Daughter of Blood (47 page)

Faro's face was pinched small, his eyes huge with recent dread and unshed tears, but he drew himself straighter. “
She's
in there,” he said gruffly, jerking his head toward the fissure. “Lady Myr. She's got a crossbow,” he added.

“Ah.” Of course, Kalan thought. A Daughter of Blood would have been taught to use weapons, but he had assumed, because of Lady Myr's diffidence, that the rock had been a lucky shot. Now he decided to err on the side of caution, and kept his approach to the fissure oblique. He could see no sign of Lady Myr from below, but pitched his voice to carry beyond the opening. “Lady Myrathis, it's Khar of the Storm Spears.” He wished, momentarily, that Taly had not already left. “I've wyr hounds with me, and several of Lord Nimor's marines, so it's safe for you to come out. Or I can climb up to you,” he added. “Just don't shoot me, all right?”

When no reply came, Kalan climbed level with the ledge and peered cautiously around the opening, to where Lady Myrathis was pressed into the rear of the shallow recess, her hands locked around the crossbow. “Lady Myr,” he said quietly, “are you all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered finally, and Kalan realized it might be as much reaction to her own daring as fear of Orth, or doubt of himself, that had made her freeze. “I couldn't believe it was really you. Or a rescue. I felt I wanted it to be true too much.”

“It's true,” he assured her. “Do you need help to leave?”

“No, I'll come out.” He watched her shadow lower the crossbow then stand up. When she appeared in the entrance, he grinned at her.

“That was a fine shot with the rock, Lady Mouse.”

She looked worn out, with her hair straggling down her back and dirt on her face and clothes, but now she flushed and looked away. “That's Dab's name for me, and Taly's,” she said, then spoke again quickly, before Kalan could respond to the implied prohibition. “They both always said I had a good eye.” Her gaze returned to his. “I couldn't let the Sword warrior hurt Faro. But there were so many people close together and if I missed . . . The rock seemed better than the crossbow.”

“Much better,” Kalan agreed, as she took the hand he held out. The flush had drained away again, highlighting the shadows left by exhaustion and fear as Myr paused, her gaze searching his.

“Faro said that you would come, that you would save us, but I didn't believe it was possible.” She slid a fleeting smile his way. “I'm glad you have, though.”

“I think the pair of you did very well on your own.” Kalan helped her descend and forbore to add that no one had been saved yet. Her eyes had already told him that she knew.

“
I
hate
him,
” Faro said, his voice hoarse with the emotion, and Myr looked away from his contorted expression. Despite finding, during the course of their flight and the long hours spent in hiding, that the boy was not mute after all, she had noticed his continued reluctance to say Kolthis's name. Sometimes, too, he had seemed to struggle, as he was doing now, to get words out. His head jerked toward Myr. “I hated the way he watched her tent as well.”

Myr kept her eyes lowered, partly as a defense against the circle of watching faces, but also because she knew her reddened eyes would betray that she had cried a great deal since returning to the camp. Not in front of anyone else—not even when Khar had told her that Ise and all her household except Ilai were dead—but afterward, when she was alone in what had once been Kolthis's tent. Under the circumstances, she had not wanted to return to the pavilion—and as for the smaller tent having been Kolthis's, a space comprising canvas and poles was not the person. Besides, Taly had already stowed Myr and Ise's few intact possessions there.

Taly, Myr thought drearily, who is somewhere out there in no-man's-land, trying to fetch help. She pushed down her fear that the ensign, too, might be dead by now and made herself
concentrate on their council of war. They were gathered in the Sea envoy's large tent and Lord Nimor was attended by his secretary, Murn, and his escort captain, Tyun. Khar was accompanied by the former Honor Guard called Jad, who had been one of his seconds in the duel with Parannis. The eleven wyr hounds had crowded into the tent as well, and Faro was sitting with an arm draped about one of them.

Now he coughed. “Like a cat,” he continued, his odd accent accentuated by weariness and remembered fear, “watching a mousehole.
His
face always changed, too, like someone else was looking out through a mask. And that other face—” Faro's arm tightened around the hound and he appeared to struggle with himself before getting the next words out. “It was cruel and cold. Very cold . . .” He shivered. “The other guards, the ones he kept close, always turned their heads when he turned his and looked exactly where he did. As though he was the only one that was real and the rest were like his shadow—only there were lots of them. It made my skin creep.”

Myr shivered, too, because her skin had crawled on more than one occasion since departing Blood territory, although she had not known why. Now she imagined it might have been when Kolthis had been watching in the way Faro described, behavior that smacked of every fireside tale of possession Myr had either heard or read. Although a doubter, she supposed, would probably point out that Faro could be using those tales to embroider his own. Automatically, she glanced toward Lord Nimor, but his face gave nothing away.

Khar was studying his page. “I heard you'd been watching the pavilion closely.”

Faro ducked his head. “I'm your page,” he said gruffly, “and you're her champion. My mam always said nothing—no one—could change that, because it's a bond of honor . . .” Briefly, he looked uncertain, before his voice strengthened. “So that means I have to keep your pledge of faith, too, see?” Myr glanced up in time to see Tyun and Jad nod. Having experienced Faro's ability to find hiding places and keep out of sight during their flight, she doubted Kolthis had suspected
how closely he was being observed. “I had to be a lot more careful, though, after he said he'd thrash me. Then yesterday, when I was tracking the insect, I saw
them
. Him and another beast-man like the one you shot, meeting out of sight of the caravan.”

The boy shook himself like a dog. “So I laid low until it was dark before working my way into the inner camp and hiding out beneath one of the carts.” He shivered again. “Nothing happened until the watch changed, but then the old guards didn't go off duty. Instead they joined with the newcomers and surrounded the pavilion. The way they watched it made me feel as though
he
was looking out of all their faces. That's when I knew I had to do something to draw them away.” Faro's breath shuddered. “Or maybe I just had to distract
him
. I thought that, too.”

“So you set the fire,” Khar said.

Faro nodded. “I tried to be brave and clever,” he whispered, “just like you would be.”

Kharalthor and Hatha, Myr thought, would say something heartening but jocular in reply, while her other siblings would probably mock the expression of feeling. But Khar opened up his arms, and Faro relinquished his hold on the wyr hound and stumbled into them. “You were exceedingly brave,” Khar told the head pressed against surcote and breastplate, “and exceptionally clever. I'm very proud of you.”

Myr smoothed her pointed cuffs down over her hands, aware of the stab of an emotion she could not name, or did not wish to, but which might have been longing, or envy, or loss, or all three blended into one. When it dissipated, her fatigue and grief both felt more pronounced, but she managed a smile for Faro all the same. “And I am grateful. You were everything a champion's page should be, and more.”

While I, she thought, recalling how they had crawled beneath wagons and clung to every shadow, was not brave at all. Once they struck out across the plain, she had been terrified by its openness. At any moment, she had expected the pursuing shout and thunder of hooves, or worse, the arrow or lance driving into flesh. Ise had insisted it was her duty to escape
and ordered her to go—and Myr had obeyed, abandoning the person who had been her life's constant to save herself. Conduct unworthy, she told herself now, of a true Daughter of Blood.

Faro twisted to face her, although he still kept one arm tight around Khar. “I thought you weren't going to leave at all until the old lady made you.” He scuffed one foot back, then forward again, darting a glance around the others' faces. “She said it was the Bride's
duty
to escape,” he told them: “Because of the marriage treaty but also to thwart her enemies.”

As though, Myr thought, he's defending me against my own unspoken accusation. Yet, if asked, she would have said that all his courage and cleverness had been for Khar's sake and because he hated Kolthis, not for her. Khar's eyes met hers above his page's head. “Mistress Ise was right,” he said. Everyone else was quiet, although beyond the tent the camp was loud with activity. “The principal purpose of the caravan is to make sure the Bride reaches Night safely. But it's your duty, too, Lady Myrathis, as much if not more than anyone else's.”

The others murmured agreement, but Myr frowned, mainly to prevent tears, before shaking her head. “I know I'm the figurehead, but I question whether this is just about me. The fact the caravan has been attacked at all, regardless of whether I live or die, will strike a powerful blow against Blood's prestige.”

“Any such blow will be far less convincing if you live.” Khar was dry. “Aside from that, I agree. If this had been solely about you, the enemy would have ignored the caravan and concentrated on hunting you.”

Myr bowed her head, a Rose gesture that could indicate either acceptance or concession, although right now it mostly felt like exhaustion. “Given we agree that Lady Myrathis's survival is vital,” Lord Nimor said, “there's one obvious course we haven't yet discussed.”

“Riding hard for Night with Lady Myr and as many armed fighters as we have mounts?” Khar was dispassion
ate. “I considered it, returning to the camp, but from what Kelyr said, this country's riddled with 'spawn and their scouting parties. And although he and Orth are experienced 'spawn fighters, they still lost two comrades in their last encounter.” His change in tone told Myr there was more he wasn't saying. Something unpleasant, she thought, seeing the others' exchange of looks. “These particular Sword warriors are self-serving, too,” he added, dry again. “If Kelyr and Orth had thought they could get clear, they wouldn't have joined the camp. Or stayed, once they learned that the only regular troops we have to defend it are Jad's eight and your marines.”

Myr studied her linked palms and wondered if the reason Lord Nimor had raised flight as an option was because he was contemplating it himself. He was of Sea, after all, and owed Blood nothing, let alone fighting for a caravan that had deserted his company. She also understood that everyone currently in the tent would be prepared to abandon the camp in order to preserve her life. But what, Myr asked herself, do I want?

Tyun spoke across her train of thought. “I agree with Khar, sir. Given what we know, particularly about the level of infestation, defending the camp is our best course.”

“So we'd best get on with defending it, since I believe we've learned all Lady Myrathis and Faro can tell us about what we're facing.” Gently, Khar set Faro aside as he, Jad, and Tyun all prepared to leave.

Myr rose at the same time as Nimor and Murn also stood up. “There is one more matter.” Despite a flutter of nervousness, she sounded calm, like a Daughter of Blood should. “With Captain Kolthis and all those in his chain of command gone, my understanding of the Code is that I must appoint a successor.” Their collective look of surprise told her they
had
overlooked that. Yet the Code was clear. In a Blood camp and as the only member of the ruling kin present, she must appoint a new captain who would take charge of the remaining guard, or in this case, organize a new one.

Khar ran a hand over his hair, his expression rueful.
“You're right, Lady Myrathis. And with an attack likely, and warriors of Orth and Kelyr's stamp in the camp, a chain of command's essential.” Tyun and Jad exchanged glances, but nodded, and Nimor bowed, an envoy's flawless salute that acknowledged Myr's right.

As if, she thought wryly, I will do anything but confirm what is patently already the case. Nonetheless, if she did wish to be seen as a Daughter of Blood in truth, then she must play her part. At least she did not have to worry about finding suitable words, but could rely on the Code's formal phrases. Myr drew herself straighter. “Khar of the Storm Spears, I would be greatly honored if you would serve as my Honor Captain as well as my champion, and have those with you”—her gaze went to Jad—“form the core of a new Honor Guard.”

The service she offered effectively rescinded her father's exile, so Myr was not surprised when Jad stood to attention—but she was dismayed when Khar remained silent. He had effectively taken command anyway, so his delay played to her misgivings: the possibility that an Honor Captain's service to Blood, as opposed to a champion's personal duty to her alone, might conflict with his oaths as a Storm Spear; or—more bitterly—that Khar, too, considered her unworthy. Doubt held Myr frozen, unable to look away so long as the silence stretched, but she was acutely aware of everyone watching, even the wyr hounds, jewel-eyed from every shadow.

“You honor me,” Khar said finally, as the Code demanded, but before Myr could relax he spoke again. “Yet given what's happened with Kolthis, the camp needs to have confidence in its new captain. I entered your Honor Contest, but did not prove myself in the group contests. Arguably, too, Jad and Tyun, or potentially Lord Nimor, have more leadership experience.”

Hatha, Myr knew, would pound her fist and say the decision had been made and that Blood warriors, even Storm Spears, did not refuse an Honor Captaincy. But she was not Hatha and the circumstances were irregular. She also
thought the points Khar made were reasonable, so looked from Nimor to Jad. “What do you both say?”

Jad, as the other Blood warrior present, spoke first. “Supposedly, Kolthis did prove himself in those group contests. I doubt anyone in the camp will miss that irony. But we've been following Khar since we went into exile, and I'll continue to follow him, as will the rest of my eight.”

Nimor looked thoughtful. “A champion in the arena is not the same as a commander in the field, that's very true. So it would be fair for you to inquire, Lady Myrathis, whether Khar has experienced such combat before, or withstood a situation of the sort we face now.”

“Have you?” Myr asked Khar.

“I've done both,” he replied, “but not commanded during a siege.”

Nimor shook his head. “No one here can claim that experience, I believe.”

“And from all I've seen during these past weeks,” Jad observed, “you more than know your business. That's what counts.” He spoke to Myr as much as Kalan, and she nodded.

“In that case, Khar of the Storm Spears, I still wish you to serve as Honor Captain. Do you accept?” Sensing his continued reluctance, Myr spoke with more assurance than she felt and was relieved when he bowed.

“I do, Lady Myrathis. You honor me,” he said again, straightening. “Now, by your leave, I had best be about my work.”

Myr bowed in reply, but although Khar waited for the formal gesture, she could see his focus was already elsewhere. The three warriors were discussing the measures currently being taken to fortify the camp before the tent flap fell behind them. Faro, together with all but two of the wyr hounds, slipped out in their wake. Tradition might say that the Red Keep wyr pack was bound to the ruling kin, but these hounds seemed far more attached to Khar and his page than to her—which doubtless proved the popular view that they were unreliable.

Or that tradition is wrong, Myr added silently, while the
two remaining hounds stretched open their jaws, exactly as if they were laughing at her.

T
he service and duty to Blood inherent in the captaincy, Kalan told himself on quitting the tent, would only endure until Lady Myrathis entered the Keep of Winds and Night assumed responsibility for her safety. So despite his reluctance to accept the position, the likelihood of conflict with his loyalty to Malian was limited. In terms of the prominence the role would give him, the chances were that once they did reach Night—if they did—the furor over Kolthis and the Honor Guard's defection would ensure that a temporary Honor Captain, created in the field, received scant attention.