Eye of the Labyrinth (35 page)

Chapter 66

The simple task of escorting the High Priestess back to Avacas was something Kirsh could have done in his sleep. What made the task so onerous was the fact that Dirk Provin was the reason for this journey. Much as he would have liked to learn what Dirk had been up to these past few years, the knowledge that he was escorting the man who had hurt the woman Kirsh loved, the man who might replace him in his father’s affections, made it far too difficult.

He had not spoken to Dirk much, too angry with him to indulge in idle conversation. Why, after all this time, Dirk had decided to return to Avacas, was something Kirsh would have very much liked to have known. He didn’t believe that Dirk had suddenly discovered the Goddess or his vocation with the Shadowdancers, and was a little concerned that the High Priestess did believe it. A few months before, Dirk had burned the
Calliope
to the waterline in revenge for his mother’s death. It was totally illogical to assume that he now wanted to embrace the same Goddess to whom his mother had been sacrificed.

“Your highness?”

Kirsh turned to the man who had hailed him. He was one of Belagren’s guard, normally stationed at the Hall of Shadows, and had been called away to escort the High Priestess’s party north. He was a tall, competent sort of fellow, or least Kirsh assumed he was. The journey to Omaxin and back had required little more of her guard than that they watch over one reasonably well-behaved prisoner, look alert and help set up camp each evening.

“Yes, Teric?”

“The camp is ready, sire.”

“Then inform the High Priestess that she can take her rest. Have you set the watch?” There was not really a need for it, so close to Avacas, but the habits drilled into him in the Queen’s Guard were hard to shake.

“Yes, your highness.”

Kirsh nodded. “Carry on, Captain.”

Teric saluted and turned back to the camp. Kirsh remained where he was standing, some distance from the campsite, on a slight rise that looked out over the lush hills separating them from Avacas. It was still early. There was no hint yet of the first sunrise. Tomorrow they would head into the passes and be home within a few days. Kirsh still thought of Avacas as home, and the way things were going with Alenor, he probably always would.

He heard footsteps behind him and sighed, wondering what Teric had forgotten to tell him now. That man was efficient, but he was painfully conscious of Kirsh’s rank, and felt the need to report every minor detail for the prince’s approval.

“What now?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. It was not Teric who approached, but Dirk. “Oh, it’s you.”

Dirk walked up beside him and stopped to look out over the view that Kirsh was pretending to admire. “Can we talk, Kirsh?”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Dirk.”

“Then will you listen to me?”

“Listen to your miserable excuses? Thanks, but I’ve got better things to do.” He turned and began to walk along the small ridge away from the camp.

“Why are you so angry at me?” Dirk asked curiously. “Because I left? Or because I came back?”

Kirsh stopped and looked back at him. “That you even have to
ask
proves you have no honor at all.”

Dirk shrugged. “Just because what I’m doing isn’t honorable in your eyes, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“Actually, Dirk, that’s exactly what it means. I don’t know what you’re playing at. All I know is that in order to save your own neck, you’ve betrayed the people who gave you shelter.”

“They’re
your
enemies, too, Kirsh. I would have thought you’d be grateful.”

“One doesn’t have to be on the same side to have honor.”

Dirk sighed, as if he couldn’t be bothered arguing. “Look, I didn’t come here to get into an argument with you about my honor. Or lack of. I came here to call on yours.”

Kirsh looked at him with a puzzled frown. “What are you talking about?”

“You owe me a favor.”

Kirsh looked away at the reminder, wishing he had never challenged Dirk to that stupid race up the stairs of Elcast Keep when they were boys. “What can I give you that you can’t get from Belagren? Or my father?”

“I want you to let Tia go. I want you to help her get out of Senet.”

Kirsh stared at Dirk suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because . . . perhaps I’m not entirely without honor.”

Kirsh snorted contemptuously at the suggestion.

“What I did to her was despicable,” Dirk admitted. “I’m feeling guilty. And it’s not as if she knows anything worthwhile. It just seems a shame to let Barin Welacin amuse himself with her for weeks on end, simply to find out she knows nothing I wouldn’t have volunteered anyway.”

“The depth of your descent into ignominy is staggering, Dirk.”

The insult appeared not to bother him. “Will you do it?”

“To repay the favor I owe you, you would have me betray the High Priestess and my father. Does it amuse you to demand that I stoop to your level?”

“That’s
your
moral dilemma, Kirsh, not mine. You owe me a favor. Whatever is in your power to grant me. Well, this
is
in your power to grant and, once it’s done, the debt between us is canceled.”

“And how am I supposed to do this thing? I assume that if you’ve decided I have the power to grant this favor, you’ve also worked out how it might be accomplished?”

Dirk nodded. “Your biggest hurdle will be getting Tia to believe that you want to help her. But I wouldn’t worry too much about her taking advantage of the opportunity once she realizes it’s there. If I know Tia, she’s probably already stolen a spoon, and is secretly sharpening it on a stone each night, ready to slit the throat of the first guard who falls asleep on his watch.”

Kirsh looked at Dirk, trying to reconcile the intelligent, thoughtful boy he had known with the calculating, heartless young man who stood before him.

“If I do this thing, then I am no longer obligated to you?”

“You never need speak to me again if that’s what you want,” Dirk agreed, apparently unconcerned by the loss of Kirsh’s friendship.

He nodded slowly. “What do you want me to do?”

“She needs to get away before we reach Avacas. It will be too late and too difficult once Barin has a hold of her. She’ll need a horse and supplies to see her to the coast, and you have to ensure that she gets away cleanly. It will be hard enough for Tia on the run, without your thugs hunting her down.”

“I find it a little odd that you seem so concerned for her welfare. If she means so much to you, why betray her in the first place?”

“Call me a sentimental fool,” Dirk replied flippantly.

“I can think of many things I’d like to call you. Sentimental isn’t one of them.”

“And one other thing,” Dirk added, ignoring Kirsh’s censure. “This is between you and me. You’re not to involve anyone else, especially not Marqel.”

“But I’ll need her assistance . . .”

“Find a way to do it without her, Kirsh. I don’t want that bitch to know anything about this.”

Kirsh bristled at the insult. “You will not speak about Marqel in such a manner.”

“She’s using you. You know that, don’t you?”

“What I know is that you’re in no position to judge me.”

Dirk was silent for a moment, and then he shrugged. “Whatever. Just make certain neither Marqel nor Tia knows that I’m involved. If you want to tell your mistress
you’re
letting Tia escape, be my guest.”

“You don’t want Tia to know either?”

“It’ll be better for her if she thinks you’re acting on your own. Besides, she despises me. I don’t want to confuse her by doing something noble.”

Dirk’s attitude was beyond Kirsh’s comprehension. “I don’t understand you anymore, Dirk.”

“I don’t think you ever understood me in the first place, Kirsh.”

“I’m only just beginning to appreciate how
little
I knew you. I’m almost afraid to imagine what you’re planning to do when you get to Avacas.”

“I don’t want to be King of Dhevyn, Kirsh, if that’s what concerns you. Even if I wanted the job, I’d never do anything to hurt Alenor.”

“Then why did you come back?”

“Twelve men died the day your father made me into the Butcher of Elcast,” he replied bitterly. “I killed Johan Thorn on his damn terrace, and then I had to beg somebody to kill my own mother to end her suffering. Running away didn’t work. My mother died because your father was trying to drive me out into the open. You know it as well as I do. I’m Johan Thorn’s bastard, Kirsh, not his heir. At least among the Shadowdancers, with Belagren’s help, I have some hope of convincing your father I have no interest in the plans he has for me. Maybe then the killing might stop.”

“So, for the noblest of reasons, you have chosen the most ignoble path,” he concluded. “Surely you could have found a better way?”

“You mean a more
honorable
way? What do you think I should have done, Kirsh? Go charging into Avacas armed with nothing more than my trusty sword and my noble heart, hoping they would win the day for me? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I come from a long line of realists. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“You’ve made yourself into an outcast.”

“I was an outcast from the day the world found out who sired me. It’s merely the degree that’s changed.”

Kirsh shook his head, still not able to understand how a man could do what Dirk had done, even for good reason, and still live with himself.

“I’ll see Tia Veran gets away,” he agreed reluctantly. “And I won’t let her know you were instrumental in organizing her escape. Beyond that, I want nothing more to do with you.” Kirsh walked past him, heading back toward the camp, his heart heavy with the weight of the favor he owed Dirk.

“How’s Alenor?” Dirk asked his retreating back.

He stopped warily and looked back at Dirk. “She’s fine. Why?”

“Does she know about Marqel?”

“Mind your own damn business.”

His cousin smiled at him knowingly. “Next time, before you raise your flag on the high moral ground, take a good long look at your own behavior, Kirsh.”

“Don’t you dare compare what you’ve done to my actions,” he snarled. “And don’t even
think
about interfering. Alenor is my
wife,
and what happens between us is our concern and nobody else’s. Stay away from her. And from Marqel. If I find you doing anything to harm, or even upset, either one of them, I’ll kill you.”

“Would you really kill me over that thief?” Dirk asked curiously.

“Without a moment’s hesitation.”

Dirk nodded, as if he accepted Kirsh’s word on the matter. “You’ve no more honor than I have, Kirsh.”

Kirsh was a little surprised to realize that he meant exactly what he threatened. He would kill Dirk, given half a chance. The most painful thing, however, was realizing that he
wanted
to kill Dirk, not because he had hurt Marqel; or even because he might hurt Alenor.

Kirsh wanted to kill him because he was right.

Chapter 67

They were past Talenburg and only two days out of Avacas, the camp just stirring in anticipation of the second sunrise, when Tia received a visit from Kirshov Latanya.

She had only met him once before, in the palace at Avacas, when she had tried to help Prince Misha during a fit. He had yelled at her that day, thinking she had somehow contributed to his brother’s condition, so her first impressions of him had not been good. Neither did it help that he was the spitting image of his father, or that he had been Dirk’s closest friend in Avacas.

Unfamiliar voices outside her tent woke her, and she scrambled to her feet, as the newly crowned Regent of Dhevyn ducked under the tent flap and then straightened up and glanced around her bare accommodation. Like his father, he was a big man; his fair hair almost brushed the canvas roof. Prince Kirshov stared at her for a moment before he spoke. He seemed extremely uncomfortable.

“We’ll be in Avacas the day after tomorrow,” he announced.

Tia nodded silently, not sure if she was expected to comment.

“When we get there,” he continued, “the High Priestess plans to turn you over to my father.”

“Marqel told me.”

“It won’t be pleasant for you.”

“I imagine not,” she replied guardedly, wondering where he was going with this.

“You’ve been treated very poorly.”

“Actually, your highness, I’ve been treated quite well. Marqel has been very considerate of my comfort.”

“I meant by Dirk.”

Tia’s expression darkened. “Don’t even speak his name in my presence.”

Kirsh nodded in understanding, which surprised her. “In this, I am on your side. I find his conduct in this matter quite repellent.” Kirshov seemed to be having some difficulty getting out what he had come to say, and she was curious to find out what he wanted.

“I can do nothing to stop him betraying your people, Tia.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to care.”

“Perhaps I don’t,” he agreed. “But you are currently within my sphere of influence, which means that in some small way I can hinder Dirk’s plans.”

Tia took a step backward warily.
He’s going to kill me,
she realized with a start.
He wants to foil Dirk’s plans, so he’s going to
kill me . . .

Kirsh reached down into his boot and withdrew a long, slender, but unremarkable dagger. Tia took another step back, but there was not much farther she could go, and she would never escape him in the close confines of the tent. She considered screaming, but realized it was pointless. The only people who would hear her cries for help were his men, and even if they wanted to object, nobody was going to stop Kirshov Latanya from doing exactly what he pleased, even if that included murder. Kirsh tossed the knife into the air and caught it deftly by the blade between his thumb and forefinger.

And then offered it to her, hilt first.

She stared at the knife uncomprehendingly.

“Take it!” he urged.

“Why?” she asked cautiously. “So you can claim you killed me in self-defense?”

His expression was puzzled for a moment, until he realized what she was assuming. “I didn’t come here to kill you. I’m letting you escape.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I told you. To confound Dirk.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “This is a trap. You’ve probably got a whole squad out there waiting to hunt me down for a bit of sport.”

“For pity’s sake, woman! Take the damn knife!” he snapped impatiently. “I’ve arranged for us to stop and give thanks to the Goddess for a safe journey when the first sun rises tonight, so, for a short time, everyone will be involved in their prayers and there’ll only be one guard on your tent. I’ll leave a horse saddled and equipped with enough supplies to see you to the coast, but after that, you’re on your own. You can cut your way out through the back of the tent. I’ll try to stall Marqel bringing your dinner for as long as I can to give you time to get away. When you leave, don’t go south. Double around behind us and ride in our wake. That way I can concentrate the search for you toward Avacas, and you should be able to avoid detection until we reach the city.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” she remarked, reaching for the blade. Even if it was a trap, she reasoned, she still had a better chance armed and out in the open than here in the camp.

“Trust me, I’ve thought of little else recently.”

“I don’t suppose you can arrange for me to get my bow back?” she asked.

“I can’t promise it, but I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to leave, bending down to pass through the tent flap.

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you, Tia Veran,” he said, and then he was gone, leaving her staring after him thoughtfully, unconsciously turning the blade over and over in her hands.

The day dragged for Tia, and the knife Kirshov had slipped her burned like a hot brand in the side of her boot. She rode in her usual place near the back of the column, occasionally catching sight of Dirk ahead of her as he rode next to Belagren. She spent much of the day amusing herself by calculating how hard and how far she would have to throw the knife to hit him, and exactly where she would have to aim to make sure she killed him this time. It was a pointless exercise. She would barely get the blade clear of her boot before somebody noticed what she was doing. Anyway, it was much more important that she escape.

Somebody had to warn the others in Mil about Dirk’s betrayal.

Once she was clear of the camp, Tia planned to avoid Avacas altogether, thinking that if Kirshov’s assistance
was
a trap, she would be better off away from the city. She would make her way to Tolace, she had decided. There was a Brotherhood man there that she knew, one she was fairly certain Dirk had no knowledge of. Boris Farlo would know where the
Makuan
or the
Orlando
was, perhaps even the
Wanderer.
And he would provide her with a safe house until she could get out of Senet.

Faced with the prospect of escape, Tia’s mood improved considerably. She had shaken off much of her earlier self-pity, and provided she didn’t let herself dwell on the last few weeks she had spent in Omaxin, she discovered she was more than capable of decisive action. This situation just had to be dealt with, she decided. Dirk’s treachery was always a possibility, and they had not survived in Mil for as long as they had by being foolish. Dirk probably didn’t know enough about navigation to have learned the tricky channels of the delta that led into Mil in the time he had been among them, and even if he did, forewarned, they could evacuate the village and move everyone up into the caves.

And that was the key. Forewarning. Tia had to remain alive long enough to warn her people in the Baenlands. And if that meant letting Dirk Provin live a little longer, then so be it.

And the next time I try to kill you, you deceitful, devious,
double-crossing bastard,
she swore silently to his back,
I won’t
miss
.

They stopped early that night to allow the escort time to set up the camp before the first sunrise. The campsite was well used by travelers on the road, with a large grassy area bordered by a small stream, which provided fresh water for the horses.

Once it was erected, Tia was escorted to her tent and, as Kirshov Latanya had promised, left with only one guard in attendance, while the rest of the party gathered on the lush grass down by the stream to wait for the first sunrise. As the first hint of red began to stain the sky, Tia could hear Belagren’s voice raised in prayer, then the massed voices of her small congregation as they responded.

She wasted no time slicing a long cut in the canvas wall of the tent, wincing as the fabric ripped loudly, certain it could be heard all over the campsite. As soon as the slit was large enough for her to squeeze through, she slipped outside and ran, in a crouch, to the trees where the horses were tethered. Tia ran down the line of horses, looking for the mount Kirshov had promised, glancing constantly over her shoulder at the sky. The red light of the first sun was creeping slowly in from the east. She did not have much time.

The horse at the very end of the line was still saddled and laden with two saddlebags and a bedroll. She slipped the hobbles from the horse’s forelegs and grabbed the bridle, leading it toward the concealment of the treeline.

Once she had reached the trees, she stopped and checked the horse. It was an ordinary-looking chestnut, with one white sock, but it looked sound and seemed docile enough. Still fearing a trap, she checked the girth strap closely, then lowered the stirrups a notch, before swinging into the saddle.

Bending low over the horse’s neck, Tia wound her way through the trees away from the camp, heading north, back toward Talenburg.

As the night reddened, and there was no sign of pursuit, she allowed herself to relax a little and ponder the strange turn of events that had turned Dirk Provin into her enemy and Kirshov Latanya into her friend.