White Blood (22 page)

Carlich showed no such restraint, drinking heartily and wolfing down the fish. He praised her cookery extravagantly. Gaining the far side of the river seemed to have greatly cheered him.

“Go on, have some more,” he urged Maryn, passing her the flagon. She drank and passed it back. “Tomorrow I’m going to see about stealing a horse or two. It’s a long way to Ralo.”

He was taking them to Ralo? She’d never expected to return there. The thought of familiar surroundings was comforting in a way. Perhaps she could find someone she knew to beg for help. But what good would it do to see friendly faces, if the spell that kept her in thrall to Carlich prevented her from reaching out to them? And Maryn wondered how she could bear the constant reminders of her former life that were sure to assault her from every side.

Her inner conflict must have shown on her face, because Carlich squinted at her in the firelight. “Something’s bothering you. What is it? Tell me.”

She had to comply, though she was able to choose her words a bit. “Ralo is my home. I lived there before my husband and child died, and I came to Loempno to be Barilan’s nurse.”

“Hmm. You’ll be glad to return, then.”

“I suppose.” The magic didn’t keep her from formulating a question for him. “Why do you want to go to Ralo?”

He picked up a stick and poked at the fire. “Priest Vinhor has his seat there. He’s always been friendly to me. I’m sure I can get him to listen to my story, take my part. Especially if I promise to make him Prelate once I’m king. He’s been building his influence for years, trying to maneuver himself into position to succeed Kiellan. With him to bolster my claim to the throne, I can start to build a base of popular support. Also, last I heard the Twenty;-;ninth Division was stationed at the garrison there. They served under my command three years ago, during the last big conflict on the Hampsia border. They’ll follow me sooner than Voerell.”

Barilan stirred in Carlich’s arms. He passed the baby to Maryn. “He seems to be doing all right. You care for him well.” He stared off into the woods. “My nurse’s name was Kegill. She always told me being chosen to nurse me was the best thing that ever happened to her. When I turned twelve and became a page Father set her up with a nice house in the best part of the city. I still visit her sometimes, on the Sabbath; she always fixes me a big meal of all my favorites. She won’t believe Voerell’s lies. She’ll know the crown should be mine. When I defeat Voerell and come back to Loempno in triumph, Kegill will be the first to greet me. You wait and see.”

Maryn toyed with Barilan’s hair as he nursed. The ale must be affecting Carlich, though he was still enunciating his words clearly. He’d drunk nearly the entire flagon. “She must love you very much.”

Carlich shrugged. “I suppose. Or maybe she just loved the good pay and easy work. Do you love Barilan the way you loved your own baby?”

Maryn gulped, but the magic was still strong enough to compel her to answer truthfully. “Not…not the same way as Frilan, no. But I do love him,” she hastened to add.

He gave a little mirthless laugh. “Of course you do. But not like a mother loves her own child.” He was silent for a long time. Maryn thought he was done, and was glad to be through with the awkwardly intimate conversation, but eventually he spoke again. “I barely remember my own mother. I was only four when she died, along with the baby after Voerell. And even when she was alive, I didn’t see her very often. I do remember one time, she went walking with Kegill and me in the garden, and told me the names of the flowers. Not much else, though.” He turned his intense gaze on Maryn. “Tell me about your mother.”

Maryn wished he would leave off this uncomfortable questioning. He was acting as if she were a person of importance, a friend, whose history and feelings mattered to him, when they both knew that wasn’t the case. He would never look twice at her if they hadn’t been forced by circumstances into flight together. But the ale had put him into a maudlin mood, and she had no choice but to answer. “She’s a serf on Lord Negian’s estate. I’m her first child; I have three younger brothers and two sisters. Mother’s name is Eryr. She makes the best rye bread of any of Lord Negian’s serfs; all our neighbors trade with us for it. And she’s a good spinner; she taught me, and Edrich always said my yarn was as fine as any he’d ever worked with. What else do you want to know?”

Carlich shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything. Does she love you?”

“Of course.” Maryn almost didn’t know how to answer that question. Her mother had never been vocal or demonstrative about her love for any of her children, but it had always been there, like the air a bird flew through or the water a fish swam in. It felt strange even to think about whether it existed, as if there were the possibility it might not. “Don’t all mothers love their children?”

“Does Voerell love Barilan?” The question darted at her, quick and urgent.

“Yes.” Maryn made her voice as strong and certain as she was able. “I know it doesn’t always look like it, but Litholl said she loved him so much she had to try to distance herself from him. Because otherwise it hurt too much to have to give him up to someone else.” She struggled for a moment with the power of the spell, but Carlich so clearly wanted her to carry on a conversation that she was able to force out even words she was sure he wouldn’t want to hear. “She’s probably dying inside right now, missing him, worrying whether he’s safe.”

Carlich jumped to his feet and began to pace beside the fire. “You’re wrong. I don’t believe you. I mean, I’m sure she cares about him a little. But she’s barely seen him since he was born. She’ll manage. She’s regent, she has all the power of the Kingship now. That’s what she wants. She was always angry that she couldn’t be one of Father’s heirs because she was a girl. I bet she hated it that her son could have what she couldn’t. She’d probably be glad for him to be gone forever if it meant she could keep the power for herself.”

The spell was weakening with every successful effort Maryn made to defy it. “You don’t really believe that.”

“What do you know about it?” Carlich took a step toward her, raising his hand. “You’re just a hired servant. Nursing a prince doesn’t change that. You’re only a serf; you know nothing about royalty. We’re different from you lowborn scum!”

Maryn cowered away. “Whatever you say, my lord. Of course you’re right.”

Carlich’s arm dropped. “And don’t ever forget it!” He stood panting a moment before he waved a dismissive hand around their campsite. “Clean up all this stuff. And put the fire out; we don’t want people to see it. Then get some sleep; we’re leaving at first light for Ralo.”

“Yes, my lord.” Maryn held very still as he stormed across the clearing and threw himself to the ground, rolling to face away from her.

Twelve

M
aryn followed Carlich’s orders as slowly and quietly as she could. She disposed of the fish bones in the river and scrubbed the frying pan out carefully. The work was awkward at first with Barilan in her arms, but she found a length of netting in the boat and fashioned a rough sling to tie him to her back. After that her tasks were much easier. But she still dawdled, and the night was well advanced when she finished. She used the empty ale flagon to carry water from the river and quenched the fire in billows of steam.

Carlich didn’t stir, even when the roar and hiss of the drowning fire echoed around the clearing. Maryn held her breath and crept close to study him by the pale light of the moon. He seemed to be deeply asleep, even snoring a little in occasional sudden starts. The combination of blood loss, magic, hard physical work, and ale must have drained his reserves and tired him deeply. He had fallen asleep without remembering to set wards or to renew the spell that compelled Maryn’s obedience.

She was exhausted herself, but she dared not sleep and miss her chance. She tried to go for the knife again. This time she succeeded by thinking fixedly about how she intended to use it only to gut more fish for breakfast. She tucked it into the waistband of her skirt, where it bumped cold and sharp against her leg.

She glanced over her shoulder. Barilan slept, his body limp against her back, his head lolled to one side. Confident the baby would stay quiet, Maryn went back to Carlich. She could see no sign to indicate his slumber was feigned.

The bucket of blood sat against a tree trunk not far from his feet. The wards around the rim glowed dim blue. If she left the blood, he would have nearly unlimited power to use pursuing her once he woke. If she could dispose of it, at least he would be limited to what he could spare from his own veins. She wished she had the ability to wake power from all that rich crimson fluid, but without knowledge of the proper words or gestures it was useless to her, only a grisly reminder of Carlich’s ruthlessness.

She could perform the ritual which would release its potential harmlessly into the air, but that would be noisy and create a great deal of light. Carlich would be sure to wake. Besides, she’d never cleansed even a fraction of the huge amount of blood contained within the bucket. So much power could easily overwhelm her and cause her to lose control of the spell.

She’d dump it into the river. That would put it far beyond Carlich’s ability to use. The fresh flowing water would dilute the blood and carry it away. In the unlikely event some ghoul or specter managed to locate and consume enough to pose a threat, it would happen far from here.

She hefted the bucket, its handle digging into her fingers. She had to struggle against the certainty that this was something profoundly against Carlich’s wishes, but the spell was quite weak now, and he hadn’t thought to specifically forbid this particular action. The magic dragged at her like an extra weight, but she plowed her way through it.

The rocky slope down to the river was difficult to navigate with her burden. Maryn stepped cautiously, testing each foothold before trusting it with her weight. But despite all her care, one flat stone shifted under her foot. She lurched, the unfamiliar weight of Barilan on her back throwing off her balance. Instinctively she flailed her arms. The lid of the bucket came off. Blood slopped against her skirts.

She recoiled, trying to avoid the spilling liquid and right the bucket. Her foot came down on a patch of gravel slick with spilled blood. It skidded forward, and she sat down hard, her rear slamming into a stone. The impact traveled from her tailbone up her spine to her jaw. She flung her hands back to keep from falling on top of Barilan, letting go of the bucket. It capsized in a scarlet flood.

Maryn smothered a cry. Surely Carlich must have heard and would come to recapture her. She hunched forward, fighting tears of anger at her failure and despair that she would ever escape. But when nothing happened after a few moments, she looked over to where Carlich slept. He remained stretched out on the ground. Maryn looked over her shoulder to check on Barilan. He had stirred, but now was still again.

She held her breath and gathered herself, preparing to rise. If she was stealthy enough, could she still creep down to the river and take the boat? At least she had to get away from the dark slick of blood that coated the stones and sank into the earth.

But she was too late. A cold breeze tickled the back of her neck, out of place in the warm summer night. Maryn’s heart raced. She jerked around but could see nothing. A chill sank into her ankle, just where it was cool already from the wetness of the drenching blood. This was far icier. She looked down.

An indistinct black shadow hovered over the spilled blood. It was as big as her spread arms, swirling and fluttering, giving an impression of a mass of dark wings beating. As she stared, horrified, it grew more solid, skimming the ground, an ever clearer form against the night. Dark glints like broken fragments of black glass glittered among its folds.

Maryn scrambled backwards. A specter! She’d never actually seen one before, but she’d been warned against them all her life. This one looked very much as Maryn had imagined from the descriptions, though she’d never realized how eerily quiet it would be. Only a faint rustle like wind among grass disturbed the night.

Another dark shape joined the first. Everywhere Maryn looked the night shifted and fluttered as more and more specters arrived, drawn out of the wild forest around them by the scent of spilled blood. A writhing layer of mist blanketed every spot where blood had slopped or spattered. The specters absorbed its power into their bodies, the insubstantial shadows of their wings becoming more real and threatening as they sucked up magical life. Several mobbed Maryn, beating around her drenched skirts. Already they were strong enough she felt the soft impacts of their wings buffeting and light scratches against her legs like the brush of a thorny branch.

Soon they would be solid enough to tear into her skin like razors, freeing her captive blood to feed their hunger. The bucket had contained enough blood to turn a whole flock of them solid. They would go ravening through the night, attacking any who might provide the blood they craved. The city walls would be no barrier to their flight. The slaughter would draw others of their kind to feed, and they would spread in uncontrollable nightmarish horror.

Maryn beat at the creatures, but her fists passed right through them. They felt like frozen slime mixed with shards of ice and glass. When she pulled her hands back her skin was scored with scratches. Not deep enough to bleed yet, but it was only a matter of moments. There was no time to choke out the many words of the cleansing spell or strip off her bloody skirts and run.

She had only one hope. Against this supernatural danger nothing mattered but that he was human and had power to defy the monsters.

Maryn scrambled on hands and knees toward the tree. “Help! Prince Carlich! Specters!”

Carlich woke with a start and rolled up to a crouch. Maryn got her feet under her and ran toward him. Barilan began to shriek, flailing against her back. Carlich took in the spilled blood and the flock of specters with one horrified glance. “Gallows, girl, what have you done?”