Dragonsbane (Book 3) (21 page)

“That’s all well and good, lad. But couldn’t you at least snuff it out while we’re sleeping?” Morris grumbled. He lay on his back with a stocky arm thrown over his eyes, frowning through his beard. 

Jake fiddled with his gloves. “Ah, I’m afraid that’s the problem. I haven’t exactly figured out how to take it down.”

“You mean it’s stuck up there?” one of the giants said.

They laughed when he nodded.

“That’s nothing to chuckle about,” Lysander said severely. His eyes flicked to the shadows around them. “We’ll be spotted for miles. You might as well write our names in the sky while you’re at it. I’d hate to catch our enemies by surprise.”

“This is the Valley, mate. The only trouble you’re likely to run into around here is a few tinheads from Midlan or a ragged bunch of bandits,” Jonathan said. “Either way, it’s nothing a stomp of giants couldn’t handle.”

They grunted in agreement.

“So just relax and try to work that bunch out of your fancy white knickers, will you?”

Lysander frowned at him. “Keep that up, fiddler, and I’ll replace you with a map.”

Jonathan grinned.

“Why do you not simply knock it down?” Nadine muttered from under her blanket.

Jake straightened his spectacles. “Well, that’s complicated — or rather, it could cause some very serious complications. At the very least, you could expect some discomfort.”

Lysander raised his brows. “Such as …?”

“Permanent blindness to anybody within a quarter mile who’s got his eyes open. But if we’re lucky, maybe only temporary blindness.”

“Nobody touch that thing,” Declan commanded. “Just cover your wee heads and sleep tight. If anything wanders into camp, leave it to the giants.”  

After a few days of an empty sky, Eveningwing finally reappeared. They caught glimpses of his great wings as he soared behind the rolling clouds. Sometimes he flew so low that his shadow crossed their boots. At night, he roosted in the trees at the edge of camp. But nothing anybody said could convince him to come down. 

“You need to apologize,” Lysander insisted.

Jonathan’s whistling had stopped the moment Eveningwing returned. Now he spent nearly as much time glaring up at the sky as he did watching the road. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“He couldn’t help it.”

“He knew what he was doing.”

“I’m not so sure he did.”

“Well, he sure remembered it clearly enough. Look,” Jonathan stopped, and the merry glint of his eyes turned dark, “I know you think good of him. And I know you’d like to believe he’s human, but he’s not. Garron warned us a long time ago to never trust a barbarian. He was the one who convinced Countess D’Mere to keep them pinned in the swamps, after all. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think it was for the best. And now I see why.”

“There’s good and evil among the shapechangers just like there is among men. The curse might’ve forced him to do some dreadful things, but Eveningwing is a good hawk. Give him a chance to prove himself,” Lysander said quietly.

But Jonathan didn’t relent. If anything, his eyes only grew darker. “There’s honor among humans, but animals think only of themselves. When the time comes, you’ll see it. You might think he’s your friend now, Captain — but he’s going to do whatever he can to save his own skin. Even if that means trampling you flat.” Jonathan watched Eveningwing’s looping path for a moment before he muttered: “He’s probably got some sort of trap in mind for us. If he wasn’t flying out of bow range, I would’ve already shot him down.”

Lysander said no more after that, and Jonathan seemed content to shove it aside. Slowly, the merry glint came back to his eyes and he spent less time glaring at the clouds.

But if Eveningwing’s shadow ever crossed overhead, his face would darken quickly.

*******

The pirates and the giants traveled for days without incident, rarely meeting another soul on the road. Then one afternoon, Eveningwing startled them with a screech.

“What is it?” Nadine called up to him.

Morris grunted. “Eh, he’s probably just after a rabbit.”

Lysander’s chin jutted out as he traced the hawk’s frantic pattern of loops. “No, we worked that signal out before we left. It means there’s trouble up ahead. Form ranks, dogs!” he barked, and the pirates fell in behind him.

Declan rapped his scythe across his breastplate. “Giants to the front! Keep those wee pirates out of harm’s way.”

“That won’t be necessary. We’re quite all right on our own,” Lysander said.

He led his men through the gaps between giants, forming an uneven mass of bodies that sloped off either edge of the road. Lysander and Declan marched side by side, each trying to out-order the other.

“Easy does it, dogs. We don’t want to give ourselves away —”

“Easy does nothing. Pound your feet, clodders! Let them hear what’s coming!”

“Let them have a chance to arm themselves, you mean? Whatever happened to the element of s —?”

The rest of what Lysander had to say was swallowed up by the ear-rattling thud of the giants’ march. While the men tried to out-yell each other, Nadine broke away and sprinted up the hill. Her mouth fell open when she reached the top.

“What is it, lass?” Morris called.

Nadine waved them forward. “Come quickly!”

Lysander and Declan sprinted to her side, their armies close behind. They spread out along the top of the hill and stared down at the land below.

The giants fell silent. The pirates swore.

A line of people filled the road beneath them, winding back as far as the eye could see. Dirt rose in clouds behind their shuffling feet. Many of them staggered under the weight of hefty rucksacks. They led livestock by their reins — some pulled carts filled with what looked to be all of their possessions.

It was an endless, miserable exodus: men and women in tattered clothes, gasping between coughs, staring through glassy eyes. Several limped along in the ditches, their feet wrapped in bloody cloths. But no matter how they struggled, the whole broken line moved stubbornly towards the Pass.

Behind them, the green of the Valley gave way to ashen gray, and black smoke overtook the horizon.

“Plains mother,” Declan hissed. “Who’s done this to them? Was it Titus?”

Morris shook his head. “He doesn’t burn the land like that. Oh, he’ll level their homes and murder their children, but I’ve never heard of him wrecking good soil. He’s always thinking about what he can gain, see.” He waved a stocky arm at the gray horizon. “There’s nothing to gain from this.”

When the people at the head of the line spotted the army standing above them, they slowed. Their eyes widened and they muttered to one another. A few reluctantly drew their swords.

“Get away from the road. You are frightening them,” Nadine said. She shooed the pirates into the ditches and made the giants stand a good distance further.

Slowly, the line began to move again. A man dressed in leather armor walked at the head of the tattered crowd. He used his sword for a cane, digging the point into the earth as he plodded up the hill. His other arm was wrapped in a bloody sling.

“Hang tight a minute, gents. I’ll see what I can find out.” Jonathan slipped up to the armored man, wearing his most charming smile. “Ahoy there, mate. Mind if I walk with you a bit?”

While he talked to the armored man, the rest of the party watched in disbelief as the line of people trudged by.

“It’s mostly Valley folk, but there are some mountain folk here, too,” Morris said as his watery eyes flicked across some heads of flaming red hair.

“There are children with them,” Nadine moaned.

She watched as a clump of redheaded children stumbled along behind their mother, clinging to her skirts. Exhaustion ringed their eyes and made their mouths sag. They seemed able to stand only by the will of their tiny legs.

“We must do something. We cannot let them suffer.”
Nadine took a step towards them, but Jake held her back.

“We
will
do something,” he said quietly. “These people have a clear path to the seas — they’ll soon have food and a safe place to sleep. We’re going to guard their backs.” His thin fingers tightened about her shoulder. “We’re going to make sure they make it to safety.”

“Aye. And the less they have to do with us, the better,” Morris agreed. “What we’re planning is treason, in case you’ve forgotten. They’re going to want to pass us fast and forget us quickly.”

While the others murmured to each other, Declan said nothing. He stood with his thick arms crossed over his chest. A shadow cloaked his eyes.

Suddenly, a crazed laugh drew their eyes back to the armored man. He cackled hysterically and slapped Jonathan on the arm before he went back to plodding his way up the hill.

“Well? What did he say?” Lysander said as Jonathan came back to them.

“I knew that fellow. He was one of the guards at Crow’s Cross — I used to swindle him pretty good at cards. But I think he might’ve … cracked.” Jonathan frowned as he glanced over his shoulder.

Lysander raised his brows. “Cracked how?”

“You know … he was crazed. Running on rusted wheels. A few rungs short —”

“Yes, yes I know what
cracked
means,” Lysander said impatiently. “But
why
was he cracked? What happened to him?”

“Was it Titus?” Declan called.

Jonathan shook his head. “All he kept saying was that some fellow named
Grognaut
did this. Grognaut the Bandit Lord.”

Chapter 19

The Caddocs

Kael spent the next several days learning everything he could about carpentry. He cut planks from logs, shaped chairs from branches, and carved stories into wood. When the craftsmen thought he was ready, they taught him how to build a house.

It was an exacting task. Every notch and peg had to fit together perfectly. Every layer of the wall had to sit firmly on the one beneath it, and every crack had to be sealed to keep out the winter frost. Though the building was certainly complicated, it was actually the
sealing
that gave them the most trouble.

The craftsmen used a thick paste to set the logs of each house together — a sticky resin that dried quickly and set like stone. And unfortunately, it was one of the few tasks Baird could do.

He terrorized them constantly. The craftsmen’s song broke whenever he wandered in; the steady rhythm of their work cantered off-pace and dissolved into chaos. Baird wielded his mop and bucket every bit as effectively as a dragon’s flame, stirring up panic wherever he went.

Planks were set crookedly, doors got stuck to walls. More than once, a craftsman had his feet glued to the floor. Kael looked away for five minutes and Baird had managed to slather a generous portion of resin to the wrong end of an unset plank. When Griffith tried to lift it, the plank stuck to his fingers. They had to spend several minutes chiseling through a thick layer of paste just to get his hands free.

Kael begged Gwen to put the beggar-bard somewhere —
anywhere
— else, but she refused. “He’s a craftsman, so he’ll do a craftsman’s work.”

“But he’s blind,” Kael said evenly. “He can’t
see
to do a craftsman’s work.”

She shoved him aside. “I don’t have time to solve all of your petty little problems, mutt. Figure it out for yourself.”

It had become clear very early on that he could expect no help from the wildmen: the craftsmen didn’t seem to know much of anything beyond their carpentry, and the warriors were downright mean. So Kael knew that if he wanted to do something about Baird, he’d have to figure it out for himself.

He was working on digging a knot out of one of the logs when he suddenly had an idea. He remembered what Griffith had said about how healers always cried around wounds, yet Kael had never cried. Perhaps he hadn’t been healing like a healer at all …

Perhaps he’d been healing like a craftsman.

It was a wild idea, a single loose thread that’d popped free of a tangled mass, and Kael tugged on it carefully. When he sealed a wound, he thought about the flesh and bone like clay — a material he knew well and could manipulate easily. Was it really that difficult to believe that instead of
healing
, he’d simply been putting the skin
back together
? No, it wasn’t difficult. In fact, it made perfect sense. And if he could turn
flesh
into clay …

Kael stopped. He stood and went to the nearest section of wall, nearly tripping over his boots in the rush. Once he had his hands placed firmly on the seam between logs, he concentrated.

You are clay
.

Slowly, the unrelenting flesh of the wood began to soften. He held onto his memories of clay and kneaded them into the logs, forcing it through the first several inches of pine. When they were soft, he pulled them together. He dragged their skin over one another until they fused into one solid plank.

By the time he came out of his trance, he was sweating — but it was a good sweat, the sort of damp that used to cover his brow after dragging the first line in a field. He still had plenty left to give.

“Come here, Baird.” Kael grabbed the beggar-bard before he could cause any more trouble and plucked the mop and bucket from his hands. Then he placed them against the sealed logs.

His brows arced high over his bandages. “Something odd has happened here. What magic is this? What strange trickery?”

“It isn’t magic, you lunatic. It’s whispercraft.”

“Whispercraft …?” Baird gasped. “It was Kael the Wright, wasn’t it? He was here! Lead me to him straight away!”

Kael sighed. “All right, come with me.”

The wildmen gathered around him eagerly when he called. It had been several days since he’d shown them Harbinger, and the memories of their circle plagued him like an itch. He wanted badly to go there again, to feel the awakening he’d felt before.

Excitement coursed through the craftsmen’s hands as they joined. It raced all around the circle and came back to Kael in jolts. He was vaguely aware of the warriors who gathered behind him, watching in interest. But their presence slipped far into the distance as Kael drifted away.

He knew what to expect, this time — the sensation of his body being one place while his mind was in another no longer felt strange. His thoughts flared to life in the circle’s middle … but they didn’t glow for long.

The craftsmen were confused. They didn’t understand how one material could become another. Their doubt put knots between them. Kael felt his grip slipping as the circle bunched, dragging his mind kicking and screaming back inside his body.

When he could hold it no longer, their connection broke. “You have to trust me,” he growled when the world came back.

“It isn’t possible,” one of them said. “Wood can be burned, carved or chipped. Its shape can be changed, but it can’t become clay.”

The others mumbled in agreement, and Kael knew what he had to do. “Get together again. Move!” he snapped when they hesitated.

He’d learned from watching Gwen that about the only way to get the wildmen’s attention was to shout at them — as if the loudness of his voice was a measure of how serious he was. And he must’ve sounded very serious, indeed: the craftsmen joined hands immediately.

This time when he went to the middle of the circle, Kael showed them proof. He drew up his memories of the day he’d spent healing them in the hospital. They watched the insides of his head as he cleaned and sealed every gash, how he snapped bones together and smoothed away their scars. They could see how his hands worked while his mind held memories of clay. Many of them saw their own wounds healed.

And they could doubt no longer.

When he showed them what he’d done to the wood, they accepted it. A new corner of their minds opened up — revealing a power they never knew they’d had. The possibilities rose like floodwaters and spilled over the banks. They were ready to work, eager to put their skills to the test. So Kael released them. 

The craftsmen went immediately to the walls. Their hands ran up and down, dragging the edges of the logs together, smoothing them until they became one solid mass of wood. Their lips moved all the while they worked, alive with excited words that Kael couldn’t hear.

When they had one full section of wall done, the craftsmen stepped away. Griffith slapped a hand against it. “Fate’s fingers — we aren’t going to have to worry about the frost anymore,” he said with a grin.

They didn’t even have to cut notches into the next log: the warriors lifted it into place, and the craftsmen sealed it together. Then the wildmen howled and beat their chests, dancing around like they’d won a great victory.

Kael knew they could go on like that for hours if he didn’t stop them quickly. “All right, all
right
— back to work! We’ve got a lot to do.”

And with no small amount of grumbling, they drifted away.

Kael was so busy glaring at them that it took him a moment to realize that Baird hadn’t left the circle. He held his knobby hands out in front of him, his mouth a black hole beneath his rags.

Kael touched his shoulder lightly. “Do you think that’ll work better than paste?”

A little gasp escaped Baird’s throat before he burst: “I — I could see again! For a moment, I could see them! Wonderful colors, alive in the caress of shadow and light … I’d forgotten what a gift the eyes can be. But Kael the Wright has reminded me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Who is this man who can bring color to the dark? Who bids flesh to mend and molds the trees to his will?”

“I’m not sure. But he probably isn’t nearly as great as you think he is,” Kael said roughly. “Now come on — we’ve got crafting to do.”

He tried to go back to his work, but found himself watching Baird out of the corner of his eye, instead. The beggar-bard traced his way around the walls — there wasn’t a crack his knobby fingers couldn’t find.

And all the while he worked, his mouth stayed fixed in an open grin.

*******

“Follow me, young man. I know the way!”

Baird had latched onto Kael’s tunic when they’d finished their work. He’d prattled along behind him the whole way to dinner. But the moment they stepped inside the Hall, the beggar-bard took the lead.

He marched boldly into the mass of wildmen, swinging one arm about him and dragging Kael along with the other. They bounced and bumped their way though the crowd until they finally arrived at a table dressed with a wild boar.

“I smelled him the moment we entered. The muck and spiny bristles have given way to the sweet flesh beneath. He was well-fed and fleet — the perfect blend of lean and grease. Hmm,” Baird slapped his hands together excitedly as they sat, “yes, he’ll do nicely!”

For once, Kael agreed.

He wanted nothing more than to tear into his dinner, but the wildmen had a strange ritual: none of them would start eating until after Gwen had entered. So Kael was forced to wait.

“You’re in for it now, whisperer,” Kyleigh said as she sat beside him.

She gave him a look that made his stomach stop mid-grumble and flip onto its side. “Why am I in for it?”

Before she could answer, the door slammed open and Gwen marched in. Half a bear pelt hung off her back like a cape, the massive front claws wound in a clasp at her neck.

It seemed just about every evening Gwen had a new animal to add to her collection. She’d stalked around in wolf, bear, badger, fox, and nearly every other sort of beast. But strangely enough, the one creature she’d never reduced to boots was a lion — which must’ve been good news for Silas.

Kael was rather surprised when the halfcat had first appeared to him — so surprised that he’d jumped and nearly broken a finger in the trap he’d been trying to set. But Silas had been far from remorseful.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the dragoness — the wildmen believe I’m nothing more than a common beast, and I want it to stay that way,” he’d growled. “If you cross me, Marked One, I will devour you from the outside in … beginning with your fingers.”

Kael had no intention of crossing him. After Silas had kept them from being cornered by the hounds, he supposed shutting his mouth was the least he could do. Though he didn’t have a clue as to
why
the halfcat was so intent on keeping his human shape a secret.

He supposed it must’ve had something to do with Gwen: Silas followed her around like a shadow. At dinner, he curled beside her boots. Tonight, his powerful legs had to move quickly to keep up with Gwen’s storming pace.

“What have you done to my craftsmen?” she barked when she reached Kael’s table.

Oh,
that
was what she was upset about. Well, that wasn’t his fault. “I told them to pace themselves, but they wouldn’t listen,” Kael said.

A trick he’d thought would make the building go by faster had actually ground it to a halt. The craftsmen had insisted on trying their newfound powers out on absolutely everything: they’d flattened branches into shingles, twisted solid pieces of wood into furniture, and bent the doorways into arches — simply because they’d
always wondered what it would be like to have a door with no corners on top.

The warriors didn’t help matters, either. They goaded their fellow wildmen into doing all sorts of ridiculous things. Kael had to yell at three separate craftsmen who were braiding rocks together instead of working. Then while he was trying to concentrate on fixing the roof, one of them had snuck up behind him and sealed his boot to the shingles.

Kael’s next step had jerked him backwards, and he lost his footing. He wound up being trapped upside down, half-hanging from the roof, until Griffith finally wrenched him free.

The wildmen might’ve been colossal pains most of the day, but Kael had gotten the last laugh. As he looked around the Hall, he realized several of the craftsmen were absent from dinner. The few that remained were either passed out in the middle of their plates or very near to it. They stared through puffy eyes and clamped hands to their ears, wincing at every small sound.

“I warned them. I
told
them they’d get headaches if they kept on like that,” Kael insisted.

But Gwen’s neck only burned redder. She grabbed Kael by the roots of his hair. “My village had better not sit in ruins all summer while you fool about. Keep them on task, or you’ll answer to me.” She twisted his curls roughly before shoving his head away.

Silas drifted along behind her as she marched for the back of the Hall — stopping to hiss at Kyleigh as he passed.