Daughter of Blood (46 page)

Aarion left at as close to a run as the lopsided pavilion would allow, while Taly looked for something that wasn't shredded to keep Ilai warm. She finally came up with a tapestry that had only sustained one long rent, and when she spread it out Kalan recognized The Lovers. But Dain dragged his attention away, calling out from beyond another fold of drooping canvas. “Taly, I've found Mistress Ise. She's still alive, but only just.”

“You go,” Taly told Kalan. “I'll stay with Ilai until Kion arrives. But if Mistress Ise's alive . . .”

Then Lady Myrathis may be as well, Kalan finished silently. When he reached the next compartment, the old Rose woman was lying amid more wreckage, with her body curled around a sword that had been thrust up beneath her ribs. Her hands still clutched her gnarled walking stick, but what gave him pause was the aura of power, however frail, that surrounded her body. Frowning, Kalan stepped between a broken table and splintered chair to reach her side. The governess had woven a shield, he decided, studying the fading aura. She had concealed it very cleverly, too, using the larger working outside to disguise what she had done.

A Rose adept within Blood all these years, he thought—and no one any the wiser.

“Did you think, Storm Spear, that we would leave our own unprotected amid the barbarity of your House?”
The mindwhisper was so soft that if Mistress Ise had spoken aloud Kalan would have had to bend close to hear.

“Did you manage to save Lady Myrathis?”
he asked urgently.
“Is that what your shield spell was for?”

“To conceal her escape, yes. She is with your page, who I hope may prove strong enough to save them both.”

“Where—”
Kalan began, but felt the headshake she was too weak to give.

“I don'
t know. There was no time. The enemy were already about their work, but we did what we could, Liankhara's agent and I . . .”

Liankhara's agent, Kalan thought: she must mean Ilai.
“Ilai still lives,”
he said, and felt her answering flicker of acknowledgment. He wanted to ask if she could not have used the shielding to save herself but already knew the answer. Only those with the very strongest gift could hide in plain sight. Otherwise, for a shield spell to work, there first had to be somewhere to hide.

“And I am too old to run. I have had my time and more but at least I could give those two their chance . . .”
The mindwhisper wavered, then strengthened again.
“Liankhara's agent did well. She was a tiger . . . for ferocity.”

“A little Blood barbarity, eh?”
Kalan caught the ghost of an answering chuckle, but the aura of power was dwindling fast now and Ise's life with it. He heard voices from the adjoining compartment, and a few seconds later Taly joined him.
“Taly is here,”
he told Ise, speaking aloud as well. The ensign knelt on the old woman's other side, her expression full of regret.

“She was always a good girl. Old Blood to the core . . .”
The mindwhisper lapsed again, and this time it was Taly who checked for a pulse.
“To think,”
Ise murmured—mostly to herself this time, Kalan thought—“
I should live to see the line of Tavaral come into its own again . . . and the old Blood return. Myrathis
. . .”
She convulsed, moaning aloud. “Myr . . . the web . . . take great care . . .”

“What does she mean?” Taly asked. “What web?”

Derai politics probably, Kalan thought, because the Rose had always been the Alliance's power brokers. He shook his head, indicating he did not know, as the last of Ise's aura winked out. “She's gone,” he said. But at least he knew now that Lady Myrathis and Faro had fled rather than being taken prisoner. The need to find them drove him to his feet, only to almost trip on a silver tray lying beside the broken table.

“It's the tabletop,” Taly said, as he propped it upright. The legs, carved into the shape of dragons, had been smashed to kindling, so Kalan pushed them aside with his foot as Dain pointed to the tent's outer wall.

“See how this has been cobbled together? Recently, by the look of the thread, and the tear in the fabric's clean. I'd say it was made by a knife.”

“From in here, though, or outside?” Kalan slit the stitches and studied the camp beyond. A careful survey of the stony ground revealed no prints, and when he stepped through the gap the only out-of-place element was the burned cook-wagon. “I want this whole area cordoned off,” he told Dain, reentering the tent. “The wind's probably obscured any tracks that weren't deliberately erased, but there may be a scent the hounds can follow.” For the first time he felt glad of the spell that had kept others away until now. “Let's take no chances and get all the wyrs here.”

Once Dain left, he went over the disordered interior again, startling when his boot brushed against Ise's walking stick and a jolt of power shocked through him. The spark of Yelusin's power flared in answer, and the wyr pair whined as Kalan studied the stick more closely. It looked like several thick vines twisted into a single staff and shod with steel, while the mother-of-pearl eyes set into the knotted head reminded him of those painted onto Sea House ships. They seemed to be looking back at him now, and the hair on his arms and nape lifted, especially when he saw the same eye etched into the locket about the old woman's neck. Yet when he touched the walking stick again, no further jolt came. Carefully, Kalan worked it free of Ise's hands and placed it beside the tray. “Will you make sure this and her other intact possessions, especially anything of value, are secured?” he asked Taly. “And whatever's left of Lady Myr's belongings as well?”

“I'll see to it.” Carefully, the ensign unclasped the locket. “Mistress Ise always said this was to go to Lady Myr, since it contains a lock of Lady Mayaraní's hair. What about burial?” she asked, placing the locket on the tray.

Kalan drew his gauntlets back on. “It'll have to be a mass grave, both for the dead here and those guarding the herd.” If we have time to dig it, he added silently, and left Taly covering Ise's body with her own cloak. Kion was intent on Ilai and did not glance up as he passed by, but Nimor was waiting by the pavilion entrance with two of his marines and turned at once, his expression a question. Kalan shook his head. “We haven't found the Bride yet.” Or Faro either, he thought, while explaining what they knew. “But, we can't just focus on finding Lady Myrathis. With the caravan crippled and no guards, we must send for help at once.”

If it's not already too late, he reflected, as Nimor nodded. “It's a Blood caravan,” the envoy said, “so someone from Blood must go. But since the Keep of Stone is the nearest stronghold, it may help if I send someone, too.” The Honor Code required that aid be rendered, but Nimor's tone, if not his words, suggested scant reliance on that. He would be as aware as Kalan of the rumors about recent House of Adamant aggression—and that the New Blood was not the only faction within the Nine Houses that wanted to pick and choose among the Code's tenets.

“Could we try for Night instead?” one of the marines asked.

Kalan shook his head. “It's too far, Reith. Both our messengers and a Night relief force would have to skirt Adamant and Stars' territory, and time is critical.” He was also thinking of the death standards and his Emerian experience of were-hunts. “We have to send the best scouts we've got, but they'll need to be fighters, too.”

Nimor nodded again. “I'll confirm with Tyun, but Namath's an experienced sea fighter and a keen hunter on land. He's cool headed, too.”

Someone who'll remain calm in the face of potential Adamant antagonism, Kalan interpreted. That made Jad the obvious Blood choice, except he needed the eight-leader's experience here.

“Send me.” Taly stepped clear of the inner tent, carrying a meager armload of unbroken possessions, including Ise's
walking stick. “My home hold's small, so I've been riding boundary patrols since I was a page and am better than most at scouting.” Her smile was a tight, half-moon curve that told Kalan she understood that volunteering could mean certain death. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as Murn can pen a formal request for aid,” Nimor said briskly, “one that appoints both you and Namath as emissaries.” He turned to Kalan. “Unless there's more you wish added?”

Kalan shook his head. “No, nothing. But make sure you're fully equipped,” he told Taly. “And take Tercel. He's canny and enduring, and he'll fight for you.”

“And I for him,” she said, with the same tight smile. Her eyes held Kalan's. “Just make sure you find my Lady Mouse, wherever she's got to.”

T
wo of the wyr hounds had accompanied Taly and Namath, but the eleven that remained disdained Myr's offered belongings. They rolled their ghostly eyes toward Kalan as if to say
they
did not need to be given a scent, and instead quartered the inner camp. Five sniffed around the pavilion before flattening their ears and growling at Kolthis's tent, a low rumble that began deep in their bellies and did not die away. The remaining six circled the cart barrier before ranging into the outer camp to investigate the burned wagon. When Kalan followed, the retainers there showed him how the fire had been set deliberately. Fuel had been gathered beneath the wagon, and the jar of lantern oil used to light it had been discarded nearby.

“It was started not long before the attack.” The speaker was the same woman who had wanted to speak when Kalan and Aarion passed by earlier. “As a distraction, maybe, to draw our attention away from the perimeter and our herd.”

“But it also roused us,” a second woman said. She sounded reluctant—perhaps, Kalan thought, placing her, for the same reason she had stopped her companion from speaking before. Turning, he studied the pavilion again, because the fire would have diverted attention from anyone
fleeing through the cut in its rear wall. By rousing the camp, the blaze could well have prevented more widespread killing, even if whoever set it had risked setting the entire camp alight—but the fire-starter might have decided that was the lesser danger. Or didn't consider the wider risk at all, Kalan reflected.

“Sir,” the first woman said, then stopped. “The guards . . .”

The wyr hounds were tracking back toward the pavilion, their noses to the ground, but Kalan stopped himself from striding after them. “The Honor Guard's gone,” he said, not softening the situation, “but my company and the Sea envoy's escort are seeing to the camp's defense. They'd welcome your assistance, once all's safe here.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Of course.” The others nodded, too, and the low discussion that followed his departure suggested they meant it.

Regardless, I have to let Jad deal with that for now, Kalan thought, altering direction to rejoin Dain and Aarion as the wyr hounds started toward the dike. Once they reached it, they crossed onto the Gray Lands' side before stopping, their eyes intent on the plain. Kalan settled onto his heels beside them and studied the unrevealing terrain, trying to distinguish sounds beyond the camp's bustle and the incessant wind. He knew Faro could disguise his presence behind a wisp of haze or within the shadow of a rock, but the vital question was whether the boy was capable of concealing Lady Myrathis as well, the way Kalan had once hidden Malian in the Old Keep of Winds. Or they could be dead, Kalan thought: run down as they fled, or fallen victim to exposure and thirst. “We need to find out,” he told the hounds, and stood up.

Eleven pairs of silver eyes turned his way at once, but with were-hunters about, Kalan had no intention of venturing the plain on foot. Instead he sent Aarion for their horses and thrust down impatience, surveying the landscape again. Yet the plain remained a blank, even the near-distance opaque with haze. The hounds were alert, although Kalan still retained doubts over their reliability. They've brought me this
far, he thought—and turned at the first ring of hooves against stone to find Tehan and two of her fellow marines, Koris and Tymar, accompanying Aarion. “By Lord Nimor's order,” Tehan said. “Besides, Aarion had his hands full managing your roan. He needed the help.”

Aarion and Madder snorted in unison, and Dain chuckled before everyone sobered, preparing to mount. The roan tramped a circle, eager for action as Kalan settled in the saddle and the wyr pack advanced into the empty plain, their lean shadows streaming away in the lengthening afternoon. “We'll follow their lead,” Kalan told the others, “but fan out behind them. Stay alert,” he added, although he doubted they needed the reminder as the earthworks fell behind. Even armed and riding Madder, Kalan felt exposed, but shielding a moving group was always difficult; and more so when they were dispersed and he needed to conceal his working. Still, he did what he could to thicken the haze around both hounds and riders, creating the impression of a mirage, not substance, as they pushed farther into the plain.

“How far can they have gotten on foot, anyway?” Dain's mutter reached Kalan clearly from several horse lengths away. As if detecting the guard's doubt, the hound ahead of them growled as it leapt onto a low, flat-topped rock and peered over the edge—before growling again and turning glowing eyes on Kalan, at the same time as he felt its psychic summons.

The entire line of hounds halted as he dismounted and examined the print, part paw, part foot, pressed into sand on the rock's far side. A were-hunter, Kalan thought, and raised an arm to summon the other riders close. The print was smaller than those left by the herd's attackers, which suggested a forager, or a scout that had lain on the rock before leaping down. He surveyed the surrounding area again, alert for incongruity or potential hiding places, until he isolated a shadow that appeared deeper than the rest. Its shape suggested a shallow gully, the sort a stream might leave if it changed course. Kalan also began to sense a will at work, encouraging him to
look away, to
not see
. . . Meeting the hound's spectral gaze, he slid the longbow from his shoulder.

Dain and the others followed as he led Madder forward, although they remained puzzled until the distance closed sufficiently for proximity to negate the shield spell, so everyone saw the narrow gash eroded out of the plain. Kalan sent Dain and Aarion to cover their progress from the gully rim, while Koris remained with the horses, and Tehan and Tymar accompanied him into the fissure on foot, quarrels already wound onto their crossbows. Cautiously, Kalan extended his own shield beneath the original working: sufficient, he hoped, to cover their advance, without alerting other hunters. The wyr hounds, too, were wary and stopped at the first bend, waiting for Kalan before scouting around the curve. The gully ahead was far deeper, and clogged by large boulders, but Kalan only felt the first insidious creep of tracking magic as they approached the second bend.

The wyr hounds remained silent, but all their hackles were up as Kalan eased forward to sight around the curve. Beyond it, the gully widened into an expanse of sand, rock, and thorn between eroded walls, before narrowing into a third bend. The densest cover was provided by a patch of thornbrush hugging the base of the gully wall. Gradually, Kalan pieced together a shape among the crisscross of spines and branches. It
was
some kind of were-hunter, he decided, but smaller than those he had encountered previously. He could chart the shape of its tracking magic now, bent on ferreting a way through the shield working that lingered in the wash. Frowning, Kalan tried to pinpoint the source of the shield, but the fissures caused by erosion appeared shallow, and the remaining brush was too sparse to hide anyone effectively. The boulders, too, were smaller and more scattered than in the preceding section.

Kalan was concentrating so intently that he almost missed the moment when the were-hunter moved. Initially, it was just one more shadow among many along the gully wall, but he got his first clear sighting when it slipped out of the thornbrush and behind a rock. The narrow, pointed face was
manlike, but thick fur grew down onto it like a pelt and he could see the curve of incisors; the creature's arms and legs, too, ended in claws. Kalan felt the tracking magic strengthen as the hunter sapped its quarry's shield spell, and the sheltered gully felt stifling as the were-hunter crept forward. The narrow face alternated between snuffing first ground, then air, but its focus always returned to a stretch of wall more fissured than the rest, close by the third bend. Kalan studied the area of rock and shadow more closely and decided several of the fissures were deeper than they had first appeared. Eventually, a small ledge wavered into focus, halfway up the tallest crevice. The were-hunter must have seen it, too, because its bared incisors gleamed.

Kalan edged backward to fit an arrow to the longbow's string, before sliding back into position and waiting for a clear shot. The were-hunter was at the base of the cleft now, and Kalan could trace the course of its magic, questing upward. He also detected the first hint of a silhouette, crouched to the rear of the ledge, as the hunter studied the fissure—then leapt high, its extended talons raking the shelf. Steel flashed wildly as the shield spell shattered and a small form scrabbled backward. Simultaneously, Kalan loosed his arrow. The shaft pierced the were-hunter's neck at the base of the skull and its body convulsed, falling backward at the same time as a second arrow sprouted between its ribs.

Killed instantly, Kalan guessed—but the arrow through the ribs had not come from Dain or Aarion on the gully rim. Coolly, he readied another arrow, seconds before Orth and Kelyr appeared around the far bend. Both warriors were bloodstained, and Kelyr's left bicep was roughly bandaged, although his bow remained steady as the Sword warriors approached the fissure. Kelyr bent to examine the were-hunter's sprawled body, while Orth surveyed the crevice. He grunted, half turning away, then whipped back, reaching up one long arm and hooking Faro off the ledge with his longbow. The giant's other arm grabbed the boy out of his tumble and forced him to his knees. “I didn't think the Storm Spear would let you out of his sight, thief.” Orth kicked Faro's dropped
dagger aside. “But here you are, proof that Ornorith smiles after all.”

Kelyr's gaze was quartering the gully. “Whoever's there,” he called, his voice tight, “show yourself.”

“Or I deal to the Haarth rat,” Orth added. He shook Faro slowly, back and forward, and set a knife against his throat. The wyr hounds growled and bristled, starting forward as one, and Kelyr's arrow swung onto them. Moving slowly and deliberately, Kalan released his shield working and followed, keeping his arrow trained on Orth. Tehan and Tymar flanked him on either side while the wyr hounds continued to advance, their eyes silver flame.

“Call them off, Khar,” Kelyr said. “Orth'll make the brat suffer if you don't.”

The wyr hounds stopped, although their hackles still bristled. Faro was white, his face smudged with terror, desperation, and weariness. “We don't want to hurt him,” Kelyr said, ignoring Orth's glower. “The country's crawling with 'spawn, more than we've ever seen, and we lost Tawrin and Malar during our last encounter with 'em.” He paused, his eyes meeting Kalan's. “We want to come into the caravan.”

“In that case,” Kalan answered coolly, “I suggest you let Faro go.”

“Do it, Orth,” Kelyr said.

The giant's glower deepened, his head hunching into his shoulders. “We don't need them. Or this scum lover, thinking he can foist his Grayharbor gutter rat on the Derai.”

The wyr hounds growled again, while Kelyr's face told Kalan what he thought of the Sword warriors' chances on their own. But it was Tehan who spoke. “What do you mean? A blind weatherworker could see the boy's Derai.”

Kelyr's answering frown was uncertain, but Orth snorted. “So he's some fugitive priest's half-born brat—that's worse than a Haarth imposter.”

“
Pure
Derai,” Tehan clarified, shaking her head. “You don't think we'd let an imposter, or even a half-born, creep onto one of our ships, let alone carry him back to the Wall? That's not the sort of mistake we can afford to make.”

For the first time, doubt flickered in Orth's expression. He did not appear to notice that Tehan had sidestepped the priest-kind angle—fortunately, Kalan thought. “Release the boy,” he said, “and you can come into the caravan. You have my word.” The Sword warriors might be brutes, but they were brutes who could fight, and the caravan needed every sword it could muster.

“Let him go, Orth,” Kelyr said. He lowered his bow and the marines did the same, but Orth's head hunched lower.

“I say we keep hold of the boy as surety for the Storm Spear's good faith.”

Even in Blood's camp? Kalan wanted to ask, but knew baiting Orth would not resolve matters. And although he still had an arrow trained on the Sword warrior, it would not beat the knife. Standoff, he thought, frustrated—at the same time as a rock flew out of the fissure and smacked into the giant's knife, knocking it from his hand.

“No shooting!” Kalan yelled, as Orth roared and Faro twisted free, pelting toward him. The wyr hounds surged forward, surrounding the boy in a protective circle. “Everyone hold!” Kalan commanded as the foremost hounds, their eyes still on fire, growled at the Sword warriors. Orth snarled in answer, his sword already out, but Kelyr had not fired—possibly because he had seen Dain and Aarion, arrows trained on them both from the gully rim.

“Orth,” he warned, and Kalan saw the giant absorb the situation—before his glare focused on the fissure.

Oh no, Kalan thought, you don't. “Enough!” He spoke crisply, but lowered his own arrow at the same time. “You know as well as I do what we're facing and that we'll need every fighter, including both of you. So my offer to let you into the caravan stands, but this nonsense ends now. When we win clear,” he said to Orth—if we do, he thought—“you and I can worry about settling scores.”

Orth hesitated a moment longer before slamming his sword back into its scabbard. Scooping up his knife, he resheathed it more slowly. “Until this business is done,” he said, and spat to one side.

“Until then,” Kalan agreed. “Now, move away from the fissure.” He watched Orth closely, but although the giant's glower was simultaneously calculating and reluctant, he retreated with Kelyr. “Don't take your eyes off them,” Kalan told the marines, before moving forward. Seeing a gleam among the stones, he picked up Faro's knife—the same one he had charged Liy to pass on—and handed it back. “Well done,” he said softly.