Blades of the Old Empire (20 page)

“Couldn’t you have given me a sign or something?” Egey Bashi asked after they turned the corner.

“Why?”

The Keeper opened his mouth to speak his mind, but decided against it. Tempers aside, Raishan was right. There was probably no reason to let Egey Bashi know that the Majat was actually all right, and that his near-death state was no more than pretense, aimed to give him advantage in a fight.

“I thought you were really hurt,” the Keeper said. “What the Kaddim Brothers did to you looked bad.”

“It felt bad,” Raishan confessed. “I thought it was going to kill me. What the hell was that power?”

Egey Bashi frowned. “When the Kaddim’s mind control is focused onto one person, it becomes so intense that it can make a man’s heart explode. Used like that, it is called Power to Kill. One needs a great command of power to be able to do that.”

“That man – Kaddim Farros, was it?”

Egey Bashi nodded. “He’s very powerful. If Nimos brings him along in his hunt for Kyth, there’s no telling what they can do.”

They turned onto the familiar street with the battered sign showing a blackened picture of a wild mountain aemrock.

“We must go to the Grasslands at once,” Egey Bashi said. “I don’t care what your Guildmaster says, but we must help Kyth. We can’t allow him to fall into these men’s hands.”

Raishan glanced at him but said nothing.

“We must leave right away,” Egey Bashi went on. “We must beat the Kaddim Brothers to it, if we can.”

“I doubt it’s possible,” Raishan said. “They’ll probably use a lizardbeast relay, or something. But we can certainly make good speed if we hurry.”

Kyth dreamed.

He was standing in a large field, facing three robed figures. The hoods were pushed back, but their faces shifted features, making it hard to see what they really looked like. Waves of force emanated from their outstretched palms. Three streams of force joined into one, an overwhelming torrent too strong to oppose.

People crouched on the ground at Kyth’s feet, covering their ears against the pressure. Their faces were pale and blood trickled from their nostrils. Kyth knew they were about to die, crushed by the hooded men’s power.

He had to stop it.

The pressure of the force was enormous. While Kyth didn’t seem to be affected as much as the others, he was weakening under the flow. Soon he would be overpowered, and then nobody could save them anymore.

He raised his head, searching for anything to aid him.

The wind.

He had to relax and let in the wind. But if he did, he would also let in the power of the strange men. He would no longer be able to resist it.

He had no other choice.

He relaxed, letting go. The wind filled him, mixing with another type of power, darker and heavier, but still adding to the flow. In his mind, he gathered it into a single point, shaping it into an invisible spearhead. He held it out toward his enemies and moved it, cutting through the blanket of power.

The pressure subsided. The hooded men looked at him in surprise. Then they changed, focusing their entire blast on the people dying at Kyth’s feet.

I have to save them.

He focused his spearhead into a large streak of light, sharp like the finest blade he had ever wielded. He made it wider, cutting through the power that enfolded each of the people in turn. He watched them lift their heads, one by one. Their agonized faces relaxed, making them once again recognizable: Alder; his foster father, the Forestland blacksmith; Garnald the Mirewalker; Ellah; Magister Egey Bashi…

They were all getting to their feet, smiling. He had saved them from certain death. But just as he was about to rush to them and embrace them, a terrible blast of power sent him tumbling over the ground. His spearhead shattered into a thousand pieces.

He screamed and woke up.

It took Kyth a moment to realize where he was. He sat up in bed, slowly recognizing his surroundings. He was in the crew tent, in the bow section of the upper deck of the barge they were traveling on. He was lying on a low wooden bed nailed to the deck. Water splashed overboard, and low gusts of the cool night breeze touched his skin.

He took a deep breath, the nightmare slowly releasing its hold. Then he saw a dark, still shape at the tent’s entrance, watching.

Kara.

When she realized he had noticed her, she turned and walked out of the tent. Kyth hastily scrambled out of bed and followed.

The deck was awash with moonlight. The lonely crewman on duty quietly dozed at the wheel. Kara made her way past him to the aft section, through a narrow winding passage between the barricades of crates piled on deck to a small, secluded space at the stern. Kyth hurried to catch up.

She stopped at the rail, looking at the river whose majestically flowing waters glimmered in the light of the moon high overhead. Kyth came over and stood by her side.

“It seemed like a bad nightmare,” she said.

He nodded. “Some are worse than others. I hope I didn’t scream and wake you.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Why not?”

She smiled. “Maybe because I’ve had enough? Ever since we came on board, all we do is sleep.”

“We have a lot to catch up for,” he said, “after our ride to Aknabar.”

They stood side by side, looking at the low bushes passing by on the distant shore, painted into silvers and blacks by the streaming moonlight.

“We’re making good speed,” Kara said. “We should arrive in Jaimir tomorrow morning. With luck, we’ll cross over to the Grasslands right away.”

Her voice sounded calm, but, knowing her well, Kyth could tell she was holding something back. He turned and peered into her face, trying to see her expression. She averted her gaze. It seemed she was deliberately trying to keep her face in the shadows.

“What is it that you’re not telling me?” Kyth asked quietly.

She turned her face into the stream of moonlight and closed her eyes, a silvery gleam washing over her face. She looked so beautiful that Kyth’s breath caught in his throat. He could just stand like this forever, watching her.

“Remember,” she said, “when I told you I wasn’t sure I could handle whoever’s coming after us?”

“Yes,” Kyth said slowly.

“After we meet with the Cha’ori,” she said, “you’ll be under the protection of their hort. You must promise that whatever happens, you’ll think only of your mission. You won’t try to do anything foolish.”

Kyth gave her a searching look. The feverish gleam was back in her eyes, just like before, when she didn’t sleep for eight straight days. Standing next to her, he could feel how tense she was. He had never seen her this way before.

“You
know
what’s coming, don’t you?” he asked quietly. “You’ve known all along.”

“Yes.”

“Then,
tell me
.”

She raised her eyes and finally met his gaze. “The Majat Guild. They… they’ll try to capture me and bring me back. They won’t do anything to harm me, but they’d likely have orders to kill anyone who stands in their way. I want you to remember that and not interfere, however bad it looks. Can you promise me that?”

“You want me to stand by and watch you get captured?”

Her face was desperate. “There’s nothing you can do. Believe me. I can handle them. If you interfere, you’ll get yourself killed for nothing.”

“
Can
you handle them?”

“Yes.” She looked away, watching the shore slowly moving by.

Kyth reached over and put an arm around her. She turned and hid her face on his chest. He held her, gently stroking her hair, resting his cheek against the side of her head. He had never seen her like this. Something was terribly wrong, and she wasn’t going to tell him what it was. He stroked her until she quieted, her tense muscles relaxing under his hands.

After a while, she raised her face to him and put her arms around his neck, drawing him toward her. Lightheaded with her closeness, he brushed his cheek against hers. She turned and met his lips.

The kiss echoed through his body like thunder, overpowering his weakening mind. He stroked her and she responded, shivering and clinging to him as if her life depended on it. A light moan escaped her lips as his hands found the right spots, evoking a response that surged through, forcing out the last bits of reason. All that remained was raw senses, taking over all possible control.

Kyth didn’t remember when he suddenly felt that, instead of the shirt, he was touching her bare skin, smooth and firm under his hands, and so hot it burned his fingers. He wasn’t sure how the cloth that separated them disappeared, their contact so sensational that for a blissfully long moment it seemed too overwhelming to bear. He could no longer tell up from down, but it seemed that instead of standing they were lying on a heap of clothes, the rough boards of the deck underneath soft and smooth like the finest bed. His entire being focused on their contact, deeper than one could experience in a lifetime.

He was so strong he could lift mountains. If he let his strength loose, he would crush her with his passion. He tried to hold back, but her arms grasped him with the force that left no way for gentleness anymore. His body moved of its own accord, driven by a force more primitive, more powerful than the conscious mind.

She opened up and yielded to him so completely that he could no longer tell them apart. Each of his senses echoed in her, as they moved against each other, infinitely close, and yet urging for even more closeness. He gave her all his incredible strength, filling her like a vessel so that she could in turn give him the strength of her own. Their bodies, their senses became one, raising them both to heights of passion too big for one person to hold. There couldn’t possibly be anything more in the world Kyth could want, and if he were to die right now, he would die the happiest man that ever lived. He was never going to be afraid of anything anymore. He was invincible. He was immortal.

He was complete.

Afterward, they put their clothes back on and sat close together on the deck, shivering and weak, unable to draw away from each other even for a moment. It felt to Kyth that if he ever let go of her, he’d die, a feeling that echoed in the way she clung to him, as if grasping a lifeline. He held her, immersed in her faint flowery scent, in the warmth of her body against his, hiding his face in her silky golden hair. Through its soft glow he watched the dawn of a new day, its beams illuminating the most beautiful river that ever existed.

They didn’t get up until they heard voices on the deck behind the crates, people moving in a hurry that exceeded the usual everyday routine. Oars banged below deck, rowing against the current to bring the barge to a stop.

Ashore, a jagged roofline emerged from around the river bend, marking the first outskirts of a giant city, bathed in the morning mists, waiting for their arrival.

They had reached Jaimir.

Captain Beater’s eyes were misty with lust as he watched Kara emerge from the bow section of the barge, leading her horse. He opened his mouth to speak, but she fixed him with a short glance that made the captain subside back into silence. He turned to Kyth and Alder waiting to follow Kara down the wide ladder onto the docks.

“Plannin’ to come back this way soon, eh?” Captain Beater asked.

“We’re not sure,” Alder said politely.

Captain Beater’s expression as he glanced over Kara’s back view made Kyth shudder.

“Well,” he said with a meaningful wink. “Make sure if ye do, ye’ll think of the old
Lady of Fortune
, eh?”

“We will, thanks,” Kyth told him stiffly and followed Alder ashore.

Kara stopped at the bottom of the ladder and surveyed the crowd milling by the docks. Kyth followed her gaze, half-expecting to see a row of hooded figures with orbens lined up to greet them. But nobody seemed to pay them any special attention as they walked off the boat. A couple of men in the vicinity glanced at Kara, but as far as Kyth could tell they weren’t even looking at her face.

“Stay close behind me,” Kara told them. “And watch out. We’re headed for the ferry. Let’s hope we can reach it without trouble.”

It was early, but the Jaimir’s giant market plaza was already full. Rows of stalls ran almost all the way to the water, so rich in colorful displays that one couldn’t help but gape. Ornate Harnarian rugs hung next to the impressive displays of Bengaw weapons and the garlands of peppers and dates from the southern lands. Aromatic oils and spices from Tahr Abad filled the air with their heady, exotic flavors. As they pushed their way through the crowds heading for the place where two thick cables running across the river marked the site of the ferry, Kyth felt dizzy from the rich bouquet of smells of spices, roasting meat, cheap perfume, manure, smoke, and sweat.

Everything in sight boiled with activity. A fat man in a dirty apron was fishing golden balls of dough out of a vat of bubbling oil and laying them out on a tray, then sprinkling them with powdered sugar and cinnamon whose sweet smell spread around in mouthwatering waves. An old woman next to him hung out garlands of dried figs, wrinkled like the skin on her gnarled hands. A weapons merchant scurried around a richly clad customer, balancing a dark curved blade over his arm. Kyth could see from here that the balance wasn’t all that great, but the buyer didn’t seem to notice, nodding with the air of self-importance at the merchant’s explanations. Further away, a young girl was balancing a pile of stacked crates, each containing a wildly clucking chicken. Under a canopy stretched between sturdy wooden poles, a blacksmith was hitting an anvil with a rhythmical sound, his glistening skin blackened by the smoke from the forge.

Pushing through the crowd with horses in tow proved to be more and more difficult. Kyth stretched his head not to lose sight of Alder’s towering figure up ahead. He couldn’t see Kara at all. He hurried on, doing his best to squeeze through the dense rows of bodies.

Somebody caught him by the arm. He turned and came face to face with a large man in a leather apron over a baggy outfit. He had a big, unshaved face and a gap between his front teeth, wide enough to fit a finger.

Kyth raised his chin, his arm slowly going numb in the man’s grip.

“How much for the horse, boy?” The man’s thunderous voice made people in the vicinity turn their heads.

“It’s not for sale.” Kyth glanced at his horse, whose eye darted sideways betraying its fear of the thick, noisy crowd.

The man’s grin widened. “Come now, boy. Don’t think ye can drive a hard bargain. I’ve been bargainin’ in this market when you still didn’t know how to wear yer pants the right way up. Five silvers, that’s me offer.”

Kyth reached over and took the man’s hand off his arm with a slow, deliberate gesture.

“I
said
, my horse’s not for sale. Thanks all the same.”

He turned to leave but the man stepped forward and planted himself across Kyth’s path.

“Nobody walks away from Big Ronan, boy.” The man’s face drew so close that Kyth caught the stench of his breath – a mix of beer, onion, and rot. “I
said
I wanted yer horse. Six silvers, but that’s really as high as I can go.”

“Get out of my way.” Kyth tried to side-step the man, but the crowd around them was too dense.

The man smiled. “Me thinks ye’re in bad need of a lesson, boy. Or, would ye rather just sell me yer horse? Last chance, while I’m still askin’ nicely.”

Kyth clenched the reins and measured the man with an appraising glance. He was twice as wide as Kyth and almost a head taller. Kyth wasn’t sure if he could stand up to such a man in a fist fight, but there seemed to be no other choice.

“Let me pass,” he said. “Unless you
really
want to fight.”

The man threw his head back and roared with laughter. Then he addressed the thickening crowd of spectators, like an actor addresses an audience waiting for a show.

“Did ye hear it? The little puppy’s trying to bite. Come, show me your teeth, puppy.”

He beckoned with his left hand, gathering his right into a fist the size of a child’s head. Kyth searched for a place to hook up the reins, so that he could free both hands. But at that moment his horse whinnied loudly and reared, tearing free from Kyth’s hand.

A blade whistled by. A hooded man at the edge of the crowd swayed and collapsed. Kyth spun around and saw two more figures disappearing into the crowd behind.

A hand touched his shoulder. He turned, fist at the ready, and came face to face with Kara.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded and turned to catch the reins. His horse shied sideways, but after recognizing Kyth it calmed down enough for him to regain hold. Kyth gathered the reins and patted the horse’s steaming neck. Kara pushed past him and leaned over the fallen man.

“Ye killed him!” a voice from the crowd said in disbelief.

The man groaned and rolled over. Kara picked up her throwing dagger, which she must have used to knock the man out, and reached for a small object lying on the ground next to the man’s outstretched hand.

It was a metal dart. She turned it in his fingers, then sniffed it and frowned.

“What is it?” Kyth asked.

“Wartbane.”

“What?”

Kyth knew the plant with silvery leaves and small yellow flowers that grew back by the tool shed in the corner of the castle’s gardens. Common folk used this plant to brew potions against warts and calluses, but apart from its questionable medicinal properties, Kyth had always considered it to be quite harmless.

She gave him a square look. “It’s poisonous to horses.”

With a sinking heart Kyth turned to his horse, its head high, eyes rolling nervously around.

“I don’t think he had time to do it,” Kara said. “But you should really watch out when you go through a crowd like that.”

“But why would someone attack my horse?”

“Someone’s trying to slow us down. Where’s that man you were talking to?”

They turned around, but Big Ronan was nowhere to be seen. Kyth saw Alder at the edge of the crowd holding the reins of two horses, and exchanged a glance with his foster brother.

“I didn’t see him leave,” Alder said. “There was too much going on.”

“He wanted to buy my horse,” Kyth said in a shaky voice. He realized how stupid he had been. Ronan was an obvious decoy, meant to distract him while the real action was going on behind. Why would anyone in this busy marketplace want to pay him six silvers for a horse?

“It’s all right,” Kara said. “We’ll question this one.” She nodded to the man on the ground. “Who sent you?”

The man’s hand darted to his mouth with surprising speed. Kara rushed forward, but it was too late. The man gasped, then shook and went still.

“Poison!” Someone shouted from the crowd. “The witch poisoned him!” People around them backed off, eyeing Kara with fear.

Kara clenched her teeth as she turned and took her reins from Alder.

“Let’s move on,” she said. “We surely learned one thing: we’re making good speed. Let’s keep it up.” She turned and walked on through the rapidly parting crowd. Kyth followed, trying to ignore the rising buzz behind them, like that of a disturbed beehive.

The ferryman, a large man with an eyepatch, whose chest and stomach, exposed by an open leather vest, resembled a hard iron washboard, looked them up and down in recognition.

“I remember you,” he said slowly. “You were here a couple of months ago crossing over from the Grasslands, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Kyth said carefully.

The ferryman shifted from foot to foot, but before he could say anything else, Kara reached over and handed him a coin. The stern look on her face discouraged further questions.

The man took the coin, bringing it closer to his eyes for a short glance. Then he rolled his tongue and spat on the boardwalk at his feet.

“The pay’s a silver,” he said.

“Since when?”

“Since I saw the trouble you stirred up at the market plaza.”

Kara leaned closer. “If you really saw it all, you wouldn’t want to make me angry right now. Trust me.”

He crossed his arms on his immense chest. “If you do one of your tricks on me, who’s going to take you across the river? D’you think one of these boys could pull all of you, including three horses? Or, do you plan to do it yourself?”

He looked at Kyth and Alder with calm satisfaction. Kyth had to admit the man had a point. The pulley mechanism that drove the ferry across the river required a great deal of force. Even Alder, by far the largest in their group, didn’t seem up to the task.

Kara clasped the hilt of her dagger, but Kyth put a hand on her arm.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, anger in her eyes slowly subsiding. Kyth took a silver coin out of his purse and handed it to the ferryman.

“For this price,” he said. “We expect you to make it quick.”

The man nodded, meeting Kyth’s eyes. A smirk passed over his face as he hid the coin inside his vest. Then he stepped aside and gestured them aboard.

Kyth could indeed see the extra effort as the man rotated the huge handle that connected to the rusty pulley mechanism, driving the floating platform across the water. Kyth suspected, however, that the effort was necessary not because of anything he said to the man, but because of the extra weight of four people and three horses that the ferryman had to pull across the river by working his impressive muscles.

As they neared the other shore, Kyth saw a group of riders up on the hill. They stood still, watching the three travelers get off the ferry and walk their horses up the tall bank.

When they got closer, Kyth started to make out the faces. They all looked familiar. His heart leapt with joy as they came up close enough to recognize them.

The two on the outside, dark men with slanted eyes and waist-length braids, were Cha’ori warriors. The one on the left was very young, no older than Kyth and Alder. He kept his face straight as he eyed the approaching newcomers, but there was laughter in his gaze. Kyth smiled back. Adhim had been a great friend back during their ride through the Or’hallas a few months ago. It was great to see him in the greeting party.

Kyth also knew the man on the right, an older warrior whose skin stretched over his high cheekbones like dry parchment, his hair heavily stained with gray. Khamal, the Warrior Elder.

Kyth turned to the woman in the center, riding a sleek sand-colored mare. Dagmara, the woman who gave him the medallion last time they traveled with her hort. A foreteller of incredible powers, who foresaw the dangers on Kyth’s path, and the importance of his mission. The look in her eyes told him that it was no coincidence that she and her hort came here to meet them. Their mission was going to succeed. Or so he hoped.

Kyth was overjoyed to see another rider emerge in the wake of the Cha’ori greeting party. A sturdy middle-aged man with brown skin, shiny dark eyes, and a mop of unruly hair, in which dark and blond strands were mixed, as if having trouble deciding on the man’s true lineage. Unlike the Cha’ori, he sat in the saddle awkwardly. His broad-featured face melted into a smile as he saw Kyth and Alder, but the quick glance he threw at Kara was full of suspicion.

“Garnald!” Kyth and Alder rushed up to the man. The Mirewalker was the closest thing to family, a man from the Forestlands where Kyth and Alder grew up. Seeing him made Kyth feel homesick.

The Mirewalker dismounted and gave each of them in turn a long embrace. “You boys grew up! You look like men now. Your father, the blacksmith, will be pleased.”

“How is father?” Alder asked.

The Mirewalker smiled. “He’s well,” he said. “Worried sick about you two. Where’s Ellah, by the way? Her grandma was askin’ about her.”

Kyth and Alder exchanged glances.

“Ellah stayed behind in Tandar,” Kyth said. “She’s fine.” He had many more questions, but Dagmara’s raised hand stopped the conversation.

“We have very little time,” she said. Her voice was low and soft, but it carried around their group without effort. “We must move.”

“Did you know we were coming?” Alder asked.

She only smiled. Then she turned her horse, signaling for them to mount.

“We can talk on the way,” Garnald said. “If that beast of a horse cooperates. He gave me a hell of a time on the way here, I can tell you.”

Kyth smiled, watching the older man struggle with his mount. Garnald’s home was in the forest, in thickets so deep that no horse could ever make it through. He seemed out of place in the open Or’halla plains. Yet, it was so good to see him.

“Why are you here, so far out of the Forestlands?” he asked, matching his horse’s trot to keep up with Garnald.

The Mirewalker looked at him sideways and took a firmer grip on the reins. “There’s trouble brewing up in our parts. A dark order or something. They’re invading the Grasslands and were even seen going through the Hedge.”

“Through the Hedge?” Kyth and Alder looked at the Mirewalker in shock.

“Down by the Hazel Grove. They’ve some strange power that can make people do what they want. From the look of it, they were just testin’ if it’d work on the villagers, but it wasn’t pretty, I can tell you.”

Kyth and Alder shook their heads. The Forestlands had always been a haven of safety. True, there were plenty of dangers in there, like Twilight Moths, Rock Monsters, snakewood trees, and Ayalla the Forest Woman with her deadly spider-guardians and the frightening powers that controlled the forest itself; but one could learn to get by and avoid them without problem. To think that somebody could have come to one of the Grove villages and force its inhabitants into something unpleasant was horrifying.