Exiles of Forlorn (22 page)

Antioc reclaimed his spear from the woman’s corpse just as the brigand leader charged him, sword high, a battle cry bellowing from his throat. Antioc intercepted the blow with the shaft, then twisted the spear to send the sword aside. He spun the tip of the spear around and jabbed at the brigand, but he dodged and brought his sword back around for another blow. Antioc blocked it, sending slivers of wood flying. The brigand raised his sword over his head again and swung down hard. Antioc’s block spared his life, but his spear was broken in two with a loud crack.

That’s when I saw the fourth and final highwayman get to his feet. He pulled the dagger from his chest and stumbled, but was composed enough to flip the bloody blade into an underhand grip for stabbing. “Antioc, look out!” I shouted, but it didn’t matter. Antioc already knew he was there. He struck the leader across the jaw with the blunted end of his broken spear, staggering him back long enough for him to spin and toss the pointed end into the other one. The brigand fell, vainly gripping the half-spear embedded in his chest.

The leader backed up and lifted his sword defensively. Antioc charged him. My heart raced as I saw the leader turn his sword and swing at Antioc’s head. A second before the blade connected, Antioc went down, rolling under the attack and stopping clear behind him. The unrequited attack set the brigand leader off balance.

Antioc grabbed my dagger from the ground and spun to meet his opponent as he regained his footing and turned. Antioc rewarded him by jumping up and driving the blade under his ribs, burying it up to the hilt. The brigand leader let out a hollow gasp as his eyes widened and blood poured over his belly.

“You should be careful,” said my friend, locking eyes with him. “There are rough men on these roads tonight.”

With that, he let the brigand fall.

I was still in shock even as Antioc began searching the bodies of the fallen for salvageable loot. He found some gold pieces, a few jewels, and a couple of usable daggers. “That was . . . by the Daevas; I’ve never seen anything like that!”

Antioc took the leader’s sword belt and reclaimed the blade. “Most of these weapons are useless. You might get some use out of that crossbow.” He gave the sword a few cursory swings. “I don’t generally favor a long blade, but it’ll have to do until we reach Horaceport.”

So, armed with the crossbow and a dozen bolts that looked like they’d been carved from rough sticks, we went along our way. It was almost an hour before I could muster the will to speak to Antioc, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

“You just killed five people.”

“I’ve killed more than that.”

“Of that I have little doubt. But . . .”

“But what?”

“Does it bother you?”

He didn’t answer right away, taking his time as though he were chewing on something I’d just handed him to eat. “Sometimes.”

“This time?”

“No. They’d have killed us without a second thought. For nothing.” He stared at the darkened road ahead of us. “Some men can’t be reasoned with. They kill you or you kill them. That’s all.”

I wasn’t used to this world. Where I came from, men talked. And talked, and talked, and talked. There were duels between gentlemen, but rarely were they to the death. Men of a higher station had a certain code. I wouldn’t call it noble, as it very rarely was, but they thought so much of themselves that they rarely wanted to push each other to the point of death. I wasn’t in that world anymore. I was in a darker place, where men killed each other for a few pieces of gold and a scrap of steel.

“Did it ever bother you?” he asked at length.

“I’ve never killed anybody.”

He gave me an incredulous grin. “You built artillery. Am I to assume you never operated it?”

“Very rarely, but . . . that’s not the same thing.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t have to look them in the eye.” Only after I said it did I realize how ridiculous I sounded. Of course I’d killed men. How could I play the fool and say otherwise? Still, I wasn’t like Antioc. He was brave, willing to face death just as a matter of course; and loyal, willing to risk death for others. I wasn’t either of those things. I supposed then that I was fortunate to have him to do it for me.

19.

I
was awoken from my slumber by footsteps on the creaky wooden floor. After everyone else had left, I’d stayed with Antioc well into the next morning. I’d fallen asleep on the stool with my head on the cot next to Antioc’s shoulder. When I heard the sound of someone else in the room, I slowly raised my head and turned, expecting to see Blackfoot, Uller, Reiwyn, or anyone other than the person standing there.

“What the Daevas are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if he would be fair,” said Claster, shifting nervously.

“Why do you care?”

“I never got to properly apologize.”

“Apologize? For what? For ruining his life? You’d have seen him killed just for affronting you. What apology could remedy that?” He didn’t look at me after that, just stood there with his eyes cast down and his shoulders sunken. I could have struck him. “Get out. Don’t come back.”

Claster turned and left.

“You shouldn’t be so mean to him,” came a weak voice. I turned and saw Antioc looking at me through bruised, swollen eyes with a feeble grin on his battered face.

“Why? He’s a bastard. He’d have seen you beheaded.”

“Once, yes. But he’s not that man anymore.”

“How do you know?”

Antioc closed his eyes. “Because he’s here. He’s lost everything, and now he’s one of us.”

“That doesn’t make him a good person.”

“Maybe not. But it means there isn’t anything else we can do to him that would matter.”

“You could give him a thrashing. Once you’ve recovered, of course.”

“That holds no appeal to me, Lew.”

I looked at the spot where Claster had stood. It certainly held appeal for me. After a time my anger subsided, and I turned back to my friend, only to see he’d fallen back asleep. I patted his hand and smiled. He was a better man than me. I’d never had any illusions otherwise. Sometimes I wondered why he felt so obligated to me. Sure, I’d saved his life, but there was little nobility in the deed. In truth, I’d done it because it amused me. Would it have amused me equally to see him beheaded if it served my purpose? I didn’t like asking myself such questions, because I didn’t care to know the answers.

I knew now, though, that I’d never let any harm befall Antioc so long as I could prevent it. Granted there was little I could do for him in response to a challenge that he couldn’t do for himself, and better. But I could help in other ways. No one would disturb his sleep, as I would stand constant vigil. I wouldn’t ask him to risk his life for me. I’d rather die than see that happen. Knowing that felt vulnerable. I hadn’t ever known someone I’d die for before. I can’t quite say I enjoyed the feeling.

The next few days passed slowly. Antioc spent most of them in bed as Nol ordered, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get up well before his wounds had healed. We often had to threaten to hold him down, which fortunately for us in his wounded state Uller, Reiwyn and I were able to accomplish. He would always grudgingly agree and slouch back in his cot. Nol kept him sedated most of the time with juice from that swollen fruit. It always seemed to knock him flat, no matter how awake he was beforehand.

My friendship with Reiwyn had become tense, but didn’t feel near to breaking. She visited daily, staying at Antioc’s side almost as much as me. We didn’t say much in those times, and looked at each other even less. I’d not seen this side of her. I’d always suspected she had a compassionate core beneath the layers of river soaked leather wrapping her beautiful skin, but it took seeing it firsthand to truly know it.

After the fourth day of sitting at his side, changing his bedpan and bringing him his meals, Antioc demanded that we give him some privacy. “I can’t stand knowing there are things you’d rather be doing than tending after me like a babe,” he said when we protested. “Reiwyn, you’ve got archers to train and arrows to fletch. Uller, you have your studies with your hedge wizard . . .”

“Witch,” he corrected.

“Lew, you could be building something and Blackfoot, you . . . could be doing whatever it is you do around here.”

“I catch crabs and sleep, mostly,” he replied.

“There really isn’t anything we’d rather be doing right now,” I said. The others nodded.

Antioc chuckled. “Just go. Gargath and Nol will take good care of me. I don’t need all this attention. I shall be fair within a night, and we will all go to the lagoon together and take a meal in the shade.”

With that, as well as a series of protracted well wishes, we left him. We walked along the main avenue: Reiwyn and I in front, Uller and Blackfoot behind. The two of them chattered along about something Uller had been trying to teach the little urchin but that he wasn’t quite understanding, while Reiwyn and I walked silently. A wall built between us, with bricks of silence mortared by regret. I still partially blamed her for what had happened to Antioc, and she knew it. I didn’t have to say it. And she didn’t have to say it for me to know she did, too.

I got a shave from Zin and went to my yurt. Exhausted from days of unsteady sleep on a stool next to Antioc’s cot, I collapsed to my bunk. It didn’t feel fair sleeping here without him across the room from me, but I was almost too tired to notice his absence. My eyes felt heavy as I let the Daevas of sleep and dreams guide me away from the world of the waking.

“Lew, wake up!” Blackfoot was shaking my arm.

“What is it, you little urchin?” I moaned, rolling over.

“You’ve got to come quick! It’s Reiwyn!”

That got me up. I grabbed my little sword belt from the table next to my bunk and strapped it on as we ran down the avenue, and around the corner to Reiwyn’s. I met Uller and Arn there. Sharkhart and Ferun were there as well, though the latter kept a respectful distance. It didn’t stop him from giving me a wolf’s look, but I was too concerned to give it any mind. My heart was pounding, but it almost stopped when I saw blood on the ground before the entrance of Reiwyn’s yurt. If she’d been hurt, I would topple the peak of the Sentinel to find out who was responsible.

Uller came up behind me as Gargath emerged from the yurt, a despondent look over his normally resolute face. I couldn’t imagine a scene grizzly enough to jade a Volteri, much less one exiled for desecrating the corpse of his brother.

“What is happening?” Uller asked, his brown eyes darting from me to the bloody-handed vulture man.

“Is Reiwyn?”

“She’s fair,” said Gargath, looking me in the eyes. He grabbed the curtain of the yurt and pulled it open. Inside I saw Reiwyn sitting alone, clutching a bloody dagger to her chest. “She wouldn’t come out of there until you all arrived.”

I stepped to the door but stopped short of going in. The scene inside, though dimly lit, told the story of what had happened. Three men lay dead on the floor, two with their throats cut and another with a gash in the side of his head. They didn’t look like exiles, in fact they were almost unmistakably Scumdogs. They’d secreted into Reiwyn’s yurt that night with the intent to make her a slave. A mistake; one they’d paid for with their lives.

Reiwyn dropped her dagger and ran to my arms. I was too overwhelmed to truly appreciate it. By the time I got my bearings about me, she’d moved on to hugging Uller and then Blackfoot.

Arn put his hand on her shoulder. “Was it just the three of them?”

“I only saw three,” she relayed grimly.

“How did they get past my wall?” I asked.

“Yes, Lew,” asked Ferun, pointedly. “How
did
they get past your wall?” I glared at him. It was satisfying to see he still bore some of the bruises from his scuffle with Antioc.

“Even the highest wall is subject to climbing,” said Blackfoot.

“Impossible,” said Ferun, shaking his head. “One of my men . . .”

“Obviously assisted them!” I snapped. “The wall’s no good if the men on it are compromised. One of
your
men, did you say?”

Ferun stepped forward, almost close enough to touch. I did not back away or waiver, though every part of me willed that I had. It was enough to remember he’d entertained killing me not but a few days ago. I doubted time had tempered his attitude toward my life. Arn and Sharkhart stepped between us. I backed away, but Ferun didn’t. I think if he got his way, he’d kill everything in his path, chew the bones, and go back for more.

“It’s obvious now that someone in the colony is helping them,” said Arn. “There can be no other explanation for how they passed the wall.”

“Or knew exactly which yurt to invade,” I said, to the befuddled looks of the others. “Surely you don’t think they went from yurt to yurt poking their heads in to see if there were any saleable women in them, do you? That alone would take them the whole night.”

Arn nodded at me.

Ferun stepped into the yurt and edged one of the corpses with his toe. “A pity the river woman killed them; now we’ll never know who they collaborated with to cross the wall. If that’s even how . . .”

“There is still a way.” Gargath’s eyes widened at me as I said it. “I do not make this declaration lightly, Gargath. These are the direst of circumstances. We must know who the Scumdogs are working with.”

His lips parted, a complaint half spoken on his face. He resolved to a sigh, nodding reticently as he turned toward Arn. “Hratoe can help.”

It took Gargath but a few moments to convince Hratoe to aid us. As soon as she heard—or, rather,
understood
that Reiwyn had been attacked, she nodded vigorously and signed with her hands back at Gargath.

“She wants us to take her to one of the bodies,” he said, still not happy about this. I empathized. Hratoe was young, she likely hadn’t encountered as much of the prejudice and ignorance of the world outside Volter. His fears were understandable, but misplaced. If Hratoe could help us protect the colony, there wasn’t anything we wouldn’t do to keep her safe. More to the point, if she could help avenge Reiwyn, she’d never need worry again as the river woman would cut a bloody swath through any who aimed her ill.