“I’d rather not,” Cresten said. “I’d prefer never to see her again.”
Tache laughed and thumped him on the back. “You’re thinking about this all wrong, Whip. Never mind the Walker. Sure, she’s pretty, but there’s others prettier. You’ll forget her before long. That time demon, though – her kind know things. They can tell when time is different, and they remember stuff the rest of us don’t.”
Tache’s excitement insinuated itself into Cresten.
“The demon said something like that. She could tell Lenna had been Walking. She said her years were… were changed somehow.” He reached for the memory. “‘Confused,’ she said.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet she has all sorts of information. Knowledge of this place, the masters and mistresses. She might be able to read our futures.”
“I don’t know if–”
“The lower courtyard, you said?”
Cresten faltered. Hurt as he was by Lenna’s recent treatment, he regretted having revealed so much. It felt like a betrayal.
“Whip?”
He twitched a shoulder. “It was only that one time. I don’t think she comes there a lot.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”
A betrayal of her trust, of what they’d shared that evening and before, of their entire friendship, however brief it had been. He should have said nothing. He should have lied.
He reached for the bread again. This time Tache let him eat. Later, as Cresten gathered his platter and utensils to leave, Tache stopped him.
“You let me know if you see her again, you understand?” “The- the Tirribin, you mean?”
Tache laughed too loudly. “Of course. You think I care if you see your Walker friend again?”
“Right. Sure I will.”
He scuttled away, refusing to glance back, despite the laughter that chased him from the table. He didn’t look at Lenna and Vahn either. Not since his first night, years ago, had he felt so alone.
Cresten tried to avoid them all – Tache, Lenna, Vahn, the time demon – but the palace, which he thought so huge when he arrived, now proved to be terribly small.
A ha’turn after their first encounter with the Tirribin, as Cresten walked back toward the keep from another late session with the Binder, he heard Tache call to him.
He slowed, unable at first to spot the older boy. Tache materialized out of the darkness, pale eyes shining.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “She’s down there again.” Cresten didn’t have to ask who he meant.
“I don’t want to go, Tache.”
“I don’t care. I want to meet the Tirribin. You’re going to introduce us.”
What could he do? He followed Tache to the lower courtyard, where Lenna and the demon – Droë – stood together in the bonewhite gleam of a half-moon.
As they neared the pair, Lenna spun. Seeing who had come, she glowered, flicking a glance at Tache before directing the full weight of her anger on Cresten.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted a word with your friend,” Tache said, though she hadn’t asked the question of him.
“You wanted,” she fired back. “What business does a mediocre Spanner have with a Tirribin?”
“Careful, Doen,” he said, velvet menace in his voice. “You may be a Walker, and the masters’ favorite, but I don’t tolerate that from anyone.”
She glared at Cresten again. “How could you bring him here?”
I didn’t bring him. He made me do this. The denials withered before he could give them voice. If she hadn’t hated him before, she did now.
“I’ve always wanted to meet a Tirribin,” Tache said, looking past Lenna to the time demon.
Cresten could see her more clearly this night. Moonlight illuminated dark, perfect features – high cheekbones, a delicate nose, full lips – and lent its glow to long, golden hair. Her eyes, as light and haunting as they had been during that first encounter, registered amusement.
“I almost never wish to treat with humans, unless they happen to be Walkers.” She shifted her gaze to Lenna. “Did he threaten you a moment ago? I thought I heard a threat in what he said.”
“You can read the future, can’t you?” Tache asked.
The demon ignored him, her attention still on Lenna, a question in her raised eyebrows.
“Yes, he threatened me, but it’s not important.”
“Hey!” Tache snapped his fingers. “I asked you a question.”
Droë’s smile slipped. “He’s quite rude. I don’t think I like him.” She lifted her chin in Cresten’s direction. “What about this one? Is he still your friend? Something’s changed.”
Yes, you changed it.
“He’s still my friend,” Lenna said.
His eyes met hers. He read an apology in her glance, and also forgiveness. He essayed a smile, but she had already turned away, back to Tache.
“You should leave,” she said.
Tache shook his head. “I’m not finished speaking with your friend. I want an answer to my question. Can you read the future?”
“No,” Droë said, ice in her tone, her expression, her very stance. “That’s not how our powers work. I read time. I can tell when years don’t match the person, or when time has been altered. You want a Seer, not a Tirribin.”
“I think you’re lying. Tirribin are supposed to be powerful. What you’re talking about…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s nonsense.” A breeze stirred the air, and Tache wrinkled his nose. “What is that stink?” He frowned at Droë. “Is that you?”
“He’s very, very rude,” the Tirribin said.
She continued to glower, and she opened her mouth, revealing small, dagger-sharp teeth. At the sight of them, Cresten backed away.
“You’re right, Droë,” Lenna said. “He is. I’m leaving. You and I can speak another time.”
She tried to walk past Tache, but he grabbed her arm, spinning her around. She gave a small cry and struggled to break free.
“You’re not leaving until I’m done talking to the demon.” Cresten took a step toward Tache.
“Release her,” Droë said.
Tache grinned. “Not yet. Tell me what else you can do.”
“Release her or pay in years.” A rasp roughened the threat.
Lenna ceased her struggles, her eyes going wide. “Droë, no!”
Tache let go of her and raised his hands for the Tirribin to see. “No need to get angry,” he said. “She’s fine.”
Lenna stumbled away from him.
“You,” Droë said to Lenna, her voice grating still. “And that one.” She indicated Cresten with another nod. “That was our arrangement.”
“Yes, but–”
Lenna had time for no more. In a blur of golden, moontouched hair, wraithlike eyes, and breadknife teeth, the Tirribin launched herself at Tache.
He managed a truncated scream, fell under the fury of her assault. Fists flailing, feet lashing out, he tried to fight her off, but she held fast to him, her mouth at his throat, a nimbus of sliding colored light surrounding them both.
Lenna screamed, but didn’t move. Cresten thought he should try to pull Droë off the boy, but he was too horrified to make the attempt, too frightened of what the Tirribin might do to him.
He heard voices and footsteps. Others approached from the upper courtyards. Novitiates and at least one master. As they drew near, Droë lifted her head from Tache’s still form. She eyed Lenna and then Cresten before dashing away. After a few strides, she blurred to unearthly speed. Cresten lost sight of her.
He crept closer to Tache’s body. The boy stared at the stars with lifeless eyes, his cheeks sunken, his skin desiccated, as if he had died days ago. Cresten sensed Lenna beside him. She drew a sharp breath and screamed again. He reached for her, intending to comfort. She shrank from his touch.
CHAPTER 4
Kheraya’s Emergence, Year 634
Orzili emerged from the gap in the
middle ward of Hayncalde Castle, naked as a newborn, blood pouring from the knife wound in his thigh and the bullet wound to his back. The injury to his leg was the more painful of the two. He didn’t know yet if the hole in his back would prove deadly.
He had landed on his knees, his skin abraded by the Spanning wind. The precise golden edges of his sextant bit into his cramped fingers and tears leaked from his eyes. This, too, he blamed on the wind.
Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled toward the nearest tower, scanning the torchlit plaza for guards. He considered going to Lenna’s chamber, but dismissed the notion. The Lenna of his own time would know better than to mock him. She would tend to his wounds, whispering words of sympathy. This older Lenna, the one brought back to him through the years by the exigencies of war and assassination, was less predictable. He wanted her, was drawn to her wisdom, her biting wit, her honed beauty, but he was wary of her.
He limped to his own quarters. Along the way he passed two Sheraigh guards, who appeared amused by his state of undress. Their mirth diminished when they noticed his wounds, and evaporated entirely when he identified himself and threatened to have them taken to the dungeon and stretched beyond recognition. By the time he ordered them to have a healer sent to his chamber, they were desperate to oblige.
Upon entering his quarters, he downed a generous cup of Miejan red, grabbed a blanket off his bed, and sat near the hearth. He covered himself without allowing the blanket to touch his thigh, and without leaning back.
He was well into his second cup of wine when someone knocked at his door.
“Come!”
The door swung open, revealing a woman with steel gray hair, and, behind her, a younger man bearing cloth, herbs, oils, and tinctures. They entered. The man set his burdens on a table near the hearth, and left.
“You’re the healer?” Orzili asked.
“I am now,” she said, crossing to him. She eyed the knife wound, peered at his back, and knelt by his outstretched leg. “This looks terrible.”
He glanced at it, that was all. He had never been squeamish, but this… It did look terrible. He would give every gold round in his purse to have that bloody Walker back in the dungeon. Tobias wouldn’t escape him again.
“Spare me the observations and heal it.”
She glanced up at him, her expression mild, an eyebrow quirked. She unstoppered one of her bottles and poured a small amount of liquid onto a cloth. The smell of spirit reached him.
“This is going to sting. Or would you prefer I kept that to myself as well?”
His mouth twitched. She had mettle. He admired that. “No, I appreciate the warning.”
She wiped away the drying blood, circling closer and closer to the wound itself. When at last the damp cloth touched his gash, it felt as though she had thrust a hot needle under his skin. He sucked a breath between his teeth.
The healer didn’t pause. He gripped the arms of his chair, weathering the pain of each brush of that cloth. Finally she stopped and examined the wound more closely.
Saying nothing, she retrieved a second cloth, doused that one, and shifted her attention to the bullet wound.
He had to smile. “Very well, healer. I surrender. I would hear your observations.”
“I wouldn’t want to presume, my lord.”
He half-turned his head, allowing her to see the lift of his lips. “Please.”
“Very well.” Her cloth touched the injury itself, drawing from him another hissed breath. “You were fortunate with this wound. I take it this was done with a firearm.”
“Yes. A pistol, from distance.”
“Still, the God was kind.”
“And the other? As terrible as you thought?”
“A blade wound, yes?” At his nod, she went on. “It slashed through muscle, and nearly to the bone. I can heal it, but you’ll need to tread gently for a time.”
“I can’t.”
“No, I didn’t expect you would. But as your healer I have an obligation to make the effort. Now, if you damage the leg permanently, it will be your fault and not mine.”
He laughed. “Did you poison the old healer? Is that how you came by this position?”
She didn’t answer. Bending over the wound, she laid her hands upon it. A misty glow enveloped her, as silver as a winter moon. Cold penetrated his flesh around the injury. For a tencount and more, it clawed at him like a forest beast. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, cursing Tobias Doljan under his breath. In time, the cold abated enough that agony gave way to relief. Not long after, the glow around the woman diminished and vanished entirely. She straightened to scrutinize her work. A bold scar remained where the gash had been.
“That will fade with time,” she said. “How does it feel?”
He shifted his leg, winced in anticipation of pain that didn’t come. The woman knew her trade. “Better. Thank you.”
“Don’t be fooled. You’re not healed yet.” She stood, stretched her back, and addressed the second wound. “I meant what I said about rest.” She probed his back with deft fingers. “The old healer left,” she said, answering his previous question. “It seems he was a Hayncalde man. A loyal subject of the old regime.”
“The Sheraighs let him go?”
“They had no choice. He fled in the middle of the night.”
Again he laughed. “And so they found you. A Sheraigh sympathizer?”
“A skilled healer who knows to keep her mouth shut.”
“Yet you tell me this, despite my ties to the Sheraighs. Perhaps you know less than you think.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, sounding less than contrite. “I didn’t think you were from Sheraigh. I didn’t mean–”
He stopped her with a raised hand. “Don’t bother. I don’t come from Sheraigh.”
After a brief silence, she said, “I need to extract the bullet. I don’t believe it’s very deep, but it would be better if you slept while I did this.” She positioned herself in front of him again. “I can prepare you a sleep draught.” She glanced at his empty cup. “It won’t be as pleasant as the Miejan red, but neither will it give you a hangover. It will also work more quickly.”
“All right.”
She moved to the table that held her herbs and bottles. Another knock echoed in the chamber.
“Enter.”
Lenna breezed in. She paused at the sight of the healer before finding him in his chair. Her eyes flicked over his body and she flushed attractively, looked away. He smiled at her discomfort.
Her bronze hair was streaked with silver. Her Walk back to this time had left tiny lines around her lips and dark, liquid eyes. His own Lenna, the one who waited for him in Kantaad, was as young as he, and more beautiful than any woman he had ever known.
This older Lenna, though, had insinuated herself into his emotions. She was whip smart, wise almost beyond imagining. Age had roughened her beauty, but also deepened it. He wanted her more than he had wanted anyone, her allure heightened by her refusal to join him in his bed.
The healer went about her task with discreet efficiency, no doubt sensing that he and Lenna waited for her to leave. Within a few spirecounts, she had her draught ready. She placed it on the table beside his wine cup.
“Drink it all, my lord, and lie down. It should keep you asleep through the surgery.” She cast a glance at Lenna. “Summon me when you’re ready.”
“Thank you, healer.”
She nodded to Lenna and let herself out of the chamber. Only when she was gone and the door closed, did Lenna face him again.
“I heard you were shot.”
“And stabbed.”
“I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“I’m well enough, thank you.”
“And the Walker?”
He glowered at the empty hearth. “He escaped. Two of my men were killed and the third was captured. We lost the tri-sextants.”
Lenna’s eyes widened, but she had the grace not to comment.
�
��We’ll get him back.”
“I’ve no doubt,” she said, subdued.
“You can’t leave yet, Lenna. I need you in this time.”
“Why? We’ve already determined that the boy doesn’t have a chronofor. If he did, he’d have gone back by now to warn Mearlan of the attempt on his life. You don’t need me to follow him through the years. And anything else you require, the younger me can provide.”
“She knows nothing about this. You know everything. That’s reason enough for you to remain.”
She knelt beside him, the gossamer scent of honeysuckle surrounding her. He breathed her in.
“Let me go, love. Please. You’ll be happier with the me that belongs in this time.”
“That’s not–”
“I won’t love you. I’ve told you as much. Keeping me here in the vain hope that I will is… It’s cruel, to all of us. Both of you, both of me.”
“Then leave.”
She blinked. “You would let me?”
“How would I stop you?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know,” he said, pressing his advantage. “You’ve told me repeatedly that you wish to return to your time, to the older me who you left there. And you’ve also said that you won’t go without my permission. Only recently has it occurred to me that this is an evasion on your part, a way to remain here while claiming that I’ve kept you from Walking back.”
She scowled, stood, walked to the hearth. “That makes no sense.”
“I disagree. I think you’re afraid that the older me you claim to love so much might reject you. Fourteen more years? More silver in your hair, more lines on your face? What if he won’t love you as he once did? That’s what holds you here. Fear of his indifference, and the understanding deep within you that you need my love.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I may be the only me you have left.”
Lenna crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to meet his gaze but unwilling to turn her back on him. “I don’t remember you being this cruel.”
“Neither do I. Perhaps it’s because of you?”
“You should summon her – the other me. Have her join you here. I’ll give you a qua’turn to do so. After that, I’m going back, no matter what.”
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