Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (27 page)

him that Gerick was the boy he sought. Karon had so many holes in his reality anyway, so what if one

was filled with untruth or exaggeration.

But my heart forbade me to lie to him. Once, in the years of our marriage, I had kept a terrible secret

from Karon, glossing over it with misdirection. I could still feel his hurt on the day he’d learned the truth,

wounded not so much by the secret itself, but by the barrier the lie had built between us.

Gerick had grown up as the son of my brother, and I didn’t know why he had been taken. That was

truth. I had no evidence that Darzid or the Zhid knew that Karon and D’Natheil were one and the same,

and despite my convictions, I had no direct proof that Gerick was our son. Best stay with what I knew

and say nothing beyond it. Keep silent where truth would not serve.

And so I told Karon the story of my brother’s child who had disappeared from his home four nights

previous. Treading carefully, I told him, too, of my brother’s mysterious aide who had disappeared on

the very same night as Gerick. Though I could not mention Darzid’s role in his own arrest, I explained

about Darzid’s strange fancies and how he was a known hunter of sorcerers, yet had been seen

consorting with the Zhid in the year just past. “. . . and so with no hard evidence, I’ve come to believe

that Darzid is more than he seems and is surely in league with the Zhid.”

“Why would the Zhid want a child of your world?” Karon asked. “You say your brother was a noble,

and a worthy swordsman, and a close ally of your king, but he was not Dar’Nethi. I can’t see why

Dassine would consider this particular abduction to be so much more worrisome than any other.”

And this, of course, was where the difficulty lay. Bareil came to my rescue. “My lord, I wonder. . . .

You remember when I told you of the Zhid’s delight in taking children, raising them in Zhev’Na, and

thereby creating their most formidable captains?”

Karon dipped his head, his brows knit in puzzlement.

“What if they have decided that with this child, the noble son of this world’s most potent warrior, they

could do something the same? Create a Zhid warrior of the mundane world to command the Zhid hosts if

they were to find some way to transport Zhid across the Bridge? Such would be a terrible blow to those

of this world who would try to resist.”

And how much worse it would be if that commander held the power of the Heir. . . .

Karon nodded slightly. “Could that be what was written in the note, ‘the Third lives and has the prize

he has always wanted’?”

Bareil was slow in responding to Karon’s question, and Karon glanced up at him sharply. “
Detan

detu, madrissé
. Do you know the meaning of this phrase?”

But the Dulcé did not retreat at Karon’s show of impatience. “I cannot answer you, my lord. Forgive

me.”

Before Karon could reply, someone burst through the curtain of blinding sunlight at the mouth of the

cave.

“We’ve got to get out of here. They’re com— Fires of Annadis! D’Natheil!”

Karon was on his feet, already poised to strike, sword in one hand, silver dagger in the other.

“Hold, my lord!” I cried. “She’s our friend. Your friend. Kellea, what is it?”

The Dar’Nethi girl kept her eyes on the unwavering blades and her hands well away from her own

weapons. “Bandits. Five or six, at least, halfway down from the summit. They’ll be here in half an hour,

and from what I saw, they’re not anyone we would like to meet. They fell on a pair of travelers up the

pass. Stole the poor sods’ clothes and boots and chased them naked through the snow. Played them for

sport, wounding them a little worse each time, then letting them loose again until they butchered them.

Earth’s bones, I never saw such savagery. If I’d not been alone . . .”

“I’ll get the horses,” I said.

“But perhaps I’ve got help now,” said Kellea, grinning at Karon and lowering her hands as he

lowered his weapon. “The Prince and I could rid the world of the beasts. And we wouldn’t have to move

Paulo.”

“The Prince has healed Paulo,” I said. “If we can make it down to the trees, the bandits won’t find

us.” We had no time for this. No resources to spare.

“Wake the boy and get you gone—all of you.” Karon’s quiet self-assurance—or was it

D’Natheil’s?—implied the discussion was ended. “I’ll take care of the vermin and join you down the

road.”

“Indeed you will not,” I said. “Dassine gave you a task to do.” No purposeless gesture was going to

endanger the life of my child.

“Such brutes must not be allowed to enjoy the fruits of their crimes.”

He stepped toward Kellea and the cave mouth, but I dodged into his path, blocking the exit. “This is

not your business,” I said. “If you set out to right every wrong in this land, you’ll be as old as D’Arnath

before you’ve even begun.”

“But I can take care of this one,” he said, trying to step past me.

I didn’t budge. “Your responsibilities are far more important than petty vengeance.”

Anger flared in his blue eyes. “My responsibilities are with me every moment. I must do what I think

is right.”

Like lightning in a dry forest, his words sparked such a blaze of anger in me that I lost all caution.

“You must do what is most
important
. The child you were sent to save is two days’ journey ahead of

us, perhaps more than that by now. His safety is your responsibility. Nothing else. You will not abandon

him to his fate, not this time.”

“Madam, please . . . have a care. . . .” Bareil stepped in between Karon and me.

But caution had deserted me. “As for the rest of us, Kellea must lead you to the child, and Bareil

holds the keys to your reason. They cannot be put at risk. Paulo and I are the only ones who can be

spared to aid you, and I’ll carry Paulo down this mountain on my back before I’ll allow you to sacrifice

another life to your moral certainties. We will go down now. All of us.”

Karon stared at me, as white and still as if I’d stabbed him. His sword slipped from his hand into the

dirt. I crouched down to the scatter of pots and blankets beside Paulo. Hands shaking, I wadded up the

blood-soaked rags, rolled up blankets, emptied and stacked pots and cups, cramming everything into the

scuffed leather bags and panniers.

After an interminable silence, the others moved as well. Kellea shook Paulo’s shoulder with hushed

urgency and helped the groggy boy pull on her spare wool leggings, the two of them whispering,

marveling at the pale white scars on his straight leg. As I poked at the refuse in some ridiculous attempt to

cover the evidence of our stay, the two of them saddled the horses in the back of the cave.

I glanced over at Karon again. He stood rigid, scarcely breathing, his bloodless hands clenched and

pressed to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. What had I done?

Bareil murmured to Karon, one hand on Karon’s shoulder and the other gesturing to the fire and the

cave. Moments passed. With guilty satisfaction, I watched Karon start moving again. He retrieved his

weapon and sheathed it, and then began to work with the fire, dousing its flames with a motion of his

hand, leaving it cold and dead, unable to bear witness to our presence. A cold wind swirled through the

cave, dispersing the smoke and the scent of the horses, masking our footsteps with cold ash and sand

and a dusting of snow. The blessed Dulcé stayed close to him, murmuring in his ear, having no eye or

word for anyone else.

After only a quarter of an hour, we were riding on the steep, downward trail, Bareil in the saddle

behind Paulo, Kellea leading the packhorse, Karon at the back, riding the extra mount we’d brought for

Gerick. Every little while I sensed a brush of enchantment; behind us the snow on the trail appeared

undisturbed. As the tense silence continued, a frowning Paulo looked from one of us to the other.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. No words could soften the sting of the ones already spoken. But

I’d done only what was necessary. If it was too much for his fragile mind, best to know it now.

Once on the gentler trails in the sheltering trees, we picked up speed, riding at a brisk walk for several

hours through the frosty woodland, making good time on a decent hard-packed road that headed

northwest along the side of a gently sloping ridge. The sun was well past the zenith when we came to a

sunny, snow-patched meadow, and Kellea called a halt. “We should rest the horses,” she said. “We’ve

had no sign of pursuit, so I think we’re out of danger. And there’s a crossroads up ahead; I need to take

my bearings.”

Though I could not bear the thought of slowing, I knew the wisdom of preserving both horses and

riders.

“I’ll see to the horses,” Paulo said, dropping from the saddle easily and reaching for my reins.

“You should rest for a while,” I said, taking his reins instead. “We’ll care for your horses this time.”

With a little persuasion, Paulo sat on a log and allowed me to provide him with enough cheese and

oatcakes for three men. While Bareil collected the animals and led them to the water, Karon strode

down through the muddy snowfield and leafless tangle of vines and willow thicket toward the stream,

stretched out on a sunny rock, and closed his eyes without a word to anyone.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, when Paulo had slowed his intake to a reasonable pace.

The boy’s eyes shone as he stretched both legs out in front of him and stared at them as if they were

forged of gold. “He put it all back straight. Don’t hurt a bit. And he fixed the other one, too, as has never

been right since I was born. I thought I was done for, and now I’m whole. I don’t even have the right

things to say about how it is with me.”

His brow clouded as he looked down by the stream where Karon lay on the rock. “But he didn’t

remember Sunlight. I told him as I had been taking good care of him since he left. Never thought he’d

forget that horse. Horse didn’t forget him, not by a long ways.” The boy glanced up at me. “Didn’t think

he’d forget you neither.”

I sat on the log beside Paulo, pulled an apple from my pocket and stared at it, discovering that my

own appetite had entirely disappeared. Stuffing the apple away again, I tried to explain that, although the

Prince had finally remembered a great number of things that he couldn’t when he was with us before, it

unfortunately meant he no longer recalled anything about our journey together. “If he asks you questions

about it, you can answer him. But it would be best not to volunteer too much. It makes his head hurt.”

“Guess it would,” said the boy thoughtfully, “having things goin‘ in and out all the time. It’s easier with

people like me.” He tapped his head. “Not much doin’ in here. But then I don’t have to bother with

nothing but my belly and my horses. If Sheriff’d just quit fussing at me about learning to read, I could do

without my noggin altogether.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Paulo always had a wonderfully pragmatic perspective.

CHAPTER 15

Karon

I knew our destination. From the moment I followed the lady and the Dulcé out of the cave and saw

Karylis baring its hoary white chest to the blue of the northern sky, I knew it. Karylis, where I had

learned to hunt, to climb, and to heal, the mountain that spread its mighty arms and embraced the fertile

valley where I was born.

Hundreds of years in the past, my people—Dar’Nethi sorcerers exiled from a world they had

forgotten and condemned as outlaws in this world—sought out places where they could begin a new life.

Three families, including that from which I am descended, came to Karylis with its sweet air, rich soil, and

clear rivers, and from their settlement grew a city of grace and beauty that they called Avonar. No man

or woman of them could remember why they revered that name, only that it was a part of each one of

them, so precious that it came to every tongue unbidden. They had long lost their memories of the other

Avonar, the royal city of the world called Gondai, whence their ancestors had been sent here to maintain

D’Arnath’s Bridge.

We were never very many. Of the thousands who lived in Avonar when I was a youth, probably

fewer than three hundred were sorcerers, but you could not walk through the streets without seeing the

wonders our people had created there: the gardens that bloomed long after frost, graceful roads and

bridges that did not age or crumble, a society of generous people who lived in mutual respect and

civilized discourse.

I had been away at the University on the day my city died. Reports said the valley had been

completely surrounded by Leiran troops just after dawn, and that by nightfall every sorcerer—man,

woman, and child—had been identified by informers, tortured, and burned. Every other resident had

been put to the sword. My father, the lord of the city, had been the last to die. The Leirans would have

made sure that he witnessed the completeness of their victory. At midnight they had torched the city, so

that as far away as Vanesta, people could see Avonar’s doom written in the heavens.

I had not gone back after the massacre. Even for a Dar’Nethi there are limits on the sorrow that can

be inhaled with the breath of life. I wanted to carry with me the image of a living city, not the funeral pyre

of everyone I loved.

I had embraced the grief of that terrible loss as was the way of our people, and yet, I think I always