miners could not crack. The inscription on the door, however, mentioned a Remnant.
"So that’s the real reason I had to accompany you," Kaltor summarized. "And when I open that door, how do you plan to keep my secret— a secret?"
With a cocky grin Gereth bit off a chunk of venison and chewed excitedly. "I didn’t tell them about that part of the translation," he answered simply. "But imagine when we open it and get you a real weapon! Something from the Age of Tears, from before the Crippling!"
His eyes took on that day-dreaming, teenaged expression again. Kaltor eyed him nervously. Sometimes you seem a little too excited about my powers maturing, he thought, though he could not restrain a smile at the same time.
Such a weapon meant freedom to scour each country in search of Keevan. It meant having the strength to protect him from every nation’s influence. They would each try to buy the Remnants first. When they realized Kaltor and Keevan were not so easily controlled, they would try to kill them, rather than risk such a power turning against them at some point.
Hence the training.
A knock sounded at the back of the wagon. "Lord Gereth," a shrill voice echoed. "We need you at the head of the column. A merchant’s wagon was left in the road after a raid. We need every man to help move it."
"Very well," Gereth said, rising to his feet. "Rest well, my son," he said, disappearing between the flaps of the wagon cover.
Cool, moist air wafted into Kaltor’s face, and with gritted teeth he restrained the impulse to abandon his bland confines. Got to be sure my bones have recovered enough, he reminded himself. Though I could probably handle riding a horse without bearing my full weight on it. Where’s that leather shoulder sheath?
His hands worked their way gingerly through the well-kept arsenal ‘til he found the wide leather straps, lined with various slits. He gathered another half dozen throwing blades, the thin variety that lacked handles, and started slipping them in between the slits in the leather.
The result was a leather band about four inches wide and six long that he could wrap around a leg or an arm, with the backs of the blades protruding toward his shoulder or hip for easy access. He tied it around his left bicep, getting used to the feel of the equipment.
Then a dozen bows snapped in the night.
Arrows hissed into their targets, knocking Kaltor’s driver from his seat to land to his left inside the wagon, his chest perforated and scattering flecks of blood across the wooden targets. The majority of the screams originated from the head of the caravan. Kaltor could sense Varadours drawing on their power from the nearby trees, rushing forward.
Ambush, Kaltor thought bitterly. Honmour and Jensai better get back soon. He glanced at his healing leg and the dead driver. Wait hidden or try to help? Approaching horse hooves cut his thoughts short.
"Check the wagons first," a nervous voice ordered softly. Kaltor closed his eyes and feigned sleep, using his skin vision to watch his enemy. Some Varadours could heal in their sleep, so any observer who could sense his power usage would assume he was unconscious and not a threat. Kaltor flicked the blanket over to partially expose his leg. Seeing his wound would make that assumption quite plausible.
A tall bandit dressed in animal furs tossed the canvas aside and leapt into the wagon. Kaltor almost smiled to see the man’s surprised face as he looked around the wagon in awe at the two dozen blades protruding from all the targets, now covered in a spattering of blood from the dead driver.
The thief’s eyes paused on the metal protruding from Kaltor’s bag, took one look at the sleeping patient, and smiled, drawing his sword. He took one step forward, pinning Kaltor’s blanket to the ground beneath his weight, and raised his sword to his right for a decapitating blow. Eyes still shut, relying only on his black-and-white skin vision, Kaltor’s fingers snapped to the throwing blades still sheathed around his bicep.
Six inches of steel pierced the thief’s throat before he could cry out. With his other hand Kaltor yanked his blanket out from under the thief, spinning his body into the air to land helplessly on his back.
It was over in a flash.
"Keyden," a feminine voice whispered gruffly. "You okay?" Kaltor listened carefully. The rest of the bandits were further down the wagon train. They were alone.
A serrated spear poked through the canvas as a second thief opened it slowly and leaned in close to the wagon flap to glance inside. Kaltor crawled to the back of the wagon, just under her field of vision, and waited until the woman poked her head in.
She only had time to gasp in surprise as he lunged upward from beneath the spear, hauling her from the back of her horse and into the wagon. With a blow to her wrist he forced the spear from her right hand, using his other arm to cut off her air supply.
She thrashed about a bit, beating her hands and feet against the driver and then against the first thief’s body. She managed to grab one of Kaltor’s blades and tried to wrench it from the wall.
No, you don’t! he thought, wrapping his legs around her arm as she managed to jerk the weapon free. He tangled her dagger arm in his blanket, then locked his arms around her neck with a stronge, choking pressure until she finally stopped struggling.
When she lost consciousness he released her, her head hitting the floor of the wagon with a dull thud. Throughout the caravan he could feel Varadours drawing on their power and saw flashes of blue light through the cracks in the canvas as Sight Seekers fought back. He turned his attention back toward his prisoner.
Her tangled auburn hair contrasted oddly with her soft features, but the scar on her throat attested to the cause of her rough voice. Gereth’s voice echoed from somewhere in the distance, rallying the men to fight, pulling him back to more urgent matters.
Kaltor relieved both the corpse and his captive of their belts, tying his prisoner’s arms and legs tightly to each other. Then he tied both belts together with his blanket, leaving her back arching awkwardly as he tightened her wrists and ankles together. She resembled a trussed-up goose with red hair. He blind-folded her for good measure, removed his blades from the wall, and slipped out the back of the wagon.
Useless animal, he grumbled, sneaking carefully onto the girl’s horse. He left the first thief’s mount where it still stood, patiently waiting for its master’s return. Unfortunately, I have to use you and stay off this leg. Hope you don’t die and roll on top of me. He shivered at the thought of lying helpless on the ground as the enemy advanced.
The night air was crisp and clear as he guided the mild-mannered gelding around his wagon, urging it forward, toward the action. Varadour energy enhanced his vision, allowing him to discern Gereth’s face among the strongest pocket of survivors, eyes and mace blazing with blue Sight Seeker energy.
North of them two horns sounded, long and angry. His fellow Battleborn were joining the fray. Every surviving bandit shouted the retreat, then sprinted for the tree line. One burst from a wagon nearby, running with all his strength for cover. Kaltor snorted at his stupidity, launching a steel blade into his calf.
He hit the ground hard and for a moment still fought to rise, until a feathered shaft struck from the shadows. Apparently the thieves did not like the idea of their victims taking them prisoner. Kaltor threw himself onto the saddle’s right stirrup, keeping his horse between himself and the bandits. A few arrows flew by harmlessly until the attackers retreated.
With a careful but relieved glance Kaltor saw Gereth, unharmed, rallying the survivors. Good, he thought. Now to see about pursuit. He pivoted his horse, urging it back toward the horns sounding a few hundred yards northward, carefully watching each wagon as he passed for signs of remaining bandits lying in wait. He urged his mount passed the last one, reining it to a halt a dozen paces into the darkness.
"Nice timing," he said aloud as his friends used their skin vision to pierce the darkness.
"Well, we were still too far away to help," Jensai said simply. "We felt a little mis-direction was in order."
"They did well," a sweet, almost musical voice acknowledged.
Kaltor pulled his horse back a pace in surprise. "Hi, Mother," he said with a hearty smile. "They decided to escort you, I see," Through his skin vision he saw the three of them riding side by side, Honmour looking particularly uneasily.
Of course they stayed to escort her, he thought. Honmour is still working off that emotional transfer. Sorry, my friend.
The four of them sat awkwardly for a moment before Krin rode forward and embraced her son. She wore a vertically striped cloak of black and brown, with blue tassels along the edges, a symbol of her stature among the Peacebinders. Her hair was straight and face devoid of makeup, as her religion dictated. "How have you fared, my son?" she asked. "I heard you were wounded."
"I recovered enough to hold my own," he said simply. Turning to his friends he said, "Thank you for escorting her. Please let my father know you’re here and grab the prisoner tied up in the last wagon," They nodded and heeled their mounts roughly, Honmour seeming quite relieved to get some distance from Krin, although he glanced over his shoulder at her as he left.
Just another few hours and he should be back to normal, Kaltor assured himself. They directed their mounts toward the wagons, but their pace was lazy as Krin inquired about Kaltor’s training, friends, and plans for the site they were about to examine. With Jensai and Honmour there, the caravan had more than enough healers to tend to the wounded.
"Why are you going along, Mother?" Kaltor asked. "You know Dad hopes to find a weapon worthy of a Remnant, right?"
She sighed. "Yes, your father has dealt with a lot of ridicule for his failures. I’m afraid he has a hard time not taking it personally. He wants to prove wrong those who laugh or scorn. His pride is getting in the way, I fear," She steered her horse a little closer and wrapped her arm around her son, though her small frame could do little more than leave her hand upon the small of his back.
"Mother, what did they tell you about the viper hound from yesterday?" Kaltor asked.
She glanced into his eyes curiously. "Jensai merely mentioned he did not think you could have landed that final blow without help of some kind," Her voice darkened dangerously. "Did you draw on your Remnant powers?"
Kaltor chuckled with relief, putting an arm around her small shoulders. "No, I’ve been trained well to hide it," He explained the viper hound’s strange pause in mid-strike, the feelings of peace as it was distracted, and the person he thought he’d seen in the waterfall. Krin listened carefully, pondering each detail.
"This was during a typical viper hound attack?" she asked.
"No," Kaltor admitted. "It attacked without provocation. I wasn’t even using my power at the time."
She nodded, smiled, and tried to tussle his hair affectionately. She stretched so far to reach his head she lost her balance, forcing Kaltor to catch her by the nape of her cloak and set her back on her horse. They both laughed.
"It would seem to me the Abyss wants you dead," she explained with maternal affection and her usual matter-of-fact faith. "And Celestia is holding them in check."
Kaltor nodded, recalling her stories each night during his childhood. Celestia sought to elevate mankind to a higher moral standing so they could travel the stars together. Those sentenced to live in the Abyss were trapped in the world’s core. Such were the legends, anyway, though moments like the viper hound’s attack made the existence of those two powers a much more believable possibility.
"What if this happens again?" Kaltor asked.
"As long as you do your best, the protector you’ve been assigned by the Gods will do his," she said simply. "Just do your part, my warrior-healer."
Kaltor’s stomach sank. How can I ask you religious advice when every year I lie to you about my training? he mourned. Someday soon we will have to tell you. How will you react? He glanced up at the stars, trying to envision that day.
Krin misunderstood his silence, patting his shoulder affectionately. "You are the first Remnant the world has ever seen, my son. I think you will soon learn exactly how many rules don’t quite apply to y
ou. Even the Blood Breaking, perhaps," Kaltor bit his lip. This was not the direction I wanted to take the conversation.
Will you still love your son if he’s an assassin? Worse, will my protector continue to do his part when he sees me lying to you? Dishonesty, stealing, murder— these were a few of the actions Peacebinders had proclaimed for centuries would bind a soul to the Abyss after death. Exactly how many rules did not apply to a Remnant?
"I don’t want to think about it for now," Kaltor admitted, though the subject he spoke of had little to do with the Blood Break. That particular sacrifice was one he’d long accepted. "This is a simple escort mission. I really don’t think I’ll have to use my abilities to such extremes just yet," Sensing his discomfort, the gelding beneath him snorted and pranced a bit.
"We’re all mortal," Krin admitted. "We must accept it and move on."
"All the more reason to use well what time I have," Kaltor said grimly. "Cutting it in half is no small sacrifice," Unless she’s right, he thought hopefully. I am a Remnant— and the legends don’t mention Blood Breaking before the Crippling. What if I could lead a full life and still have my full powers to strengthen me? With a weapon in hand like my father mentioned, perhaps? The thought made his skin tingle in anticipation.
"May Ashendel bless your decision," Krin prayed, gripping his hand strongly. She’d always favored the God of compassion. "You have a good heart. Don’t ever let them take that from you."
"I will try, Mother," Kaltor promised. "Come. I can see Dad talking to the caravan leaders. He might need your help to convince them to keep going. You can remind them Honmour, Jensai, and I are here, as well. Battleborn have a way of inspiring confidence."
Krin nodded thankfully at the suggestion. "I’ll go ahead, then. Why don’t you tell Honmour I’m sorry for the blending my husband put him through?" She nodded toward his friends at the last wagon, now hauling the captured thief belly-first onto the back of the other bandit’s horse. Kaltor hugged his mother goodbye before urging his mount in Honmour’s direction.
"How’s your leg, Kaltor?" Jensai asked as he rode within earshot. "It looked pretty ugly last night."
Kaltor rubbed his affliction. "It’ll be fine by morning. The body can dispose of extra bone much faster than it can re-build it. I suppose Gereth managed his purpose after all."
"In a fashion," Honmour replied darkly, dismounting to adjust the captive’s restraints. This time he tied her ankles and wrists together around the belly of the horse, laying her face first on the saddle. He leapt back instinctively as she tried to bite his face. Jensai reintroduced her to unconsciousness with the butt of his spear.
"We’re going to have to discuss your taste in women, Kaltor," Honmour suggested. "A throat-slitting thief is hardly a good start for you, I think," His tone held a little of his old, pompous humor, a good sign that he was starting to recover from the night’s ordeal.
"She’ll know the nature of the bandits," Kaltor explained. "Not to mention the location of their camps. Let Gereth play with her mind a while, then we’ll see what happens."
"Exactly how many of the corpses in that wagon attacked you, anyway?" Jensai asked curiously. "I thought Taneth told you to go easy on that leg."
"Just the young one," Kaltor said, riding up beside the wagon and reaching over its edge to pull out the bag of blades. "I caught them both by surprise. It wasn’t much of a fight. I needed the practice, anyway."
Jensai and Honmour exchanged knowing glances. "Yeah, Gereth did say just being in the same space as you felt like he was endangering himself."
"Why?" Kaltor asked innocently, strapping a second bladed arsenal to his other bicep.
"Guess he just doesn’t know you like we do," Honmour said chuckling.
"I’m just glad you were able to vent some of your frustrations without hurting anyone important," Jensai said seriously. "Let’s go drop off our captive and see what Gereth decides to do," He gave the thief’s horse a tug, nudging his mount toward the head of the caravan.
They approached the first wagon just as the riders managed to push the bandit’s cart off the road. "Alright, everyone," Gereth announced. "We’re going to push through the night. We don’t stop until we’re at the protection of the site," A half dozen men passed them on foot, heading back to their wagons, weapons in hand, eyes alert on the surrounding tree line.
"You alright, Kaltor?" Gereth asked. "You supposed to be up and about?"
"The bandits he fought found him quite competent," Honmour said with a chuckle. "Especially this woman." He grasped her by the hair and lifted her face to Gereth’s. She groaned in pain, struggling in fearful disorientation thanks to the blindfold. "Recognize her?"
"No," he responded offhandedly. "Most of them are outcasts from Shaylis. They tend to favor foreign victims. Less chance of running into anyone they knew," He stared at her a moment, cleaning the gore from his mace’s head.
"Gag her. Untie her feet and strap her to the back of one of the wagons," Gereth ordered. "I’ll not waste a horse on her kind. If she’s strong enough to walk through the night, Melshek and I will discuss what to do with her," Honmour nodded, pivoted their mounts and headed back down the trail.
"‘Melshek’?" Jensai said, surprise seeping through his tone. "As in ‘Prince Melshek’?"
"As in, you go guard the rear of the column," Gereth said simply, "and you might get to meet him tomorrow if you cover our backs well enough tonight," Jensai eyed him dangerously before grunting his acknowledgement and urging his horse toward the back of the caravan.
"Dad, there’s no need to punish Jensai," Kaltor said. "It’s the nature of our training to always ask questions," He watched his friend ride off, drawing on a bit of Varadour power to pierce the darkness.
Even as an assassin, Jensai still grinned and greeted all the riders as he passed. He probably knows half their names by now, he surmised. I don’t know how he’s gotten so good with people over the last year. He’s been as cut off as the rest of us.
"What punishment?" Gereth asked, signaling to the caravan to continue moving. His eyes bathed the surroundings in blue light as they rode, searching for any other signs of ambush.
"A guard position? Are you serious?" Kaltor prodded. "We’re meant to be used offensively, Father. Put us on the defensive too long and we get— anxious."
Gereth paused his horse, eyeing Kaltor up and down, particularly focusing on the dual bicep bracers holding a dozen throwing blades. "I see your point," he admitted. "Why don’t the three of you ride on ahead a bit, just to scout out the area? Let us know if you find a short cut or anything interesting."
Offering a two fingered salute, Kaltor turned and hurried down the trail. "Let’s go, Honmour," he said. "I convinced him to let us scout ahead."
"Oh, thank the Gods," Honmour said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I was afraid I’d have to sit in the wagon with you tonight," He chuckled as he tightened the thief’s restraints on the back of the wagon. "Bandits I’ll fight any day, but being stuck in the same room with you for too long requires a special type of training even the king can’t afford!"
"That’s enough," Kaltor said. "I’m not THAT difficult to put up with."
"Obviously," Honmour responded. The thief groaned. "Seems even she agrees with me."
This could be a long night, Kaltor thought grimly, rubbing his leg self-consciously.
Chapter 4
Decoy Page 3
