A thump as Cottar set his shield down against the bridge balustrade above Terrell’s head. Metal scraped as both men sat.
*We’re only hearing them through our ears,* Prince Terrell said inside Kirin’s head. *Not in our minds. I don’t think they can hear us talk.*
Kirin hesitated for a moment, but the one called Cottar chose that moment to speak.
“Sir, if we do catch them, there are only two of us—”
Fenman cut him off sharply. “We’re in half-armor with swords and shields, Cottar. Our prisoner’s got no weapon and I saw nothing but a knife on his rescuer, no sword, not even a leather jerkin. We can take them. Remember that we want the Prince alive if we can capture him, but better he dies than escapes.”
“But that creepy darkness the mage cast, sir!” Cottar’s voice waged a losing battle against fear.
“An illusion.” Fenman’s voice oozed confidence. “Nothing more. It harmed none of us. If he casts it again, use your ears and get your blade into him as fast as you can.”
Kirin winced inside. With all the sand and pebbles in this canyon he had no chance of moving silently.
“Yes, sir.”
Kirin heard a water bottle being uncorked, a noisy gulp. Then the shield grated again, and Cottar’s voice sank to a whisper. Both men went very quiet.
*Damnation,* Prince Terrell swore inside Kirin’s head. *I think he’s remembered that they didn’t check under this bridge.*
Kirin suppressed three different curses. *Highness, stay low against the foundation. I’ll try to baffle them enough to get my knife into them one at a time.* He began sending his Shadow out from his chest to thicken the bridge’s mundane shadow. Very carefully, he got to his feet—and dislodged a pebble. It rattled down the dry wash until it hit sand.
Kirin could practically feel the two men’s attention sharpen. There were no more words, only soft scrapes as they positioned themselves on either side of the span.
*They’re sure to come at us simultaneously,* Prince Terrell warned. *They’ll probably vault over the balusters to drop on each side, and hope you have your back to one.*
Kirin agreed wordlessly and thickened his Shadow to its blackest. The world took on a weird sharpness to his eyes even as Terrell closed his own to the artificial night.
The two Gwythlos landed with simultaneous grunts—and Kirin buried them both in Shadow.
They charged in anyway.
The taller man in a plumed officer’s helmet must be Fenman. He had landed well, sword at the ready and shield held in tight to cover him from crotch to throat. His long, leaf-shaped blade chopped viciously. Kirin swayed aside, felt the wind on his skin, then darted in and jammed his knife under the man’s chin. The point scraped across the helmet’s chin-strap, losing some of its force, then sliced into the right side of Fenman’s neck.
The officer gasped and tried to ram his elbow into Kirin’s ribs. He connected but not with the sharp armored point, only the muscle of his upper arm. It still threw Kirin off balance. He had to grab Fenman’s shoulder to stay close enough for a second stab. Fenman tried to tuck his chin to protect his bleeding neck, and by blind chance forced the knife-point down and into his windpipe. Kirin drove it through with all the strength of his arm and sliced both the windpipe and a big blood vessel. Fenman staggered, fell to his knees and spilled dark liquid on the ground. He dropped his sword, pawed at his fountaining throat, and collapsed.
Kirin whirled to see the other soldier, Cottar, land hard on his back. Terrell had swung the broom-handle blindly and caught the man behind his knees. Cottar flung his arms wide in a useless attempt to salvage balance. His helmet and shield boomed as they slammed against the rocky floor of the channel. Malicious fate did him dirty as the tip of his sword flashed a foot over Terrell’s crouching head and jammed into the bridge’s underside. The tremendous torque forced the blade to bend like a bow. The fine spring steel, too strong to break, flipped itself out of the man’s grip.
Prince Terrell, who had been on his knees, dropped the broom and swarmed onto the supine man. Still blind in the Shadow, he grappled the stunned Cottar by touch, feeling for his weapons.
But Gwythlo soldiers were trained to be tough and quick. Despite the blow to his helmet and the pitch darkness, Cottar swung his shield back to pin Terrell against his breastplate. Terrell shoved, tried to lever himself free while still groping for the knife that had to be somewhere. But his antagonist knew where his own weapons were even when blind, and his hand got to the dagger first. He drew and raised it to plunge into the Prince’s exposed side.
“No!” Kirin shouted, and sank the Shadow’s fangs into Cottar’s throat.
The man’s life poured through him fast as lightning, slow as the most fiendish torture. Indelibly there and yet gone in an instant, replaced by a bewildered sense of loss that lingered like a wound.
Terrell freed himself from Cottar’s dead embrace as the Shadow drained back into Kirin. The prince scooped up the knife fallen from nerveless fingers, found the sword too, and only then looked at Kirin, who swayed on his feet.
“He had a wife and two daughters,” Kirin croaked, and collapsed into a trembling ball.
CHAPTER 48: TERRELL
Terrell sat quietly next to unconscious Kirin. He’d shifted him into a more comfortable position and put the blanket under his rescuer’s head before he searched the bodies. Between them, Ap Marn’s men had another two meals of travel biscuits and two water skins, both almost empty. They’d have had a thirsty trip back to Silbariki if they hadn’t met their ends here.
Fenman’s clothes were soaked with blood but Cottar had been close enough to Terrell’s size that he could wear the soldier’s boots, shirt, and pants. Stripping the corpse had been unnerving. There wasn’t a fresh mark on the body that Terrell hadn’t put there himself during their struggle. Now he sat next to Kirin, waiting for him to wake up, and debated with himself.
He killed Cottar with his Shadow. Killed like a priestess stopping a man’s heart, only men don’t have command of flesh like that. But demons might. He shivered despite the heat, staring at Kirin’s sleeping face while fingering Fenman’s belt knife. He had the officer’s sword too. Did a demon do that for him? Is Kirin really a blood-mage? Or demon possessed?
And the hardest question: Should I kill him now, while I can? He gave me one chance and I passed it up. But now . . .
Terrell teetered on the edge of the decision, then set it aside. I need to know more. I don’t think he knows that I looked him over magically last night. I’ll dare to try more. I can still hear his mind churning. I’ll look deeper this time.
He closed his eyes on the distractions of the canyon and reached inside his mind for that link that had carried their thoughts earlier. Still there. Cautiously, with more practice now, he reached toward the mind next to him.
His mind ran right into a wall; a shivering, shifting wall, but still impassable. No matter how he searched and prodded, Kirin’s mind stayed totally opaque. Terrell could tell he lived and might be dreaming, but discovered nothing more. There was no push-back. Whatever guarded Kirin’s sleep didn’t try to retaliate for Terrell’s probing. But it didn’t let him in either.
I’m going to have to risk this with him awake. He clutched the knife for a moment, reliving that terrifying instant when he understood what Kirin had done. Killed without even a touch. Cottar was at least ten feet away! Not even the highest-ranked Priestess in Silbar can do that. Aunt Klairveen couldn’t do that. A mage would have to use a spell, like a lightning bolt or fire strike, to kill at a distance, and it would leave a mark. Same with an arrow or spear. Nobody can kill from a distance like that without leaving a mark. Nobody human.
But Kirin could. Kirin had.
Kill him, or don’t. But decide.
Terrell set the knife down and leaned over Kirin, took his sleeping hand. That strange connection formed again and Light flowed out of him across the contact of skin. It laved the barrier in Kirin’s mind and diffused into him
. Kirin twitched, mumbled, and awoke, his thoughts a chaotic jumble of images. Two girls perhaps six and eight years old. A woman old enough to be the girls’ mother. Ap Marn and his banner, and a roiling mix of love and contempt.
Cottar’s love for Gwythlo and contempt for Silbaris, Terrell guessed.
*Yeah,* Kirin replied groggily. *God forgive me! I didn’t want to eat his life, but it was the only way I could stop him from killing you.*
Terrell let out his breath in a gust, nearly bowed under the weight of Kirin’s grief and sorrow. *I don’t think a blood mage would feel that way,* he ventured.
Kirin shuddered against the stone. *Then what am I? I don’t want to be a vampire—and Ymera said I couldn’t be one, I don’t show any of the signs. She’s got claws and fangs like a wolf, Haroun witness! She said I’m not a demon either, but I’ve drunk three lives now. I hate it!*
Terrell said, as gently as he could manage, *May I look inside your mind?*
Kirin stared up at him; their faces were barely a foot apart. *You’re wondering if you should kill me, aren’t you? I saved your life and you’re thinking about killing me.* Anger flickered against the consuming guilt and shame before he continued softly, *I almost wish you would.*
*I’m frightened by your talents,* Terrell answered unflinchingly. *Worried about what you may become. You can kill without touching, and without leaving a mark. You must know how terrifying that is. But I owe you a debt of gratitude for taking down both Cottar and Fenman when they would have taken—possibly killed—me. Tell me, did you drink Fenman’s life too?*
*No.* Kirin shuddered, his whole body quaking. *Haroun be thanked. Ymera said drinking adult lives leads to madness. Three men are three too many. Even the hyena was too much.* He clenched his fists and shook his head violently, then sighed. *Go ahead. Look where you want.*
Terrell’s mind pressed against that wall as it vanished. Aching grief poured out of Kirin, the scent and touch of a woman Terrell had never seen but knew intimately, as he knew her name and knew that she was dead. Maia. A baby. That man on the trapeze bar. More men like him; Kirin’s family? Then the sensations changed, became darker and more painful. Cottar. Another soldier, one of Arnaud’s men. A hyena. And that disgusting blood-mage.
Both Terrell and Kirin flinched away from that memory. Terrell found his awareness back inside his own body, still dizzy from the storm of Kirin’s memories.
*I learned about blood-mages when I studied magic,* Terrell told him. *The lust for power generally consumes them from the inside out, hollowing out their moral awareness until no foulness seems too low. That’s what draws the demons to them, the self-destruction of their own souls. You feel to me like a man tormented, but not destroyed. Not even close. Whatever you want, it’s not power.*
*I want my family back.* More painfully, with a surge of grief that almost overwhelmed Terrell, Kirin declared, *I want my wife back. But I can’t have her, unless God grants a miracle. And who am I to get a miracle? I just want to raise my son and be a DiUmbra.*
*I believe you, Kirin DiUmbra,* Terrell told him silently. *I’ll take a chance on you, frightening as you are. Can you get up now? We don’t know how close Fenman’s other men may be.*
“Yes,” Kirin croaked aloud.
Terrell released his hand and stood up with the acrobat. That steady flow of Light cut off and for a moment he knew Kirin’s sorrow at the loss. Then the acrobat shook himself and strapped on Cottar’s sword belt before they set off again. Terrell already had Fenman’s, and he had put the few other items of plunder into Kirin’s pack with the silk rope and cut-up bandages. They plodded on up the canyon at the fastest pace Terrell could manage. Wearing Cottar’s boots helped.
*There’s no point in trying to hide our trail now,* Terrell told Kirin. *By not returning, Fenman sends as much of a message as if he’d sent a construct, if not as quickly. We’ve got to get out of this canyon and find the fastest way to Sulmona.*
*I’m not arguing.* Kirin stripped off the brush and handed him the broomstick. *Here, use this for a walking stick. It’ll help you move faster.*
They drove themselves along at the best pace Terrell could manage. The suns sank behind them, clouds patched the sky, grew and slowly darkened. The canyon twisted monotonously, once bending back so far on itself that the dry bottom punched through the thin wall and they walked under a titanic arch. The afternoon heat peaked early and ebbed fast. They listened for the pursuit that they dreaded but heard only wind in the stones. It had grown louder and the clouds overhead were shot with lightning. The growl of thunder stalked the canyons.
Terrell squinted as the suns fell below the cloud layer and their light reflected off pale stone walls ahead. He had already finished Fenman’s water bottle and the man’s ration biscuit; tomorrow they’d be hungry again. He glanced at the clouds and longed for rain, though none looked to be forthcoming here. He imagined a stream of it flowing down the dry canyon. Splashing from ledge to ledge and filling the hollows of the stone. Imagined slaking his thirst and dangling his feet in its blessed coolness.
“Do you hear a sound?” Kirin asked aloud, stopping. They were at the start of a straight stretch perhaps a quarter-mile long, a bare channel of scoured stone flanked by cliffs topped with broken talus slopes on either side.
Terrell listened hard. Ahead he could faintly hear a rumbling noise, a throbbing of the air. “What is that?”
A wall of muddy water appeared around the distant bend. It grew into an unstoppable fist taller than their heads, racing toward them.
CHAPTER 49: KIRIN
“This way!” Kirin snapped.
He grabbed Terrell and dragged him into a steep little side canyon barely over a yard wide. Three steps and they hit a vertical wall as high as his chest, the lowest tread in a giant flight of water-carved steps. Terrell flung his stick as far up as he could reach and tried to climb. Kirin seized him by the waist and threw him atop the step, vaulted himself up after. Before Terrell could climb up the second step Kirin hurled him up that too. The roar of the approaching flood filled their ears. They made it up one more step before the flood reached the mouth of their side canyon.
The crest surged past like a raging army. It spun off a tongue that tried to lick the little canyon clean. Water swallowed the first step, surged up and over the second, climbed the third. Kirin desperately shoved Terrell up onto the forth step as the flood rose about his ankles, knees, waist, chest. It slammed him against the rock with bruising force. Spouting water splashed off the walls.
The wave churned against the fourth step, battered Kirin from side to side in the narrow canyon. Then the muddy water sank backwards with a terrible sucking force. Kirin’s feet lost all grip on the slick rock. He slid backwards as the flood took him.
Terrell grabbed his wrist with both hands, braced his feet on either side of the narrow slot, and hung on.
The wave slammed Kirin against the rock walls again, twisted him, but couldn’t tear him free of Terrell’s fierce grip. Kirin gasped as his head banged against rough stone, then choked on a lungful of more water than air. His free hand scrabbled for a handhold as he hung, helpless in the wave’s power. Then Terrell dragged him out of it. The water churned resentfully, spat more wavelets, and sank down. It revealed the steps one by one until finally the wave drained completely out of the side canyon. There was only muddy water dripping down the walls.
Kirin hacked and wheezed till his lungs were clear. Each dry breath was better than wine.
*I prayed for water.* Terrell said inside Kirin’s mind. *I should have been more precise.*
*Yeah.* Kirin spit mud. *If you hadn’t grabbed my hand . . .*
*If you hadn’t tossed me to safety first . . .*
Kirin looked at his face and croaked, “Thank you for saving my life.”
*And you, mine.* Terrell’s eyes met his gaze frankly, blue eyes to black.
Their minds merged in shared gratitude like two handfuls of water flowing together. The sensation was so i
ntimate that Kirin jerked back from the prince and banged his head against the canyon wall.
*Are you hurt?* Prince Terrell asked him, mental voice full of concern.
Kirin rubbed the back of his head and found no blood. “No, just another bump. Let’s get going.”
They climbed down while listening for another flood. The wet canyon walls were banded with mud farther above their heads than either could reach. They continued slogging east, away from Silbariki, and soon became as beslimed as their surroundings. Both looked longingly at the many pools left behind amid the rocks.
*Still more mud than water,* Terrell thought at him, poking one puddle with his stick.
Kirin hesitated a moment, that uncomfortable intimacy too fresh in his mind. But he was grateful the prince had saved his life, and he could tell that the man hadn’t meant anything harmful by it. He opened his mind to the link again and agreed. *Maybe the flood caught the rest of Fenman’s troops.*
*We can hope.* Terrell’s agreement held a dash of vicious satisfaction.
Kirin thought about being chained to a floor for eight days and said nothing.
They slept that night under a long shelf of rock raised above a fragment of the old road that had escaped the waters. The mud dried on their bodies to an itchy misery that almost made them forget their thirst. Cold breezes probed the blanket as they huddled together, linked by the endless flow of Terrell’s Light into Kirin’s Shadow, and by the fear of being found.
The next day lacked even a morsel to break their fast. Speaking was torture for dry throats and all the mud puddles had vanished overnight. They slogged on.
Then, around an innocuous bend, mud returned to the canyon floor.
*There’s water ahead!* Kirin thought, and they both picked up their pace.
A hundred feet farther the canyon opened into a mountain-ringed basin. Trees towered on a plateau several feet above their heads. Birds sang and a hawk patrolled the sky.
*Look.* Terrell pointed. A little waterfall trickled down a sandstone wall to feed the muddy channel.
Shadow and Light Page 47
